#lee sara x reader

[luxora]

The Glory -> You Leave Them

Requested: No

Kdrama: The Glory

Genre: Angst.

Warnings: Mentions of murder. Mentions of bullying. Mentions of death. No remorse. Swearing. Violence.

A/N: I absolutely do not condone anything that was presented in the kdrama. No one should ever bully others. This is all purely fiction.

Moon Dong-eun

The apartment was remarkably quiet, not filled with the with your singing voice as you would flounder around the rooms, usually the kitchen, as you made dinner for the two of you. Dongeun closed the door behind her silently, dark eyes flinting across the room as she began to take her coat off. It was dark, not a single light on, a sign that you were not home.

She frowned.

You always were home before her, being a creature of routine as you always returned home after work, diligently waiting for her as she would be out doing her own work and alternative dealings with Yeojeong, productively placing all the puzzle piece of her plan together. She was close to achieving her revenge on everyone, time being her side as it always has been since her high school years. She had the five of them running around like headless chickens, flustered and terrified about her next moves. It was silently delightful, to see them so terrified of her presence, of her very lingering around the diameter of their lives, not really truly lifting a finger of direct interaction with them.

Mice do not truly feel terror towards a cat until they see it watching them, only then do survival instincts kick in, but Dongeun was not ready to pounce yet. She was simply biding her time until the ultimate position was set for her to deliver the final kill.

But aside from that, she was concerned on where you were. She pulled out her phone, checking to see if you had perhaps sent her a message about your whereabouts, something you always do even though she has stated that it is not necesarry.

Nothing.

Dongeun’s frown deepened as she pocketed her phone before reach out to switch on the lights, eyes blinking as they adjusted to the sudden light in the apartment, still hoping to catch a glimpse of you in the room.

“Y/N?” she called out, her voice leaving a slight echo in the empty room as it went unanswered.

A small bundle of unease began to form in Dongeun’s chest, not enjoying the aspect that you were not home like she expected. Throughout her life, Dongeun has never had anything that was constant, especially after her ordeals in high school, so when you stumbled into her life, it has been a concept she has never had to deal with before.

You were so...good. Dongeun has never been surrounded by something good or positive, her whole life until now being filled with pain, fear, and wrath. So when you were adamant to become involved in her life, slipping through the concealed cracks in her armor, she thought herself and you to be insane. Although Dongeun lost her sanity years ago, lost all sense of her humanity ever since that curling iron laid its first kiss to her skin.

But since meeting you, she felt that perhaps she will finally be able to feel a sense of normalcy in her life again. Or to just feel something again. She hasn’t quite be able to outright say what her feelings towards you were, but she knew that it was something that could be worthwhile. Something tangible and something that she can act upon which will not wind up with someone paying for their past sins.

But the feeling of unease was not welcomed and even though you did not answer the first time she called your name, she tried again, hoping that just perhaps you were someone deeper in the apartment that you simply did not hear her.

But you voice didn’t answer her back.

This was a strange circumstance, and Dongeun knew that she did not like it. Swallowing a bitter pill of nerves, Dongeun walked through the kitchen and headed towards your bedroom, it being the other likely place you would be aside from the kitchen. She opened the door without hesitance, hand going for the light switch, eyes moving to where your bed was, hoping to see your sleeping bundle in it.

But nothing. Your sheets were pressed and straight, not a single sign of disturbance on their immaculate design. Her eyes flinted across the room, your organization obvious to the naked eye but Dongeun froze when she noticed a piece of paper on your desk, a pen on top of it which indicated that something had been written down. While usually Dongeun respected your privacy, only entering your room when she required your assistance or when you finally managed to convince her to sleep beside you for the night, she could not help but forgo her previous reservations upon entering your room without you as she bee lined for your desk.

She immediately noticed the writing on the piece of paper, your cursive writing curling with one another, forming her name on the folded piece of paper, making the ball of unease increase as she reached out and picked it up from the desk, unfolding the piece of paper with slightly shaky fingers.

To Dongeun

There is nothing more that I want than you happiness. After everything that has happened to you, it is what you deserve.

I have tried to be a source of your happiness, to try be a semblance of what you can call happiness. But I don’t think that I am someone who is able to give you what you want.

Your revenge...it is what you want. And I understand why. I sincerely hope that you are able to find what you need Dongeun, but I am scared that I will fall into a hole which I will never get out of. And while you are happy to fall...I am scared to fall with you.

I am not sure when you will find this letter, but Dongeun, please don’t think I have left because of you. I have left because of myself. Because I am not strong enough to handle to consequences that may come from your revenge.

If this will add me to your list...then I accept it.

I just hope that you will hopefully find your happiness soon.

Goodbye

Dongeun stared at the piece of paper, rereading the word, a stone forming itself in her throat as she tried to get a handle of herself. And yet she could not stop the tear that escaped her eye, nor could she stop the following ones as she lowered herself to her knees, slumping over the letter as it fell from her fingertips to the floor.

The last time she cried was when she was saved from making the ending choice that winter in the river. When she was embraced by her landlady, giving her the comfort she so desperately craved. Afterwards, she became completely numb with her emotions, the only thing motivating her forwards in life was the ultimate revenge she was going to carry out against Yeonjin and the others.

And yet now she is finding herself beginning to bawl like she did all those years ago, her arms wrapping around her body as she attempted to comfort herself, halfheartedly patting herself as she slumped her head forward.

You were gone...and she had no idea where she could start to find you.

Her constant was gone. And you didn’t even realize just what you were to her. And it seems that she will never be able to tell you.

Joo Yeo-jeong

Both of you froze when you locked eyes, him already having stared at you in shock as he watched you shoving clothes into a suitcase, you not realizing he was there until you lifted your head. Neither of you said a word, just staring at each for a few long moments, either trying to figure out what to say or to truly determine if the other was in fact in the room.

But eventually you were the one who broke eye contact first, turning around to head back to the closet and yanking out more of your blouses, hurried undoing them from the hangers. Only then did Yeojeong hurry pass the threshold and headed towards you.

“Y/N, what on earth are you doing?”

“Packing.”

Your voice was firm, but he could hear the fragility of as you kept your head down, not daring to lock gazes with him. But he was not going to allow that, not when you were doing something sudden. He reached out to you and grabbed you by the arm, only for you to rip it out of his hand.

“Don’t touch me.” You hissed, still not looking at you as you shoved your blouse in the bag before grabbing another, only for Yeojeong to grab it before you.

“Stop. Y/N, what is going on?” he asked, tugging the piece of clothing closer to him as you reached out to grab it back. You paused for a moment before deciding to forgo the captive blouse, turning around and shoving the others in before heading back to the closet, him following quickly after you. “Y/N, what are you doing? Why are you pack? Where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

Your words were as sharp as three daggers being plunged into his chest, curved blades that have truly wedged themselves into is sternum, causing excruciating pain while he was trying to determine your reasoning for such harsh words.

“W-Why? What did I do-”

His words got caught in his throat when you suddenly whirled around to look at him, eyes hard but red with tear streaks down your cheeks, clearly indicating to you that you have been crying. But before he could reach out to try wipe away the old remnants of tears, your words made the blood in his body freeze.

“Are you seriously going to try play dumb with what you did. To what you have been drawing out for the past years until you finally managed to achieve what you wanted?”

While you did not outright state what he did, he knew immediately what you were referring to. His revenge, his long, drawn out revenge which he finally managed to achieve last week. To watch the light fade away from that monster’s eyes, to see the blood seep out of his body, the sign of life escaping him, it had been wonderful. And the best thing about it is that it all seemed to be an accident, the pouncing of other prisoners on the monster. No one has suspected his participation in the attack, after all, he was just a doctor. The beast had been brought to the medical wing of the prison, but he already knew that the beast was gone, as he waited the entire time during the whole ordeal until his last breath was taken.

It was hours of pain for him, but Yeojeong, it was hours of bliss. And he made sure to treasure the memories in his mind.

But now...it seemed that he was no longer the only one who knew about it.

“H-How did you-”

“It doesn’t matter. But what does matter is that I am leaving.”

You whirled around and grabbed your favorite cloak, his eyes flicking to the closest to realize that all the clothes that he had gotten for you during the entire relationship was left hanging in the closet, you having no intention of taking them with you. As you moved to walk past him, he immediately stepped in front of you, his hands moving to grab you.

“Wait, Y/N, just listen to-”

“NO!”

Your scream made him flinch backwards, not expecting you to scream so suddenly. Your eyes were blazing, but he noticed that they were becoming wetter by each passin second until you angrily wiped at them, tightening your grip on your cloak before you pushed past him and head towards the suitcase on the bed.

“I don’t need to listen to a damn thing you say.”

“Y/N, you have to understand that-”

“Understand what?” you said, whipping around to face him again. “Understand that you killed a man in cold blood? That you had been planning it out even before you transferred to that prison? That you enjoyed it? What else is there for me to understand?”

Yeojeong tightened his hands into fists, slightly shaking on the spot as he clenched his jaw tightly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at you, trying his best to keep his emotions in check.

“Y/N...he deserved it. After what he did to me, to my father, he deserved to die. He deserved it!”

He didn’t mean to raise his voice towards the end, but he couldn’t help it. Just...the thought of that beast, the memories of him laughing and mocking Yejeong as he laid on the floor in the hospital as his father bled out...it made his blood boil. His father was a great man who was only doing his job. He saw the best of people, and yet that monster slit his throat without hesitation. He deserved to go out the way that he did, by Yeojeong’s hand, precise and slow were all of the cuts and stabs, he made sure that he suffered, he made sure that he felt his wrath.

You had flinched at his raised voice, but your features tightened up even more, the cloak in your hands being thrown onto your open suitcase before you took a step towards him.

“He deserved to die...but not by your hand.”

His jaw dropped in shock. What the hell were you saying.

“Y/N-”

“That monster deserved to die Yeojeong. But not by your hand.”

“I...Yes he did! He killed my father Y/N! He has sent me letters about it for years! You’ve read them! You’ve seen them! And you are saying that he didn’t deserve to be killed by me! I had the right to do it! It was my right.”

He couldn’t help but be infuriated by your words. Out of all people, you should be the one the most understanding. You understood the utter disgust and hatred he felt towards that man, no, that beast, and yet you are staring at him like he was some kind of stranger, or a predator you had been locked in with in a cage.

You stared at him with cold eyes, cool tragedy fooling your orbs while your lips quivered as you stared at him. Your jaw was clenching and unclenching, your neck flexing as you swallowed before you shook your head.

“You just don’t see it Yeojeng.” You said before turning around, moving towards your suitcase and slamming it shut with a resounding click. “You refuse to see it.”

“...refuse to see what?” he probed, his eyes staring darkly into yours as you turned around to face him again, hands on the handle of your suitcase. You gazed at him solemnly before uttering the words which made his entire conscious freeze.

“You’re just like him.”

It almost felt like you fired a bullet through his brain, bring an entire end to his living soul when he heard those words. He didn’t even realize that you had left until he heard the resounding slam of the front door, which startled him out of his daze. He hurried to chase after you, only to trip on the lone blouse you had abandoned in his hands earlier, making him fall to the ground with a hard thud.

Pain...that was all he could feel. Physical, emotional, and soulful.

Ha Do-yeong

Following his disastrous marriage to Yeonjin and divorce, Doyeong was apprehensive to get involved with someone else, believing that he had to just focus on his overseas expansions and on providing Yesol the best life that he could. 

But then you entered his and Yesol’s life, and managed to slowly fill in the void that was caused by his ex-wife. You had a warm air about you which was different Yeonjin, or rather any other woman he has come across in his social circles. He was not naive enough to believe that woman were attracted to him because of his personality, but because of his wealth. The reason he and Yeonjin had been introduced to one another was because her mother had been an acquaintance of his father’s, the two of them running in the same social circles that eventually she caught his attention, charmed him, and managed to convince him to fall in love with her and give her the life she had always wanted.

But you were different because you had no idea who he was when the two of you first met. In fact, you weren’t even aware of the wealth that he had as he had happened to bump into you at a soccer match at Yesol’s school, you being there to support your niece as she played on the opposing team to Yesol. You introduced yourself and offered to buy him a coffee, almost bewitching him at first sight with your kind smile and bright eyes.

Yesol took a liking to you, she was a bit shy at first but when you had offered to buy her a victory ice-cream after beating your niece and nephews team, she lightened up like a Christmas tree. And soon afterwards, you started become an aspect to their life, a development which had startled him.

It was not that he did not want you a part of his life. He did, in fact, he craved it. But he couldn’t help but worry the confusion his relationship may cause with Yesol, especially since it has not been too long ago that the whole ordeal of Yeonjin had affected their lives. Doyeong did not believe that Yesol needed Yeonjin to be happy, that him being her father was enough for her. But when he watched you and Yesol bond with one another, playing soccer, dress up and going on shopping and arcade trips, he could help but start to feel panicked with how much of a figure you were becoming in their lives, and with how fast things were starting to move.

Doyeong would not describe himself of being a coward. In fact, he would consider himself the opposite, but with how fast things were moving, he was getting scared. Of what, he did not exactly know, but he couldn’t stop the fear from growing until he finally snapped in an unfair moment of panic when all you were doing was trying to be there for both Yesol and him.

When he had received a phone call from a hospital about Yesol, he thought his entire world had shattered when he heard the word’s ‘accident’ and ‘missed traffic light’. He flew out of his office like a banshee out of hell, uncaring of the meeting that he was to enter because the only thing that was on his mind was his daughter. He probably broke about a dozen overseas laws with his driving but he did not simply care for it because nothing was going to stop him until he knew the state of his daughter.

He had all but sprinted into the hospital and demanded to know where Yesol was, nearly scaring the receptionist half to death with his rapid Korean, not understanding what he was saying until he eventually had to calm himself to speak English, eventually being directed to the after-care unit where Yesol was being kept. He sprinted through the corridors and corners until he eventually arrived in the corridor to where Yesol’s room was, only to see you stepping out of a room with your arm in a sling.

“Y/N!”

You immediately turned your head in the direction of Doyeong as he hurried towards you, a small smile on your face as you raised your uninjured arm towards him.

“Doyeong-”

“Yesol! Where is she? Is she okay?!” He immediately asked, staring at you with panicked eyes as he demanded to know the status of his daughter. You gave him a comforting look, resting a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him.

“She’s okay, the doctor is busy checking up on her now. He will be done in a few minutes and then you can see her.”

Doyeong relaxed slightly now that he knew that Yesol was okay, but his anxiety immediately raked up again when he remembered the reason Yesol was in the hospital in the first place. You had your day off and wanted to spend it with Yesol since it was the school holidays. Doyeong was initially hesitant about it since he knew that he was going to be busy all day and not be able to join the two of you, but when Yesol pleaded for him to agree to your desire, to let the two of you spend the day together, he eventually succumbed to his daughters wishes and agreed.

But it seemed his initial hesitance was valid because if he had refused your request, then Yesol wouldn’t be injured and in the hospital in the first place.

“You said that she would be okay with you. Why the hell didn’t you take care of her?”

Doyeong didn’t realize that he had said such harsh words until he said them, and by the way your furrowed your eyebrows and flinched, you weren’t expecting such words from him either. You removed your hand from his arm and took a step back.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen Doyeong. It was an accident. It was my right away and another car had jumped the stoplight and-”

“That is not enough! Yesol was in the car! You should have been more aware on the road!”

You furrowed your eyebrows even more and took another step, taking an unsteady breath while you bit your bottom lip.

“I didn’t see them coming Doyeong. You know that I would never deliberately put Yesol in danger like that. It was an accident, and while I understand how you feel-”

“You have no idea how I feel. Yesol is my daughter!” He yelled, his hands tightening into fists as he whipped past you to stand in front of the door where you had come out from. He needed the doctor to come out already, he needed to see Yesol for himself, to scoop her up in his arms to truly comfort him that she was okay. He heard you sigh and walk up behind him, reaching out to touch his elbow.

“I understand why you are upset Doyeong and I’m sorry. I should have been careful, and you know that I love Yesol like she is my own daughter-”

Before Doyeong could stop himself, he whirled around to face you with a snarl on his lips, his eyes flashing angrily as he glared at you.

“She will never be your daughter, just like you will never, ever be her mother!”

...

He might as well have slapped you with how strong of an effect his words had on you. You completely stumbled away from him, eyes wide and jaw slacked, staring at him in complete and utter shock. Doyeong widened his own eyes when his own words and indication of them dawned on him, filling him with immediate regret as he watched you fold in within yourself, your bottom lip quivering as you looked away from him.

“I-I see.” You stuttered out, your voice strained, an indication to him that you were trying to stop yourself from crying. “T-Then, I will see myself off.”

Without another word, you turned around and began to hurry away, his own body acting on instinct to chase after you, but before he could, the door behind him opened and another voice called out to him.

“Oh, are you Mr. Ha? Yesol’s father?”

Doyeong turned around to see a well-dressed man in a doctor’s coat, a kind smile on his face as he looked at him. Doyeong swallowed thickly, trying to push down his emotions of dismay and regret as he nodded, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes. I-Is Yesol alright?”

The doctor smiled and nodded before inviting Doyeong in, Yesol smiling face immediately greeting him as she sucked on a red lollipop which the doctor must have given her, a plaster on her cheek.

“Hi daddy!” She greeted, giving him a wave, only to frown slightly as she looked behind him. “Where’s Y/N?”

And Doyeong was at a lost to what to say.

Park Yeon-jin

We’re over

Not a lot of things have ever scared Yeonjin, but the second she saw that text message from you, an avalanche of terror and panic washed over her. She knew that the reappearance of Dongeun in her life was going to be the cause of so much trouble, especially since Sara had already taken a fall, being one of the first of them to crumble under the so called ‘revenge’ Dongeun was trying to pull over them, but she thought for certain that you were going to remain untouched throughout this duration of Dongeun’s stupid revenge scheme.

She was in the middle of broadcasting when she had received the message, and it was only afterwards did she finally managed to read it and was sent into a complete state of shock because she refused to believe you would actually send such a text to her during a time when she needed you the most. 

She immediately tried to call you, but it went unanswered, prompting her to call you a second time, then a third, and then a fourth to finally realize that you were purposely ignoring her calls. And she could not stand for it.

Yeonjin did waste another second of her time, immediately grabbing her stuff and all but sprinting out of the studio to get to her car. She all but stranded her assistant behind, not bothering about them because they were not a priority. They could take a taxi for all she cared, but the only thing she had in mind was to find you.

You could not leave her. Not now when she needed you the most. Sara was a lost case, Jaejun has lost his mind, Myeong-oh was dead, and Hyejeong is a pathetic bitch who could get burnt alive for all she cared, but she could not handle the thought of you leaving her as well. You were her only constant right now, the only reminder that she had that her life was still fine. Doyeong was all but a distant memory, her husband being the last thing on her mind when the only person she needed was you.

You were the only one able to bring pleasure and joy into her life. They only to make her feel alive and rejuvenated.

And you were leaving her.

She could not allow it.

She knew journey to your home like the back of her hand, her body driving to it with muscle memory while she continued calling her number via her car system, but each time it continued to go unanswered. You were ignoring her...but not for long. She could not have you treat her like this, she needed you to listen to her, to explain why you were doing such an outrageous thing.

Yeonjin roughly parked her car in the apartment parking lot without a car and slammed the door shut before hurrying towards your building, not sparing a glance to any other the home owners who noticed her presence as she made her way towards your apartment. She sprinted up the stairs like a hell hound was at her heels, her eyes focused on one thing, being your front door apartment when she immediately reached your floor. She hammered her fists against the door while simultaneously ringing your doorbell.

“Y/N! Open this door! Open this door right now!”

There was a possibility that you were not home, but if you were, it would only be a matter of time before you answered her because you were the kind of person who hated drama being aired out in public, and while no one knew of your and her relationship aside from her friends, you would rather not risk anyone else finding out since it will only send tongues wagging and have some kind of effect on you, especially since Yeonjin was a married woman.

And Yeonjin was right when after a few minutes of her make a ruckus at your front door, it whipped open and revealed an infuriated you dressed in pajamas.

“Are fucking insane right-”

Yeonjin didn’t let you finish your sentence, pushing herself past the door and into your arms where she immediately wrapped her arms around your waist and then forced you against the wall, forcing you to let go of your front door and let it slam itself shut, the sound echoing through your apartment. Yeonjin pressed herself closely against your body, pinning you to the wall while her nails dug into your lower back as she held you tightly.

“Just what is it that you are trying to do to me?” She hissed softly into your cheek, brushing her lips against the skin as she tried to gather as much comfort that she could from the warmth of your body, her throat tight with blurry emotions that she could distinguish to herself yet. “What are you trying to do to us? Y/N, you are not thinking straight again.”

You scoffed.

“The only one who is not thinking straight is you. Now get off me.”

She felt your hands on her shoulders, trying to push her away, but Yeonjin was not going to allow herself to be moved so easily. She instead curled her chin over your shoulder, forcing you closer into her body as she tightened her hold around your waist. She heard you hiss annoyance and felt the increased pressure of your hands against her shoulders.

“Yeonjin! I am not joking, let go!”

“No.”

“Yeonjin I am serious!”

“So am I. No.”

“Bloody hell Yeonjin, get off!”

She was not expecting you to headbutt her, gasping immediately in when she felt your head collide with temple, making her loosen her grip on you to clutch at the injured spot, giving you the opportunity to shove her way entirely from you. Yeonjin stumbled backwards, almost falling if not for her quick reflexes. Betrayal spouted out of her chest as she locked eyes with you as you cradled your own head, eyes burning in fury as you stared at her.

You have never laid a hand against Yeonjin. Never. Not even when she maybe deserved when she was more cutting with you during some of her bad days. But never have you been physical with her, not even during arguments, so the fact that you headbutted her...she felt as if the entire world had been pulled out from her.

“H-How could you?” She said, her voice betraying her usual intention to try be as composed as she could be. You scoffed.

“How could I? I told you to get off but you didn’t listen. But then again, you have always done what you wanted and have never considered the feelings of someone else.”

Yeonjin flinched at your words, so unused to hearing your voice to be so curt and sharp. You were usually so soft-spoken with her, endearing and loving as you whispered sweet nothings in her ear while burning kiss marks against her skin as she arched her body into yours for more of your embrace.

You were acting so different, it having been only a day since she last saw you. Just how could you be acting like such a different person in a short amount of time. What has happened.”

“I know you got my message. So I don’t get why you are here.” You hissed, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at her. Narrowing her own eyes, Yeonjin took a step towards you, tightening her lips into a straight line.

“You are stupid if you think I would just read that message and do nothing about it.”

You laughed. 

“Calling me stupid in my own home? Wow, that is quite something to say.”

“Stop fooling around Y/N. You are making no sense with anything?”

“I’m not making sense of everything? I think I have been pretty clear.”

“Y/N, stop messing around already, otherwise I will-”

“You will what? Burn me?”

The way that you said those last two words, looking at her with such cold conviction, made the blood in Yeonjin’s body freeze. And her body continued to become more ice cold as you took steps towards her, eyes growing more infuriated with each passing second.

“Are you going to burn me Yeonjin? Perhaps with a curling iron? Or maybe a normal iron will be better. Although who knows, maybe you have taking a liking to boiling water instead, or maybe just your lighter. You have on you at all times, so perhaps that will be your weapon of choice. Everybody matures from their past actions after all.”

As you got closer, Yeonjin couldn’t help but stumble back away from you, your words scaring her more than she has ever been before. And you could see it clearly on her face, but you did not care. Instead of stopping in front of her, you walked past her without another words, making Yeonjin slowly turn around to watch you retreat. She took a few hesitant steps forwards, only to freeze again when you returned back with some documents in her hand. But when you got closer, she realized that they weren’t just documents, but rather photographs.

You didn’t say a word as you shoved the photos in her chest, making her clumsily clutch at them as she felt your burning gaze on her as she slowly lifted them to see their captured picture. Her eyes widened in horror when red, burn marks on skin, most particularly, on Dongeun’s skin as the teenage Dongeun looked at the photo, only to be followed with a current Dongeun photo staring at the camera with an empty gaze. There were about ten photos of Dongeun as a teen and as an adult, displaying the new and faded marks from captured time period.

“I can’t believe you could be that cruel.” Your voice interrupted her thoughts, forcing her to look up and see you disgusted face, arms crossed as you stared at her. “How could you have done something like that to her?”

“I-I didn’t-”

“Don’t even try lie to me Yeonjin. Don’t you dare.”

“I-This wasn’t me! T-This was-”

“She came by my house today. Alone.” You finally said, making Yeonjin’s words become trapped in her throat as she stared at you in horror. “She told me everything. About what you and the others did to her in school.”

“S-She-”

“I never want to see you ever again.” You finally said, uncrossing your arms and pointing at the front door. “Get out of my house before I call the fucking police.”

“Y-Y/N.”

“Now Yeonjin.” You growled, lowering your arm as your glare brightened with each passing second. “Otherwise I will do it myself.”

Yeonjin started to shake her head, the photographs falling out of her hands as she walked towards you, reaching out to touch you, to grab you and tell you that everything that Dongeun had told you was wrong. That she was a delusional girl who wanted to blame her very everything bad that went in her life. But you didn’t let her. Instead, you roughly grabbed her by the hair, making Yeonjin screech in pain as you pulled her towards the front door and all but tossed her outside, making her land painfully on her knees before she turned to look at you in shock and horror. You stared her down with disgusted eyes, you face screwed up in fury.

“I never want to see you again.”

And then you slammed the door shut, leaving her outside with bruised knees and a shattered heart.

Jeon Jae-jun

Shock washed over him like ice-cold water as he stared at your crumbled body on the floor, your head turned away from him and your shoulder shaking as you tried to compose yourself from the pain that he just caused you. His hand was sting from the slap, his body frozen stiff like a statue as he stared at you in shock, unable to say anything as he came to terms with what he did.

He hit you.

He...

He...

He just...he didn’t realize he did it until he saw you on the floor.

He just knows he was angry. He was angry over the fact that no matter he did or said, there was no way that he was ever going to have Yesol. There was no chance for him to be a father to Yesol. His little girl, his own flesh and blood. He had the right to her like Yeonjin did, and the fact that some snobby motherfucker like Ha Doyeong was acting like Yesol’s father when he was actually her real one, it pissed him off to no degree.

You came by to visit him to try calm him down, to just let him see a little reason, but he did not want to listen. He didn’t want you there because there was no way you would be able to understand the problem he was dealing with. You were no mother and no wife; therefore, you had no semblance of understanding towards his situation.

Jaejun has gotten better at handling his temper, knowing he was a little shit in high school, kicking everyone's ass when given the opportunity, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t lose it sometimes. And he was already raging when you arrived at him home, already have a spare key to his place. You tried to calmly talk him down out of his rage, keeping to the edge of the room as he kicked and punched furniture and walls as he marched around the room. His mood certainly wasn’t helped with the half of bottle of whiskey he had already consumed, having swallowed the glasses with one mouthful one after the other before answering the your previous phone call.

Your words were half-heard, the buzzing in his head taking preference as he cursed around the room, his blood pressure only rising when he thought back on that arrogant look Doyeong gave him, reminding him that the law was on his side, that Jaejun will never be able to call Yesol his daughter nor that Yesol will ever call his father. The fact that it was the truth, that even though the shared blood between him and Yesol means nothing, it made him so furious that he was ready to kill someone.

“...Jaejun, you know that I am on your side. You know that I will stand by you every way that you want to go.” He recalled your voice saying, someone near the edge of the room while continued to pace up and down. “You are her father, nothing changes that.”

“But Yesol will never know that until I tell her. Until I do, she keeps calling that motherfucker her dad when he isn’t!”  He kicked his coffee table hard, pain shooting through his toes but he hardly paid any mind to it because he was still so furious. He grabbed at his hair roughly, growling before he screamed out another curse and wildly slammed a punch to his armchair before pacing again. “She’s my fucking daughter! He can’t have her!”

“I know she is Jaejun, I know she is.”

“If I have to fucking drive down there and tell Yesol myself, then I will fucking do it! She will choose me over him! I am her real dad!”

The thought of doing the deed, the images of Yesol leaping into his arms in a tight hug while calling him dad made a ball of happiness and hope fill his chest, making a dent in his anger as he thought of the wonderful look of dismay which will cross that motherfuckers face when he realizes that he will no longer be called dad by Yesol.

Fuck it, he was gonna do it.

“-Jaejun, that isn’t a good idea.” He heard you say, your contradiction to his thoughts suddenly make that ball of hope disappear and be replaced with his anger. He whipped around and glared at you.

“What the fuck do you mean? She is my fucking daughter! She deserves to know who her real dad is!”

You flinched at his raised voice being directed at you, but you fixed him with a sympathetic look, your eyes genuine in emotion.

“Of course she does Jaejun, but she is young. You telling her the truth will only confuse her. As far as she knows, Doyeong is her dad, and you suddenly telling her that he isn’t will only hurt her.”

“I will never fucking hurt Yesol! Fucking never!” he screamed, insulted by you insinuating that he would do such a thing. With another curse, he turned around and started marching towards the door. “Fuck it, I’m going to tell her!”

“Wait, Jaejun don’t!” He heard you yell behind him, following after him with hurried steps as he headed towards the door and grabbed his car keys. “You’ve been drinking and you’re angry! Think this over tomorrow!”

“I don’t need to fucking think it over! I am going to tell her I’m her real dad!”

He reached for the front door, ready to leave, only to feel your hands on his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Jaejun please think this through! This won’t help Yesol, and if you go there and tell her the truth, it will only push her more into Doyeong’s arms and-”

It happened so quickly.

He was just so furious that you didn’t support him with his decisions, as well that you were trying to stop him, that he just dropped his keys and spun around with his other hand, his palm connected directly with your cheek, sending you flying to the floor with the powerful blow.

He didn’t even really remember doing it. Or rather, it felt like he was an outside observer to someone controlling his body when he did it. And now that the truth dawned on him, he just stared at your crumbled body in shock, his hand still sting from the blow.

The wool which was dangling in front of his eyes caused by the alcohol suddenly was lifted, sobering up really quickly as he watched you move so that you were kneeling, your hand cradling your face while you took shaky breaths to try control yourself, obviously trying to control the tears that were no doubt falling from your eyes.

“Y-Y/N...” He called out, horror slowly filling his veins as you continued to remain on the floor, not uttering a single thing aside from the pained gasp that broke past your lips when he struck you.

The saying of your name made your breaths freeze entirely, making Jaejun watch in frozen fear as you hastily stood up from the floor, your head bowed down as you turned around and tried to move past him, not saying a word. He immediately reached out to you.

“Y/N, wait-”

You flinched at his approaching hand, making him freeze from his actions as he stared wide-eyed at you, stunned like a deer-in-headlights that you would flinch at his approaching touch.

Only he understood why.

Instant regret filled him at your flinch, and you took the opportunity to hastily grab the door handle and open the door and retreated out of it, slamming it shut just as he rushed at it to follow you.

“Y/N! Wait!”

He immediately opened the door and rushed out of it just to make out your figure disappearing around the corner as you escaped from him, prompting Jaejun to immediately give chase, not wanting you to leave him like this. He had to apologize, he had to make you know that he didn’t mean it. But just as he managed to run outside,  he saw your car speeding out from the parking lot into the street, escaping him entirely and leaving him stone cold in his even more colorless world.

Lee Sa-ra

The twitches in her body were uncontrollable, curses leaving her lips every few minutes as she nibbled at her nails, tearing them down until they were almost exposing her nail beds, making her curse even more as she was unable to do anything else. The drip on her arm was hardly improving her mood at all, limiting her movements in the hospital bed that she has been chained to for the past few days.

Her father was adamant about getting her cleaned up, or rather to try clean up his reputation as much as he can since the police was sniffing around the church and other activities he has been conducting aside from daily services, Sara being nothing but extra goods which he is locking up to keep her out of sight.

Fuck, it pissed her off.

Hyejeong has been unbearable as usual, trying to act all high and mighty in front of her during visiting hours to the extent that Sara nearly threw her entire lunch tray at the bitch. Yeonjin and Jaejun have been no shows entirely, although to be honest she was quite glad because she was just about read to tear both of their faces off with all the shit they have started ever since that damn Moon Dongeun returned.

Her mother has visited her every single day, offering her prayers of recovery but each time her mother spoke, Sara just wanted to scream. Fuck, all of this could just be avoided if her parents will just let her leave the country again! But no, they have to be these hard-assed holier-than-thou parents suddenly wanting to be all responsible and prim, even though she knows they are everything but that.

Dammit, she was just so fucking pissed!

Probably the only thing that was keeping her from losing her damn sanity was you, visiting regularly whenever you could, always making sure to visit during the hours her mother and father’s weren’t there, as well as Hyejeong because she knew that she would rip that air hostess’s head off if she made a comment towards you and her during one of your visits. She has anxiously been waiting for your arrival, needing to have some sort of stability in this damn place before she completely lose her shit.

And just as she was contemplating ripping her drip out, consequences be damned, she was interrupted by the hospital door opening up and you stepping through it. Sara let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank fuck you’re here.” She said, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you close to her once you got into close proximity, pressing hers lips to yours in a kiss.

But as she kissed you, she could feel something was wrong by the way you stood stiffly next to her bed, lips barely moving against hers. She pulled back to look at your face, eyebrows furrowed, and she noticed how downcast your eyes were, barely maintaining any eye contact. She squeezed your wrist, fingers flexing around your delicate delicate arm.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her thumb subconsciously rubbing circles around your wrist bone in some sort of comforting manner, but it seemed her actions made your more anxious, your arm halfheartedly trying to tug itself from her grip but she wouldn’t let you. “What happened.”

“Sara...” you started, biting down your bottom lip as you paused your words, seemingly contemplating what to say next. And then you seemed to figure out your next phrase. “How...are you feeling?”

Sara immediately frowned at your questions, glancing at her lap and her bed before looking back at you with a slight sneer.

“How am I feeling? Shit, that’s what.” She hissed, letting go of your wrist to slam her hands against her bed mattress. “Fucking look at this Y/N. I am in hell! I mean fuck, the nurses are a pain in the ass and the doctors are even worse! Fuck, they look at me like I’m some pitying school girl! I’m not, I’m fucking not!”

Her blood boiled at the images of the doctors and nurses that she regularly sees, all having the same look as the other, pitying and at times disgusted. It pisses her off. They have no right to judge her. They have  no right to feel they are better than her in any other way. Fuck, they should just mind their damn business! She doesn’t even want to be here! She is being held captive by her own damn father, she should probably get one of her lawyers to sue him, fuck, that will teach him a lesson. And probably mess up his reputation even more.

The idea really seemed like a good idea and Sara started to smile at the prospect of it, but then a sudden chill hit her and her teeth rattled as her body twitched, breath catching in her throat as her body tried to re-stable itself. Your hands went out to touch her, grounding her by the hold on her shoulders as she broke out into a cold sweat, her hands gripping her bed sheets tightly as she trembled.

Dammit, she hated it when this happened.

Since she hasn’t had anything in her system in weeks, her body was trying to reconfigure itself, but it was absolute hell for Sara because she felt that she was conducting a sinful punishment handed to her by hell itself. Her hands were gripping her sheets so tightly that her knuckles were turning white and she felt like she was breathing through a test tube which was forced down her throat. Minutes felt like hours and when she eventually felt her body settling itself down, she couldn’t help but curse.

“Fuck I hate them! I hope they getting hit by a fucking bus!” She hisses, putting the wish into the universe with the hopes that it will carry it out. She felt your stiffen beside her, hand tightening for a moment before finally releasing her as you moved to stand in front of her bed.

“Don’t wish for something like that Sara. They are your parents.” You murmured, making Sara let out an empty chuckle.

“And what? That gives them the right to fucking throw me in here against my will! They are only acting like decent parents now because a fire has been lit under their ass. Dad is only trying to save face.”

“...That’s not true Sara.” You said, knitting your fingers together and rubbing your thumbs uncertainly. “They are worried about you. They want you to get better.”

A flash of irritation snipped through her mind, making Sara grit her teeth as she glared at her.

“Don’t give me that shit Y/N, they just fucking want to save face for the church. They don’t give a shit about me.”

“That’s not true Sara, if they didn’t care about you, they wouldn’t be trying to help you get...clean.”

You looked at her with an uncertain flash in your eyes, which immediately made her blood boil because it replicated the same looks as the doctors, nurses, and even her mother whenever they visited her. Her lips curled back and she bared her teeth like an animal, eyes burning in anger.

“You have been fucking speaking to my mother, haven’t you? She has tricked you into adopting her fucking stance, hasn’t she?”

Your eyes widened at her words, immediately making you shake your head as you reached out to her.

“Wait, no, Sara I am just saying-”

Sara slapped your hand away, lip curling further in anger as she pushed herself up to the head of her bed, pointedly ignoring your hiss of pain as you cradled your struck hand.

“I should have fucking known they would have gotten to you too! Fuck, you are supposed to be on my fucking side! You should be supporting me!”

You looked up from your struck hand, lips wobbling but your eyes suddenly resolute.

“I do support you Sara! But Sara...the drugs, they are eating away at you. You are becoming the shell of yourself, I’m worried about you. While it may be hard, I know that once you go through this, that we can-”

“FUCK OFF!” Sara screeched, grabbing her pillows and hurling them at you with so much force that the impact was loud as they hit your body. She then grabbed the glass and jug beside her table and hurled it at you, uncaring of the shattered remnants that flew across the wall and floor as you dodged them, backing away towards the side of the room as Sara went ballistic. “YOU CAN GO RIGHT TO HELL!”

“S-Sara please, c-calm down-”

“DON’T TELL ME TO FUCKING CALM DOWN!”

Sara grabbed whatever she could and threw it at you, screaming and cursing as fury filled every inch of her body. You, of all people, siding with her parents. That was the most absolute betrayal you could ever pull against her, and it made it furious. And it certainly didn’t help that her body was starting to go through one of its episodes again.

“Sara, please-”

“JUST LEAVE! JUST FUCKING LEAVE! I DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FUCKING FACE AGAIN!’

She was so bloody angry, she was seeing red in everything in the hospital room, uncaring of how her arm was burning from the drip as she ripped her arm around. She heard the door of her room open and saw nurses rushing towards her, hands attempting to pin her down, which only infuriated her even more. She immediately tried fighting them off, hissing and biting at them like a wild animal.

“LET GO! LET ME FUCKING GO!”

“Miss Lee, please calm down-”

“DON’T FUCKING TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!”

Sara snarled and twisted about on the bed, trying to rip her body away from the nurses, barely paying attention to your lingering body as you slowly edged towards the exit, your eyes sad as you gazed at her. Feeling your gaze, she whipped her head in your direction, locking eyes with you as you shoulder your bag with wobbly lips, swallowing thickly as you attempted to keep your tears at bay.

“Goodbye Sara. I hope you recover from this.”

And then you were gone, and only after a few more weeks in hospital did Sara realize that it was for good.

Choi Hye-jeong

“Let me go! Just let me go!”

You were fighting against her, trying to break free from her strong grip but Hyejeong held firm. There was no chance of her letting go until you heard her end of the story. To just understand where she is coming from.

“Y/N-”

“Just let me go already!” You screeched, renewed energy soaring through your body as you kept fighting, but Hyejeong tightened her grip even more.

“Just listen to me!”

“No! Because nothing you will say will ever make this any better.”

Hyejeong gritted her teeth and curled her chin over your shoulder to try keep you in place, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to calm herself.

You knew just hard it was to live the life she wanted without the aid of her friends, even she could even call them that. All her life she has struggled, either it be socially and financially, and even though she makes her own money, it is only a matter of time before she will be replaced with a prettier, younger air hostess who will cater to all the needs of passengers. Taking over her parents business was out of the question, she already has taken social blows due to her association with them, so for her to inherit the business will be the entire end of her upstanding reputation.

Even though Jaejun is the dirtiest bastard she has ever known, he can provide her with a life which she knows her deserve, only expecting a few nights from her to cater to his manly needs and maybe give Yesol a sibling, but otherwise the two of them will be open to any other relationships without hurt feelings.

You and her didn’t need to separate...and yet you were adamant to leave her.

“It won’t mean anything Y/N! I promise it won’t mean anything!” She pleaded, digging her fingers in your body in attempt to reaffirm her grip, and yet your fighting body wiggled around furiously.

“How the hell will it mean nothing? You are going to become his wife Hyejeong! His wife!”

“He and I won’t do anything! We will just-”

“Please...as if that asshole will not want to do anything on his wedding night.” Finally finding some success, you managed to rip yourself out of Hyejeong’s arms and scurried away, raising a warning finger at Hyejeong as she attempted to close the distance between the two of again. “Don’t treat me like an idiot Hyejeong, cause I’m not.”

“I’m not trying to-”

“Bullshit,” you hissed, “You would much rather marry a bastard like Jaejun than even try have a life with me.”

“That’s not true Y/N!” Hyejeong exclaimed, horror shooting through as you spoke, scurrying towards you to pull you into her arms again, only for you to match her footsteps and to keep the distance between the two of you. “You know that I love you! I love you so fucking much it scares me!”

You let out an empty laugh.

“Scares you so much that you run into the arms of someone else.”

“Y/N, you have to see it from my point of view!” Hyejeong screeched, hands suddenly rushing to her hair to tug at it furiously before throwing her hand in the air. “I have nothing to make something decent for myself. My parents own a damn laundry cleaning service and it will only be a matter of time before I can no longer air hostess! I need Jaejun to help me to maintain...well, this!”

Hyejeong indicated towards the room, pointing out the luxurious items that she has managed to afford and gather, either by herself or given to her by one of the others. But instead of adopting a more unstable expression, your face became more thunderous.

“So in the end, it is all about money. I am not even surprised, that is all you care about.” You growled, shaking your head. Hyejeong tightened her hands into fists.

“Y/N, without money, I’,-”

“You. And to me, you are enough. And yet it seems I am not for you, cause I wasn’t born with a damn golden spoon in my mouth.” You shook your head and moved across the room to grab your bag. “But I guess that is it then.”

Hyejeong immediately shook her head and hurried after you, grabbing you by the elbow before you could pull away entirely.

“Y/N, you and I can still-”

“Let me stop you right there.” You snapped, ripping your elbow out of Hyejeong’s grip, glaring at her. “There is no way I am going to become some sidepiece to you while you are happy wife to that bastard!”

“I don’t love him Y/N!” Hyejeong suddenly snapped, tossing all caution out the window as she grabbed you by the shoulders, looking at your earnestly while panic started building up in her throat. “You are the one I love! You are the one who matters the most to me! Jaejun is just-”

“Going to marry you. Call you his wife, and have you raise his child. And me?” You grabbed at Hyejeong’s wrists, squeezing them angrily with your own death grip that Hyejeong flinched at the instant pain you began to cause. “And you expect me to wait around at home like some good little lapdog, wagging my tail when you decide to give me the time of day once you finish doing your wifely duties? Not a chance in hell Hyejeong.”

You ripped her hands off of you and began marching for the front door, only to be pulled back by Hyejeong again, the air hostess refusing to simply accept you wanting to leave her. She has already said that the two of you could still be together, that she and Jaejun will only be wife and husband in name, albeit with some exceptions.

But she wanted you. Of course she wanted you. And her marrying Jaejun does not change that. Why can’t you just see how important it was for her to maintain the lifestyle she has had until now?!

“You can’t just leave me Y/N! Think about everything we have been through together!”

You paused in your footsteps and then turned to look at her with a sarcastic smirk, shaking her head.

“Are you seriously trying to pull that card right now in this discussion. Hyejeong, out of the two of us, you are the one who has not considered the fact we have been through a lot together. In the end, you are just a selfish bitch who is content to stay a gold digger for the rest of her life.”

Hyejeong couldn’t help but gasp in shock at your words, never having heard them from your lips before. Sure, she has heard it from Yeonjin, Sara, and many others, but you...you have never used the same labels as the others before. And the fact that you are using them now just sends unshakable pain to her heart, as well as fury.

“Y/N, you-”

“Let me put it this way Hyejeong,” You said, pulling your arm out of her grip again and turning fully to face her, a cutting glint in your eye. “If I was the one marrying Jaejun, would you even bother staying by my side as number 2?”

You didn’t even bother to hear you answer as you turned around and stormed out, slamming the door hard behind you, its slam echoing through her house while Hyejeong lowered herself to her knees, numbness flowing through her entire body, rendering motionless as you words repeated themselves in her head in an indefinite loop.

[curi0us-gh0st]

Shameless (Park Yeonjin, Lee Sara, Choi Hyejeong)

pairings: Choi Hyejeong x Fem!Reader, Park Yeonjin x Fem!Reader, Park Yeonjin x Fem!Reader x Choi Hyejeong, Park Yeonjin x Fem!Reader x Lee Sara (Is this the order?

word count: 1,2k

genre: smut, smut, smut, smut... and smut!

summary: You didn't care if any neighbors could hear, being fucked without a brain made it impossible to think coherently.

warnings: sex without plot (?), use of strap-on and vibrator, pussy slapping, superficial choking, overstimulation, quick mommy kink, insinuation about procreation, exhibitionism, anal, double penetration, degradation, dirty talk, fingering, brief mention of marijuana, etc. [no review| translation is fucked]

a/n: Okay, they are the red flags that I would literally give them without thinking twice... Posting so as not to say that I am literally a ghost lol

"Oh, look what she's doing!" Hyejeong announced, seeing her pussy come heavily, the moans increased during this torture of overstimulation. It was one, two, three, he barely knew where to be.

You don't need to ask why you are that way, your attitude with the intention of just playing with the bad-tempered way they made you is in that position, completely without any shame. Her head buried in the sofa, her body naked as the cold breeze hit her body and fingers entering her greedy and hungry pussy, she could be sad about this senseless punishment but confess that she is loving reaching the limit.

"You really are a bitch!" Yeonjin pulled her hair hard, completely bewildered, she didn't know how many times in that time she had cum so quickly. What she took now was the simple fact that you left the room in almost transparent clothes when Sara called you to take a bath in the pool.

The porch being illuminated by the yellowish light of Lee's house, the sound of grasshoppers, frogs and their moans. Your eyes almost popped out when you saw her with a big, thick strap on, she smiled naughty, pulling Choi and his fingers away from you, making her moan from the lack of contact, she turned you around to leave you with her chest up, a layer of sweat covering his body, some strands sticking to his forehead, his skin stained by hickeys and bites.

"I'm going to eat you until you can't take it anymore!" A slap was delivered to her soaked pussy, making her let out a loud and painful scream, that spot was so sensitive. "My little slut. Are you going to swallow Mommy's cock pretty girl?" His mouth on her neck kissing him, the fat tip of the toy teasing her entrance. "Are you going to show Sara what a good job you're doing?" She moaned with the speech, her eyes being glued to the woman who was smoking her cigarette, looking firmly at her naked body while Hyejeong had her fingers stuck in her pussy in search of relief.

"Y-yes, I will!" She claimed, the cock being pushed mercilessly inside her pussy, a drawn out moan, her punching the strap without any pity, her hips pounding frantically at a fast pace, the violent thrusts that were making her squirm. "Yeonjin!" She screamed with the movement she made, placing one of her legs on her shoulder, giving way to fuck her even deeper, hitting spots she didn't even know she had, she laughed at her desperation.

"Oh honey, you're making too much noise." She said placing her hands on his waist. "Don't you think so, Sara?" She asked making her eyes focus on the woman who was mesmerized by the most pornographic scene in front of her, she swallowed hard at the question — still buoyant from the marijuana she was smoking.

"Yes, the neighbors might complain about that." She replied and looked at Hyejeong. "Why don't you shut her up?" She proposed, Choi moaned in response, taking her fingers out of herself and walked towards the women, placing herself on top of you, she was on all fours, those mounds on her face that she didn't let go, sucking them causing the woman to moan , her ass hitting Park's torso causing friction to her pussy.

"Fuck you little bitch!" She moaned seeing you suck hard, your lips wrapping around her breast, her tongue running over the hard nipple while her free hand pinched her other breast. "You look like a hungry baby." Hyejeong brushed the strands of hair out of her face. "You like it when you get fucked like that, right?" She smiled devilishly, a loud moan left her lips feeling on edge again.

"I-I'm going to cum again!" She announced with eyes full of tears, held Hyejeong's waist, penetrating three fingers into her pussy. "And you're coming with me..." He bit her lips, a rough and thirsty kiss, his fingers being embraced by her hot and wet insides, Yeonjin slapping Choi's fat ass and focusing on making her cum, a unison moan from you feeling your insides exploding with pleasure cumming once again that night. Park stood up watching Hyejeong on top of you, both of them weak and tired, she smiled.

"You look so good together, two sex-crazed sluts." You smiled smugly before walking into the house, while hugging Choi's body, Lee's eyes eating you up by sight, she was so wet from the latest things she was seeing, you guys being completely fucked moaning Yeonjin's name, you moaning for them. When Park came back, she didn't come back alone, she was holding another strap and went back to Sara. "Put." She ordered and she just obeyed.

She took off pants and put on dick, only wearing his white dress blouse, unlike the three of you who were completely naked in the open air, the heat of someone watching them fucking was completely exciting, after Lee put it on, Yeonjin told her to sit where you were and did so. "So, Y/N here." She pointed to Sara, you left Hyejeong and sat on Lee. "Hyejeong here." She lay down next to you, Park placed a vibrator inside the woman's pussy making her moan, holding it tight. "You stupid little girl, we're going to fuck your ass and your pussy."

Sara fitted herself at your entrance, while Yeonjin began to penetrate your tight hole, both trying to fit inside you, starting — or at least trying — a rhythm so that the two of you came in and out together, your insides squeezed. by them, his arms holding onto Lee who had her lips on his neck mistreating him, while Yeonjin pressed her breasts against his back and pushing her waist to sit on the dicks while pressing the vibrator on Hyejeong, her eyes that met they were filled with tears.

Sly moans filled the place, the smell of sex, bodies going as hard as they could, you came with Hyejeong but the women didn't stop, their eyes crying from so much stimulation. "Yeonjin! Sara!" She called for them so sensitively. "S-slower! P-please! Ah!" She moaned desperately.

"I have a surprise for you.." She spoke close to her neck. "Do you want all of our cum?" She bit off a piece of her skin. "Do you want to have our seeds in you?" She asked wrapping her hand around her neck, squeezing it.

"Ah! Yes! I want your cum filling me up" She replied slyly, the women and their movements reaching their insides with their thick and sticky liquids, filling their holes completely, their lips being taken by Sara, a kiss sweetly caressing her face delicately as if it were the most precious thing in the world, they slowly withdrew from her inside, her head resting on Lee's shoulder, Yeonjin sitting next to her caressing Hyejeong who was almost completely asleep, breathing panting, the temperature returning to normal, they felt the liquids coming out of their holes, biting their lips, so exciting.

"Are you okay? Were you hurt?" Sara whispered, kissing her cheek. "I'm fine, you guys were great." She smiled, moving her face away to see them all. "I'm almost sure I won't be able to sit down.." She said, making them laugh.

"You started!" Hyejeong accused. "We wouldn't be fucked like this if you hadn't come up with the idea of us wearing almost see-through nightgowns."

"Doesn't sound like a complaint to me." Yeonjin told Sara that she agreed. "Let's go inside before we catch a cold or someone shows up, Doyeong must have already called." Sara held her on her lap taking her inside and Park helped Hyejeong walk into the house.

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

A test of faith- Lee Sa-ra x reader

cw: mentions of homophobia/conversion therapy, coercion, mentions of illegal substances, generally a fucked up fic

Serving God was not on top of your bingo card for this year. But through a long process you were here. Religion was a bit of a taboo in your family. Your grandparents were religious. Your parents, not so much. But the tables turned when they caught you sleeping with another woman. So, off to "curing" you, you were "sick". And the only place that could "help" you was the church. It took a few years, but you were "fixed". Bullshit. Conversion camp just made you a lot sneakier when it came to hooking up with girls. Sadly, it also made you miss a lot of high-school and college. So when you came out of there, you could not land a job. There was no way to explain the gap in your resume. Yeah, my parents sent me away for being too gay wasn't really a catch for employers. So you had to go back and work for the church. You could be a counselor for the camp. Fuck that. You weren't about to scare some poor teenagers straight. So the only other option was working for the church. Cleaning, organizing events, even working behind the counter and collecting the entrance fee, you'd do it all. Though unfortunately the only way you could get a job was by asking in person.

You were terrible at interviews. Generally you were a shy person and you had trouble speaking up. So when it was time to "sell yourself" to employers, you were screwed. You wiped your sweaty palms against your skirt. It wasn't going to be that hard. 30 minutes to 45, in and out, talking about redemption, devotion, just wanting to help out.

They called you in, but instead of a small room with a desk and chairs, they led you into a pretty bare room. Before you could question anything, the door behind you was slammed and locked. And on the other side of the room, you could see the same happening to someone else. Then that person stepped forward and holy shit, it was Lee Sa-ra. The famous abstract painter, who just happened to be the daughter of the church leaders. But what was she doing here? And why were you both alone in a room? Actually, you looked around and saw that there was a bulky man keeping guard at the door. Why would you escape? Just as you thought that, a voice carried over the speakers. It said your name, followed by ''I guess you are very confused, sister. You see, you came here for a job. And we admire that. But you must know that guide lost souls back to the righteous path. But have you earned redemption? Or are you still a sinner? Can you resist temptation? and then cut out. Another message began, this time for Sa-ra. ''Sa-ra, you need redemption too. Though your sin is different. You were always more like Lilith, rather than Eve. So, use that. Earn your forgiveness by condemning others. ''

''Nice try. I can buy flour too, jackass.'' Sa-ra said.

Then it got quiet. You and Sa-ra looked at each other.

''So, they obviously want us to turn on each other. But I have no benefit to sabotage you. You wanna join the church and press people, giving them the fear of God? Be my fucking guest. Judging from what I heard, you've been through some messed up shit too. So if this is your calling, go ahead. I tell you what, even standing here in your presence made me holly. So, we're free to go.'' she said. Sa-ra stared straight at our guard. He just sighed, cleared his throat, and pulled a large bag of white powder from seemingly nowhere.

The guard once again didn't say anything, just went over to you. He dragged you by the hair and forced you to sit as he grabbed his key. He spread the white powder over it and pressed your face near it. Still, you refused to inhale. He squeezed your throat until you gasped for breath and the white powder was in your nose. He did that a few more times and carried you back to Sa-ra.

''Watch her and then tell me if it's the real stuff'' he said. Sa-ra placed her hand on your pulse point and waited for some time. She could feel your heartbeat skyrocket, watching you shiver, and repeatedly bounce your leg up and down.

And here you were, on a job interview, being high as a kite. But the strangeness was far from over. Because the real fun was just now getting started. The voice over the speakers began again. But this time it was different. No longer cryptic and confusing. It was clear as a bell. ''Sa-ra, you want drugs. And the other one here wants a job. But only one of you can make it out of here with your wish intact. There's a certain sin that you have both committed. Timothy 1:10.''

But what tipped her off was your nosebleed.

''Holy shit'' Sara said. ''You gave her actual coke. ''she continued in disbelief. She knew that her parents and overall the church would never be okay with this, yet here she was on holy grounds, taking care of you, a complete stranger. So that led her to believe that this was some very fucked up revenge plan or blackmail of some sort. Or was it a test of faith?

Sa-ra stared at you for an explanation. ''We're both gay. It's one of the 6 mentions of homosexuality in the Bible. Those have been drilled into me since conversion camp.''

''So, we've both been with some women, big deal. But how does that tie in with what we have to do to get out of here?'' Sa-ra asked. Silently you wondered that too. How could you trick her to be more gay than you? How would that be measured? Your brain replayed the previous instructions to you. It had been urging her to tempt you, so did they mean seduce you. So maybe the first one to make a move would lose. Or win. It was a dangerous gamble, but you decided to try it. You leaned it and pressed your lips to Sa-ra's. And it felt good. To your surprise, she kissed back.

You were shocked. But then you looked around the room. The security guard was gone. And Sa-ra was stripping. She was like an angel, you thought. Then it dawned on you how fucked up this whole thing was. Why was she going along with this so easily? Were drugs so important to her that she was willing to sacrifice her dignity like this? But then you had heard the rumors. Her stunts in Paris, with reporters calling her a whore, who sleeps on the streets. Her many dating rumors. There was the scandal of her being a sugar mommy for this college girl while using the church money. You weren't one for gossip anyway.

Maybe it was because you were under the influence. Maybe it was because she had been your celebrity crush for some time. But you could work with this. You let her deepen the kiss and even let out a soft moan. You were already getting a bit drunk on this. You hoped that this was enough. At this point, you didn't even care about losing the job. You just wanted to go home. You finally thought you were free, as you heard the voice over the speakers again.

''I see both little lambs are on the right track. But what is a mere kiss? Did Judas not kiss Jesus? We want more. And we want it now. So I'll put it plainly for you. Whoever makes the other cum wins.''

''Throwing in the towel,'' she asked. Then she kissed you again. You knew that you would be screwed if you also didn't do anything. So you just went with it, hoping to do some damage as well. Both of you slowly went to the floor, kissing each other. There were bits where you almost wrestled. You knew if you took control of her, maybe you could win even though dominance wasn't always your thing. But apparently, you weren't the only one with that idea. And Sa-ra somehow had more experience than you. She easily pinned you down and started taking off your clothes. Your button-down was off. Your skirt was halfway down your legs. It would help if you hated this. You should use every muscle in your body to try to escape her. Or even better turn the tables and get a shot at winning this thing. But instead, you just pulled your panties to the side. Fuck it, you were losing, but at least you'd get a nut out of it. Sa-ra spread your legs and started rubbing your clit.

''You're already so wet. At least you're gonna make this easy for me,'' she said.

She probably questioned this, as she could feel how close you were, how your walls were drawing her fingers in, and how tightly your pussy was gripping her. But she said nothing, just obliged your request. Guess altruism wasn't dead. Either that or she was a really good dom top. And apparently, this wasn't the only thing she was good at. Lee Sa-ra could retire and eat pussy for a living. You were about to show her that you weren't lacking in that department either. Or should we say, eater? As she was getting more and more into it, she let down her guard more. And you decided to strike. While her face was still buried deep in your cunt, you buried yours in hers. Thank God for Sa-ra's love for dresses. You felt bad about ripping her designer clothes. But you were not walking out of this room without a fight. At least this way you wouldn't be a sore loser. You moved her underwear to the side and began eating her out. Shit, she was wet, possibly even wetter than you. Was this whole thing turning her on? You selfishly wished that this whole thing didn't happen and the two of you met in a normal way. If that were the case, mutual orgasms would be a given.

You noticed a camera in the corner of the room. Shit, was it even on. And was it broadcasting this online? You were completely exposed. So you decided you weren't going down without a fight, no pun intended. First, you leaned into Sa-ra's touch, making her think you were on her side. Then, you say

''Sara unnie, you know I feel so good. But I never come from fingers. They just make me feel full and satisfied, but it's never enough. Can you please lick me? ''

69 wasn't your favorite position. Or at least it hadn't been until now. Your bodies were pressed closely together, so with every move your tits were rubbing against Sa-ra's and hers against yours. Not only that, but every moan she let out was a vibration on your clit. Fuck, you could get used to this. You could feel yourself getting ready to cum, but Sa-ra was also close. So you kept your tongue on her clit and slipped a finger inside of her. And that was all she needed to finish. At the exact same second that you did.

At least this was over. There was no winner, no loser. Until you heard the voice on the speakers announce.

''Round 1, Draw. Please prepare for a tiebreaker.''

[thick-tatted-therapist]

I am ferallll, absolutely love this piece.

DATING LEE SARA HCS DJSPSDKDKDK

DATING TEENAGER LEE SARA.

you were someone who the others bullied (yeonjin, etc), but only sara owned you.

she didn't let the others touch you and if someone did, even if it was yeonjin, she would throw a tantrum.

she was very possessive of you

she was always telling you how you should be grateful to have her by your side and not end up like dong eun

you two were not dating, but you had something... special.

she was the type who would make you smoke even if you didn't want to. making you high so she could use you all the ways she wanted.

still, she would be very caring, but only to you

because you're her special girl.

some pet names she'd call you are: "my pretty girl" and "cutie", she would absolutely live reminding you that you are beautiful, at least in her eyes.

she loved making you sit on her lap and kissing your ears.

ADULT LEE SARA

after all you two have been through at high school, you two ended up being close until you were adults.

you're working at jaejun's clothing shop, because sara asked him to give you the job... almost begged, tbh.

she would go there everyday to visit you

she's a drug addict, so she'd smoke near you every time you two met, and you absolutely hated it.

you begged her to stop multiple times, but she never did..

so you just endured it.

she would share her drugs with you and would force you to smoke it, just like the old days.

she's still very possessive of you, and would do anything to make you lose all your friendships (which you don't have many)

she's still very caring, taking care of you when you're high, kissing your neck all the time (specially if near hyejeong [which she says has a crush on you]), holding your hand when taking you to your work, putting a hand on your thigh, etc...

NSFW HCS.

she's a switch, more sub leaning.

she LIVES having sex while she's high. you can be sober but she has to be high.

when she's high, she's a total sub.

crawling on all fours to taste you >>>>

she LOVES being fingered by you and would even beg for you to do it (she's not the type to beg for something at all)

when you're the one who's high, she's the dom here.

would love recording videos of you

and would show the girls and brag about how hot you are

her favorite thing to do with you is 69

she LOVES that you both can have pleasure at the same time, it makes her go crazy that she can have you licking her and hearing your moans at the same time

aftercare with her is so special 😞😞☹️🥺

she would mutter an "i love you" and start trailing kisses on your back

she's not the one who would say "ily" to anyone, so you should feel very special

after all that you've been through, she never forgot about you. she loved you since you two were teenagers.

[vanilladollette]

Hey girl wassup, can you write about sweet female reader, with (all the characters if that's okay for u, if no, then jae Joon)

Female reader who is friends with Dong Eun and she had no idea that burns were from the bullies, and didn't know that jae Joon was apart of the incident, and when Dong exposes jae Joon, female reader goes from sweet to cold towards Jae Joon and breaks up with him, and lends him to be yandere.

(ALSO GIRL I WANNA SAY THAT I LOVE YOUR THE GLORY X READER ON, WATTPAD ♡ )

The Sweetest Poison

Pairing: Yandere Jeon Jae-Joon x Fem! Sweet Reader

Word count: 1.75k

Summary:After learning you left him upon discovering his past as your best friend's bully, Jae-Joon's heartbreak twists into a dangerous obsession.

Warnings: Bullying, Burns, toxic, violent behavior, cursing

A/n: I'm glad that you like Beneath The Surface!!! This took me awhile to write but thank you for being patient with me. Anyways, I hope you like this!

You couldn’t believe it, even as you replayed her words in your head. The signs were all there, and yet somehow, you’d missed them. How could you have missed something like that?

When Moon Dong-eun, your friend from high school, had contacted you, you were thrilled. It had been years since you’d last seen her. Her message had been brief, almost cryptic, saying she needed to talk about something important in person. Curious and eager, you’d agreed to meet her at a quiet café downtown.

As you approached the agreed-upon spot, you saw her sitting alone at a corner table. Dong-eun looked different but not unrecognizable. Her posture was composed, her expression serene yet distant, like someone who had seen too much and learned to mask it well. You felt a pang of nostalgia as memories of the once cheerful, soft-spoken girl from high school resurfaced.

“Dong-eun!” you greeted warmly, sliding into the seat across from her. “It’s been so long. How are you?”

Her smile was faint but sincere. “Hello, y/n. It’s good to see you.” Her voice had a weight to it, as though each word carried unspoken emotions.

The two of you exchanged pleasantries. You told her how you’d thought about her over the years, wondering where she’d gone and what had happened after she left school. You mentioned how devastated you were when you found her house empty, with no way to contact her.

“I’ve been well,” she said, her tone polite but guarded. “After leaving school, I went to college to study education. I’m a teacher now.”

“Wow, that’s wonderful!” you exclaimed, genuinely impressed. “I wouldn’t have guessed you wanted to be a teacher back then.”

“What about you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “How have you been?”

You gave a small laugh. “Oh, nothing as exciting as becoming a teacher, that’s for sure. Just working and… you know, living life.”

As the conversation lingered, you couldn’t help but feel there was something unsaid, something heavier lurking beneath her calm demeanor. Finally, you decided to ask.

“Anyway,” you began, leaning forward slightly, “what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Dong-eun hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of her cup. Her gaze flickered downward for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was soft but deliberate.

“You know,” she said, almost wistfully, “I always wondered how someone as kind as you could be so close to him.”

Her words caught you off guard. Him? You blinked, your head tilting in confusion. “Who are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her eyes met yours, searching your face as though gauging your reaction. Finally, she asked, “Do you know why I dropped out of high school?”

You nodded slowly. “You were being bullied. I assumed that was the reason… that you didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice steady. “But I never told you who my bullies were.”

A chill ran down your spine. Something in her tone made your stomach knot. You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

She took a deep breath, her fingers now toying with the hem of her sleeve. “One of them was Jae-joon,” she said finally, her words landing like a thunderclap. “He was one of them.”

Your breath caught. Jae-joon? You stared at her, your mind racing. Jae-joon, the same person you’d been close to all these years? The same person you’d trusted, laughed with, maybe even defended? The shock on your face must have been evident, because Dong-eun gave a sad, knowing smile.

“I’m guessing he never told you,” she said, her voice tinged with resignation. “I didn’t think he would. Why would he admit something like that to you?”

You were at a loss for words. Memories of Jae-joon flooded your mind—his easy smile, his charm, the way he always seemed so confident. You couldn’t reconcile the image of him with what Dong-eun was telling you. But then you thought about her, about how she’d suddenly vanished from your life, leaving no trace. And you realized… maybe you’d never really known Jae-joon as well as you thought.

“I’m sorry you had to find out from me,” Dong-eun said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft but firm, her gaze unwavering.

You shook your head quickly, trying to process everything. “No… I—I needed to know.” Your voice trembled, and you suddenly felt a lump in your throat. “I’m sorry, but I… I have to go.”

Without waiting for her response, you grabbed your bag and stood. Your legs felt unsteady as you walked out of the café, the weight of her revelation pressing down on you like a heavy fog. As you stepped into the cold air, one question echoed in your mind: How had you missed it?

“Y/n, I’m home!” Jae-Joon called out from the entrance of your shared home, his voice echoing through the quiet space. The late hour clung to him like a shadow, exhaustion evident in the way he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair.

“Y/n?” he called again, his tone softening slightly when no response came.

He moved through the house, his footsteps muffled on the carpet as he checked the usual places you might be. The kitchen was empty, the living room undisturbed. A flicker of unease settled in his chest as he made his way toward the bedroom.

Pushing the door open slowly, Jae-Joon’s eyes landed on your still figure lying on the bed, your back facing him. Relief warred with apprehension as he stepped closer, his voice low and uncertain.

“Y/n?”

When you didn’t stir, he perched cautiously on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His hand found your hip, a gesture meant to bridge the growing distance he felt between you. For a moment, he said nothing, unsure how to break the silence that had thickened between you lately.

“How was your day?” he finally asked, his voice tentative.

“Fine,” you replied curtly, your tone as cold as the wall you stared at.

Jae-Joon’s shoulders sagged under the weight of your indifference. The silence returned, heavier than before. Sighing, he rose and left the room to prepare for bed, the unspoken words hanging in the air like ghosts.

The next morning, Jae-Joon woke to find the bed empty. He blinked at the sunlight filtering through the curtains, assuming you were already up. The faint clink of dishes guided him to the kitchen, where he found you seated at the table with a bowl of untouched cereal in front of you. Your gaze was fixed on some indiscernible point ahead, your posture rigid.

“Morning,” he greeted, though the lightness in his tone faltered when you didn’t respond. Shrugging it off, he began rummaging through the cabinets for something to eat.

“When were you going to tell me that you gave Dong-eun those burns?”

Your voice cut through the stillness. Jae-Joon froze, his hand hovering over the coffee pot. Slowly, he turned to face you, his expression a mixture of confusion and unease.

“What?” he managed, his voice strained.

“Or were you just hoping I’d never find out?” Your voice trembled, though your eyes remained fixed ahead.

Jae-Joon’s throat tightened. “Who told you? Did Dong-eun tell you?” He approached the table, his movements deliberate.

“Answer my question,” you snapped, finally meeting his gaze. Your red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks were like a punch to his gut. “Were you ever planning to tell me, Jae-Joon? Or did you think you could hide the fact that you were my best friend’s bully?”

His jaw clenched as anger flared in his eyes, a defense mechanism against the guilt clawing at him. “What did she tell you?” he demanded, his voice rising.

“Why are you so worried about what she said? Is it because it’s true?” you shot back, standing up abruptly.

The two of you locked eyes, the tension crackling between you like a live wire. You didn’t wait for his response. Turning on your heel, you strode toward the bedroom.

Jae-Joon followed close behind, his stomach twisting as he watched you yank a suitcase from the closet and toss it onto the bed. His heart sank further with every article of clothing you packed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” His voice cracked, the panic unmistakable.

“I’m done, Jae-Joon,” you said, your voice rising. “We’re over.” You zipped the suitcase with trembling hands, refusing to look at him.

“Y/n, wait!” He grabbed your wrist as you made for the door, his grip firm but not forceful. “Let’s talk about this. Please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You wrenched your arm free, your voice breaking.

Jae-Joon stood frozen as you walked out the door, the sound of your suitcase wheels scraping against the floor a bitter reminder of your departure. The silence that followed was deafening.

“FUCK!” The scream tore from his throat as he hurled a lamp across the room, the crash doing little to ease the storm raging inside him.

Grabbing his phone, he scrolled furiously through his messages until he found Dong-eun’s number. His hands shook as he hit the call button, the phone pressed tightly to his ear.

After several rings, her voice came through, calm and composed. “Hello?”

“WHAT DID YOU TELL HER?” he roared, his voice laced with fury.

“Simply the truth,” Dong-eun replied coldly.

“Because of you, Y/n left me!” His voice cracked, the admission spilling out like a wound reopening.

“Did you really think she wouldn’t find out, Jae-Joon?” Dong-eun’s voice was unyielding. “She deserved to know.”

He ended the call abruptly, hurling his phone across the room. Chest heaving, he sank onto the bed, his head in his hands.

Jae-Joon sat on the edge of the bed, his breathing ragged as the room fell silent. His hands shook. You were his—his light, his purpose, his everything.

You leaving wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. He’d make you see that. He’d make you come back to him, no matter what it took.

A smile—a chilling, empty smile—spread across his face. You weren’t responding now, but that was fine. He didn’t need words. He knew where you were. He’d find you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost tender. “You’ll understand soon, Y/n. We’re meant to be.”

His heart pounded with renewed determination as he got up, his mind racing with plans. You belonged to him, and nothing would change that.

Nothing.

Taglist: @petersasteria

[the-expired-tofu]

The Devil's Trumpets | Pt. 4

|| A 'The Glory' fanfic || MINORS DNI [18+]

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a/n: Hey there, this is my first time writing a fan fiction. I might change a few things in my fictions later on. Also, my English isn't my first language so my writing might lack some fluency. Hope you enjoy :) trigger warnings: lots of swearing, bullying, murder, gore, depression, abuse, mature content, violence, sexual themes. pairing: reader x multi

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Moon Dong-eun

I drove back to Semyeong after meeting with Y/N. I had to get some of the things done before I go back to Seoul to tutor her niece. I parked my car in the parking lot where Hyeon-nam, an assistant I hired, was supposed to meet me.

        Months ago, before I met Y/N, I was outside the Semyeong Foundation’s chairman’s house where I was busy rummaging through his garbage to find some disposed documents I needed to get into the Semyeong Elementary School, that’s when I met Hyeon-nam. She told me that she worked for the chairman and that, she threatened me she will report me to him if I didn’t give her those documents back, but soon that idea was dismissed. Instead, we made a deal. In exchange of her helping me with my plans, I am to kill her abusive husband.

        This is where I found the opportunity to make her my assistant. Ever since then, she’s been doing each and every task perfectly without getting caught. We both decided to meet at an empty parking lot at the end of the day, only to not be suspected. She would get inside my car and leave behind some documents and photographs I order her to gather. She is the reason I was able to apply for the homeroom teacher’s job.

        Few weeks after meeting her, I told her to drive to Seoul and get me some info on Y/N. I always had my mind made up to execute my plans alone. No, am not scared of them. But as more number of people I get by my side, the easier it would be for me.

        Since she couldn’t afford a car for herself, I had a black sedan bought under my name and let her borrow it. Before doing so, she took driving lessons for a month. After getting her license, she tracked down the chairman and got me all the information I needed. She is exceptionally good at her job, most probably loyal too.

        “But what about the toll booths? Won’t they charge me?”

        “Don’t worry, this car is under my name. And anyways I have a tag attached to the windscreen, so it will get paid easily and you have nothing to worry about,” I point at the top right corner of the screen.   

        “Alright ma'am.”

        “Make sure you get all the proper information and take necessary pictures. I need to know everything, I mean everything. The place where she lives, the job she works at, whether she lives alone, everything.”

        “Yes ma'am.”

        I had a picture of Y/N from when we both studied at the Sung-han High school. As far as I remember, both of us left the school mid-year. She had the advantage of using her step-father’s money to change schools mid-year, while I had to dropout. Before she encountered those leeches, she had quite many friends, and so did I, but I was closest to Gyeong-ran. We were inseparable, until I became a target to them. Ever since then, she didn’t even bother to take a stand for me, help me, nor even look at me. She behaved as if I didn’t even exist. It was the same for Y/N as well. In fact, no students nor teachers helped us out. Except, we had a school nurse who really looked out for us. She even took pictures of our injuries to use it against the person who was behind this (she didn’t know it was Yeon-jin back then). Unfortunately, she left the school after she found out it was her. On the bright side, I didn’t lose those pictures. I have plans to use these against them in the future.

        Hyeon-nam got back few days after I sent her to Seoul. I told her I would take care of her husband Seok-jae and her daughter Sun-a while she was away with the excuse that the chairman sent her to Seoul for a few days for some work in order to get paid more. They undoubtedly got easily convinced. At first, she was scared that he might abuse her daughter since she would be away for a few days. I managed that as well as I sent quite a lot of money to Seok-jae through Sun-A to get him more occupied with gambling. With that, he didn’t even bother to touch Sun-A. I am still waiting for the right time to get rid of him from their lives forever.

        “I got everything you asked for,” she said as she hands out a transparent file to me. Few of the contents fall onto my lap from the folder. I raise my hand to halt her from collecting them.

        “That’s the apartment she lives in,” she points out to the picture I was holding. “And this is a fast food restaurant where she works,” she hands me out another photo. “I also found that to afford her university funds, she also did a babysitting job few years ago.”

        “Which university did she go to?”

        “The Seoul Womens’ University. She was majoring in Data Science.”

        “Wait, she did a job before working at the fast food restaurant for her college funds? Didn’t her mother send her the money though?”

        “Yes, because her mom thought she was grown up enough to afford her own bills so that’s why, she stopped depositing money into her account.”

        “Also why couldn’t she afford a cell-phone for herself when she was still at school? I mean, her mother didn’t stop sending her the money back then?”

        “Her mother simply said not to buy herself any phones, because if she did, she would stop depositing her any necessary amount Y/N might have needed.”

        “They lived separately yet controlled her life, told her to do what she was told, classic parenting,” I said.

        “You’re saying that she majored in data science. We have quite many reputable companies in South Korea that hire students who major in this. Then how come she began working in a fast food restaurant?”

        “Well, the university she graduated from isn’t very well known. And that’s why, companies rarely recruit anyone from there.”

        “I see,” I nod my head in agreement.

        “Also there’s nothing really comfy about the apartment she lives in, nor the job she works at,” I said after I handed over the pictures to her. “Did you get to know anything about the school Min-hee attends?”

        “Nothing much, it’s just that it’s very cheap,” she hands out an advertisement pamphlet of that school. “It’s a nursery school after all, so I couldn’t find much about it.”

        “Okay,” I place the pamphlet on the dashboard.

        I released the seatbelt and it slid up behind me. I looked out at the mist outside as it made the whole parking lot partially visible. The streetlights lip up the mist like a halo as if some smoke passed through it. Far out beyond the highways, I could see the glowing blue Jaepyeong Construction logo at the top of the building.

        “Alright then, you’ve done enough as for now. Make a few copies and give them to me the next time we meet.”

        “Why can’t I mail these to you-“

        “No. Someone might find out about us. So just do as I say.”

        “Alright. Good night ma'am.”

        “Drive off before I leave.”

        I got out of her car to step outside and close the door behind me as I walk towards my car. As I get in, Hyeon-nam turns off the light inside and drives off. I turn the key in my ignition and the headlights turn on to make a bright glow on the wall opposite to my car.

        I steer my car towards the exit and enter the highway. Am not going home yet. I will visit Y/N after a few days. I have another job to do for now. I drive to the place where elders play a board game called Go. Quite an interesting game. One of my acquaintances taught me how to play it while I was still enrolled in Euicheon. It’s a game of who occupies the largest territory, wins the game.

        The place where the elders gather to play Go is where Ha Do-Yeong goes to after finishing his work. Go seems like a favorite game of his. That’s where am going to. My plan is to intrigue him through my Go skills and make him fall right into my trap. He’s the key who will lead me to Yeon-jin, his beloved wife, a monster.

************************************************************************

[royaltysuite]

The Glory Taglist

To all those who either requested to be added to this taglist or liked content on the fandom, you are now added to the Taglist for 'The Glory'. This allows you to make priority requests and commissions for THIS FANDOM ONLY!!! Please, let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the list.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @kdrama-i-nation @tempobaekh @hanahb333 @lov4gor3 @cravny @secretsfromwholecloth @super-amberlynn

[jenosbliss]

✈️⌇ Beneath the Skies

pairing. flight attendant!reader x captain!jeno | genre. fluff, smut, slight angst | wc. 4k | requested. here | mdni!

warnings. fingering, nipple play, penetrative sex, protected sex (not mentioned but always play safe), lots and lots of kissing and jeno is the greenest flag ever

summary. you and jeno were walking on eggshells around the airline staff, limiting to subtle touches and lingering glances until you sneaked away from the prying eyes. Everything was fine until it wasn't as rumors spread faster than fire.

a/n. guys i love jeno! (ugly crying) anyways if you're uncomfortable with the smut portion you can skip it

The overhead announcement crackled through the cabin speakers, smooth and steady, delivered in a deep voice that always seemed to command attention without even trying.

“This is your captain speaking. We’re beginning our final descent into Osaka. Local time is 7:42 PM, and the weather is clear with a light breeze. We’ll have you on the ground shortly. Thank you for flying with us.”

Jeno’s voice.

You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as you walked down the aisle of the aircraft, your polished heels clicking softly against the floor. As always, his words sparked a ripple of excitement across the cabin. You could practically see the passengers—and some of the other flight attendants—swooning as they tilted their heads toward the speakers.

“Captain Lee Jeno sounds like he should be in a movie,” whispered one of your colleagues, Sara, as she leaned in close to you near the galley.

You gave her a polite smile, hoping it wasn’t too forced. “Yeah, I guess he has one of those voices.”

One of those voices, and one of those faces. And one of those personalities that made your heart ache with an almost unbearable tenderness every time you thought about him. Which was too often.

Sara sighed dreamily. “Seriously, isn’t it unfair? He’s so good-looking and he’s a pilot. He’s the whole package.”

You glanced down at the tray of drinks you were holding, focusing on steadying your hands. “Yeah,” you said softly, unable to resist the flicker of warmth spreading in your chest. “The whole package.”

Sara didn’t notice the way your lips curved slightly or the way your voice softened. No one did. That was the point.

At work, you and Jeno were just coworkers. You had to be.

The first time you met him, you’d been a bundle of nerves, fumbling with your flight manual on your first day as a flight attendant. He had stopped you in the hallway leading to the crew briefing room, his white captain’s uniform crisp and impossibly neat. His voice had been calm and reassuring as he asked if you needed help, and his smile had been so genuine that your tension had melted away in an instant.

Since then, you and Jeno had become… close. Closer than you ever thought possible.

Somehow, between the endless flights, layovers in strange cities, and the long hours spent together in cramped crew lounges, he had become more than just your captain. He had become your anchor.

When turbulence hit—both in the air and in your life—Jeno was always steady. Always there.

But no one could know.

Not when you worked for an airline that prided itself on professionalism and strict boundaries between coworkers. Not when the rumor mill among the crew could destroy someone’s reputation in a heartbeat.

And so, you kept it quiet. Stolen glances in the cockpit. Soft, lingering touches when no one was looking. Conversations that stretched late into the night during layovers, when the rest of the crew was asleep and it felt like the world was just the two of you.

It was enough. Most of the time.

You stood near the exit as the passengers began filing off the plane, bowing and thanking them with a practiced smile. Jeno stood just a few feet away, his tall frame commanding and composed in his uniform.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, even as he greeted the passengers with the same professional smile you wore.

When the last passenger exited, Sara let out a dramatic sigh, leaning against the cabin wall. “Okay, I’m officially done for today. That flight was too long. Who’s up for drinks tonight?”

“I think I’ll pass,” you said quickly, unbuckling the thin scarf around your neck and folding it neatly. You glanced at Jeno out of the corner of your eye. His lips twitched in amusement, but he said nothing.

“Boring,” Sara teased. “You’re always skipping out on crew hangouts. It’s like you have a secret life or something.”

You laughed lightly, brushing off her comment. “Just tired, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie. You were tired—tired of pretending you didn’t notice the way your heart raced every time Jeno’s hand accidentally brushed yours, tired of hiding what you really wanted.

Jeno caught your eye as you both stepped off the aircraft, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused. His gaze was soft, full of something unspoken, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

The night in Osaka had started innocently enough.

The hotel room was larger than usual, the soft hum of the air conditioning filling the space as Jeno leaned against the dresser, his arms crossed over his chest. His tie was already loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and you couldn’t help but notice how unfairly good he looked. Relaxed. Comfortable.

The kind of comfort he only ever showed you.

“You didn’t have to come in here, you know,” he said, though the teasing lilt in his voice gave him away.

You rolled your eyes, sinking onto the edge of the bed as you kicked off your heels. “I wanted to.” That much was true. You weren’t ready to say goodnight to him yet—not after a flight full of stolen glances and moments that had left your chest tight with longing.

Jeno’s smile softened as he walked over to you, kneeling so he was eye level with where you sat on the edge of the bed. “Long day?”

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh as you leaned back on your hands. “Yeah. But this is the best part of it.” He tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. “What is?”

“Being here,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “With you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been. Jeno’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching slightly as if he was holding himself back from saying—or doing—something.

“Sometimes I think this is all we’ll ever get,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “These moments when no one’s watching.” Jeno reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a gesture so light it sent shivers up your spine. “Maybe that’s all we need.”

You shook your head, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said, his voice firm. “If it means I get to be with you, even if it’s just like this… I’ll take it.” Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling deep in your heart. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, and he leaned into your touch without hesitation.

“Jeno…”

Whatever you were going to say next was forgotten as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, his proximity dizzying.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Every single time I see you, all I want to do is—”

He cut himself off, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his forehead pressed more firmly against yours.

“Jeno,” you whispered, your voice trembling. That was all it took.

He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was as much a question as it was an answer. It was soft at first, hesitant, like he was afraid to push too far. But when you tilted your head, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer, the tension between you snapped like a rubber band.

The kiss deepened, growing hungrier, more desperate, as the weight of every unspoken feeling between you spilled over. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you lost yourself in the way he felt—warm, solid, grounding in a way nothing else ever was.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead dropped against yours once again, his breath warm against your skin.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “I don’t care where we are or who’s watching. All I want is you.”

Your heart felt like it might burst as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss.

The kiss was passionate as if Jeno tried to convey everything he felt for you through it. His thumb ran over your cheekbone in a soothing manner while his other hand slid under your dress shirt feeling the warmth of your skin under his.

When he broke the kiss, his lips trailed a wet path from the corner of your lips to the base of your neck. His grip on your waist became rough as he pulled you even closer while he kissed over your collarbone slowly as his lips found their way back to yours where he whispered “I need you.”

Your breath hitched slightly when he gently tugged at your shirt and all you could manage was a gentle nod. “You are going to be the death of me.” he whispered against your lips before pulling you into another soft kiss, his fingers undoing the buttons of your shirt with practiced ease.

Everything Jeno did always made your heart flutter. It wasn’t the first time you were being intimate with him, you have lost count on how many times both of you had shared a kiss and it led to this… both of you craving each other but that never stopped him from asking for your permission, even if he knew the answer. He didn’t have to ask but he did and this made you fall for him deeper and deeper.

Soon your clothes were on the carpeted floor, he had guided you to lay down on the mattress as he moved above you, his hands gently moving up and down your sides while his teeth lightly bit down on your neck making you moan. He licked over the same spot and moved to the other side of your neck repeating his actions.

“You’re beautiful.” he said, trailing his lips down to your chest and between your breasts, sucking and gently biting down on the skin there. He loved marking you up not because he wanted to assert his possession over you but he did so that whenever you look at them you can remember how much he wants you, needs you, loves you. He wants you to remember the words he whispers while he is making love to you, remember the nights of passion and just remember him.

His hands moved to where you needed him the most as he licked your nipples before taking them in his mouth making you arch your back. “Jeno” you whimpered, holding onto his bicep. “Fuck you’re so wet” he said running his fingers along your folds as he peppered wet kisses around your breasts.

He pushed one of his fingers between your folds and rubbed over your clit with his thumb all the while sucking on one of your boobs and fondling the other with his free hand. The simultaneous pleasure sent you moaning loudly and as if he sensed your need he added another finger increasing the pace. “Jeno please…” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed him further down on your chest.

He let go of your nipple with one final kiss as he whispered “Use your words baby.” looking at you while he continued to move his fingers inside you at an almost relentless pace all the while rubbing at your clit. He knew what you wanted and also how far he could push you. “Tell me what you want.”

“You! I want you please.” you begged, reaching out for his hand. Every constraint he had was slipping by, he intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to place gentle kisses on your knuckles. “Come on my fingers first? I don’t want to hurt you baby.”

With this said he curled his fingers inside you and rubbed at that spot making you throw your head back as your eyes rolled up. He cradled your face with his other hand and kissed down on your neck once again. “Does it feel good?” he asked and you could only manage to moan at the way his fingers were stretching you out. “I am close Jeno” you whimpered.

“Let it go. Come for me baby.” and as if you were waiting for his permission you came on his fingers moaning his name. He continued to move his fingers through your oragasm prolonging it. Fuck you loved sex with him.

“Do you want more? Or we can do it later.” He wiped the sweat on your forehead gently as he placed a lingering kiss over there. “You need a release too” you whispered looking at how hard he was under his boxers. He followed your gaze and chuckled, cupping your face in his hands as he leaned down to softly kiss your lips “Don’t worry about me, tell me what you want.”

Could he make you love him even more? You smiled back and rested your hand over his “I want you Jeno in every way possible. I want everything you’re willing to give me and everything we can be behind these closed doors.” you promised.

The promise held a thousand unsaid words and Jeno took a moment to just gaze in your eyes with the same desperation and helplessness before he kissed you again but this time it was gentler and slow. It was passionate but not quick and rough.

When he carefully and slowly slid inside you his eyes not once left yours, when he brought your intertwined hands to his lips again he closed his eyes to savour the feeling of your skin against his lips. He looked at you with an intensity that made your cheeks burn but you knew he was just memorizing you for all the time he would spend pretending he isn’t in love with you.

“You’re my heaven.” He groaned at the feeling of your warm walls taking him in as he moved, quickening his pace. “Fuck you feel so good.” he pressed his hand over your stomach slowly pushing you over the edge as you arched your back crying out his name.

His thrusts became faster and he wrapped his arms around your thighs pulling you closer, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. “Jeno… I-” you almost screamed at a particular hard thrust. “Does it hurt?” he asked, slowing his pace as he looked down at you concerned. You whined “No no, it feels so good… Please don't stop”

“I just want to make you feel good.” he leaned down to kiss you, drinking up your moans and soft whimpers as he once again increased his speed. His thumb reached down to rub on your clit adding to the pleasure and once again you found yourself close. And Jeno felt it too with the way you clenched around his length or how your grip on his back tightened and he pushed into you with more force and pressure.

You also felt him getting closer with his thrusts becoming erratic and sloppier. He bit down on your lip as he moaned, his fingers digging in your skin. “You are close?” he asked, pulling you closer. “Yes, yes- fuck Jeno” you moaned as he brushed against that spot making you see white. It might have been an involuntary response but the way you squeezed on him in response made him reach his high too and he came undone with a loud groan “Fuck baby… fuck”

He didn’t stop and fucked you both through the orgasms making you writhle under him due to oversensitivity. He smiled seeing you like that under him and slowed down his movements before pulling himself out and lying down next to you. “It was amazing.” He commented, breathing heavily.

You smiled wrapping your arm around his torso as he pulled you closer “It is always amazing with you.” He chuckled his chest rumbling with the sound as he placed a kiss on top of your head. “I am glad.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence comfortable. Jeno reached out instinctively, tucking a strand behind your ear. His eyes studied your face for a moment and he noticed your distant expression.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. You swallowed hard, looking down at your hand which was playing with his fingers. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I know you,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “And I can tell when something’s bothering you.” You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Jeno waited patiently, his dark eyes watching you with a tenderness that made you want to fall apart.

“It’s my family,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “They don’t… They’ve never really treated me the same as my siblings. No matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m never enough.”

Jeno’s jaw tightened, and you saw the flash of anger in his eyes—not at you, but for you. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re more than enough. You’re…” He paused, his brows furrowing as he searched for the right words. “You’re kind and hardworking and amazing at what you do. And anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve you.”

Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Jeno…”

He reached out, his hand moving under your chin to make you look at him. His touch was warm, grounding, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

“You don’t have to be perfect for anyone,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Not your family, not anyone. Just… be you. That’s all I need.”

And when you ended up tangled together on the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you, it felt like everything you’d been missing had finally fallen into place.

The next morning had been quiet between you, the comfort of his presence lingering as you shared a knowing smile before slipping out of his room. You’d thought you’d gone unnoticed.

You were wrong.

That morning, you’d heard the first murmurs: how you’d gone into Captain Lee’s room at the end of the night, how you’d been in there for hours.

They didn’t know what had happened. They didn’t need to. The damage was already done.

The rumors… they are subtle at first. Whispers in the break room, sideways glances from coworkers. But it doesn’t take long before you realize the truth: the two of you are the talk of the airline. Someone saw you leave the cockpit together. Someone noticed the way you look at each other during every briefing. And before you know it, the whispers turn into gossip, and the gossip turns into questions. The not-so-subtle questions about how you got your position and whether you’d been “using” Jeno to get ahead.

It hurt more than you expected.

Some of your colleagues, mostly the women, start acting strange around you. The sidelong glances, the not-so-innocent comments—it all builds, the pressure growing heavier by the hour.

“You and Captain Lee,” Sara says with a smirk as she hands you a coffee during a layover. “He’s such a charmer, isn’t he?”

You force a smile, but inside, you’re screaming. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, and the constant barrage of questions is slowly starting to crack your resolve.

Another colleague, this time a more direct one, doesn’t hold back. “Is it true? Are you two dating? I mean, it’s not like you can keep a secret around here.”

You feel your face flush, the weight of the question sinking in. “No,” you say quickly, but even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice. “We’re just... friends. Coworkers.”

But as the days pass, the questions don’t stop. And neither does the growing realization that your coworkers have already decided the truth that you slept your way up, and it’s nothing like what you’ve claimed.

The hardest part isn’t the gossip itself—it’s the way you feel when you realize that none of them see you as anything more than an object of their curiosity. The whispers of your coworkers, the rumors spreading like wildfire—it’s too much. It feels like everyone is watching, waiting for you to break.

But Jeno...

Jeno is there.

He’s always there.

You know he’s been feeling the tension too, the way he’s been watching you during flights, how his hand brushes against yours a little longer than necessary when handing you paperwork. You see the glint in his eyes, the quiet understanding of how hard it’s becoming for both of you.

And then, one evening after a particularly grueling flight, when the weight of it all is almost too much to bear, Jeno finds you crying in the staff lounge one day, you couldn’t hide it anymore. “I know what they’re saying,” he says quietly, as if reading your mind.

“Talk to me please, don’t shut me out.” he said, kneeling in front of you and gently tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes.

You broke.

“It’s the others,” you admitted, tears streaming down your face. “They think… they think I’m only here because of you. That I’m not good enough to do this on my own and I earned this position by sleeping with you.”

Jeno’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed your words. “That’s not true,” he said fiercely. “You’re one of the best flight attendants I’ve ever worked with, and you earned your place here. Don’t let them take that away from you.”

His words made something inside you crack wide open. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” you whispered. Jeno’s hands tightened around yours. “Yes, you can. And you’re not alone. I’m here, okay? I’m with you.”

“I hate… hiding,” you said, your voice trembling. “I hate feeling like I have to apologize for being with you. Like I’m doing something wrong.”

Jeno reached out, his hands settling on your shoulders as he pulled you closer. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said firmly. “And you don’t have to apologize for anything. Not to me, not to anyone.”

Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your eyes again as you looked up at him. “But it’s not just me. They’re saying things about you, too. About how you—”

“Stop,” he said gently, his hands sliding down to take yours. “Let them say whatever they want. None of it matters. What matters is us.”

His words wrapped around you like a shield, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe again.

Despite the whispers and the tension, you held your head high. And Jeno was with you every step of the way, his quiet support and unwavering belief in you giving you the strength to keep going.

And when he held your hand during a layover in Paris, walking with you along the Seine as the city lights reflected in the water, it felt like all the pieces of your world were finally falling into place.

“You’re my favorite co-worker,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You laughed, your cheeks flushing as you leaned into him. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you,” he said, his voice dropping to a soft, serious tone. He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The city seemed to fade away as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks.

“I love you,” he said, the words spilling out like a promise. “And I don’t care who knows it or what they think of it.” Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. But then you smiled, your heart swelling with so much emotion you thought it might burst.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

And when he kissed you, it felt like the beginning of something new—something that was entirely yours. No matter what anyone else thought, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew one thing for certain:

With Jeno by your side, the skies were always clear

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

[slut4hee]

Blow Me

{Paring: Boy Best Friend Lee Heeseung x Blk Fem! Reader

{Genre: pure smut, 18+ so (mdni).

{Summary: In which your boy best friend, mentions how he’s never had a blowjob before. You being the caring best friend you are, you decide to give him his first experience.

{Warnings: explicit scenes, blowjob, cum play, throat fucking, dirty talk, pet names, ass slapping, ambw themes.

—————————————————————————

Just like every other Friday night, you were at your best friend Heeseung’s dorm. It has been a tradition, for you and Heeseung to get together every weekend, and watch a marathon of Friday the 13th. But tonight was a little different, instead of focusing on the movie, you both were engrossed in the conversation you guys were having about the latest drama on campus.

“Wait so Jake really fucked Sara?” Heeseung said bewildered, before taking a big sip from his soda.

“I can’t make this shit Hee, I caught him blowing her back out, on the side of the building” You laughed out loudly, taking a handful of chips, and popping them inside your mouth.

One thing you loved about being around Heeseung, is that you could be yourself, you didn’t have to worry about him judging you because you both felt comfortable around each other.

“Oh, not only that, I heard Selena gave Jay a blowjob inside the bathroom stall” You quoted, that one surprised Heeseung, he knew Jay got around. But he didn’t expect him to get little innocent Selena to give him head.

“You mean like Selena from our math class? No way!” He said, but you just giggled and gave him a knowing look, he couldn’t believe Jay.

“No wonder he was bragging in the gc, talking about how he got his soul snatched or whatever the hell that means” Heeseung said, grabbing the chip bag and taking a handful, before you finish it all, you loved Doritos.

“What you do you mean, what do you mean? Haven’t you had plenty girls slob on your knob” You teased, wiggling your eyebrows and giggling.

But Heeseung remained quiet, a shade of blush appearing on his face as he swallows harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You looked at him confused, did you say something that made him feel uncomfortable? You and him always talked about your sexual experiences so what was the problem tonight.

“You good Hee?” You questioned, leaning towards him to get him to look back at you. He looked back at you, and you could see sweat forming on his forehead, looking like a dear caught in headlights. He sighed, before running his hands through his silky red hair.

“Promise you won’t laugh at me when I tell you this” He said hesitantly, but you could hear the seriousness and vulnerability in his tone.

“Heeseung we’ve been best friends since elementary school, when have i ever judged you?” You said, you were a little offended he thinks you would judge him. He took a deep breath and nodded, biting his bottom lip, before he finally let the words fall off his tongue.

“I-I’ve never had a blowjob before” He blurted out, heat immediately rushing to his face, embarrassment written all over his facial expression. The silence was so loud, as you stared at him with your mouth agape, he had to be fucking with you right now.

“Are you serious Hee?” You finally spoke, swallowing hard and slightly tilting your head to the side to look at him. He sighed once again, before nodding, his innocent bambi eyes letting you know, he’s telling the truth.

“Yeah, I uh, never got to experience how it feels” He chuckled shyly, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. You on the other hand was baffled, you couldn’t believe Heeseung has not had one girl suck his big cock. The only reason you know it’s big, because you accidentally walked in on him junior year.

“What about when you and that Karina chick was dating, she never went down on you ever. You said, sitting up real quickly, since the conversation was growing more intense and interesting.

“She tried, but as soon as she choked on it, she backed out, and said it was too uncomfortable and she didn’t like the taste. “Wow what a weak bitch” you thought to yourself, if it were you, you would have snatched his soul and made him cum inside your mouth.

Truth is, you always had a crush on Heeseung, ever since you met him, in the 5th grade-you loved him. But the fear of ruining the friendship is what kept you away, you didn’t want to lose the person who truly knows you. But tonight you were feeling risky, the buzzing feeling, from the soju running through your body.

“How about I show you” You blurted out before you could catch yourself. Heeseung quickly whipped his head around, staring at you wide eyed, as he processed the words that just came out of your mouth.

“W-what? What do you mean?” He stuttered, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t losing his damn mind, so he had to hear you repeat your words again.

“I said, I wanna suck your dick, I wanna show you how it feels to get swallowed” You said, smirking at him with your signature mischievous smirk. He could feel his cock jump in the confines of his boxers, holy shit you were fucking serious.

“I-i mean, I would like to” He said, feeling himself growing painfully hard, as you both have a stare off between each other, lust clouding the both of your eyes. Without saying another word, you leaned in, and started kissing his lips slowly.

You moaned inside his mouth, the sweet taste of the cherry cola, still lingering on his lips heightened your senses. You deepened the kiss, climbing onto his lap, your thick body covering his slender one. Heeseung moaned into the kiss, the feeling of your body on top of his, was making him so much harder.

“Fuck Hee, didn’t know you were such a good kisser, should’ve done that sooner” You smirked, rubbing your long acrylics down his toned chest. Heeseung smiled shyly, his eyes hooded with desire, he wanted you so badly it hurts.

You kept eye contact with him, as you trailed your fingers down his chest, until you got to the band of his sweats. You grabbed ahold of the obvious bulge inside his pants, starting to palm his clothed dick. He threw his head back, his mouth agape, as he lets out soft breathless moans.

“Mmm so responsive, so sensitive baby” You purr, climbing off his lap, and coming face to face with his boner, your ass in the air. Heeseung bit his lip harshly, the sight of your plump ass in the air, had him fighting demons. He couldn’t resist, reaching to grab a handful of your ass, squeezing and smacking the fatty flesh.

“Gonna show you, how it feels to get your soul snatched, gonna suck the life out of you” You moaned, tugging down his sweatpants. His hard leaking cock sprang free, his cock twitching and begging for some attention.

“Fuck Heeseung, you’re packing baby” You moaned, grabbing ahold of his thick base, and pumping his cock slowly. Heeseung groaned, his body jolting forward at the mere feeling of your soft palms touching his dick.

“F-fuck, that feels s’good” He said, his words slurring, already drunk off the feeling of you taking care of his body.

“Oh you think that’s good, watch this.” You smirked, moving your hair out of your face, taking the tip of his cock and sucking on it. Like clockwork Heeseung let out a loud moan, his body jolting forward once again, fuck your mouth felt like nothing he’s ever felt before.

“O-oh my god, Y/n…. Shit—baby” He whined, his hands gripping the sheets tightly, as you take him deeper inside your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head. You hummed at the salty taste of his precum, swirling your tongue all around his sensitive tip.

“Fuuuckk, oh god baby—just like that baby girl, so damn good for me” He praised, looking down at you sucking his big cock, your eyes never left his, as you bobbed your head up and down faster. Heeseung felt like the room was spinning, the air was suffocating, and his body temperature was skyrocketing.

You relaxed your throat to take him deeper, his tip kissing the back of your throat. He let out a pathetic whine, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, as feels his soul leaving his body from the feeling of your tight throat.

“Fuck fuck fuckkk, Oh Y/n, Y-your throat feels so fucking good” He cried out, his toes curling, sweat dripping down his forehead, as he feels his peak approaching soon. You moaned around his cock, your tongue circling the tip, and licking inside the slit.

“Fuck my throat baby, feed me that dick” You purr, Heeseung grabbed your hair, holding it in a makeshift ponytail, as he starts to fuck your mouth. The sinful wet sounds of you choking on his cock, echoed throughout his dorm room, he’s pretty sure the people next door knew exactly what was going down in his room.

“Shittt, goddamn Y/n, you gonna make me fucking cum” He cried out, his balls tightening, and his stomach churning in the best way possible. You looked up at him with your pretty brown eyes, your mouth full of his cock, as you took what he gave you like a good girl.

That must have set him off, as he felt his muscles clenching, a wave of heat washed over his body, as held your head in place shooting thick spurts of white cum. He let out a guttural moan, fully emptying out his balls deep inside your throat.

You pulled off his spent dick, opening your mouth, as you showed him his creamy goodness on your tongue. You swirled it around in your mouth a little, savoring the salty bitter taste, before swallowing every last drop. His chest heaved up and down, as he fought to catch his breath, you had truly snatched his soul.

“And that’s how it feels, to get swallowed baby”

A/n: zammmmmnnn, Y/n is a throat goat🤭 ngl I wanna eat his dick rn as well 🥴 reblogs and feedback appreciated!!

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Taglist:

@i03jae @ataver @ancnymcnzjy @kolawnk

[seospicybin]

TASTE.

CHAPTER VI: ZESTY.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

TASTE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen. (20,8k words)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he sees you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

Minho’s absence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did,” you answer.

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

You hesitate before gesturing toward Seungwan.

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

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

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

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

The kitchen stills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tension simmers, thick and suffocating.

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

The dinner service continues, but nothing feels the same.

-

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

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

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

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

Minho blinks, taken aback. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho’s jaw tightens as you continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris nods firmly. “Yes.”

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

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

“Honest,” you reply immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Minho stares at them, dumbfounded. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

You glance at him briefly but say nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunwoo nods, moving toward his station.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ginseng Pasta.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rossi raises an eyebrow. “And why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

Rossi glares at him but says nothing.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ow!” you yelp, jerking back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho shrugs. “Just an old friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho scoffs. “They deserved it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t answer.

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

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

-

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

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

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

The entrée line.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

From your corner, you barely breathe.

So, this is how it finally comes to light.

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

But for you, it does.

-

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

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

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

“What happened with you and Sara in Italy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence stretches between them.

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

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

-

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

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

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

“Do you need help?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your shoulders slump. Still bitter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The milk,” you blurt out.

Chris tilts his head. “What about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Does that mean we’re breaking up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, nothing.

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

But you don’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

And then—he stops.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Chef Rossi.

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

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

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

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

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

The words lash through the room, sharp and unforgiving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

Chef Rossi.

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

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

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

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

His gaze sharpens. Then— He hisses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whose recipe is this?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef.”

Chef Rossi huffs. “And stop slacking off.”

You snap a quick, “Yes, Chef.”

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

-

Minho has been waiting for this.

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

There you are.

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

And there you stand, grinning from ear to ear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. “Just a little?”

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

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

Then, he asks, “Are you happy?”

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

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

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

Pride. Happiness. You.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence lingers between them, heavy and suffocating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He meets her gaze, giving her his full attention.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Unless—

The kitchen door swings open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho nods, giving him permission to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach twists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something had. Minho was back.

-

The knock on the door comes just as Minho expected.

“Come in.”

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

“You called for us, Chef?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho glares. “Get out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yes, Chef.”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

You nod innocently.

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

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

You blink. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Felix is too busy nursing his wounds to respond immediately.

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

You nod. “Yes, chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Felix groans in defeat. “Yes, chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

Minho rejects the idea without hesitation. “No.”

You frown. “Why not?”

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

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

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

You blink. “What—?”

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a short laugh. “Considerate?”

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

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

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

-

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

“Specially made for you, chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That catches Taesoo off guard. “You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Felix beams. “Yes, chef!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yes, chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your apology only fuels his anger. “Is that an excuse?” he demands. “You think that makes it okay?”

“No, I—” You swallow thickly. “I didn’t mean it like that, Chef.”

From the side, Seungwan mutters just loud enough to be heard, “Ooh, I guess she needs her own exclusive frying pan so customers won’t complain.”

Minho hears it, but he doesn’t acknowledge him. His attention is solely on you.

“A true chef,” he says coldly, “should be able to serve a perfect scallop dish even with a hundred-year-old frying pan.”

A lump forms in your throat, but you force yourself to swallow it down. You feel like crying. The entire kitchen is watching as Minho—the chef, but also your boyfriend—publicly tears you down.

You lower your gaze. “I’m sorry, chef.”

But Minho doesn’t let up. “Do it again,” he orders, his tone unwavering.

You clench your fists, push back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you, and nod. “Yes, chef.” Then you turn back to your station, forcing yourself to focus.

As you start over, you remind yourself that Minho is right. His judgment is fair. This is your fault. Not his.

-

Minho knows you must be at least a little upset about the way he scolded you earlier. He saw the way you clenched your fists, the way you swallowed down whatever you wanted to say. He saw the way your shoulders tensed as the entire kitchen watched.

But he also knows you understand why he did it. So he waits.

The locker room is quiet when he steps in, and as expected, you're there, putting on your jacket. At the sound of his footsteps, you turn swiftly to face him.

Minho watches you for a moment, then exhales. "You should know," he says, voice even, "that your one mistake is equivalent to another cook’s ten mistakes."

You nod, your expression neutral, but Minho knows you're listening carefully.

He folds his arms. "Let's not create a situation where everyone has their eyes on us. Again."

Again, you nod. "I understand. I’m sorry, chef."

The words make something twist uncomfortably in Minho’s chest. He should feel satisfied, should let it go now that you've acknowledged your mistake. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

Instead, he grabs your wrist and pulls you with him.

Minho takes you back to the kitchen. It’s empty now, quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerators. He lets go of your wrist. "Get some scallops."

You quickly retrieve a container of scallops marinated in olive oil and set them on the counter.

Minho looks at you, then gestures to the stove. "Watch closely."

He turns the burner on, lets the flames rise high before grabbing a frying pan. Pouring a small amount of olive oil in, he waits until it shimmers.

"Fire isn’t the only thing that cooks food," he says, then lowers the flame slightly. "There’s also heated oil."

Carefully, he places a scallop into the pan. The instant sizzle fills the room. "Use the heated oil to lightly cook the surface of the scallop."

You're watching him with full focus now, your eyes darting between his hands and the scallop. After a moment, you ask, "Will the temperature of the oil eventually go down?"

Minho smirks slightly, impressed by your attention to detail. "You have to keep the temperature of the oil the same while reducing the flame."

He finishes cooking and takes the scallop from the pan. You hand him a plate before he even asks. He places it down, then, instead of plating it properly, he picks it up and hands it directly to you. "Here. Try it."

You cut a small piece with a fork, bringing it to your lips. The moment you taste it, your eyes widen slightly in delight. "I can only taste the olive oil," you say. "No odor at all."

Minho smirks. "Enough with the compliments. Now, it’s your turn."

You grab a fresh pan, mimicking his actions. He watches from your side, his gaze sharp, taking in every detail.

"Stop battling with the frying pans," he murmurs. "Focus on controlling the fire."

You nod but then pause, turning to look at him. "Are you upset and frustrated because of me, Chef? Are you perhaps... anxious?"

Minho meets your gaze. He can’t lie to you—not when you’re the only other person who knows what it feels like. The weight of expectations. The pressure of perfection. On top of all that, his relationship with you is affecting everything. After a second of hesitation, he finally admits, "Yeah."

You don’t look surprised, but you don’t look offended either. You just hold his gaze, waiting for more.

Minho exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don’t know why I’m being so hard on you," he finally says, his voice quieter now.

But he does know. And he’s sure you do too.

-

Dinner service is chaos. The heat, the noise, the endless string of orders—it’s all a blur, but you do your best to keep up. More than anything, you keep one thing in mind: no mistakes. Not today.

You move quickly but carefully, ensuring every movement is precise. Next to you, Seungwan shifts nervously, glancing at you as he works.

“How much longer on your scallop?” he asks, his voice tight.

You wipe your hands on a cloth before answering, “Two minutes.”

Seungwan groans. He can't start plating his dish until you’re done. “You’re taking too long,” he mutters.

You ignore him. You don't need the extra pressure. You just need to get this right.

A moment later, you're placing the garnish on your plate when Seungwan sighs again. “Done now?”

Without answering, you lift the plate and carefully walk it over to the chef’s table. Minho stands there, arms crossed. He doesn’t taste it. He simply picks up the plate, examines it with that unreadable gaze of his, and then—

“Do it again!”

Your shoulders sag. You did exactly what he taught you. You made sure everything was right. But maybe it’s your fault for expecting anything different. “…Yes, chef.”

Seungwan lets out an exasperated groan as you take the plate back. “Chef, seriously?” he protests.

Minho barely glances at him. “Then you do it again too.”

Before Seungwan can argue, Minho’s voice rings out across the kitchen. “Everyone, stop the course and wait six minutes until she’s done.”

Felix protests from the other side of the kitchen. “Chef, my pasta’s gonna bloat!”

“Then make it again.” Minho’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Seungwan grabs the rejected plate and takes a bite, his eyes widening in surprise. “Chef, this should be pass. It’s pretty good.” He turns to Sous-chef Seojun. “Try it, Sous-chef.”

Seojun takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before looking at Minho. “She cooked it properly. All the dishes are being delayed because of this. Aren’t you being too strict, Chef?”

The air in the kitchen shifts. Minho’s eyes flick to Seojun, sharp and dangerous. “Too strict? Do I look like the kind of chef who picks and chooses which dish to be strict on?” Minho challenges. His voice is calm, but there’s an underlying edge.

He then exhales sharply. “Hors d’oeuvre is the first thing the customer tastes. We’re not serving whatever just because we’re in a rush.”

Seojun still looks unconvinced. “Then put her at the end of the line. Not the front.”

Seungwan nods. “Yeah, just have her do desserts. Doesn’t have to be on time.”

The conversation turns into background noise as you force yourself to focus. It doesn’t matter what they say. You just need to finish this dish while Minho’s words echoing in the back of your mind: Let's not create a situation where everyone has their eyes on us. Again.

You push through, ignoring the pressure, ignoring the way your hands shake slightly as you plate the dish.

“Hurry up!” Minho barks from across the kitchen.

When you bring it back to the chef’s table, Minho picks it up—only to let out a small sigh as he sets it back down. “Stop making scallops. Start making desserts.”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then, meekly, you nod. “Yes, chef.”

You move to the dessert station, tucked in the corner of the kitchen. At least here, no one can see how upset you are

Felix, instinctively, takes the rejected dish and tastes it. A moment later, his voice cuts through the tension. “I don’t think the orders are backed up because of her,” Felix says, looking straight at Minho. “I don’t think it’s her fault at all. I think it’s... you.”

Silence.

Minho moves before anyone can react. He grabs Felix by the sleeve of his chef’s coat and pulls him toward the chef’s table. “Then why don’t you stand here and be the head chef then?” he challenges.

Felix looks down, guilt flashing across his face. “…I’m sorry, chef.” He then walks back to his station in defeat.

You keep your head down and focus on desserts, but doubt creeps in. You remember what Felix once said about Minho’s judgment always being fair. But now, you’re not so sure.

-

The restaurant is empty. Everyone has gone home, but you’re still here, still in your chef’s coat. Instead of heading to the locker room, you drag yourself to the coffee station and slump onto one of the stools.

You stack your hands together and rest your head on them, exhaling a long sigh, as if you could release all the weight of the day in one breath.

Minutes pass. You don’t bother looking at the clock. Then, the stool beside you creaks. You turn your head and find Chris sitting next to you, his warm smile greeting you before his voice does.

“So… how many scallop dishes got rejected today?”

His calm demeanor only makes you curious so you meekly ask, “As the owner, aren’t you upset about all the wasted ingredients?”

“Yeah,” Chris tilts his head slightly and adds, “But it’s not you I don’t like. It’s the chef.”

His words are meant to be comforting, but they don’t make you feel any better. Another sigh escapes your lips as you rub your temples. Chris places a hand on your shoulder, patting it gently. “You worked hard today.”

Before you can respond, a loud, exaggerated ahem sounds from behind. The suddenness of it makes you jolt upright, nearly falling off the stool.

You spin around. Minho. Immediately, you straighten your posture. “Thank you for your hard work today, Chef,” you say, keeping your tone formal.

Minho doesn’t acknowledge it. He simply takes the stool on your other side, leaving you sandwiched between him and Chris.

Chris, without even looking at Minho, asks, “So, when do you think she’ll finally get her scallops approved?”

Minho barely pauses before replying dryly, “Why don't you increase the budget for ingredients? I think she might deplete the entire country’s scallop supply.”

You groan, burying your head in your hands. Silence settles for a brief moment. Then—

“Is that you?”

You freeze. The voice is too familiar. Your head snaps up so fast your neck almost cramps.

“Dad?!” You gasp, scrambling to stand. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me and tell me you were coming?”

Your dad doesn’t hesitate. “I came because you told me you were having a hard time choosing between two guys.”

Oh my god. Your dad says it so loud that you know Minho and Chris definitely heard it. Heat rushes to your face. “D-Dad, that’s not—”

Desperate to change the subject, you turn to Chris in a panic. “This is Chris! He’s the manager.”

Chris, ever polite, nods in acknowledgment. But your dad isn’t interested in introductions. He looks at you, then at Minho and Chris, before calmly saying, “Sit.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Your dad gestures at the stools. “Sit down.”

Chris and Minho immediately obey. You, however, rush to your dad’s side, hoping to end this nightmare before it gets worse. “The restaurant’s closed, Dad. Let’s just go somewhere else, yeah?”

“No,” he replies. “Sit and stay quiet.”

You groan in pure humiliation but obey, sinking back onto your stool.

Your dad studies the two men beside you. Then, with an almost too casual tone, he asks, “These two… are they the ones you’re confused about?”

“Dad!” You shriek then slap a hand over your face. Please stop talking. You continue the sentence inside your head. But, of course, he doesn’t.

He continues, “So which one is the rich, reasonable one? The one with the good personality who tells you everything you cook is nice?”

Silence. Then, without missing a beat, Minho says flatly, “I don’t think that's me, Sir.”

Of course, it isn’t. Your dad’s eyes immediately dart to Chris.

Chris stiffens, suddenly looking much more formal. He straightens his posture, clasps his hands together, and greets your dad politely.

“Nice to meet you, Sir.”

Satisfied, your dad then turns to Minho. “So you must be the other guy.”

Minho, somehow equally as polite, inclines his head slightly. “Yes, that would be me, sir.”

You groan again, this time covering your entire face with your hands. This is already mortifying. You try one more time to escape. “Dad, let’s just go somewhere and have dinner—”

“Sure,” your dad says easily. “Then we can go and eat together.”

You stare at him, horrified. “All of us?”

He scoffs. “No. One at a time.”

And then, without hesitation, he turns to Chris and points at him. Chris sits up straighter, his polite smile unwavering.

To everyone's surprise, your dad says, “You can go home.”

Chris blinks. “Huh?”

Before you can even process what’s happening, your dad points at Minho next and says, “You. Come with me.”

Minho doesn’t even question it. He just follows your dad as if this is a normal thing. You stare at their retreating figures, still frozen in disbelief. Your dad and Minho. Walking side by side.

Chris lets out a low whistle beside you. “Well… that was unexpected.”

You’re too stunned to react. You shift your gaze back to the where they're going, a strange sense of unease settling in your stomach.

Your dad has always been stubborn. He’s firm in his beliefs, never backing down once he’s made up his mind. He’s blunt, unrelenting, and terrifying when he wants to be.

And Minho? Minho is the exact same way.

They’re both headstrong. Both unforgiving. Both demanding perfection. You don’t know what’s worse—the idea of them getting along too well or the thought of them completely clashing.

Either way… You don’t want to be there when it happens.

-

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[luxora]

The Glory -> {Highschool AU} -> Getting Jealous

Requested: No

Kdrama: The Glory

Genre: Angst. Fluff?

Warnings: Mentions of bullying. No remorse. Swearing. Violence. Possessive behavior. Some blood

A/N: I absolutely do not condone anything that was presented in the kdrama. No one should ever bully others. This is all purely fiction.

Moon Dongeun

Dongeun is no stranger of misery, especially given her role in the school courtesy of the actions of Yeonjin and her gang.

But this kind of misery was of a whole new different kinds, something that you were completely unaware of, which in her opinion, made it so much worse.

You would not describe yourself as an extrovert, but you were most certainly a lot more outgoing that Dongeun. Dongeun would say that she bordered more on the introverted side, but also she simply did not have the time to truly reach out to befriend any other of her classmates because of all her time constantly being taken up by Yeonjin.

It was still impressive itself that she managed to befriend you, although no one really knows of the friendship between the two of you aside from yourselves.

It is not like you didn't try approach her in school, but for a matter of your preservation and her own irrecoverable habit of self-isolation, she tended to avoid you like the plague until it was absolutely necessary to interact with you in a public setting.

She did not want Yeonjin or any of the others to realize that she had someone who made her experience at school more durable, because then they will use that against her.

You didn't deserve to go through with what she is going through. The thought of you possibly being hurt by Yeonjin or Sara, or even Jaejun, it literally made Dongeun sick to the stomach; hence why she proceeded to avoid contact as much as possible.

Ignorance was bliss in this case; however, in her current predicament, it was anything but bliss for Dongeun.

She silently stewed in her seat as she waited for you to join her for the project the two of you were to work on together. Group assignments were rather rare, but this time the teacher decided it would be most suitable to have a partner with the assignment, and so you took the opportunity to work with Dongeun, something which made her both happy and scared at the same time.

Deciding to work on the foundation of your shared assignment, the two of you agreed to meet in the school library to start your research, but while you were heading towards her at the decided working table, you got caught in a conversation with one of your other classmates, and the way the two of you were talking, Dongeun couldn't help but feel...frustrated by the interaction.

She barely gets to spend as much time with you as she would prefer, the two of you only meeting outside of school at odd times when Dongeun was in working order to go to your home, or when she was permitted to some kind of freedom where she would be unsuspected from others.

So in her mind, this project just gave her an opportunity to simply be with you without any suspicion - so the fact that her time with you was getting interrupted was bothering her, especially when she sees you laughing at something that the classmate said which she is not privy to.

Her hands tightened into a fists, a miserable ball lodging itself in Dongeun's throat as the passing seconds felt like hours, especially since you were not getting closer to her anytime sooner as you continued conversing with the classmate, continuously laughing at their words despite the library being a place of silence.

She had no reason to become so uneasy at all of this, as you were a talkative person naturally, but - the fact her time with you was being encroached by a bystander - it was bothering her and she did not like the fact that she was being left here to wait for you while you were only so far away from her.

Dongeun swallowed down the misery in her throat, attempting to get a control over her emotions, released her hand from its violent self-grip to try reapply herself before you eventually arrived to the table, not realizing that you had in fact finished up your conversation and was heading over to her in that very moment. Hence why she jumped when you voice was suddenly right next to her.

"Hey Dongeun!"

She snapped her head to look at you with a bewildered expression, prompting you to cock your head from the sudden reaction.

"Are you okay? Why are you so jumpy?"

"I-I.." Dongeun flustered on the spot before shook her head, averting her gaze from yours. "Sorry, its nothing."

"Are you sure?" You inquired, taking a seat next to her, placing your books on the table. She nodded. "Well, if you're certain."

Dongeun didn't say anything further as you began to open your books and started talking about the project, completely oblivious to the effect that you had concurrently had on her from both the interaction with your classmate and you being right beside her in a public setting which was to have no proper negative repercussions.

That feeling - not appreciate it - and now she was trying consider of what it truly meant to her own psych over the fact that she became affected from something so menial as a conversation with a classmate.

She must be going crazy - that was the only solution that she could really come up with.

While she is no stranger of pain, she did not revel in it. And she most certainly did not want to revel in that type of misery again. Only something tells her that it won't e first or the last time she will feel such a thing again.

And that is was scares her.

Park Yeon-jin

Ever since she was a child, Yeonjin has never been someone who likes to share her things. Perhaps it stemmed from being the only child, not having siblings to fight over the attention of her parents nor to negotiate and compromise over ownership of any material thing.

Therefore, going forward in her teenage years, Yeonjin still maintained the idea that whatever belonged to her was hers, and that was non-negotiable. Not even Sara was given the courtesy to have a taste of her own divinely pleasures because Yeonjin was the primary owner of items, first and foremost, and she didn't share.

And this segment particularly applied to you.

The scene before her was just pissing her off. Yeonjin tapped her fingers irately against her forearm as she watched you interact with with the older students, a shy smile on their face as they offered you a rose, courtesy of the Valentine event of which the younger years had to offer flowers to seniors they admired.

Yeonjin never found an interest in such a thing as she had much better things to do instead of chasing after some stupid male seniors. None of them had her interest and all the other older grades just got worse in terms of appearance, filling her with much disgust.

But nothing disgusted her more than the fact that you were blushing all because of the reversal roles between you and the older male senior.

Yeonjin didn't know why, but her blood was boiling over the fact that there was a blush on your cheeks, your own lips quirked in a nervous smile as you accepted the rose, head ducked down while the senior spoke to you, rubbing his neck nervously as you stood in place, head ducked down bashfully.

"Wow, he must be desperate." Hyejeong's voice cracked into Yeonjin's ears like nails on the chalkboard, her voice making Yeonjin's air stand up as she giggled mockingly. "To think he would go after Y/N of people. He must have lost a bet."

That better be the reason of why he would be approaching you in the first place. While Hyejeong continued to talk, Yeonjin kept her eyes locked on the two of you, her nails this time digging into her forearm as she watched with aflame eyes as the male senior reached for your hand, lowering his head so that he was on par with your height. He whispered something and Yeonjin could not help but fucking curse when you giggled again, nodding your head to something before lifting your head to give him a full blown smile.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

"-must be putting out or something. Otherwise why else would he-"

Hyejeong has literally trodden on the last thread of her patience. Without hesitation, Yeonjin swung around and all but slapped the pathetic bitch across the face, prompting a loud cry out of her lips as she literally crumbled to the floor, the strength behind the slap knocking her entirely off balance.

The air in her chest was tight, a volcanic eruption threatening to burst as she heaved shakily on the spot, eyes narrowed dangerous at Hyejeong as she stared up fearfully at her.

"For once in your life, will you shut the fuck up?!"

"Miss Park, that type of behavior and language is completely unacceptable!"

Yeonjin didn't even spare a glance at the bitch teacher that had hurried towards the two of them scoldings and threats leaving her lips as she addressed Yeonjin. She instead glanced back in your direction, only to be found in the center of your attention as you stared wide-eyed at her, the rose in your hand being clenched tightly while your lips stood ajar. She noticed that your hand was no longer being held captive by the stupid buffoon beside you, instead it clenched to your side, clutching some the material of your school skirt as your continued to stare at Yeonjin.

Despite the circumstances of it, she couldn't help but inwardly preen over the fact that your attention was now on her. But then she remembered why it was not on her in the first place, which reinforced the fury which was already boiling in her chest. Instead of saying a word, she just flashed you a glare of promise, resulting in a feared expression crossing of your face.

She was going to get you back for this. Sometime today, she was going to find you and make you suffer the consequences for making her feel so fucking stupid and angry over a fucking flower.

You have fucking forgotten your place, and it is about time she reminded you just who you fucking belonged to.

You were hers. And no fucking Valentine flower must make you think that anything changes that. If she must kill that damn asshole, then so be it. You're hers - and she is going to make sure that you remember that.

Jeon Jae-jun

Jaejun didn't realize that he was bashing the bastard's head in until he was doing it.

There was a buzz in his ears while he kept slamming the idiots head into the desk, uncaring of the screams and shouts that erupted in the class as Jaejun gripped the guy's head tightly by the hair and kept slamming his head full-force into the wooden surface.

Even though he tried fighting back, it was of no use. Jaejun had him, and he was going to make sure that he received the full treatment.

He warned him. He fucking warned him that he was going to kill him if he kept flirting with you, and now he was going to fucking do it.

A sick pleasure erupted in Jaejun's chest as he saw the blood beginning to splatter on the wooden surface, but then the pleasure was halted when he felt hands on his shoulders as they tried to pull him away. He heard Myeong-o's sick snickers while he wrapped his arms around Jaejun from behind as he lifted him off his feet.

"Cut it out will ya? Ya are going to get detention!"

Detention was the last hing on his mind. Hell, even going to prison was the last thing on his mind. He knows that it isn't going to happen cause his parents will just pay them out, but that was not the focus at the moment. He needed to punish the fucker who thought it would be a good idea to try steal his girl - to try steal you.

"Let me go!" He roared, immediately wrestling in Myeong-o's grip as he attempt to lunge at the pathetic loser as he laid crumbled on the floor, clutching at his bleeding hear. "I'm going to fucking kill him!"

"Dude, just-"

"Fuck off!"

Jaejun slammed his head back and he connected with Myeong-o's nose with a sickening crack, a wave of pain washing over him as both boys stumbled on the spot, Myeong-o clutching at his nose while Jaejun clutched at the back of his head.

Dammit, that actually hurt.

But then Jaejun reconnected his gaze with the fallen student and then decided to forego his momentary pain to continued to job. He grabbed the student by the collar and lifted him up from the floor, staring at his blood smeared face with a snarl.

"I told you that she is mine! You don't fucking touch what is mine!"

Jaejun lifted his fist and slammed it into the student's face, causing an immediate splatter to erupt from the student's nose. They hastily tried to defend themselves but it was of no use, Jaejun just punched and punched and punched until his own knuckles were beginning to ache and burn, almost as if he split the skin or something.

Prompted by the thought, Jaejun lifted his hand to gaze at it. Blood was smothering it, but upon closer inspection, he realised that his knuckles were in fact split. He cursed.

How annoying.

The buzz in his eyes subsiding, but his anger still simmering, Jaejun stood up from the mess of the boy and then finally turned to you, your body frozen in your desk as you stared at him with horrified eyes. He blinked slowly before he walked towards you, no one else in the classroom daring to utter a word as he approached the front of your desk, his face expressionless.

You only stared up at him as he paused, looking at you with an eerily calm look before he reached out and grabbed your wrist, eyebrows furrowing when you flinched at the sudden touch. But then he realized that he had grabbed you with his bloody hand, making him curse.

"Damn, sorry Y/N." He released you briefly before grabbing you with his uninjured hand, pulling you up from your desk. "I need to go to the nurse. Come with me."

It wasn't really a request, and you didn't disagree with his statement when he all but tugged you away from the desk and the ordeal which had occurred. His grip on you tightened as he noticed the horrified stares.

He doesn't get what their problems were. He is just getting his hand fixed up and you were going to help him.

If they think that he was just going to ignore the fact of another guy trying to take what was his, then they were all idiots. You were his and he was not going to let someone take you away from him. He will beat every person's face in if that is what it takes.

You were his.

And he was going to protect what was his.

And you most importantly must not forget that, because he will go through hell for you. So you better be grateful, cause not every guy will be as protective as him. So you must realize that you have hit the jackpot. He is sure you'll thank him later, even show him some gratitude.

Lee Sa-ra

You trembled against her body but it did not prompt Sara to move away from you. In fact, it only made her press herself closer against you. Despite your lack of success, you still tried to resist against Sara's hold on your wrists but it was of no use.

You were trapped. Sara has no intentions of letting you go, especially not after rectifying what she had been forced to bare witness to.

"...Did you like it?" She whispered carefully, her lips brushing against your jaw as she spoke against your skin. "Did you like him kissing you like that?"

You were not stupid, that was one of the reasons that Sara liked you in the first place. You had a bright mind and fitted well into the group because none of you were idiots. Well, with the exception of Hyejeong, but aside from her, the rest of them were exceptional in their own areas of expertise. Hers being art, of course.

So therefore, she knows that you getting into the situation cannot be fully your fault because you would know better than to make Sara jealous on purpose.

It was pulled off as some kind of stupid elaborate prank pulled by the boys. The stupid fools believed it would be a good idea to pull a water gun fight in the middle of PE, soaking all of the girls with water. Sara was annoyed in the first place, but nothing prepared her for the sight which occurred in the middle of the stupid prank.

A boy stealing a kiss from you.

You were just as soaked as the others, being separated from Sara during the whole scuffle, and yet you were the only one to get kissed by one of the boys, which resulted in a whole class reaction, girls cooing at the act and the boys guffawing and slapping the boy on the back for having the guts to do such a thing.

But your reaction was what had Sara hyper focused, because she knew immediately where your mind went because you immediately snapped your gaze to Sara, looking for her in the crowd before locking eyes with her, terror in your own.

You were scared of Sara's reaction, and its a good thing, because she is about ready to tear someone's head off, the first one being the bastard who stole a kiss from you.

But first - she needed to stake her claim on those very lips which were tainted by another.

"S-Sara, please." You quivered, voice soft and terrified as you froze stiff against Sara as she trailed her lips down the column of your neck. "I didn't mean to-"

"What?" Sara questioned, resting her lips against the point where your shoulder and neck met. "What didn't you mean to do? Did you kiss him first?"

The thoughts itself was barbarous because you were loyal to Sara. You were hers and you know how she is whenever someone gets too close to you for her liking. And you were a smart girl, so you wouldn't do such a stupid thing to get a rise out of her.

But still - she needed to make sure you were aware of your situation.

"N-No, I swear I didn't. I just, I-"

"Did you want my attention? Is that why you didn't push him away?"

"N-No, I-"

"Oh, so you don't want my attention?" Sara's voice dropped as she pulled away from your neck to look at you, her eyes swirling dangerous. You immediately panicked at the sight and began to resist against her hold on your wrists again.

"No! I don't mean that! I-I-I'm just sorry! I swear I didn't want it to happen Sara, You've got to believe me! Please."

You were sounding so desperate, your actions and expressions showing it so clearly that it made her heart flutter as she continued to stare. Her fingers tightened around your wrists, making you wince before she shifted both hands up until you were entirely stretched to your full length, trapped and unable to defend yourself as Sara all but leapt for your neck, biting down hard on the skin, making you cry out in the pain.

The taste of iron reached her tongue but Sara did not react to it as she remained frozen in her position, teeth in your neck like some wild animal. Your body quivered tremendously against her, little sobs beginning to leave your lips as you began to bleed, which eventually prompted Sara to pull away from you neck to gaze at you again.

Once your eyes eventually met hers again, she smiled, displaying a row of blood stained teeth - your blood - and a maniacal glint in her eyes.

"Before anything else, you are mine. Do you understand me?" Sara questioned, eyes not leaving yours as her free hand moved to trail a thumb against the bite wound on your neck, smearing the blood across the uninjured skin. "If I must do this all over your body, then so be it. If you ever let someone else kiss you again, I will lose my shit. You got that?"

You simply stood frozen before her, eyes gawking at her in horror, which irritated to no end. She pressed her thumb against the bite, making you wince immediately at the applied pressure.

"Do. You. Get. It?"

"Y-Yes." You whimpered out, tears forming in your eyes as you shivered in place, making Sara smile as she believed that you finally understood her whole intention.

"Good. Now don't move."

Sara closed the distance between you and kissed you, her tongue immediately meeting yours in a silent tango as she removed the taint with her own lips, your body supple under her own as she reaffirmed her possession over you.

Choi Hye-jeong

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

Hyejeong stormed into the bathroom with guns blazing, anger boiling all over as she stared at you frightened form, your hand to your chest as you attempted to calm it after jumping at Hyejeong's sudden entrance in the bathroom.

Fortunately there was no one else in the bathroom, but Hyejeong didn't care because all she wanted from you were answers.

"How can you be so stupid!"

She hasn't given you much context to understand the reason behind her anger, as hinted through your confused look, but then realization dawned on you, prompting an apologetic expression forming on your face.

"I didn't know what I could say-"

"You could have said no! Why the hell are you going on a date with that idiot!"

Never, ever did Hyejeong think that she was going to be in the situation that she would be jealous over someone asking you out on a date because she never thought it would happen. You did not talk much with the others; therefore, nobody had any reason to have a crush on you, much less ask you out on a date.

And yet she had to hear from a group of underclassmen that one of the boys in their class had asked you out on a date, to which you agreed.

She couldn't fucking believe it.

Hyejeong stormed towards you and grabbed you by the shoulders, giving you a firm shake before she cupped your cheeks in her hands, forcing you to keep your gaze on her.

"Why the hell did you agree to it!"

"I-I didn't know what else to say. I didn't expect it."

"It doesn't matter if you didn't expect it. The matter is that you should have never agreed in the first place! Why do you want to hurt me so much? Did you think I was going to be happy about this!"

Hyejeong could not exactly ask Yeonjin or the others for any advice on how to proceed about this. Yeonjin and Sara are two bitches who will easily laugh and humiliate both you and Hyejeong for being in such a relationship in the first place, while Myeong-o and Jaejun would be complete assholes about it.

The two of you were alone in this world together, being the only ones to understand the others struggle. So the fact that you agreed to go on the stupid date upsets her and hurts her - serving the same impact as a knife getting driven into her chest.

You looked at her mournfully, shaking your head as you reached out to touch her cheek.

"No Hyejeong, I would never want to hurt you-"

"Well you are by agreeing to go with him!"

Hyejeong pushed you away from her as if your touch burned her, angry tears escaping from her eyes as she roughly wiped at them ,glaring heatedly through the liquid wall.

"I can't believe that you would be so pathetic that you wouldn't be able to even say the word 'No' to some stupid underclassman!"

Hurt immediately bloomed from her words, your eyes reflecting it as you stared at her, making a pang of guilt shoot through Hyejeong but not enough to stop her venomous words.

"But I guess I shouldn't be surprised! You're a damn people pleaser who wouldn't know the difference between her mommy issues and daddy issues!"

Low blow.

An extremely low blow.

But in her moment of hurt, Hyejeong didn't care. She wanted you to hurt and she succeeded, tears forming as you took a step back from her, almost as if the words itself had slapped you across the face.

But instead of saying anything else, Hyejeong sneered before storming out of the bathroom, needing to build the distance between the two of you if she wanted to get an inch of semblance back to herself.

[withleeknow]

hiya! I noticed you have your requests open and if you don't mind, could I please suggest: "for once... I was right" with "don't you dare walk away from me" for Lee Know - maybe angsty but I don't mind you just going with the flow.

thank you!

blue hour.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: exes au, exes to ...? 🫢, angst; minho's pov mostly, open ending kinda, some light cursing, unedited don't look at me word count: 2.2k (i got carried away a little bit) listen to 🎧: breathe again - sara bareilles

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

“this should be the last of your things.”

“thanks,” you say, rummaging through the box that minho hands over to you. everything that you left at his place throughout the entire time you were together; every sweatshirt of yours in his closet, every piece of jewelry on his nightstand, every bottle of nail polish that you kept in his bathroom reserved for nights where you two would pamper each other. they're all here, except for... “did you see my red scarf though? i can’t find it anywhere.”

“no, i checked,” he says. “this is everything.”

“hmm, okay.”

you hold the box between your arms, and minho can’t help but feel something twist painfully in his chest. it’s like you're holding your relationship, or what’s left of it anyway, ready to make your swift exit from his life. two years of love, all dumped into one stupid cardboard box.

you both stand there in silence for what feels like forever, just staring at each other, then at your surroundings, neither of you saying anything. minho knows why he hasn’t bid you a farewell goodnight yet; it’s because he doesn’t want this to end. even though it’s a sad occasion, the finale to your story, he still wants to the seconds to stretch on, for the minutes to last longer. after all, isn’t this the last time he'll ever see you?

why you haven’t left him to his devices and gone upstairs, he isn’t sure.

another moment passes. life goes on but it seems like you two are in your own bubble where nothing moves forward. everything stays rooted to the spot.

“do you want to go for a walk?” you ask after a while. the question surprises minho enough that he lets it show, and it makes you quickly tack on an excuse. “the weather is nice and i... i don’t want to be on my own.”

yes, he does want to go for a walk with you. anything to be with you even if it’s only for a moment longer.

“sure,” he says. “let’s go for a walk.”

“okay. i’ll leave this upstairs and get my jacket.”

he watches as you disappear inside your building, only to reemerge momentarily afterward, a wool jacket draped over your frame. he wishes you’d worn something lighter, just so he could have an excuse to wrap his arm around your shoulders if it gets colder.

you walk side by side around your neighborhood, a distance between your bodies that never used to be there before. it’s strange, of course it is. but minho supposes this is yours and his new reality now.

“how are the cats?” you ask.

“they’re okay. dori had a cold a couple weeks ago, but everything’s fine now,” he tells you. “they... they miss you.”

i miss you too - that's a thought that he doesn’t say out loud, only keeps it to himself because it feels too humiliating to utter those words to you.

“they’re cats. how can you tell?”

“i can always tell.” he shrugs. “they wait by the door when i’m already home. they sleep on your-... they sleep on the other side of the bed.”

if you notice his slip up, you don’t say anything. you purse your lips and nod somberly, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “they’ll forget about me soon enough,” you say.

minho glances at you. he wants to rebuke that statement, to argue with you over something as silly as whether or not his freaking cats will retain their memories of you in the future. but he just bites his tongue and swallows down the lump in his throat, humming to let you know that he’s heard what you said. not a hum of agreement, just one of acknowledgement.

“how’s work?” he asks. god, it’s just so fucking weird to be asking you these things. you know each other inside and out and yet, you’re here making small talk.

torn apart when all you two should be is together.

“it’s alright. still the same, kinda boring. you know there’s not a lot that can happen in that place in one month.”

yes, because it’s been a little over a month since you parted ways, since you moved back into your old apartment and left his home perpetually cold and empty. he can’t blame you for leaving when he was the one who agreed to break up. he can’t blame you for his heartache when he was the one who broke your heart first.

he didn’t mean to, but isn’t that what they all say?

“do you still want to leave?”

“sure,” you reply. “if i can find something better, i’d leave that place in a heartbeat. but for now, it’ll have to do. it used to be a bit more bearable though.”

“i hope you find something that makes you happier.”

“thanks.” you give him a smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. “how about you? how’s life?”

minho almost says the first thing that comes into mind. life is terrible without you. i think about you every single minute of every day but you're not here and it’s my own damn fault.

he could lie and come up with something much more palatable, because he doesn’t reckon his truth is something you’d like to hear right now.

but he doesn’t want to lie to you. in the time that you were together, minho never lied to you, not even once, not even over something stupid and insignificant. beside, he’s got a feeling that you would see through his bullshit anyway.

his answer ends up being a sad shrug, then, “it’s life. i’m hanging in there.”

your footsteps slow until you stop completely. this makes him stop too, turning around to look at you with his head tilted to one side, confused.

“it’s not like you to sound so defeated,” you comment.

“what?” he asks with a sigh. “it’s the truth.”

“it’s not the whole truth.”

“what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to be honest with me,” you tell him, your shoulders slumping just slightly. “i still care about you. i want to know you’re okay.”

minho takes a step closer until he’s right in front of you, the closest that you two have been all night. his body feels the warmth radiating from yours but he has to ball his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and touching you.

“if you really want to know, i haven’t been myself since you left.”

guilt flashes in your eyes. it wasn’t his intention at all.

you bite your bottom lip, inhale a shaky breath, before you speak, “i’m sorry for leaving.”

“don’t apologize. i’m sorry for driving you away.”

then he watches the tears well up as you look at him. he’s been wondering this the whole night, how you seem so cavalier about it all, how you’re able to speak to him so casually as if you’re just old friends with some shared history, and not as though the wound is still fresh. he’s still bleeding and you’re acting like you’ve already healed.

but he sees it now. you’re just as sad as he is, just as miserable. the only difference is you’re better at hiding it, or maybe you’ve just had more time to get used to the way it hurts.

is this how you felt in the weeks, the months, leading up to your departure? every time he neglected you, prioritized something else over you, missed every date and overlooked every text message? every single instance where he was too busy for you?

he never wanted to break your heart, but alas, here you are.

he didn’t want you to go, and yet, when you felt like you couldn’t handle the loneliness anymore, he hadn’t stopped you from walking out the door. he gave up, and he gave up so easily.

nothing along the lines of ‘don’t you dare walk away from me’, no tearful argument, no explosive and definitive end to your relationship. minho just let your love slip away.

how must that have made you feel on top of everything that he did - or didn’t do - to you?

minho has been called every variation of ‘cold’ before. to everyone else, he’s callous, rough, intimidating and unapproachable. but to you, he’s kind, soft, gentle and loving. it never mattered what anyone thought of him, as long as you always knew that he loved you, that you saw him for who he was.

but toward the end, what if you saw him how the others did? what if you had deemed him cold too?

the mere thought makes him sick to his stomach.

you sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “you don’t have to say that. it’s in the past now.”

fracture upon fracture upon fracture. minho doesn’t know how much more of this his heart can take.

his fingers twitch, and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching for your hands. to his surprise, you let him.

your hands, so delicate in his, so warm.

“i should’ve fought harder for you,” he says, his voice so small that you barely catch the words at all.

but his eyes… he hopes you can see it in his eyes - the regret, the longing, the pain of losing you dimming the light of the stars he holds there.

giving his hands a light squeeze, you say, “and maybe i should’ve held on tighter instead of letting go.”

“i made you feel like you weren’t enough. it’s the worst thing i ever did to you. i understand why you left.”

you try to calm your breathing, because you really don’t feel like breaking down in front of him right now. you don’t say anything in response; what are you even supposed to say? you told him everything that you wanted to the night that you two broke up. everything that you tried to bottle up for months was laid on the table that night. you watched as he listened to you, watched as his heart broke alongside yours. that was it.

“i… i’m sorry,” minho stutters, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks scared. “i’m sorry. can’t we try again? i swear i won’t let you down again. i swear to you.”

“min…” the nickname slips out of habit and for a second there, minho thinks you would say yes. but then… “i know you’re sorry. i know we didn’t break things off because we fell out of love. but i don’t think you’re at a point in your life where i can be the most important thing right now. you may not mean to, but there’ll be things that you prioritize over me… and i’m not at a place in my life where i can settle for being on someone’s back burner either. the timing’s just off. it’s not your fault, life just got in the way.”

minho stares at you, the stars dying out one by one. the hurt is beyond what any word can describe but in a way, he understands. it fucking sucks, but he gets it. he has to accept it now.

he nods solemnly, tracing odd patterns on your palms. then he asks, quietly, “can i hold you? just for a while.”

please indulge me, he thinks. this is the last thing i’ll ever ask from you.

you don’t reply with words. instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you. you two stay there in each other’s embrace for god knows how long. it could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours. you always lose track of time when you’re wrapped up together.

you hold him like he - tough and intimidating minho - is made of glass, and he holds you like he doesn’t ever want to let you go.

but he has to eventually.

you untangle yourself from him to find that he’s been crying. the tears on his cheeks catch the light from the street lamps, reflecting like crystals in the night. when you wipe them away, you tell him, “for once, i was right.”

“about what?” he sniffles.

“you really are a hopeless romantic,” you smile, trying to lighten the mood. as much as you can anyway. “i knew you’d prove me right one day.”

minho wants to scoff but his eyes are burning from the tears and his throat feels like it's closing up, so he lets you have this one. the last one, right?

maybe he is a romantic, and maybe it’s only for you. maybe it makes him a little hopeless.

the walk back to yours ends too quickly. but truth be told, even if you had walked together until the sun came up, it still wouldn’t have been long enough for him.

you both stand there, two heavy hearts looking at each other, looking for one another.

there’s no goodbye, only goodnight.

and you’re the one who says it first.

minho returns your sentiment with a choked up voice, a brush of his fingers against yours, and when you finally turn to walk up the steps, his gaze lingers on your retreating figure.

then he calls your name softly. “hey, uhm... i’ll let you know if the scarf turns up, okay?”

you turn back with a knowing smile. it’s still sad, but there’s some faith hidden there.

“i hope it will.”

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 16.01.2024]

[hisunshiine]

—i must be favored to know ya [5/7]

Part 5 of 7 of the Seven Days Series ↣ series masterlist

🗓️ pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️ au/genre: non-idol au, brother’s friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut, 🗓️ rating: M 🗓️ wc: 5,665 🗓️ warnings: emotionally constipated pairing, again Kim Seokjin MEDDLING, drunk feelings in a good way, nudes, misinterpretation of messages, drunk feelings in a bad way, arguing, saying hurtful things  explicit sexual content: making out in the club, potential exhibitionism/voyeurism, shower sex  🗓️ an: Sorry if this one is angsty y’all! We’ve been slowly building to it, and it had to come to a head at some point, right? Plus, we only have the weekend left! Hospital Vocab: 🏥 A MICU is a medical intensive care unit that deals with less critical conditions such as pneumonia, infections or other problems that require intensive monitoring but don't necessarily require emergency. 🏥 The NICU is a nursery in a hospital that provides around-the-clock care to sick or preterm babies.  🏥 Gastric refers to the unit of Gastroenterology, which cares for issues with the esophagus, stomach, small intestine, colon and rectum, pancreas, gallbladder, bile ducts and liver. 🗓️ summary: “I must be favored to know ya.” Having Jungkook in your life is so much sweeter than you ever thought. It would be great if you could just tell him, but showing him is as good as it gets for now…until you slip up and let the cat out of the bag. But it turns out, you aren’t the only one who has feelings for him, and you definitely aren’t the only one who wants to ride him. When your biggest fears come to light, knowing Jungkook the way that you do might become a thing of the past. 

Taglist: @sizzlingfestpeach @mochminnie @jungkooksmytype @kookslastbutton @taebangtanbabe @bbtsficrecs @jk97bam it's not letting me tag you (if joining the taglist, please think about reblogging with tags/leaving feedback!)

“Doctor Cho to room 324, Doctor Cho to room 324.” A nurse's tired voice plays over the loudspeaker as Jungkook follows Jimin into the staff locker room at the end of their shift.

“Bro, why was today so tiring?” Jimin drops effortlessly into the chair across from his locker, as if all of his bones and joints have given out.

Jungkook reaches behind his neck to fist at his scrub top, pulling the polyester material over his head. “It was tiring because we had to change Mr. Lee’s sheets four times today. Why are we working in the MICU again?”

“Because we wanted to take time off next week after the wedding, so we picked up this shift instead of enjoying our usual Friday off,” Jimin reminds as he toes off his sneakers. 

“Next time, tell me to check who I’m covering for. I forgot Sara works the gastric rounds, and while I don’t mind a little incontinence, Mr. Lee is not a small man and four times is more than a little, you know?”

Jimin nods as he finally begins to remove his own scrubs before heading to the showers in the back of the locker room with his small shower pouch in tow. Jungkook follows his lead, towel thrown over his shoulder, his own pouch in hand.

“You know what?” Jimin asks as he steps into one of the small shower stalls. “I think we should go out tonight. Octagon or CakeShop—you know they have the best music and drinks.”

“Mmm, I don’t know…I’m still covering Sara’s shift tomorrow, and if Mr. Lee is still having bowel issues,” Jungkook steps into the privacy of his own stall to step out of his boxer briefs and into the water, enjoying the heat as it envelops his body, “I might not be at my best if I go out tonight.”

“C’mon, man! We should go out because of Mr. Lee! We can invite the teachers, it’s summer break for them anyways, and the four of us always turn up on Fridays. We can invite the whole crew.”

Jungkook makes sure to scrub his hands extra before washing the rest of his body with his green Italy Towel to exfoliate his skin. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask for, man.” 

The two continue their shower routine, meeting again in the locker room to change into clothes to go home in.

Jimin grabs his phone as soon as he’s dressed. Jungkook follows Jimin’s movements as he paces back and forth with the phone on speaker, dialtone echoing through the room. 

“Hey, Jimin,” Taehyung answers the phone, sounding as if he just took a bite of food.

“You’re on speaker. Tae, we’re going out tonight. Octagon or CakeShop?”

There’s a pause before he answers; Jungkook assumes Taehyung is swallowing his food. “Let’s do CakeShop, it’s a bit more cozy. You’re on speaker too, Hoseok and I are grabbing a late lunch.”

“Hey, Jimin!” Hoseok’s voice filters through the mobile.

“Sounds good. Ready at 11?”

“Yeah. I’ll text Woo Shik, see if he can reserve a table. See you later, I’m eating right now.”

Taehyung’s annoyance at his meal being disturbed rings loud and clear as the phone clicks, and Jimin throws the phone into his open backpack. “Can you call your girl? Let her know we’re going at 11?”

Jungkook’s movements stutter as he rolls deodorant on, raised arm freezing in the air. “My girl?” He eyes Jimin from his peripherals, trying to read his face.

“Yeah, she’s like, your best friend. Joined at the hip all the time, sometimes I wonder whether you or Yoongi is her actual brother.”

“Oh, haha, yeah, I’ll—yeah, I’ll call her once we get out of here.”

“Cool, so let’s go, see if we can catch the hyungs before they leave.” Jimin closes his backpack, lifting it over his shoulder. Jungkook follows suit, carrying his bag by the small handle at the top instead as they leave the room. 

“Hyung!” Jimin spots Seokjin as he leaves one of the rooms across from the nurses’ station. The jovial man smiles as he passes a clipboard off to the Resident shadowing him.

“Hey, you guys off for the day?” Seokjin asks as he checks his watch.

“Yeah, we’re headed out to CakeShop tonight at 11 if you and Joon want to come with?”

“I don’t think I can swing it. Joon’s covering the NICU the rest of the week, so I doubt he’ll be down to go.”

“No worries, just wanted to extend the offer.”

“I appreciate it. We’ll have fun Sunday, right? Open bar at the reception and all.”

“Definitely.” Jimin wraps an arm around Jungkook’s neck and begins to tug him down the hallway. “See ya!”

Seokjin just shakes his head, watching as the two men head out.

“What’s got Jungkook so happy?” SoHee appears at Seokjin’s elbow, holding a binder to her chest.

“Oh, he’s probably off to go see his—uh, probably hanging with one of our friends.”

“One of your friends? He must be a pretty cool guy if Jungkook is that excited to go hang out.” SoHee says, a smile on her face as she watches both men bounce happily around the corner, her eyes focused mostly on the tattooed, floppy haired one until they’re finally out of sight. 

“Yeah…she’s pretty cool. They’re like best friends—spend every waking moment together when not working.” Seokjin glances at SoHee, searching for a reaction. He’s not doing it to be mean—in his mind, it’s more mean to string someone along when your heart belongs to someone else.

“Oh. I didn’t realize the person was a ‘she’. Do you, uh, think that they like each other? As more than friends?”

Seokjin makes eye contact with SoHee, trying to express more with his eyes than his response gives. “If you hope to date JK, you have some pretty fierce competition, and she isn’t afraid of using her feminine wiles.” 

—————

The lights in CakePop glow a harsh red as the fluorescent, buzzing tubes shine across Jungkook’s face. You admire the slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw and the way his hair frames his face as he orders a round of drinks from the bar. He chose to wear jeans you’ve never seen him in before: baggy as hell with large cuts horizontally going up the back of them. With a white sleeveless tank and white, tiger-print long sleeve covering his tattoos, his look is complete with a new chain earring he’s showing off. 

Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok dressed up as well, each one showcasing their different style but just as handsome. They sit at the table reserved for your group, chatting as their heads bob to the music. He’s busy paying for the tab when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You look over your shoulder at the man who’s sidled up close to you while your attention is elsewhere.

“No, but thank you,” you reply as loud as you can over the music without drawing too much attention to the rejection. You watch as the man’s eyes bounce from you to Jungkook as you take a step closer to him.

“Oh, this you?” he asks, understanding morphing through his pupils. You don’t know how to respond, since it’s very much so complicated, but Jungkook saves you the trouble.

“Yeah, she’s with me.” Jungkook’s arm wraps itself heavily around your waist, fingers on the meat of your hip as he tucks you into his side. He eyes the man, who is slightly taller than him, but seems to deem him as not a threat. “C’mon, babe,” he says into your ear, “our drinks are ready.” 

You smile up at him, moving to grab your drink as he takes the small platter that holds the other four drinks over to the table. His hand never leaves your skin, transferring from holding your hip to holding your hand as he navigates through the dancing bodies and back to your group of friends.

“Finally! Let’s down these and get on the dance floor!” Hoseok says. As the P.E. Teacher at the school you work at, he’s really fit. You know he also works at a dance studio in the evenings and during the summer, so as far as this scene goes, Hoseok was ready to show off his moves. The others agree, so you throw your drink back before excusing yourself to the bathroom. Best to pee now, instead of breaking the seal later. 

“We aren’t waiting for you!” Taehyung teases as he adjusts his thin, silky red shirt, the opening around his neck unbuttoned and angled to show off delicate collarbones and a thin gold chain, but you know that it would be easy enough to find the four of them in the crowd; eyes often gravitate to watch them when they’re together as a group. Especially with Jimin in his all-black outfit, baggy jeans and combat boots put together with a leather jacket, and Hoseok in ripped jeans, jean jacket, black tee and sunglasses? There was no way you could miss them. Jungkook might be the one you’re fucking night after night, but the rest of the guys are also great to look at. Being the only girl out with them tonight will be fun. 

In the bathroom, you see a few texts from your brother, on your lock screen, but you ignore him, because it doesn’t matter. Jungkook is going home with you tonight, so there’s no need to make it weird. You know he’s only looking out for you, in the way that Yoongi does, but tonight you just want to shut your brain off for a while.     

Washing your hands, you check yourself out in the mirror, loving how your jeans fit your ass and your shirt shows just the right amount of cleavage. If you’re already getting hit on so boldly at the bar, you can only imagine how the rest of the night is going to go, and your self-confidence excites you. It’s twisted, but you feel good knowing other guys are showing their interest in you, in front of Jungkook. It’s like…showing Jungkook that you’re a good catch, if others also want you. Plus, having Jungkook step in and turn them away, saying you’re with him is a huge turn-on and confidence boost for you. In a way, you feel like Yoongi’s concerns shouldn’t matter too much because Jungkook already claimed you once tonight to someone else. Do you really need to do more? Your thoughts go quiet as more women filter into the bathroom, talking loudly. 

“But did you see the one in all black? He’s so hot.”

“Okay, but the one with dance moves? In ripped jeans? Even hotter.”

You laugh to yourself as you fix your hair before heading to the door.

“I’m set on the one in white. I’m taking him home if it’s the last thing I do.”

If they had been paying attention to you, they would have seen the stutter in your step and the way you almost miss the handle to the door, but as luck would have it, no one notices the almost stumble as you head back into the dark of the club. 

As you expect, finding the group is easy, but pushing through the onlookers is slightly difficult, as some of the women do not want to move to let you through, thinking you’re simply another fan of the men dancing to the grooving house music. Once you find a break between bodies however, Jungkook spots you and reaches his hands out to you, pulling you through in time to the rhythm. He’s face to face with you, hips moving with each beat that thumps through the speakers as you settle into the space created by the disappointment of the gravitating spectators.

He drops one of his hands, allowing him to spin you around with the one still holding onto you after a few moments and then stepping into your space so you’re able to meld your body into his and face the other guys in the group. You wind your hips back into his pelvis and Jungkook catches every beat, hands resting on your hips as you work him. You want to see his face, see if he’s watching you or not, but when you feel his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly in response to a rather suggestive body roll, you guess you know he’s paying attention to you more than anything else. 

Typically, when the songs change, you also change partners, liking to spread the wealth that is your dancing among the others, but tonight, Jungkook doesn’t let go, and you don’t try to leave him. The others don’t seem to mind, spending their time choosing random people from the crowd to dance with or weaving back and forth to get drinks from the bar. Eventually, the group of girls from the bathroom comes near, you turn to face Jungkook, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I’m staying with you tonight, right?” you ask on tippy toes, mouth ghosting the shell of his ear tipsily to ask something you already know the answer to, but wanting to lay your claim. Your teeth nip lightly at the earlobe without the new chain earring, and you leave a soft kiss where the lobe meets his neck just so the other girl can see. 

He responds in kind after a shiver races down his spine, pulling you closer as the heat from his mouth spreads lower through your body. “You better be—I’ll kidnap you if I have to.” He bites your neck playfully, causing you to squirm in his hold but he doesn’t loosen his grip on you, just apologizes for the bite with a tongue-wetted kiss that promises so much more to come when you get home. Turning back around in his hold, you watch as Taehyung looks between you and his friend, and can only smile knowingly to yourself when it dawns on him what must be going on. Now that Yoongi knows, you don’t really care if the others find out or not. 

Jimin returns to the group with drinks for you and Jungkook fisted in his hands, and you thank him before drinking half of it in one gulp. “Slow down, baby, we have plans for tonight, so we shouldn’t drink too much more, okay?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide and pleading when you look over your shoulder at him, and it’s almost heart-stopping how good he looks, tongue swiping his bottom lip and messing with his lip piercings. It should be illegal for him to ask for anything from you while giving you that look.

“Yeah, this is my last one,” you promise, and he smiles as he finishes the beer Jimin gave him. 

“I’ll get you some water, okay? Can’t have my baby with a hangover tomorrow.” 

Your mixed drinks are more potent than his beers, and it’s cute that he’s thinking of taking care of you. You feel warmth in your chest at his consideration and actions, not to mention his use of the claiming endearment leaving you all hot and bothered as he heads off the dancefloor towards the bar. 

“What time are we staying ‘til?” you ask Hoseok, who eyes his watch.

“Probably not much longer, it’s almost one. Thirty minutes sound good?”

“Yeah, I think I can do another thirty to forty-five minutes.”

Hoseok nods, but his smile then turns mischievous. “You and Jungkook sharing a taxi tonight?” He takes both of your hands, swinging them as if going to draw you in to dance with him, and a part of you wants to pull away; as if you can’t dance with Hoseok because you have a boyfr—or because you have plans to fuck someone in an hour or so and it would be disrespectful. Right?

“We always share a taxi, Hobi,” you answer coyly, evading his question and not stepping closer to him, politely declining to dance. 

Hoseok just grins wider, hips swaying to the beat as he steps away from you, dropping your hands. “She’s all yours,” he says over your head, and a moment later you feel the heat of Jungkook as he envelops you back into his body. 

“Here, make sure to drink all of it,” Jungkook places the bottle of water into your hand as he turns you to face him, the lid already twisted off for you. His voice drops, in volume and in tone, as he adds, “Only good girls get what they want tonight.”

You have to hold yourself back from responding with a “Yes, Daddy,”—the alcohol making you much more submissive to the younger man—so you bring the bottle to your lips instead, making sure you hold his eye contact as you wrap your pout around the rim and swallow the first gulp. The water is so quenching, you close your eyes as you take subsequent swallows, a little bit leaking from the corners of your mouth to run down your cheeks, neck, and disappear between your breasts.

“Woah, careful baby, I want you wet, but this water is for drinking,” he says as he pulls the water bottle back slightly from your mouth to slow the flow down, and you’re grateful, but also now horny as your eyes take in the way he’s looking at you. “Fuck it,” he intones mostly to himself, before dipping his face down into your chest. His tongue traces the path of the water back up to your neck where he keeps his mouth to suckle at your sensitive skin.

Neither of you cares that you’re in a packed club, that people are watching, that your friends—who didn’t know until tonight that there was anything more between the two of you—are watching and are also close enough to hear the sound you let out, the cross between a whimper and a moan as you cling to Jungkook’s shirt, hands fisted near his waist wanting him closer.

“Maybe we should get those taxis now?” Hoseok says aloud, mostly to Jimin and Taehyung in an attempt to pull their eyes away from the sight in front of them. The two just nod, and Hoseok pulls out his phone and opens his app. He can’t help but look up every few seconds though, not when you’re pressing your chest into Jungkook’s as he kisses you openly, his tattooed hand grabbing at your ass as he grinds into you in time to the music. 

The sounds Hoseok can hear from you between the music pounding out of the speakers have his dick jumping—as if straight out of his favorite porn flicks—but you’re Yoongi’s older sister, and apparently have been fucking the youngest in the group and Hoseok is now putting three and four together to realize the friend with benefits who he’s been fucking seven nights a week (per his text messages) is you.  

The crowd surrounding their group is beginning to stare now too, and Hoseok feels mildly uncomfortable—not because you have your tongue in Jungkook’s mouth (no, the sight is quite hot)—because the women who were circling like vultures all night are staring daggers at your head. Despite you two dry-humping on beat, Hoseok can see the annoyed looks on some of the other dancers' faces, so he’s more than happy to unceremoniously pull your mobile device from your back pocket (the one without Jungkook’s hand all over it) so he can order your taxi to keep you and Jungkook from getting arrested for indecent exposure.

He hates being the person to interrupt the two of you when the taxis are about to arrive, but the shine in your eyes is full of gratitude as he leads your group outside. He suspects it’s because you were probably in need of oxygen, and a small part of him assumes it’s because you were just caught acting like a couple of young teenagers. Hoseok hands you your cell phone back as you all stand at the curb, and you smile sheepishly at Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung, as if to say ‘Surprise! It’s me!’.

Jungkook still has his arms wrapped around you, lips kissing your neck and exposed shoulder—any place his mouth can reach from his spot behind you—and when the first taxi pulls up, Jimin has to pull Taehyung along to go with him and Hoseok. 

“But, can I go with them? I wanna watch some more,” Taehyung doesn’t sound like he’s joking at all, and only decides to climb into his taxi when Jungkook shoots him a glare that you can’t see.

“Be safe, text me when you all get home!” you say as they settle in the backseat. They all give you skeptical looks, knowing you’ll probably be too busy to even see the messages, but they’ll do it anyway. Your phone alerts you that your taxi is also there, so you wave as you lead a seemingly lovesick, doe-eyed, muscle bunny to another car pulling up behind the first. 

Climbing into the vehicle, you’re practically sitting on Jungkook’s lap the entire ride home, where he’s quietly feeling you up the whole way to his apartment. His hand is between your thighs, pressing into you in a way that makes the seam of your jeans press against your clit. He feels the way you roll your hips as he leaves wet pecks on your neck and whispers dirty things into your ear.

“Wanna fill you up when we get home,” he murmurs, “can’t wait to feel you wrap around me.”

Your breathing is shaky, and the taxi driver asks if you’re okay as he speeds down the road.

Your back is against the cold shower wall, Jungkook’s strong arms hold your legs at the knees as he thrusts inside of you. His body pins you in place, your hands clawing at his back as you try to find purchase against his slick skin. You bounce on his hardened cock as he drills it deeper inside of you, hips rutting for friction against his pelvis, your swollen clit aching for more.

“Fuck, baby, you’re perfect.” Jungkook’s mouth moves against your collarbones as he speaks, switching between biting and kissing from the pleasure your walls give him. The pain as he marks you only makes you wetter, makes you crave him more. 

“Jungkook, feels so good,” you whine out, tangling your fingers into the wet hair curling at the nape of his neck. “Love it,” you chant out, repeating the phrase several times. “Fuck me, baby, don’t stop, love how you feel.”

Jungkook’s brain can barely handle the way you’re sending all of his senses into overdrive. The feel of you sliding up and down, so slick and warm on his cock as you tug at his hair, your words flowing through his mind, that you love it, love it, love it, so close to saying you love more than just the way he fucks you, maybe you could even love…him?

“Fuck, baby, keep saying it, don’t stop, you ride me so good, fucking love your pussy.”

“Love your cock, fuck Jungkook, love how you fuck me, need more, need you deeper.”

Jungkook lets your legs down one by one so he can turn you to face the glass of the shower, allowing both of you to feel the hot water streaming onto your bodies as he enters you from behind. Your hands lay flat on the glass as he begins to pound into you, the clapping of his thighs into your ass echoing off the walls of the bathroom, mixing with your breathy moans as he reaches that spot inside of you. 

“Tell me you love it, tell me how good my cock feels, splitting your pussy open like this,” Jungkook’s voice is whiny as he begs for your praise, secretly seeking more than he asks for. When he wraps his tattooed hand around your waist, fingers dipping between your legs in search of your clit, you give everything he’s hoping to hear and more as you climax. 

“Oh, fuck, right there, Jungkook, fuck, fuck, I love you, don’t stop, please don’t stop, you feel so good, Jungkook, fucking love you, you make me feel so good.”

His head—the one currently buried deep inside you—loses all senses as his other head processes your words, and he’s losing himself as he empties inside of you. Your legs shake, wanting to give out if not for his strong arms holding you up. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Jungkook whispers as he kisses the back of your head. “My perfect baby.”

Drying off, you shiver slightly as Jungkook walks out of the bathroom to grab some clothes for you both and leaves the door ajar. Your phone sits on the sink counter, a little foggy from the steam, but you can still see messages waiting for you. You click through them each one by one, not bothering to respond since it’s much later than the time they were sent, and all of the senders are probably deep in an alcohol-induced sleep. You glance at the time, noting it's now almost 2:30 AM. 

You’re glad the three men made it safely, but kind of hate the way Hoseok refers to you and Jungkook as teenagers. Were your actions at the club tonight…immature? What did he mean by that? Did he think you weren’t smart enough to make sure to use protection? Jungkook’s young, but he’s not that young! Plenty of people under twenty-six have children. Would it be so bad if you and Jungkook were to become pregnant, based solely on your ages?

Then there’s Taehyung, pointing out yet again how ‘young’ Jungkook is—and why is he sending you thirst traps? You know it’s harmless, he’s just drunk and wants your attention, but it still makes you upset that he feels that your choice was wrong because of age. 

Are you some old crone or hag that can’t fuck with someone younger than you? What makes this age gap so bad? You just want someone to make sense of what they’re saying to you, because the way you’re interpreting it, they think you and Jungkook are too different in age to be together. Your biggest fears come to light in the messages across your screen, from your own friends no less, just when you’re coming to terms with the one fact that should be the only one that matters: You want to be with Jungkook. You want to date him—want him to be yours, for real.  

Jungkook returns with a large black shirt for you, his own lower body covered with a clean pair of red Calvin Klein boxer briefs. You pull the shirt over your head, and in the dark, you hear his phone chime with a text message. 

“Who’s even up at this time?” he mutters, and you have to agree, It’s late, but you assume it’s a message from one of the guys; he probably texted them each back and one wasn’t asleep just yet. Your head and arms are pushed hurriedly through the holes, and you see Jungkook barely get a chance to glance at his phone before he’s setting it down next to yours and instead grabbing your towel to finish drying your hair.  

The action is sweet, warming your heart and you know that this is the moment. It’s time to tell Jungkook exactly how you feel, regardless of the post-sex high and in spite of being still tipsy on alcohol—you’re sure what you want to say will come out how you intend. How hard can it be to tell someone you like them? But his phone chimes again and you can’t help but to glance down at it. The sight makes your blood run cold. SoHee, clearly shirtless, sending a booty call text at 2:33 AM. 

To YOUR Jungkook. To the same Jungkook who you just professed your love to while taking raw backshots in his shower; the same Jungkook who just finished emptying his cum inside of you. 

Your thoughts run wild; did he send nudes to her too? Did he take one when he left the bathroom to get clothes for you both? You want to scroll through the thread, see for yourself that he isn’t sending nudes to someone else, when he’s been fucking you every night, calling you his baby, his princess…No. Your eyes prick with tears at the thought, the alcohol still running through your veins making your ability to think logically about this situation a bit cloudy.

“Seriously, Jungkook? Fucking me and texting other bitches back to back? While I’m still here?” you scoff, shaking your head as you step away from him. 

“What?” he glances down at his phone, seeing the screen lit up with the message from SoHee. His eyes take in the picture and the message, growing wide in fear. “No, baby, it’s not what you think—” He picks up the phone, wants to show you the truth but you don’t let him speak.

“Jungkook, do I look stupid to you? I can literally see the messages and can still feel the ache between my thighs from you. This might work on girls your age, but please, do not insult my intelligence.”

“Girls my age? What are you talking about?”

“You! I’m talking about you pulling a stunt like this!” 

“Baby, c’mon. You’re just drunk, I promise you, this is nothing.”

His words only add to your ire. He’s downplaying what happened, but you know what you saw. It was right there in front of your eyes, but he’s trying to placate you and you can’t stand to feel like this. Like you can easily fall for some bullshit just because a hot, younger guy is showing interest in you. It’s exactly what people expect, right? That older women put up with shit because they’re afraid no one will want them, that they’re past their expiration date for romance.

“Don’t ‘you’re just drunk’ me! I literally just told you how I feel about you, to then see that picture and message! I honestly should’ve expected something like this from you, I chose to fuck the youngest in the group, what did I expect?” You say this last part more to yourself than to Jungkook, but he hears you just the same. 

“Hold on. What are you even fucking saying right now? You chose to fuck the youngest in the group? What, would you have decided to fuck someone else, like Jin or Namjoon? Because they’re older than me?”

“They probably wouldn’t be sending nudes to other bitches at 2 AM after fucking me in their shower and inviting me to stay the night. Maybe my coworker was right about you.”

“That’s not what the fuck even happened! God, you know, you’re so stupid sometimes, I swear. I’ve always wanted you, but you’re the one acting immature, like you’re so great because you’re older than me? Age doesn’t fucking matter, our age gap isn’t even that big! But you’re acting like you know more because you’re older than me?”

“Jungkook,” you sigh out, bringing your finger to your temples, “you don’t fucking get it, you’re too young to—”

“Don’t you even finish that fucking sentence.”

“Seriously, Jungkook. You can’t possibly feel—”

“Are you actually trying to tell me how I feel!? You’re certifiably insane.” Jungkook laughs, but there is no humor in his tone. He paces out of the bathroom, fingers raking through his hair as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. “You know what? You’re the only one who has ever worried about our age difference. Because of what other people say, right? Because I’ve never said anything about it. Not negatively, at least. I’ve…” Jungkook’s voice cracks as he tries to express how he feels to you, but he’s so disappointed that he can’t look at you. “You know I’ve literally been here for you, for anything you fucking needed. My age never mattered when it benefitted you. Your coworker doesn’t know shit about me and you. But apparently her opinion matters more than hearing me out.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Actually, I can’t deal with this right now,” he says, adding your name to the end of his sentence like a finality. He turns towards your discarded jeans and shoes. You can see him opening his phone, KakaoTaxi open on the screen. “I have to get up early for my shift, and I really think I should sleep alone tonight.”

“Jungkook, wait,” you start to speak, to try and take back what you’ve said, but for Jungkook, it’s literally and figuratively too late. He walks you back into the bathroom, passing you your jeans from where he’s picked them up off of the floor.

“Your taxi will be here in less than five minutes. Text me when you get home safely.”

Jungkook drops the phone back on the counter and disappears out of the bathroom, and you don’t bother trying to follow him. His phone lies abandoned next to yours, and you can’t help yourself. You swipe sideways to his messages and scroll up through the thread with SoHee quickly, but there’s nothing in it from Jungkook showing he’s sent nudes, barely any messages sent from him at all. 

You blink away the tears that are forming, step into your jeans and grab your phone. His phone chimes from the Taxi notification, and you don’t bother to say goodbye, since you don’t see him on your way through his apartment to his front door. You linger, closing the door slowly but he never appears, and you’re hit with a sobering moment of reality of what your future could look like without him in it. The way home is quiet and lonely at this hour, the roads a sea of black, white, and grey, and you aren’t sure if Jungkook will ever color your doorstep—or your life—again.

stay tuned for “i kiss your waist and ease your mind” coming 8-?-2023!

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[crookedt44th]

Show Me Off

PAIRING: lee minho x gender-neutral reader

GENRE: fluff, but a lot more angst. situationship. they are secretly seeing each other, but other doesn't want it as secret.

CWs: just a little bit of insecurites going on, but please lmk if more

WORD COUNT: 431

A/N: This is my first written fanfic on here! Sorry, it's short, but this is just a warm up for my playlist list and sorry for my english, too LOL Hope you enjoyyyyy

Now Playing . . . Show Me Off - Sara Kays

You hesitated to knock on his door as you stood in the front of his apartment on a particularly dark night. Despite the fact that you visited each other's homes often. However you continue to have doubts about yourself. The most handsome man ever known to man, Minho, is lovely when he laughs and smiles. Kind and gentle as always. He was not, at least not yet, your boyfriend.

Minho would wait for you outside in the car, and as soon as you got inside, he grabbed your chin and pressed his lips to yours. He reaches out to hold your hand and reminds you how gorgeous you have always been in his eyes. How his smile would grow when you would make jokes. You wondered if he would act same if it were in front of people.

When you were both by yourself, he gave you a never-ending amount of kisses, but when his friends were there, he treated you as if you’re a stranger. How he brushed it off when his friends asked who you were, saying that you're just a friend. And how, as you entered the bar together, he would ignore your presence.

You enjoy how sweet he sounds when he sings or hums while taking a shower or preparing dinner. You love the way he looks when the sun kisses him during golden hour. Minho was lying on the couch next to you as you converse, his sweet giggle resonating across the room and your heart melted. You once said, "I like when we talk really late at night." As he turned to face you, his grin gradually vanished, and he became silent.

You wonder when tomorrow will come, when the sun will rise, and when you are by yourself among a crowd. Would he ever treat you the same way as the previous night in the daylight? When he said you remind him of the moon, you wondered if he'd ever seen someone who reminds him of the sun. You ponder whether he would love you more if you glowed like the sun. Was he never aware how hurt you felt?

You’ve been hoping since late September that he’d act how you wanted him to. Every time you approach his house, you hold out hope that something will change. The only thing you want is to be flaunted, after all. But you've learned to just put up with it and leave, knowing that when dawn comes, he'll act as if you're just another person.

“I know when the sun is up,

I know when tomorrow comes,

Even though it’s all I want.”

PLAYLIST.

[vanilladollette]

Beneath The Surface (Yandere The Glory x reader)

I decided to write a Yandere The Glory x reader. Just a heads up, I have never written an x reader story or a yandere x reader but I decided to give it a try. I hope that when I write this, I don't make the reader unrealistic as I would put it. Though I would appreciate feedback.

Link:

Wattpad

Quotev

[https-immotmari]

❝ I had really sweet dreams yesterday ❞ ─── rules!

RULES!

this blog will be only for fluff, angst with comfort/happy ending, maybe a bit of yandere and for fun since, for me, I don't want to mix up the two sides of ying and yang. or those who wants the opposite of it, I've already made a side blog, although, it needs some final touches.

please mention/say the gender of the reader in your request, either female or gender neutral! (apologies to those who wanted a male!reader, I'm still not yet ready, hopefully in the future I will)

I can only take up to 3-4 characters per request, there's honestly a lot of characters in the fandoms.

please don't request anything lewd, I'm still a minor.

with your request, you guys can detail it as much as you want since sometimes my brain just needs a head start to come up with a scenario/story.

please be respectful and patient with me, and anymore writers, since I also have a personal life out of social media.

your request can be either romantic or platonic.

also, don't forget to mention if you want headcannons, short scenarios, etc, etc. I don't write/tolerate anything disgusting or uncomfortable like incest, pedophilia, racism, etc.

If I may feel uncomfortable with any request, which is gonna be rare, I can always decline it.

FANDOMS!

fandoms that mari is in and writes for:

reminder: that the names with the color purple on it are indicating that they are strictly platonic

study group - gamin yoon, hanwool phi, minhwan ma, jiwoo lee, heewon choi, sehyun kim, jun lee, hankyeon lee, geonyeob park, minhee jang, siwon cheon, sunchul kim, hyeonu lee, (may possibly add more)

blood of the butterfly - maehwa baek, jaeyon shing, sara lopez, hajin seo, (may possibly add more)

akuneko (devil butler with [a] black cat) - all of the devil butlers + muu, (may probably add more)

i became the male lead's adopted daughter - phileo, leonia, (may possibly add more)

zomgan - mirae on, (may possibly add more)

becoming the dark hero's daughter - lea/leticia, jade de lewelton, duke kallen de lewelton, marianne de lewelton, (might add more)

project sekai - vivid bad squad, wonderlands x showtime, (may add more since I've still have to read the other bands stories)

twisted wonderland - possibly all + grim and ortho (except for the adults and event characters)

surviving as a maid in a horror game - adrian caiser von der paltzgraf, hilda (might add more)