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luxora · 2 years ago

Text

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 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.

#the glory #The glory imagines #the glory reactions #the glory scenarios #moon dongeun #Joo Yeo Jeong #ha doyeong #Park Yeon Jin #jeon jaejun #lee sara #choi hyejeong #Moon Dong Eun x reader #joo yeo jeong x reader #ha do yeong x reader #park yeonjin x reader #jeon jae jun x reader #lee sara x reader #choi hye jeong x reader

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curi0us-gh0st · 1 year ago

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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.

#👻 gh0st fic !#smut #kdrama smut #kdrama fic #kdrama #the glory #the glory kdrama #choi hyejeong x reader #park yeonjin x reader #lee sara x reader #park yeonjin x lee sara x choi hyejeong x reader #choi hye jeong #park yeon jin #lee sara

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yourlocalsmutwriter · 2 years ago

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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.''

#the glory #the glory x reader #Lee sa-ra #sara lee #Lee Sara x reader

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vanilladollette · 4 months ago

Note

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

#kdrama #netflix #netflix kdrama #the glory #lee sara #park yeon jin #choi hyejeong #moon dong eun #The Glory x fem reader #Jeon Jae-Joon x female reader #Yandere Jeon Jae-Joon #Yandere Jeon Jae-Joon x Fem reader #x female y/n #x female reader #female y/n #female reader #Moon Dong-eun x fem reader #the glory x reader #Jeon Jae-Joon

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the-expired-tofu · 2 years ago

Text

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.

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jenosbliss · 4 months ago

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✈️⌇ 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

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slut4hee · 1 month ago

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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.

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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

#smut #enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen imagines #fanfic #enhypen x reader #enhypen x black reader #lee heeseung #enhypen hard hours #enhypen scenarios #heeseung x black reader #heeseung smut #slut4heemasterlist #slut4heeworks #slut4heeupdates #slut4hee #feeling slutty #i want to suck him dry

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seospicybin · 4 months ago

Text

TASTE.

CHAPTER III: AFTERTASTE.

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. (21,1k words)

Author's note: Your reservation at Farfalle is ready. Hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to leave a 5-star review ★

Aftertaste. /ˈɑːf.tə.teɪst/ (n) a taste, typically an unpleasant one, remaining in the mouth after eating or drinking something.

Do you know that you food can taste different when it has become cold? When the food is sweet or salty in particular, its taste would change depending if they're hot or cold. That, Minho learned the hard way, eight years ago in culinary school.

The kitchen was alive with the sounds of chopping, sizzling, and the occasional bursts of laughter from students, each consumed by their own culinary experiments. Minho stood at his station, his brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously kneaded pasta dough. The faint scent of flour and olive oil hung in the air, mingling with the aromas of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces.

Across the counter, Sara leaned on her elbows, watching Minho with an amused smile. Her hair was tied back into a loose bun, a streak of flour smudged across her cheek.

“You’re so serious when you cook,” she teased, breaking the silence.

Minho glanced up, his lips twitching into a small smile. “And you’re so distracting,” he shot back, though there was no malice in his tone.

Sara grinned, straightening up and walking over to his side. “Come on, show me what you’re working on.”

Minho hesitated but eventually relented, stepping aside to reveal a small bowl of ginseng root. “I’m making a ginseng pasta,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement. “It’s going to be my entry for the summer competition.”

Sara raised an eyebrow, picking up a piece of the root. “Ginseng? That’s bold. How are you planning to deal with the bitterness?”

Minho smirked, the confidence in his expression unmistakable. “That’s the genius part. I’m using Barolo wine to balance it out. The earthy notes in the wine will complement the ginseng perfectly.”

Sara nodded thoughtfully, placing the root back into the bowl. “Well, good luck with it,” she said, her tone warm and genuine. “You’re going to need it against me.”

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

Minho and Sara were not only young and bright, both of them were passionate about cooking, they were also very much in love with each other. Their rivalry was as much a part of their relationship as their love for cooking. They pushed each other, critiqued each other’s dishes, and celebrated each other’s successes. It was why they were the top two students in their class with Minho reigned on the first place and Sara stayed closely on the second.

On the day of the competition, the grand hall buzzed with anticipation, the scent of spices and freshly cooked food wafting through the air. Minho stood confidently by his station, his ginseng pasta plated and ready to be presented. He glanced at Sara, who gave him a small, encouraging smile from her own station.

When it was his turn, Minho carried his dish to the judges with steady hands. They took their first bites, their faces revealing nothing. But as they continued, a subtle crease formed in one judge’s brow, followed by a quiet murmur among them.

Minho’s confidence faltered. He hurried back to his station, his mind racing. What had gone wrong? He quickly checked his ingredients, his heart sinking when he tasted the wine. It was oxidized, the rich flavors replaced by an unpleasant sourness.

His hands clenched into fists as realization dawned on him. He had only shared his recipe with one person.

He looked across the room at Sara, who stood before the judges, presenting her dish with radiant confidence. When they announced her as the winner, her smile was triumphant, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment.

Minho’s stomach churned as he saw the satisfaction in her gaze. She had sabotaged him.

Sara approached him afterward, her tone light and breezy. “I’m sorry, Minho. But I need to go to Rome,” she said, her smile sweet but unmistakably victorious.

Minho said nothing, his jaw tight and his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his station. You see, even once the food is served, sometimes you don't eat it right away so the food becomes cold while you are talking or taking pictures of it but the last thing you'd remember is how it tastes before you leave the table.

And that day, his love for Sara was replaced by something colder, sharper—a lingering aftertaste that rivaled the bitterness of his ruined ginseng.

Today, that lingering aftertaste not only tainted his tongue, it starts pooling in the pit of his stomach, making him sick from the inside.

Minho exhales sharply, his patience thinning to a dangerous edge. His knuckles ache from clenching his fists. He stares at Chris, his gaze demanding an answer he already suspects but needs to hear aloud.

“Don’t tell me that she's already here?” he asks, his voice a low, controlled growl.

Chris nods, and Minho’s stomach twists. “She's here.”

The words barely register before the sound of her footsteps announces her presence. Minho’s body tenses as Sara steps into the kitchen. She’s every bit as he remembers—confident, calculated, and exuding a saccharine charm that feels like a slap to the face.

“Nice to meet everyone,” Sara says, her voice sweet and cutting all at once. Her gaze lands on Minho, and the playful malice in her tone is unmistakable. “I hope no one plans to chase me out of the kitchen just because someone here has… issues tolerating women in the kitchen.”

Minho’s jaw tightens further but he stays silent, watching, waiting, his anger simmering dangerously close to the surface.

Sara turns back to him, feigning sweetness. “I’ll follow your instructions, Chef. Tell me where to stand and from which stove I should work.”

Her words feel like needles, each one designed to provoke. Minho’s grip on the table tightens, his knuckles whitening.

Sara tilts her head, mock innocence dripping from her tone. “Should I pick the station myself, then?”

Then she does the unthinkable. Her hands slide onto the chef’s table—his table—as if claiming it for herself.

The last thread of Minho’s restraint snaps. He spins around, his movements sharp and deliberate, his eyes locking onto hers with unfiltered fury. For a moment, the air between them crackles, thick with unspoken conflict.

Sara doesn’t flinch, meeting his gaze with calm defiance, and that only stokes his rage further.

Without a word, Minho storms past her, his shoulder colliding with hers hard enough to send her staggering. The door swings shut behind him, the sound echoing like a final note in a symphony of chaos.

Minho storms out of the kitchen and into his office, slamming the door with enough force to make the frame rattle. The echo reverberates through the small space as he rips his apron loose, the knot giving way under his angry hands. He hurls it onto the floor, the fabric crumpling into a heap. His chest rises and falls with sharp breaths, and he begins pacing, his shoes clicking against the polished floor in a rhythm that matches the racing of his thoughts.

She’s in my kitchen. That backstabber. That audacious, smug—

His fists clench, the tendons in his forearms straining as he tries to shake off the fury boiling inside him. But it’s futile. The image of Sara standing there, smug and triumphant, invades his mind again and again.

A knock on the door interrupts his spiraling thoughts. He ignores it, his back turned to the door as he continues pacing.

A second knock comes, firmer this time. Before Minho can bark out a refusal, the door creaks open, and Chris steps inside, calm and composed as always.

Minho stops, planting his hands firmly on his hips as he turns to face him. His glare is scorching, his voice sharp and biting. “What is it that you want? Are you trying to make me leave?”

Chris closes the door behind him, leaning against it with an ease that contrasts starkly with Minho’s barely-contained rage. His calm demeanor is infuriating.

“I’m trying to revive Farfalle,” Chris says, his tone measured. “That’s all this is about. Don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be. It’s just a new menu item.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, unfazed as he continues. “You chose her dish to be the new menu and you agreed the winner gets to cook here. You signed off on that.”

Minho’s jaw tightens, and he boldly steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Do you really think this is just a trivial matter to you, huh?”

Chris doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady. “It’s still your kitchen, Chef. You’re the head chef. Nothing has changed. Ninety-seven percent of the kitchen is yours, and no one’s taking your authority away.”

Minho lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound cutting through the tension. He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as a sinister smirk spreads across his lips. “My kitchen? In my kitchen, there would never be two chefs. Ever.”

Chris straightens, his calm demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of challenge. He steps closer, their faces now inches apart. “You’ve made countless changes to this kitchen. You’ve built it into something incredible. Are you really going to throw it all away because of this?”

Minho’s breath is steady, but the fire in his eyes burns hotter than ever. He leans in slightly, matching Chris’s intensity. “If you’re making the changes, then why don’t you just take it, Chris? Take the ninety-seven percent. Hell, take it all. Make it one hundred.”

For a long moment, they stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. The air between them feels heavy, suffocating, as if the entire restaurant is holding its breath.

Neither of them blinks. Neither of them backs down.

The kitchen feels like it's on the verge of collapse. The clanging of pots and pans is louder than usual, overlapping with shouts of orders being repeated and corrected. Seojun, normally composed, is frantically trying to keep everyone in line, his voice hoarse from barking instructions. Felix has just served the wrong table, and the mistake sends a ripple of frustration through the staff. Taesoo, rushing to clean up a spill, nearly crashes into Seungwan, who looks like he might collapse at any moment.

The tension is suffocating, lingering in the air like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. And you know exactly why. Minho is gone. He left. Completely abandoning his post and the team.

You feel anger simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over as you throw down your knife and step away from your station. If no one else is going to fix this, you will.

Without a word to anyone, you slip into the freezer, the sudden chill biting at your skin. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you scroll through your contacts and hit Minho’s name. The ringing feels endless, each tone tightening the knot in your stomach.

Finally, he picks up, but instead of his voice, you’re met with the thumping bass of loud music. The sound is almost deafening, making it hard to tell if he’s even aware you’re on the other end.

“Hello?” you say, your voice sharp, laced with urgency. “Chef, can you hear me?”

A moment of static, then his voice comes through, lazy and sarcastic. “Wow, you sound so happy right now that I'm not there.”

You grit your teeth, biting back a sharp retort. “Where are you? The kitchen is falling apart, Chef. Are you coming back or not?”

His laugh grates on your nerves, light and dismissive. “Why don’t you come here instead?” he says, his voice almost drowned out by the music. “Don’t bring anyone, though. Just you. Come have some fun.”

Your grip tightens on the phone, your frustration bubbling over. “Are you kidding me right now?” you snap, but he doesn’t respond, his laugh echoing faintly before the line goes dead.

With a growl of frustration, you shove your phone back into your pocket and push your way out of the freezer, the warmth of the kitchen hitting you like a wave. But before you can even get back to your station, your phone buzzes again.

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether to ignore it, but curiosity wins out. Pulling it out, you glance at the screen.

It’s a text from Minho. An address.

You stare at it, your stomach twisting. A club, no doubt the one where he’s currently drowning his responsibilities in music and alcohol.

Your grip on the phone tightens as you slide it back into your pocket, your jaw clenched. The chaos around you feels even louder now, the weight of Minho’s absence pressing down on your shoulders.

You know you can’t leave, not with the kitchen on the verge of disaster. But the thought of him out there, laughing, carefree, while everyone else struggles to keep things afloat, makes your blood boil.

The thumping bass of the club vibrates through your body as you push your way through the sweaty crowd, your frustration mounting with each passing second. Neon lights flicker overhead, casting garish colors over the sea of dancing bodies. The smell of alcohol and perfume is overwhelming, but none of it distracts you from your mission: finding Minho.

After what feels like an eternity, you spot him on the second floor, lounging in one of the booths like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His head is tilted back, a bottle of beer dangling lazily from his fingers, and his foot taps idly to the beat of the music.

He left the kitchen in chaos for this?

Without thinking, you grab your purse and fling it at him. It hits him square in the chest, making him jerk forward in surprise. His eyes widen momentarily before recognition sets in, and a slow, infuriating smile spreads across his face.

“Well, look who decided to join me,” he drawls, leaning forward and reaching for a fresh bottle of beer. He holds it out to you. “Here. Have a drink.”

“Are you kidding me?” you snap, refusing the bottle and plopping down on the ottoman across from him. “What the hell? How could you do this—not just to me, but to everyone in the kitchen?”

He sighs dramatically, tipping his head back as though he’s the one being inconvenienced. “I’m off the clock,” he mutters, taking another sip of his beer.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re the head chef! There’s no such thing as ‘off the clock’ when the kitchen is falling apart!”

Minho groans, placing the bottle down and covering his ears with his hands like a petulant child. “I don’t want to hear any of it,” he says, his voice laced with mock annoyance.

You’re livid now. “Don’t you dare act like this isn’t a big deal! Tell me what the actual problem is, huh? Is it because Chef Sara’s a woman? Or a chef? Or is it because—”

Before you can finish, Minho shoots up from his seat and grabs your hand, dragging you down to the dance floor without a word. You protest, trying to yank your hand free, but his grip is firm.

“Let me go!” you shout over the pounding music.

He ignores you, spinning you around and pulling you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Relax,” he says, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you know how to relax?”

You glare at him, refusing to be distracted. “I want you to answer me.”

But Minho is relentless. He moves to the rhythm of the music, swaying with a casual confidence that only makes you more frustrated. “How could you constantly think about nothing but work?” he asks, his lips dangerously close to your temple. “Just dance with me.”

You’re about to demand an answer again when he suddenly cups your face with both hands and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is unexpected, firm yet tender, and for a moment, you freeze.

When he pulls back, his eyes lock onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something you can’t quite place. “You’re the only girl in my kitchen,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “And that’s more than enough for me.”

Your heart skips a beat, his words throwing you off balance. But as quickly as the moment sweeps you up, you snap yourself out of it.

“Don’t think you can sweet-talk your way out of this,” you say, stepping back and crossing your arms. “You’re still at fault, and I’m not forgiving you just because you—”

“Just leave,” Minho interrupts, exasperated. His playful demeanor vanishes, replaced by irritation. “If you’re just going to keep nagging, then leave.”

His words hit harder than they should, but you refuse to let it show. Straightening your shoulders, you glare at him one last time before spinning on your heel and storming off, leaving him standing alone in the crowd.

The ache in your chest surprises you, but you shove it aside. Minho asked you to leave, and you’ll do exactly that.

The kitchen is eerily quiet, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as you step through the back entrance. Despite your anger at Minho, you can’t bring yourself to ignore his instructions about prepping for tomorrow. Frustration bubbles up in your chest as you head straight to the kitchen, only to find Taesoo squatting on the floor, painstakingly peeling shrimp from a massive bucket. His head bobs slightly, a yawn escaping as he struggles to stay awake.

A pang of guilt settles in your stomach. You remember those long nights when you were just a kitchen assistant, exhausted but determined to prove yourself. Setting your purse and jacket on the chef’s table, you quietly approach Taesoo and tap his shoulder. He jolts awake, his eyes widening before softening when he recognizes you.

“Sorry for leaving earlier,” you say, your voice gentle. “Where’s Felix? Wasn’t he supposed to stay after dinner service too?”

Taesoo shrugs, looking just as clueless as you feel. “No idea. Either he forgot or decided not to show up.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Alright, go take a nap. I’ll finish this for you.”

His face lights up with gratitude, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. With a quick “thank you,” he scurries off, leaving you alone with the bucket of shrimp. You slide on a pair of gloves and get to work, the repetitive task giving your hands something to do while your mind drifts back to earlier at the club.

Minho’s smug grin. His infuriating refusal to take responsibility. And that kiss—your cheeks heat at the memory, quickly replaced by anger when you remember how he dismissed you.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. You glance up, surprised to see Chris entering the kitchen. He’s still in his suit, hands casually tucked into his pockets, looking a little out of place in the quiet, industrial space.

“Chris? What are you still here?” you ask, pulling off your gloves.

He smirks faintly but doesn’t answer your question directly. “It’s my first day as the manager,” he says. “Aren't you worried about me?”

You catch the slight sulk in his tone and can’t help but smile warmly. “You weren’t that bad for your first day,” you tease.

He chuckles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something subdued about him tonight. Deciding to lift his spirits, you stand and gesture toward the door. “Come on. Let me buy you dinner.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, his trademark dimpled grin returning. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I realized I haven't eaten anything,” you say, pulling out your phone. “What do you feel like eating?”

He watches you scroll through the food delivery options, his gaze softening. “You’re a chef. Shouldn’t you be cooking instead of ordering takeout?”

You roll your eyes, a small laugh escaping. “I’ve been cooking all day, Chris. The last thing I want to do is cook more.”

He lets out a mock gasp, dramatically clutching his chest. “I don’t trust you with your food choices,” he says with narrowed eyes. Snatching the phone from your hand, he starts scrolling through the menu himself.

Every now and then, he lets out an excited gasp or hums in approval at a dish he likes, grinning as he scrolls. You find yourself smiling despite the fatigue weighing on your shoulders.

The dining hall is eerily quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound as you and Chris sit at one of the tables, takeout containers spread out in front of you. The dim lighting gives the room a serene, almost intimate atmosphere, a stark contrast to the chaos earlier.

You take a sip of your canned beer, letting out a satisfied sigh. The exhaustion of the day seems to melt away, replaced by the quiet reward of good food and company. Chris leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he absentmindedly taps his can against the table.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Chris suddenly grumbles, his voice breaking the silence. “There’s a chance he might not return to the kitchen, you know.”

You set your can down, frowning slightly. “No way. Chef wouldn’t just let go of his kitchen like that. He’s too... territorial.”

Even as you say it, you hate how easily you’ve defended him after everything he’s done tonight. Chris gives you a curious look, his eyebrow quirking. “You seem to know a lot about him.”

You wave a hand dismissively, trying to downplay it. “It’s nothing. We went to the same school, that’s all.”

Chris doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he leans forward slightly, his tone turning more thoughtful. “Did you know about him and Sara?”

The question catches you off guard. You pause, picking at the edge of your takeout container. “Yeah, I know they dated back in culinary school. But I don’t know much about it beyond that.”

Chris hums in response, swirling his beer in the can. His gaze is distant for a moment before you decide to flip the question back on him.

“You seem close to Sara too,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s the story there?”

A faint smile tugs at Chris’s lips, and he shrugs. “We tried dating once. Didn’t work out.”

That piques your curiosity even more. “Why not? You’re both attractive, popular... I’d imagine you’d make a power couple.”

Chris looks at you then, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Doesn't matter. I like someone else,” he says casually, like it’s not a bombshell of a revelation.

You lean forward on the table, your curiosity now fully ignited. “Who?”

Chris chuckles but shakes his head. “Not telling.”

You narrow your eyes at him, determined to pry the truth out. “Oh, come on! Who is it? Someone I know? Is it someone in the restaurant?”

Before you can press him further, a loud snore cuts through the air, startling both of you. You glance around, trying to locate the source of the sound, and eventually spot Taesoo sprawled out in one of the booths, fast asleep.

The sight is so unexpected and absurd that you can’t help but laugh. Chris’s laughter soon joins yours, the sound echoing through the empty dining hall. For a brief moment, it feels like you’re both exactly where you need to be, uplifting each other after a long, hard day.

Minho leans against the hood of his car, parked across the street from the restaurant. The glow of the streetlights illuminates the familiar sign above the door, casting long shadows on the pavement. His eyes linger on the name of the restaurant, the place he’s poured everything into. The memories of your question from earlier in the club replay in his mind like a haunting echo.

What’s your actual problem with Sara?

The question nags at him, forcing him to confront the truths he’s been avoiding. He exhales slowly, gripping the edge of the car.

Was it because Sara is a woman? No. That had never truly been the issue.

Was it because she’s also a chef? Maybe, but not entirely.

Or was it because Sara is his ex-girlfriend? The thought stirs an uncomfortable weight in his chest, but it’s not the root cause either.

The truth settles in the pit of his stomach, sharp and undeniable. It wasn’t Sara herself—it was the possibility of losing to her again. His ego couldn’t handle it. Back then, she had left him behind, proving she could succeed without him. The thought of her doing it again, this time in his kitchen, had twisted his pride into knots.

But standing there, staring at the restaurant, Minho realizes the futility of clinging to the past. This isn’t culinary school anymore. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about what’s best for the restaurant. Sara deserves the chance to prove herself, just like anyone else.

He pushes off the car and climbs back inside, the engine roaring to life as he heads home.

The next morning, Minho steps out of his apartment and while adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, he walks toward your apartment. He rings the doorbell, he knows he's here to talk to Sara but he's also expecting to see you open the door.

When Sara answers instead, her bright smile is a stark contrast to his composed demeanor.

“Minho,” she greets warmly, but he skips the pleasantries.

“About your menu... you can make it in the kitchen,” he says bluntly, getting straight to the point.

Sara’s eyes widen in surprise, her smile growing as she processes his words. “Really? Does that mean I’ll start working in the kitchen tomorrow?”

Minho nods, his tone even and detached. “Let me be clear. I need your skill and your recipe, nothing more. Don’t misunderstand—this changes nothing.”

Sara’s smile softens as she nods in agreement. “Understood.”

There’s a brief silence before Minho clears his throat, his voice lowering. “Where’s your roommate?”

Sara tilts her head slightly, confused. “I don’t think she came home last night.”

Minho’s jaw tightens, but he nods once and turns to leave. As he walks toward the elevator, his mind races with questions. Where could you have been all night? And why does it bother him so much to think about it?

It’s barely morning, and the kitchen of Farfalle is already buzzing with activity. You’re elbow-deep in prep work, chopping, blanching, and arranging ingredients for the evening’s service. The reservations for today are over 100, and the pressure is palpable. Still, you keep your focus sharp, refusing to let exhaustion creep in.

As lunchtime approaches, you finally step out of the kitchen for a breather. In the dining hall, a press conference is underway. Sara stands confidently in front of a sea of reporters, eloquently describing the inspiration behind her new menu. Her charisma commands the room, and as you watch, you’re reminded of the days back in culinary school.

She’s always been talented, but her success didn’t come from talent alone. It’s her unwavering drive and passion that elevated her career. You admire that about her, even if you’ve never said it aloud. Watching her now, you feel a flicker of determination to push yourself even harder—to be as good as Sara, if not better.

Dinner service is chaos in the best way possible. Orders for the new menu fly in nonstop, and the kitchen hums like a well-oiled machine. For hours, it’s all hands on deck, assembling full-course meals for over a hundred guests. By the end of the night, your feet ache, your hands are sore, and exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. But despite it all, there’s a deep sense of satisfaction.

The reopening of Farfalle has been a success.

Minho strides into the kitchen just as the last of the orders go out, carrying two pristine plates in his hands. He places them carefully on the chef’s table, the gleam in his eyes unreadable.

“Gather around,” he says, his voice cutting through the lingering chatter.

Everyone stops what they’re doing, curiosity sparking as they crowd around the table. Minho gestures to the plates, introducing his new menu item. He insists that everyone taste it and provide brutally honest feedback.

“No sugarcoating,” he warns, his gaze scanning the group. “I want the truth.”

Silence hangs in the air. No one moves. The tension is almost comical as everyone exchanges hesitant glances, none brave enough to be the first to critique the head chef’s work.

“What? You don't feel comfortable being honest with me here? Is that it?” Minho exhales, clearly exasperated. “Fine, then go home and criticize to your heart's content. Taste it and you are to turn in your review anonymously by tomorrow morning, understand?”

Relieved laughter ripples through the team, and forks are finally lifted. One by one, your colleagues sample the dish, their faces lighting up with appreciation. You linger at the back, arms crossed, observing their reactions.

Minho’s eyes find yours, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingers. You glance away dismissively, the sting of yesterday’s events still fresh.

Minutes later, Sara walks in, carrying her own dish—a plate of triple-flavored pasta that looks as stunning as it smells. She sets it on the table next to Minho’s dish. “Please, have a taste of mine too.”

Sara smiles then her eyes lands at Minho, silently asking if she can taste his dish. Minho subtly nods. “Have a taste.”

She picks up a fork and take a piece of the foie gras, processing the taste as she's chewing it.

“It's very good,” Sara praises, her smile genuine. “It's not too rich but refreshing and yet it retains the nutty flavor of the liver.”

Minho gives a curt nod, though his shoulders relax slightly at the compliment. He steps back, addressing the room.

“You’ve all done a great job today. Clean up and head home.”

“Yes, chef!”

After a while, Sara also excusing herself to leave. “Thank you for your hard work today, everyone!”

The team begins to disperse, buzzing with pride from the night’s success. Sara also thanks everyone for their hard work before heading out.

As you start to remove your apron, Taesoo nudges you with a grin. “You haven’t tried the dishes yet. Go on!”

Reluctantly, you grab a fork and approach the table. First, you sample Minho’s creation. The flavors explode on your palate—balanced, bold, and unmistakably his style. Next, you try Sara’s pasta. It’s equally impressive, with layers of taste that linger long after the bite.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, begrudgingly acknowledging that despite everything, they’re both culinary geniuses.

The flavors still linger on your tongue as you exchange notes with Taesoo and a few others about the dishes. The general consensus is clear—both Minho and Sara’s creations are exceptional. The team buzzes with excitement, debating which dish edges out the other, but you stay quiet, appreciating both for their unique strengths.

As you laugh at Taesoo’s dramatic reenactment of his “first bite,” a gentle tap on your shoulder pulls you out of the moment. You turn around to see Felix standing there, looking sheepish yet hopeful, his signature soft smile lighting up his face.

“Hey,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say sorry for bailing last night. I know I should’ve been here to help you and Taesoo.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything, crossing your arms as you wait for him to continue.

“To make it up to you,” Felix adds, “I’m buying you two drinks tonight. My treat.”

You glance over at Taesoo, who’s already grinning like he’s won the lottery. Putting your arm around his shoulders, you lean into him conspiratorially. “Drinks, huh? What do you think, Taesoo? Is that enough for all the work we did without him?”

Taesoo shakes his head, playing along. “Not even close.”

You look back at Felix, raising your eyebrows in mock expectation. “Sorry, Lix. Drinks won’t cut it. You’re buying us meals too.”

Felix groans, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Meals and drinks? You guys are gonna bleed me dry.”

“Yup,” Taesoo chimes, grinning wickedly. “Better start saving up, Felix.”

“Alright, alright,” Felix relents, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Meals and drinks. But only if you promise not to order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“No promises,” you tease, smirking as you turn back to the others.

Felix lets out a resigned chuckle, shaking his head as he mutters, “You two are impossible.”

Despite his faux annoyance, you catch a glint of amusement in his eyes. Moments like these—lighthearted and filled with camaraderie—make the long hours and exhausting shifts worth it.

The smell of sizzling meat fills the air as Taesoo flips slices of pork belly on the grill with precision. Felix leans back in his chair, watching the meat char while you mix soju and beer into an improvised cocktail for the three of you.

Taesoo serves the freshly grilled meat onto your plates, and you all lift your glasses. “To surviving another day in Farfalle,” Felix says with a grin, and you all clink your glasses together.

The first sip burns warmly in your throat, and the exhaustion of the day begins to fade. Taesoo’s dramatic gasp after his first sip makes you laugh, and soon you’re all eating and chatting between bites.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m still starving,” Taesoo announces, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That’s no surprise,” you reply. “There’s a study that says professional cooks have the worst eating habits. We cook during mealtimes and then get too tired to cook for ourselves after work.”

Felix nods enthusiastically. “I thought it was just me. Sometimes even looking at a pan makes me feel sick.”

“Same with laundry,” you add, eliciting groans of agreement from both Taesoo and Felix.

Just as Taesoo starts another round of grilling, Felix’s phone buzzes on the table. He picks it up, speaking animatedly while looking out the window. His expression changes, and he waves at someone outside.

You follow his gaze, and your stomach drops when you see Minho walking through the door, phone pressed to his ear.

Of course Felix invited him, you think, sighing as you sip your drink. Minho approaches the table, his sharp gaze scanning the three of you.

He gestures for Taesoo to move, squeezing into the seat next to you. He nudges you lightly. “Mix a drink for me too,” he says casually.

You down the rest of your glass, setting it down firmly on the table. “I’m done for the night,” you announce, standing up. “Thanks for the food and drinks, Felix.” You grab your things and head for the exit, not sparing Minho another glance.

Just as you think you’ve escaped his grasp, you hear footsteps following closely behind. Turning around, you see Minho jogging to match your pace, his expression a mix of frustration and something unreadable.

“Where were you last night?” Minho’s voice cuts through the night air as he jogs to match your pace.

You glare at him. “Unlike someone, I don’t run away from my responsibilities.”

Minho flinches but presses on. “Why are you still upset about last night?”

You stop abruptly and whirl around to face him. “Why can’t I be upset when you’re playing with my feelings?”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “You better shut your mouth,” he snaps, but you press on, determined to get answers.

“You don’t allow women in your kitchen, but you keep me. And now there are two women in the kitchen. What’s your game? Why do you keep confusing me?”

Minho’s jaw tightens. “I swear if one more word comes out of your mouth...”

But you’re relentless. “What am I to you? A piece of meat on your cutting board? Is that it? You’re not afraid because you’re the one holding the knife?”

His eyes darken as he leans closer. “Even if you were a piece of meat, you’re not fresh. You’ve been in the freezer too long, you’re tough, hard to handle, and take too much work to prep. After all that effort, there’s not much left worth eating. You’re not an appealing ingredient, and I would never put you on my cutting board.”

Your chest tightens, but you refuse to back down. “So you want me off the cutting board?”

“Yes,” he says firmly.

“There’s only the trash can left for me then,” you say bitterly as you wistfully look at him.

Minho doesn’t answer, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward his car. “Let's go home.”

You yank your hand away, turning on your heel to walk the other way. “I’m going home myself.”

“Fine! Go home by yourself then!” He shouts as you walk away.

Despite of what he said, he doesn’t let you go that easily. He follows you with relentless determination, matching your pace until you reach the bus stop. He sits down beside you, the weight of the day pressing down on both of you in the cramped space.

For a moment, neither of you speak, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the faint music playing from nearby. Finally, Minho exhales deeply, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have so many reasons why I shouldn’t like you. If you weren’t working in my kitchen, I wouldn’t even think about it.”

You remain quiet, completely ignoring him and pretend that he's not there at all as you wait for the bus to come.

Minho’s shoulders slump slightly, the fight in his eyes dimming just enough. “Think about it yourself,” he says quietly. “Why can’t I just do what I want?”

Before you can respond, the bus arrives with a screech of brakes. You stand up, your patience worn thin. “You think about it yourself,” you say firmly, not giving him the chance to argue.

As the bus doors open, you turn to board, feeling a mix of relief and lingering frustration. Without looking back, you step inside, the doors closing firmly behind you, leaving Minho standing alone at the bus stop—his silhouette framed by the fading light.

The ride home is quiet, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions. You can’t shake the confrontation, the weight of his words lingering like a shadow. But as the city lights blur past the window, you remind yourself that you deserve better, that you won’t let his turmoil dictate your own path.

The familiar scent of freshly baked bread fills the cozy bakery, a comforting reminder of your childhood. The sun filters through the large front window, casting a warm glow over the wooden countertops and the assortment of pastries neatly arranged in the display cases. You stand at one of the workstations, hands deep in a bowl of dough, kneading with more frustration than precision.

Your dad walks in, a pan of golden-brown bread in his hands. He sets it on the counter, the metal tray clinking softly, and gives you a critical look. "What are you doing to that dough?" he scolds, his voice a mix of irritation and exasperation. "You're stressing it out instead of softening it!"

Before you can respond, he snatches the bowl from you, examining your work with the practiced eye of a seasoned baker. His sigh is heavy with disapproval. "Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you leave for work?"

You wipe your hands on your apron, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t want to go to work today," you mumble, hoping the conversation will end there.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression sharp. "What did you do? Did you cause any problems?"

You frown, crossing your arms. "Why do you always think it’s my fault? I didn’t cause any problems!"

He sets the bowl down with a thud, his arms crossing in a mirror of your stance. "Then why don’t you want to go? What’s going on?"

You hesitate for a moment, then blurt out, "Do you not like having a woman in your kitchen, dad?"

Your dad’s expression shifts, a mixture of confusion and concern. "What kind of question is that? Is someone looking down on you at work because you’re a girl?"

You look away, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your apron. "Not exactly," you say vaguely, hoping he won’t press further.

But of course, he does. "Listen," he says firmly, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience. "You chose this job yourself. Did you think it would be easy to survive in a kitchen? It’s tough, and you knew that going in."

His tone softens slightly as he adds, "But as your dad, I don’t like the idea of anyone belittling you when you’re doing your job right so tell me who is it?"

You’re spared from answering by the buzz of your phone. Glancing at the screen, your stomach tightens as Minho’s name flashes across it. You shove the phone into your purse, ignoring the call, and quickly grab your things.

"I have to go," you say hastily, avoiding your dad’s probing gaze.

He frowns but doesn’t stop you. "Don’t let anyone push you around, okay?"

You nod, forcing a small smile. "Bye, Dad."

As you step out of the bakery and into the crisp morning air, your thoughts are already racing ahead, dreading the day that awaits you at Farfalle.

The dining hall is humming with quiet murmurs as everyone lines up for the morning briefing. You find a spot behind Felix, adjusting your apron as you focus on the busy day ahead. The sound of approaching footsteps silences the chatter, and you glance up to see Minho stride into the room, his presence commanding as always. His eyes land on yours almost instantly, a fleeting moment of intensity that feels like a challenge. You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down, your expression calm but unyielding.

Minho’s lips press into a thin line, and he looks away just as Sara and Chris join him at the front.

Chris claps his hands once, his usual easygoing smile brightening the room. "Good morning, everyone! I’ve got an exciting announcement today. As many of you know, we have a new addition to the Farfalle family."

He gestures to Sara, who steps forward with a confident smile. "This is Chef Choi Sara. She’ll be joining us as the head of the pasta line and will oversee the execution of the new menu, including her signature triple-flavored pasta."

Sara’s posture is straight and authoritative, her voice calm yet firm as she adds, "I look forward to working with all of you. Let’s make sure this transition is smooth and that we maintain Farfalle’s reputation for excellence."

Her words carry weight, and you notice how everyone straightens up a little more. Even Seungwan, who often tries to mask his nerves with humor, looks unusually attentive.

After a moment of silence, Seungwan speaks up, voicing the question that’s likely on everyone’s mind. "So... does this mean there’ll be two head chefs in the kitchen now?"

Chris and Sara exchange a brief glance before answering simultaneously. "Yes."

Chris continues, "Chef Minho and Chef Sara will work together to ensure everything runs smoothly. This is a collaborative effort, and I trust both of them to lead the team."

Sara nods in agreement, her smile still professional but not overly warm. "We’re here to elevate Farfalle’s standards even further. Let’s focus on that."

Minho remains silent, his arms crossed as he leans slightly against the counter. There’s a tension in his jaw, his expression unreadable but clearly restrained. You can’t help but notice the slight twitch in his fingers, as if he’s holding himself back from saying something.

You shift your attention back to Sara as she continues outlining the day’s plans, though you can’t shake the nagging feeling that the tension in the room is only going to grow.

Minho stands at the base of the steps leading to his office when Sara steps in front of him, her gaze steady.

"Minho," she begins, her tone measured. "Don’t think of me as a woman. Don’t think of me as your ex. Just think of me as a chef."

Minho narrows his eyes slightly, watching her.

She continues, her voice unwavering. "I won’t play dirty this time. I won’t compromise my integrity, either."

There’s a pause before Minho nods slightly, his face unreadable. "Let’s try it, then," he says simply. He gives her one last look, then sidesteps her and heads up the stairs.

When he reaches his office, the kitchen staff is already gathered outside, shifting uneasily under his sharp gaze. "Get in," he orders, pushing the door open and gesturing for them to line up.

Inside, he picks up a stack of papers—the reviews they’d written about his dish. His lips curl into a sardonic smile as he flips through them.

"You all really wrote whatever you wanted, didn’t you?" he remarks, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Let’s see."

He pulls out the first sheet and scans it quickly. A dry chuckle escapes him. "This one doesn’t even critique the dish. It’s just a love letter." He reads aloud: ‘Chef Lee, you’re my idol. Chef Lee, you’re the best chef in the world.’

His eyes snap to Taesoo, who grins sheepishly.

"How did I know it was you?" Minho mutters, shaking his head.

Taesoo laughs, unabashed. "Because it’s true, Chef!"

Ignoring him, Minho pulls out the next paper. His brow furrows, then he looks up at Felix, holding the page between two fingers, showing the review says nothing but a drawing of three stars on it. "What’s this? Are you a food critic?"

Felix flashes a cheeky grin. "Your foie gras was perfect. Didn’t think you needed a critique."

Minho’s jaw tightens. "I said to critique the menu, not to flatter me. I asked for the good and the bad points on my dish. How can I improve if all you do is stroke my ego, huh?"

Felix shrugs, his grin unrelenting. "I genuinely had nothing bad to say."

Minho scowls, twisting both of their ears until they're wincing in pain. "Both of you. Out."

Taesoo and Felix exchange glances but quickly obey, leaving with amused expressions.

Minho reads a few more reviews, his scowl deepening with each. "Ah, here’s an actual critique," he says, raising an eyebrow. He glances between Seungwan and Hyunwoo. "‘Too expensive for fish liver.’ Let me guess—you two."

Hyunwoo groans. "You told us to write anonymously!"

"And yet, here we are," Minho deadpans, waving the paper. "Out. Both of you."

The room empties, leaving only Souschef Seojun and you behind. Minho leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"You two didn’t even bother with anonymity," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Seojun steps forward. "It would’ve felt cowardly not to own up to it."

Minho nods. "I appreciate that. Go on, then. Tell me your critique."

Seojun doesn’t hesitate. "The ingredient isn’t easy to source. It’s seasonal and from warm waters. How will we maintain a consistent supply? How can it be a regular menu item?"

Minho considers this for a moment, then responds with practiced ease. "Flash freezing, salt preservation, smoking—there are methods. But next time, discuss it with me directly instead of on paper."

Seojun nods, satisfied. "Understood."

"Good. You're dismissed, souschef," Minho dismisses him with a wave, and Seojun exits, leaving you alone with Minho.

Minho’s eyes lock onto yours, intense and probing. He crosses his arms, his posture exuding authority. "Your turn."

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Your dish tastes cowardly."

Minho arches an eyebrow. "Cowardly? Let me guess—because the chef is a coward, so the food reflects that?"

You nod, unfazed.

He leans forward slightly. "And what does a cowardly dish taste like?"

You don’t flinch. "It tastes good at first but leaves a bad aftertaste. It tastes good but the first bite is different from the last."

Minho’s expression darkens, but you press on. "It tastes good, but it gives you indigestion."

For a moment, there’s only silence as Minho processes your words. Then his voice drops, low and challenging. "Are you talking about the dish or about me?"

You meet his gaze without hesitation and the tension in the room is palpable, the air heavy with unspoken words. Minho looks like he wants to say something but hesitates.

Not wanting to give him the answer, you excuse yourself, turning on your heel and leaving his office without looking back. Let him figure it out himself.

One thing that Minho knows for sure is that you're still upset with him.

The kitchen is charged with pre-service energy as you meticulously arrange your station, ensuring every utensil and ingredient is in its place. You’re focused, your hands moving with practiced precision, when Sara enters the room.

Her presence draws subtle glances from the staff, but her stride remains confident and poised. When your eyes meet, she offers you a smile—a genuine, warm gesture that catches you slightly off guard. You return the smile, tentative but sincere.

Sara makes a slow circuit around the kitchen, her gaze sharp as she observes the setup. Eventually, she stops beside your station, leaning casually against the counter.

"I have to say," she begins, her tone light but genuine, "I’m surprised to see you’re still a line cook."

You blink, her words catching you off guard. There’s no condescension in her voice, only honest surprise.

Before you can respond, she reaches over and gently fixes the lapel of your chef’s coat, her movements precise and almost maternal. "It may feel far away now," she continues, her voice soft but firm, "but the journey to the chef’s table—it can take a moment or a lifetime. The difference is entirely up to you."

Her words settle over you like a soothing balm, and for the first time, you feel seen. A small smile tugs at your lips as she flashes you one of her own, radiating warmth.

"Let’s work hard together, mmh?" she says simply.

You nod, your chest tightening with gratitude. "Thank you, chef," you manage, your voice quiet but heartfelt. For the first time, it feels like someone in the kitchen might actually be on your side.

As Sara straightens up, her expression shifts slightly, her eyes sparkling with determination. "That being said," she adds with a teasing edge, "don’t be surprised if I push people hard today. I have to set the tone—it’s my first day, after all."

You chuckle, a genuine laugh bubbling up. "It’s about time they got a taste of a woman’s wrath."

Sara laughs at that, the sound bright and infectious, and for a moment, the tension of the kitchen feels lighter.

The moment doesn’t last long, though. The sharp call of the Chef signals that the lunch service is about to begin. You straighten your posture, slipping back into the focused mindset the kitchen demands, but Sara’s words linger in your mind, a quiet source of encouragement as the chaos of the day begins.

The kitchen hums with its usual chaotic energy, but today, there’s an added tension—something almost tangible in the air. It’s not the knives, the flames, or the hot oil; it’s the heat radiating from the silent war between Minho and Sara.

They stand at the front of the kitchen, their gazes locked, the unspoken weight of their history filling the space. No one dares to say anything until the familiar sound of the first order prints through the machine, breaking the silence.

"Table number five, four Triple-flavored pasta!" Minho shouts, his voice sharp and commanding.

Everyone springs into action. Sara moves to the stove next to yours, her movements precise as she begins preparing her new dish. You try to focus on your own station, but the tension is impossible to ignore.

Minho prowls the kitchen like a hawk, watching everyone’s work, shouting reminders, and ordering the pace to quicken. As the chaos grows, Sara moves to Felix’s station.

“You should add balsamic vinegar right before the sauce is done,” Sara says, her tone calm yet firm. “If you heat it, the sourness fades and leaves just the sweetness—it’ll balance the tomatoes perfectly.”

Felix hesitates, looking unsure, when Minho suddenly appears.

“No,” Minho says sharply, crossing his arms. “The sourness is what makes the dish fresher. If you kill that, you kill the tomatoes’ intrinsic flavor.”

Minho shifts his glare at Felix. “Don’t add it!”

Felix’s eyes dart between the two chefs before he sheepishly nods at Minho. “Yes, Chef.”

Sara sighs but says nothing, retreating to her own station. Everyone think that’s the end of it, but the disagreements continue.

Sara suggests adding egg yolks to Taesoo’s pasta dough. Minho counters with water and milk. Sara advises salting the pasta water more generously. Minho claims it will overpower the sauce.

The tension mounts with every disagreement, and you feel yourself sinking further into the inferno when their eyes land on you.

You’re midway through cooking vongole when Sara steps beside you.

“Use sliced garlic,” she says, gesturing to the minced garlic in your dish. “It’s subtler and more aromatic.”

Minho snorts. “Sliced takes too long to cook. Minced is faster and better for the clams.”

You glance between them, feeling the weight of their stares. Without a word, you compromise by adding half minced and half sliced garlic, hoping it’ll satisfy both.

As you add the clams and a splash of wine, Sara speaks again. “Lid it immediately. It’ll trap the aroma and infuse the clams.”

“Flambé it first,” Minho interrupts. “Burn off the alcohol before lidding it. Otherwise, the wine will overpower everything.”

The two begin arguing over the right way to cook vongole, their voices rising over the chaos of the kitchen. You focus on finishing the dish the way you’ve always done it, ignoring their conflicting advice as best as you can.

By the time you plate the vongole, your nerves are frayed. The heat between Sara and Minho feels suffocating and it's getting too dangerous that you feel like the kitchen is on the verge of exploding.

You step back from your station, taking a steadying breath, and glance at the two chefs still locked in their verbal sparring. It’s going to be a long day and it's just the lunch service.

Lunch service ends, and the tension in the kitchen dissipates like steam, leaving you drained. With your lunch tray in hand, you head to the coffee station, hoping for a moment of solitude. You pour yourself a glass of water and settle into a corner table, savoring the quiet.

Not long after, Felix joins you, plopping down across from you with his own tray. The two of you eat in silence for a while, the clinking of cutlery against plates the only sound.

Then, out of nowhere, Felix lets out a heavy sigh, setting his fork down dramatically.

"What is his problem?" Felix grumbles, shaking his head. “Why did Chef even let her work here? Like, what was he thinking?”

You glance at him, your expression calm despite the chaos brewing inside you. "What are you trying to say, Felix?"

Felix leans closer, his brows furrowing in deep thought. “I mean, with his temper, Chef should’ve quit ages ago. So why is he still here? What’s keeping him around?”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

Felix suddenly sits upright, his expression lighting up as though he’s cracked some grand mystery. “Oh no—what if he still has feelings for her? That’s why he’s letting Sara walk all over him!”

You nudge him hard, your eyes darting toward the coffee counter just as Taesoo appears, holding a pot of coffee. Felix quiets immediately, his face turning red as you both watch Taesoo approach.

Taesoo sets the cups of coffee down in front of you and Felix, then leans forward conspiratorially. “I agree with you guys. It’s hell having two chefs in charge.”

You manage a small, polite smile but don’t respond, feeling the weight of too many secrets hanging in the air. You can barely eat your lunch anymore so you decide to escape for real this time. You make your way up to the rooftop, hoping the open sky will offer some clarity.

The city stretches before you, bathed in golden afternoon light. You sit on a bench, taking in the view and letting the distant hum of traffic drown out your thoughts.

The door creaks open behind you, and you sigh, already regretting your choice of hiding place.

Minho steps out, his figure silhouetted against the sunlight. He strides over to the other bench and sits, his gaze immediately locking onto you.

“You know I’m the only chef you have,” he says, his tone steady but commanding. “Listen to me. Only me.”

You don’t respond, keeping your eyes on the horizon.

The silence stretches, and Minho shifts, his impatience palpable. “Are you seriously trying to frustrate me by not saying anything?”

First you're wrong for speaking, and now you’re wrong for staying quiet too? You mumble inside your head. You sigh deeply, pushing yourself to your feet and head for the door,

Minho blocks your path, his eyes boring into yours. “You!” he demands. “Talk to me now!”

You hesitate, but his unrelenting gaze forces the words out. “I envy you two,” you admit finally. “The way you two are so certain, so right—even when you’re disagreeing with each other. You don’t care about the rest of us caught in the crossfire.”

Minho scoffs, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “You envy that? Really?”

“At least you’re communicating,” you say quietly.

“That’s not communicating,” Minho counters, his voice tinged with frustration. “That’s arguing.”

You cross your arms, meeting his gaze steadily. “For you, it’s basically foreplay.”

The corner of Minho’s mouth twitches, and he chuckles softly. His laugh lingers in the air, but you don’t join in. Without another word, you turn and walk past him, leaving the rooftop behind. The weight of envy sinks deeper into your chest, heavy and unshakable.

You emerge from your bedroom, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, ready for another day in the kitchen. The scent of freshly brewed coffee greets you, and you glance toward the living room to see Sara seated on the couch, a steaming mug in her hands.

“Good morning,” she says with a warm smile, setting the mug down. “I was hoping we could leave for work together.”

You blink, caught off guard but nod in agreement. “Sure.”

Together, you exit the apartment and step into the elevator. As the doors begin to slide shut, a hand suddenly presses the button from the outside, causing them to reopen.

Minho steps in.

The atmosphere shifts immediately, the air growing tense. You glance between Minho and Sara, feeling the awkwardness settle like a heavy blanket.

You reach for the button to the lobby, but before you can press it, Sara gently takes your hand.

“Hey,” she says, looking at you with a soft smile, “why don’t you come to work with me in my car from now on? It’ll be easier.”

Before you can respond, Minho reaches out and grabs your other hand, his grip firm but not forceful.

“No,” he says, his tone resolute. “You’re taking my car today.”

Sara’s smile vanishes as she glares at Minho. “Why are you doing this? You’re making her uncomfortable.”

Minho doesn’t back down, meeting her gaze with equal intensity. “I’m making it comfortable. What’s the problem with going together?”

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling their gazes burning into you from both sides. Taking a step forward, you pull your hands free from their grip.

“I’ll take the bus,” you announce, keeping your tone neutral. “I have a few errands to run before work anyway.”

It’s a weak excuse, but it’s enough to break the standoff.

The elevator dings as it reaches the lobby, and the doors slide open. Without waiting for their responses, you step out and make a beeline for the exit, eager to escape the suffocating tension.

As you walk away, you can’t help but shake your head. How did I get caught in this mess?

You arrive earlier than planned at the restaurant, despite your best attempts to stall. Determined to avoid the kitchen, and more importantly, Minho, you head straight to Chris’s office.

Knocking softly on the door, you pop your head inside and greet him sweetly, “Good morning, Mr. Bang.”

Chris looks up from his desk, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You step inside and close the door behind you. “I was wondering if we could have coffee together before work starts?”

He tilts his head to the side and slightly pout. “But I don’t drink coffee.”

You think for a second and sheepishly grin. “Tea?”

Chris leans back in his chair, nodding with a grin. “Okay. Come in.”

You settle onto the sofa as he moves to the coffee maker, pouring you a cup. He places it on the table in front of you and sits down across from you, watching as you take a careful sip.

“Thanks,” you say, the rich aroma of coffee helping to steady your nerves. But you notice Chris is still watching you, his expression thoughtful.

Tilting your head and grin, you say, “You’ve got something on your mind. Go ahead, spill it.”

He chuckles lightly, setting his mug down. “Well, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

You raise an eyebrow but nod for him to continue.

Chris hesitates for a moment before saying, “I think Sara could use some help in the kitchen. You know, since you’re both women working in the same environment.”

Your smile falters slightly. It’s not an easy favor to grant, especially considering the tension in the kitchen. “I’m not taking sides, Chris,” you reply carefully.

“I’m not asking you to pick sides,” he says, leaning forward. “But she’s fighting an uphill battle in there, and it would mean a lot if you had her back.”

You glance away, unsure how to respond. Chris leans forward further, taking both your hands in his.

“And I’ll have your back too, yeah?” he says earnestly.

You scoff lightly, trying to ease the moment. “You only say that now.”

Chris grins and pouts theatrically. “You always say yes, Chef to a certain someone without question. Don’t forget, I’m the one who signs your paychecks.”

You smirk at that, narrowing your eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

He laughs, squeezing your hands. “Maybe I am.”

You roll your eyes but smile, taking another sip of your coffee.

Chris’s tone softens, and his gaze meets yours again. “Actually, I have another favor to ask.”

You give him a wary look and slightly roll your eyes to the side. “What now?”

His eyes don’t waver. “Show me a little attention too. It costs you nothing.”

You chuckle, shaking your head while lowly chuckling. “If it costs nothing, then why do you need it?”

Chris’s smile deepens. “Because it’s nice to have your attention.”

You don’t respond immediately, instead lifting your cup for another sip, quietly mulling over his words. The warmth of the coffee lingers, along with the weight of his request in your chest.

Minho finishes buttoning up his chef coat, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He slams his locker door shut, the loud clang echoing in the empty room. Something about the way you've been acting these past few days unsettles him—ignoring him, not listening like you used to.

He mutters under his breath as he strides toward the kitchen, his shoes clicking against the tiled floor. Turning a corner, he catches sight of you stepping out of Chris’s office. The sight stirs something in him, a sharp annoyance he can’t quite suppress.

“Hey, you!” he calls out, his voice cutting through the air.

You flinch at the sudden sound, looking startled as you turn to face him.

Minho marches up to you, his brow furrowed. “What were you doing in there?” he demands. “You never come to my office unless I call you, but you walk into the manager’s office like it’s your own house. Is it your break room?”

Your eyes narrow, and you cross your arms. “Because every time I come to your office, all I get is scolded. Why would I want to go there?”

Minho glares at you, his frustration bubbling over. “You get scolded because you deserve it!”

You hold his gaze, unfazed by his anger. “Well, Chris never scolds me—even when I make mistakes.”

The comparison stings more than Minho wants to admit. He lets out a sharp laugh, more disbelief than humor. “You listen to me,” he snaps, his voice rising.

Before he can say more, you turn on your heel and walk toward the locker room. Minho grits his teeth and follows, his irritation fueling each step.

As he steps into the locker room, he sees you leaning against your locker, arms still crossed. “What is it?” you ask, your tone clipped.

Minho takes a step closer, his gaze locked on yours. “What’s with you lately? Are you braver now because there’s another woman in the kitchen? Do you like it?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “I’m not answering that. I’m just trying to survive.”

Your nonchalance only fuels his frustration. “Survive this then,” he mutters, stepping forward and flicking your forehead with his finger.

“Ow!” You wince, rubbing the spot as you pout. “This is exactly why I don’t go to your office.”

Minho feels a pang of something deeper than anger—guilt, maybe, or worry. But he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he takes a step back, his voice sharp. “Where is everyone?!”

He turns on his heel, pushing the door open with unnecessary force and letting it slam shut behind him.

Walking away, Minho feels the weight of something he hasn’t wanted to acknowledge. For the first time, he wonders if he’s losing his hold on you—if he’s slowly losing you.

Minho’s eyes scan the tickets lined up above the kitchen counter, ensuring everything is running smoothly during the hectic dinner service. His focus is interrupted when a service staff approaches and announces, “Chef, there’s a special order—one truffle tagliatelle.”

Souschef Seojun immediately protest, “That’s not on the menu.”

Chef Sara pauses her ravioli preparation, throwing in, “We’re too busy to make it. Tell the customer we can’t do it.”

The service staff nods and starts to leave, but Minho stops him with a raised hand. “Wait. Tell the customer, we'll do it.”

The room falls silent, every chef momentarily pausing their work to look at him. Minho smirks, sensing their apprehension. “Isn't it exciting to have this kind of order after making the same dishes over and over again like a bookwork?”

Sara steps forward, frowning. “Truffles are expensive. This isn’t just some experiment, and it’s not a dish anyone can make on a whim.”

Minho doesn’t respond directly, turning to the rest of the team instead. “Anyone want to give it a shot?”

Felix’s hand shoots up enthusiastically. “I’ll try, Chef!”

Minho smiles faintly but his eyes land on you. He picks up a dough roller, pointing it at you. “What about you? Want to try making it?”

Sara glares at him. “I'm telling you, we can't.”

Ignoring her, Minho points at you again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let's do it. You and I, together.”

Sara’s patience snaps. “I’m in charge of the pasta line. This is my responsibility.”

Minho dismisses her protests with a wave of his hand. “Go get the truffles from the freezer,” he orders you.

As you rush off, Minho grabs a pan and begins prepping. Sara, clearly unwilling to back down, steps next to him. “Fine,” she says curtly. “I’ll make it with you.”

You return with the truffles and the aphrodisiac smell wafting around the kitchen, holding them carefully. Sara immediately commands, “Peel the skin.”

“No,” Minho interjects. “Keep the skin. It adds depth.”

The crease between Sara’s eyebrows deepens as she meets with another disagreement. “The skin is too rough so it ruins the texture of the pasta. It's better to add truffle oil at the very end.”

“Keep the skin.” He doesn’t entertain further debate, instructing you instead. “Slice them.”

You nod, grabbing mandolin and delicately slicing the truffles as directed. Minho watches briefly before turning back to his pan. When you’re done, he gestures for you to add the truffle to his pan.

As you do so, Sara lets out an exasperated huff. “This is all wrong. Now, we have to do it all over again,” she says sharply, yanking a pan from the rack.

The motion is too forceful, sending the other pans on the rack crashing into others, causing a loud clatter. One pan falls onto the stove, sending hot oil splashing across the counter.

“Chef!” you call out, your voice filled with alarm.

Before he can react, you lunge forward and push him out of the way. Minho stumbles and falls to the floor. He quickly regains his balance, only to see you clutching your forearm, the skin red and raw from the oil.

Panic floods his system as he scrambles to his feet. “Are you okay?!” he asks, his voice tight with worry.

Sara rushes over with a cloth, also checking if you're okay but Minho snatches it from her, gently covering your burns. “You need to see a doctor,” he says firmly.

“I’m fine,” you reply softly, trying to pull your arm away.

“Fine?” he repeats, his frustration spilling over. “Who asked you to interfere like that and get hurt?”

You look down, avoiding his gaze. “At least let me finish the dinner service.”

Minho’s patience snaps. “Are you deaf, or do you think having two chefs means you can ignore half of what I say?”

“I didn’t mean—”

Before you can finish, Minho grabs your uninjured hand, tugging you out of the kitchen. He leads you to the locker room, his grip firm but not harsh.

Once there, he carefully examines the burns, his jaw clenching at the sight. “You’re going to the hospital. Now.”

You start to protest again, but his glare silences you. “Why did you jump in like that?” he demands, his voice softer now but no less intense.

You don’t answer, your gaze fixed on the floor as you clutch the cloth against your arm.

Minho exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Go. Before it gets worse.”

When you don’t immediately move, he softens slightly. “Please,” he adds quietly.

Your hesitation finally melts, and you nod, turning to leave. As the locker room door swings shut behind you, Minho exhales sharply, leaning against the cold metal of the lockers. His heart is still pounding, the image of your reddened arm burned into his mind. He clenches his fists, replaying the events in his head—Sara’s defiance, the clatter of pans, the searing splash of oil.

It wasn’t just bad luck; it was his stubbornness.

Minho presses a hand to his face, his breath uneven. Why had he insisted on making that dish? Was it just to prove a point to Sara? To remind everyone who was in charge? And now, because of his ego, you got hurt.

The thought gnaws at him. For all his years in the kitchen, he prided himself on maintaining control. But today, he let his pride and frustration blind him, and it almost cost someone he cared about.

The realization hits hard. He’s been so focused on asserting his authority, pushing people to their limits, that he hadn’t noticed the cracks forming around him. You were one of the few people who never hesitated to follow his lead, and now even you had started to push back.

And maybe you were right to.

With a heavy sigh, he presses a hand against the locker, his head bowing. He’s always believed that the kitchen was no place for weakness. But now he wonders if his idea of strength—of control—has been wrong all along.

You wince as you struggle to put on your jacket, the pain in your arm making even the simplest movements unbearable. You push open the back door of the restaurant with your shoulder, stepping into the cool night air, when you hear the hurried clatter of footsteps behind you.

Turning, you find Chris descending the steps in a rush, his face lined with concern.

“I heard you got hurt,” he says breathlessly, his eyes locking on your bandaged arm. “Are you okay?”

You offer a small, forced smile. “I’m fine, really.”

But his gaze drops to your forearm, and he winces, hissing through his teeth. “That doesn’t look fine.”

“I can handle it,” you insist, trying to wave him off, but Chris shakes his head firmly.

“Nope, not happening,” he says, snatching your purse from your hand and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

You sigh in defeat, trailing after him to his car.

At the hospital, the doctor examines your burns with practiced care, cleaning the wound and carefully wrapping it in fresh bandages. He suggests an IV shot for hydration and recovery, but you shake your head.

“I need to get back to work,” you argue.

The doctor frowns. “I’ve yet to meet a chef who isn’t worn down by their work. You need rest.”

Chris places a gentle hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles. “Just listen to the doctor, mmh?”

Reluctantly, you nod, and before you know it, you’re being ushered into a small recovery room. Chris fusses over you like a mother hen, tucking you into bed.

“Stop treating me like a baby,” you tease, grinning despite yourself.

Chris laughs softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. His expression shifts to something more serious, his brows furrowed with worry.

“I’m fine,” you assure him again, your voice softer this time.

He nods, but his eyes don’t quite lose their concern. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “I can’t sleep with you staring at me like that.”

Chris chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. I’ll pick you up in the morning.” He hesitates for a moment, then leans down to give you a quick, warm hug. “Goodnight.”

You watch as he leaves, the door sliding shut behind him. Settling back into the bed, you close your eyes, hoping to find some rest.

The sound of the door sliding open wakes you, and you groggily lift your head. Your first thought it's Chris coming back to make sure you're resting and you're about to scold him when you notice that it isn't who you thought he is.

Instead of Chris, Minho steps inside, his chef’s coat replaced by a simple shirt, pulling an IV pole beside him. His sharp features are shadowed in the dim light, but his usual smirk is nowhere to be seen.

“Why are you here?” you blurt, startled yourself by sounding so worried. “Did you get hurt?”

Minho arches a brow as he settles himself on the bed next to yours. “Do I look hurt?”

You narrow your eyes. “Shouldn’t you still be working?”

He shrugs, settling onto the bed beside yours. “What, you think the kitchen can’t survive without you?”

You let out a scoff, lying on your side and turning your back to him. Silence stretches between you, but it doesn’t last.

“Why are you lying there with your back turned so disrespectfully?” Minho’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You fight the urge to snap at him, instead replying, “Why don’t you do the same then?”

Another stretch of silence, broken only by the soft hum of the IV machine. Minho speaks again, his tone uncharacteristically calm. “Burns need proper treatment. You’ll have to come here every day until it heals. It’s not good for a woman to have scars.”

You stiffen but refuse to respond.

“I’ve seen your scars,” he continues. “From knives, I’m guessing. Are you a cook or a gangster?”

You refuse to take that bait and keep your back to him.

“You should’ve let me get hurt,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Why did you interfere like that? You’re a woman—”

“Don’t start with the ‘woman this, woman that,’” you snap, finally turning to glare at him. “I’m tired of it.”

Minho smirks faintly, but it falters when you continue.

“I’m also tired of being caught in the crossfire between you and Sara. This is the last time I’m getting involved.”

His silence is deafening, and you don’t wait for a response.

You make it final by pulling the curtain between the beds to separate the two of you, also as a gesture that you want to stop interacting with him.

Turning away again, you close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Your chest aches—not from the burns, but from the frustration bubbling inside you.

Minho lies awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling. Your words from last night replay in his mind like a broken record.

“I’m tired of getting caught between you and Sara. This is the last time I’m getting involved.”

The weight of them lingers, pressing on his chest. Do you mean it? Are you giving up on him entirely? The thought churns restlessly in his head.

You’re just a bed away, close enough that he can hear your steady breathing. But even with you so near, you feel unbearably far. Sleep evades him, no matter how many times he closes his eyes. When morning finally comes, he feels heavy, his body sluggish from the lack of rest.

Then he hears your voice from the other side of the curtain. It’s soft, measured, and at first, he assumes you’re talking to a nurse. But another voice follows, distinctly male, with that irritating Australian accent that grates on his nerves.

Chris.

Minho sits up abruptly, his fatigue evaporating as irritation spikes. Without hesitation, he yanks the curtain aside in one swift motion.

You freeze mid-conversation, your arm lifted as Chris helps you into your jacket. Both of you turn to look at him, startled by his sudden appearance. Chris recovers first, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Are you feeling unwell too, chef?” Chris asks.

Minho doesn’t bother answering. He scoffs instead, his sharp eyes fixed on Chris’s hand, still adjusting your jacket. Then Chris steps back, smiling at you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and—Minho’s jaw tightens—reaches out to fix a stray strand of your hair.

The audacity of it.

Minho crosses his arms and leans against the bedframe, his tone sharp. “Do you always stay by your employees’ sides when they’re sick, or is this just a special case?”

Chris looks at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Showing favoritism like this,” Minho says, gesturing toward you. “Is this how you treat all your employees?”

Chris pauses for a moment before answering. “Favoritism?” he repeats, as if testing the word. “Yeah, it’s favoritism.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, his irritation growing. “Why?”

“Because she’s a great employee,” Chris says matter-of-factly. “Why can’t I be good to someone who works so hard?”

Minho clicks his tongue in disbelief. It’s a good answer, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

Chris steps closer, meeting Minho’s gaze with quiet intensity. “How about you, chef?” he asks, his tone sharper now, “how much longer does the kitchen have to feel like a battlefield?”

Minho tilts his head, feigning nonchalance. “And you think that’s because of me?”

Chris doesn’t hesitate. “Are you saying it’s Sara’s fault?”

Minho looks away, unwilling to give a direct answer.

Chris presses on. “It’s both of you. I don’t know what happened between you and Sara back in Italy, but you’ll need to find a way to work together for the sake of the restaurant.”

Minho bristles. He doesn’t need a lecture, least of all from Chris.

“And honestly, you and Sara have a lot in common. You look good together,” Chris adds, his tone light but deliberate,

“It’s because you’re so similar,” Chris continues. “You argue because you’re alike. But that also means you could be great partners. Rivals, sure, but partners too.”

The words hit a nerve. Minho’s fists clench at his sides. He can’t stand hearing it—being compared to Sara, of all people. He’s nothing like her.

You, sensing the tension rising, step forward and gently take Chris’s arm. “Let's go home,” you say softly, your voice cutting through the thick atmosphere.

Turning to Minho, you add, “I’ll call the nurse to help you with the needle.”

Minho doesn’t respond, his lips pressed into a tight line as he watches you leave the room with Chris. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving him alone.

His chest tightens, anger and desperation swirling inside him. He can’t do this anymore—watching everything he cares about slipping through his fingers. He’s done standing idly by.

Today, Minho decides, is the day he starts reclaiming what’s his. Starting with you.

Even with the burns on your arm, you're ready to face another day in the kitchen. You step out of your apartment and immediately freeze when you see Minho leaning casually against the wall opposite your door. His head tilts slightly in your direction as he notices you, his expression unreadable. You aren’t sure if he’s been waiting for you or if this is just a coincidence, but the moment he starts walking toward you, the answer becomes obvious.

He stops just a step away, close enough that you can see the faint shadows under his eyes—proof of a restless night. You adjust your bag strap on your shoulder, bracing yourself. With Minho, you’ve learned to expect the unexpected.

He tilts his head from side to side, his gaze sweeping over you as if you’re some intriguing statue in a museum. You stand still, waiting for him to speak first.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “I don’t like it,” he says.

You blink, confused. “Don’t like what?”

“When someone else treats my kitchen staff better than I do,” he answers, his voice firm. “Or gives them a harder time than I do.”

Your lips twitch involuntarily. “No one’s meaner to anyone in that kitchen than you are.”

At that, he steps closer, his movements deliberate, closing the small distance between you. His eyes lock onto yours, and his voice drops to a lower register. “That’s the thing. I’ll be the one who treats you better than anyone else does. And I’ll be the one who’s meaner to you too.”

You let out a laugh, the absurdity of his declaration catching you off guard. “Why would you want to do that?”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” you reply, the corners of your mouth still tugged into a smile. “How exactly do you plan to be nicer to me?”

He smirks, though there’s a sharpness behind it. “I said I’d be meaner too, but it seems like you only heard the ‘nicer’ part.”

You shrug lightly, choosing to focus on the less daunting half of his claim. “Well, you being mean isn’t exactly news. I’d rather hear how you plan to be nicer.”

Minho narrows his eyes at you, as if you’ve just challenged him. “Do you have selective hearing, or are you just ignoring the other part?”

You meet his gaze, your smile fading slightly as you study him. You know Minho well enough to understand he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. Still, imagining him being genuinely kind to you feels… out of character.

The thought crosses your mind before you can stop it. “Are you saying you’ll be nicer to me than Chris? I think that will not be easy for you.”

Minho’s expression hardens, his body stiffening at the mention of Chris. He leans in closer, his voice quiet but pointed. “And how would you know that?”

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “Because it doesn’t suit you.”

He leans in even further, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “You’ve never even seen my nice side. So how would you know?”

For a moment, you’re silent, the intensity of his proximity stealing your words. There’s something both challenging and intriguing in his stare, something that makes you wonder what he’s really thinking. Then, before you can respond, Minho grabs your bag off your shoulder.

“Hey—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off by taking your hand, his fingers lacing with yours effortlessly.

“Let’s go,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. Minho glances back at you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “We're going to work together.”

The lunch service is in full swing, and the kitchen is alive with the clamor of pots, pans, and orders being barked out. You’re in the zone, filling pasta orders as fast as you can and setting them on the chef’s table for Minho to inspect. He wipes the edge of the plate with precision, his expression unreadable as he checks the presentation.

You can’t help but think about what he said earlier about being nicer to you, and the memory makes a small smile tug at your lips.

“You have three more to do,” he reminds you, his voice firm and cutting through the chaos. Then his sharp gaze flicks to you. “What are you waiting for?”

“Yes, Chef,” you reply with a bit more enthusiasm than usual, your smile lingering as you turn and head back to your station.

You’re halfway through preparing three vongole when you realize you’re out of clams. Grabbing a container, you make your way to the freezer to restock. The cold air greets you as you step inside, and you quickly locate a fresh container of short-necked clams.

You hear the freezer door creak open behind you. The sound of footsteps echoes in the cold, and when you glance back, you see Minho entering. His eyes find you immediately, and he gestures for you to follow him to the far corner of the freezer.

Curious, you clutch the container of clams to your chest and follow. He stops near the wall and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stand there,” he orders, pointing to the wall.

You blink but comply, leaning against the icy surface as he steps closer, his frame blocking your escape. His tone sharpens. “What was that smile for earlier?”

“Smile?” you ask, feigning innocence, though you already know what he’s referring to.

“Yes, that smile,” he snaps, but there’s a suppressed tug at the corner of his lips. “I’m warning you—if you keep smiling at me like that, I’ll clamp your lips shut.”

You giggle at his threat, clutching the clam container tighter. “I can’t help it,” you admit. “I’ve been waiting to see how you’d be nicer to me. Am I being obvious?”

Minho lets out a small, exasperated sigh, but the faintest smile finally breaks through. “Are you really that happy?”

You don’t answer, but the way your smile widens says it all.

He leans in closer, the sudden proximity making your breath hitch. His voice dips, quieter and more serious. “Close your eyes.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your mind racing as you try to guess his intention. “Chef, are you—”

“Close your eyes,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Swallowing nervously, you obey, your lashes fluttering shut. The cold air nips at your skin, but the warmth of his breath ghosting over your cheek sends a shiver down your spine.

He wouldn’t dare kiss you here… would he? And then—clamp!

Your lips sting in sudden pain as something hard presses against them. You yelp and snap your eyes open to see Minho holding a clam shell against your lips.

“Chef!” you cry out, your voice muffled.

“I warned you,” he says coolly, though his tone holds a teasing edge. “You should’ve known better than to test me.”

You whine in protest, but Minho continues, his eyes narrowing. “Do you know what will happen if people find out about us? I’ve fired people for this before, and you know it. I can’t show my face if this gets out. I’d have to leave Farfalle—and maybe the earth—out of humiliation.”

Finally, he releases the clam, and you immediately touch your lips, wincing at the dull ache.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his tone almost mocking.

You shake your head, trying to save face. “No, chef,” you lie.

Minho smirks, clearly satisfied with your answer. “Good. Now get back to work.”

He turns and leaves the freezer, his coat billowing slightly behind him. The moment he’s gone, you groan, rubbing your sore lips. “Fuck! It hurts so much. When is he ever going to be nicer to me?” you mumble under your breath.

But then, to your dismay, you find yourself giggling softly. You hate how weak you are when it comes to Minho, but you can’t help it. With a resigned shake of your head, you grab the clams and head back to your station, still smiling despite yourself.

When you get back to your station, Chef Sara comes between you and Felix, but she looks at you as she talks. “Pasta line, gather during prep time.”

You and Felix exchange a quick, confused glance at each other before replying to her. “Yes, chef!”

The prep time for dinner service is underway, the kitchen buzzing with activity as everyone rushes to prepare. Felix comes out of the back with a pot of stock, placing it carefully on the counter next to you. He adjusts his bandana before standing still, his expression neutral but his posture tense.

Chef Sara claps her hands to get everyone’s attention and announces, “Starting tonight, the kitchen will use chicken stock instead of vegetable stock. Additionally, we’ll need a lighter stock for pasta and risotto.”

She turns her attention to Felix, adding, “Since you’re in charge of stock, make sure it’s prepared by dinner service.”

You glance at Felix and notice his jaw tighten. His lips press together in a line, and you can sense his irritation building. Before he can respond, you decide to step in with a polite tone.

“Chef, the kitchen’s been using vegetable stock without any issues,” you say carefully. “Changing it so suddenly feels... off. Stock is the base for most dishes, and it could affect consistency.”

Sara’s eyes narrow slightly as she looks at you. “Vegetable stock tastes clean, but it’s not as savory as what our guests prefer. Chicken stock will bring a more rounded flavor.”

Felix folds his arms and speaks up, his tone firm. “Vegetable stock can be just as flavorful as meat-based stock. It’s all about how you make it.”

Sara’s expression doesn’t waver. “The flavors from vegetables are inherently different. Vegetables have a sweet and tangy profile, but chicken adds a savory, mellow depth.”

You can practically feel the heat radiating off Felix as his anger simmers beneath the surface. He opens his mouth to counter, but you quickly glance at the pot and realize something alarming.

“There’s not much stock left,” you point out, cutting into the argument. “If we don’t start a new batch now, we won’t have anything ready for dinner service.”

Sara’s jaw tightens as she feels resistance from Felix. She looks at him, then at the pot, and without warning, grabs it and dumps the remaining stock into the sink.

The sound of the liquid swirling down the drain is deafening in the stunned silence that follows. Felix’s eyes widen in disbelief, his lips parting as he processes what just happened.

Sara crosses her arms. “There. Now you have every reason to start a fresh batch. Ten liters of chicken stock. Do it now.”

Felix’s head snaps toward her, and for a moment, he looks like he might explode. Instead, he roughly yanks his bandana off, sending his bleached hair tumbling messily around his face. His fiery eyes meet Sara’s.

“Well,” he says sharply, “if there’s no stock left, I guess my job is done for the day.” He spins on his heel and storms out of the kitchen, leaving everyone frozen in place.

Your eyes flick between Sara, who’s watching Felix leave without a hint of regret, and the door he just exited through. You can’t survive the dinner rush alone, and Felix’s expertise is irreplaceable.

“I’ll try to bring him back, chef,” you say quickly to Sara before rushing out after him.

Felix is fast—too fast. You have to jog to keep up, weaving through the back corridor and out to the restaurant’s rear entrance. You finally spot him near his car, the door already open.

“Felix!” you call, your breath hitching as you catch up. He’s halfway into the driver’s seat when you reach him, knocking on the window.

“Come on, don’t do this. We need you in the kitchen,” you plead.

Felix rolls down the window, his expression unreadable. “Get in.”

“What?” you blink, taken aback.

He tilts his head, his voice calm but firm. “Get in. I’ll go back to the kitchen if you get in.”

You hesitate, knowing you’re walking into some kind of trap, but the thought of him not returning pushes you forward. “Fine,” you say reluctantly, opening the passenger door and sliding in.

The second you’re seated, Felix starts the engine and pulls out of the lot.

“Felix!” you exclaim, twisting in your seat to look at him. “What are you doing?”

His lips curve into a sly smile as he keeps his eyes on the road. “We’re bailing dinner service, obviously.”

Your jaw drops. “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I am,” he says, his tone light but unshakably determined. “If they don’t want to listen to me, why should I stick around?”

You slump back in your seat, realizing there’s no reasoning with him right now. As the restaurant fades into the distance, you can’t help but feel both dread and an inexplicable thrill at what you’ve just done.

You're clutching your phone so tightly that your knuckles ache, your stomach churning with anxiety. Felix sits beside you, his hands loose on the wheel as he aimlessly drives, looking more relaxed than someone who just abandoned their station mid-shift should be.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you mutter, stealing a glance at him. “Do you even have anywhere to go? Can we just... go back? Please?”

Felix shrugs nonchalantly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Going back means giving in to Sara. She dumped the stock on purpose, and if we let her win now, we’ll be following her orders forever. I’d rather make her quit.”

Your head falls back against the headrest as you groan in frustration. “But this isn’t the right way to protest, Felix! Let’s just go back before it’s too late. Do you know how furious Chef is going to be?”

Almost as if on cue, your phone buzzes violently in your hands. The name on the screen makes your heart lurch: Minho.

You jolt upright, clutching the phone like it might explode. A cold shiver runs down your spine as you stare at his name, your mind racing with all the ways he could end your career—and possibly your life.

“Answer it,” Felix says, glancing at you briefly.

“I don’t want to answer it,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“If you don’t, it’ll be worse,” he points out.

He’s right. You take a deep breath, swallow the lump in your throat, and swipe to answer.

“What the hell are you doing?” Minho’s voice snaps through the line, skipping any semblance of pleasantries. “If you and Felix aren’t back in the kitchen by dinnertime, neither of you will ever work with me again.”

Your throat goes dry. “Chef, I—It wasn’t my idea!” you blurt, trying to plead your case.

“I don’t care whose idea it was,” he cuts you off sharply. “You walked out. If you don’t fix this, I’ll take back what I said about being nicer to you.”

That hits you like a punch to the gut. You’d rather be fired than lose that tiny shred of hope he dangled before you.

“Wait! Chef, please—”

The line goes dead. You stare at your phone, horrified, before turning to Felix and grabbing his arm. “Turn the car around! Now!”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Relax. We’ll go back eventually.”

“Eventually?” you shout. “If we don’t go back, Minho is going to kill us both—probably literally!”

Felix sighs in protest but doesn’t argue, spinning the wheel to make a U-turn. Your phone buzzes again, and your heart skips a beat as you glance down.

It’s not Minho this time—it’s Yura. You answer, your voice shaky. “Hello?”

Yura’s voice is calm but tinged with curiosity. “Hey, we were called to Farfalle to cover. I heard some cooks are walking out. What’s going on?”

Your stomach drops. They’re replacing us. The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through you. “I’ll call you back,” you say hurriedly, hanging up before she can ask more questions.

You turn to Felix, your voice rising. “They called in other people to take our places. Do you get it now? We’re being replaced!”

Felix’s jaw tightens, and he mutters something under his breath as he speeds up. “Seriously? For leaving early one time?”

“One time?” you snap. “We abandoned the kitchen before dinner service! That’s not early—it’s a death sentence!”

Felix doesn’t respond, his grip on the wheel tightening as he pulls into the restaurant parking lot. The moment the car stops, you throw the door open and sprint toward the back entrance.

Your lungs burn as you push yourself to run faster, Felix close behind. You burst through the door, only to stop dead in your tracks when you reach the kitchen.

Yura and Minji are standing at your stations, their hands moving efficiently as they prep for dinner service.

Minho turns around at the commotion of your arrival. His eyes lock on you and Felix, fiery and intense, and you immediately drop your gaze to the floor.

“Get out,” he growls, his voice low but dripping with menace.

Felix takes a shaky step forward, his voice stuttering as he tries to explain. “Chef, we didn’t mean—”

“I said, get out!” Minho roars, cutting him off.

The kitchen falls silent, every pair of eyes watching the scene unfold. You don’t dare look up, your head hanging low as you feel the weight of Minho’s fury pressing down on you.

“Now,” he snaps, his voice cold and final.

With no other choice, you and Felix turn and leave, the sting of failure and humiliation following you out the door.

You sit slumped in the passenger seat of Felix’s car, nerves frazzled and stomach in knots. Felix, on the other hand, hasn’t stopped ranting since the two of you left the kitchen.

“It’s not fair, you know,” he says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in frustration. “Chef treats us like we’re expendable. And Sara? Don’t even get me started on her.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to muster a response. You’ve used up every ounce of your energy trying to wrap your head around the situation. Instead of responding, you focus on the quiet night outside, watching the back entrance of Farfalle.

Hours crawl by, each one amplifying your dread. Finally, the door swings open, and Minho steps out, a dough roller in his hand.

You jolt in your seat, instinctively shrinking back. “Oh my god, is he serious?”

Felix freezes mid-rant and slumps lower in his seat, muttering, “He wouldn’t actually…”

Minho approaches the car with a calm but terrifyingly deliberate pace. He reaches your window and knocks, his expression unreadable.

“Out,” he orders.

You and Felix exchange panicked glances, neither of you moving.

“Now,” Minho snaps, the dough roller tapping against the car door for emphasis.

Heart pounding, you push the door open and slide out, feeling like a child caught red-handed. Minho points toward the doorway. “Wait over there.”

You nod mutely, scurrying to the steps and sitting down. From your vantage point, you can see Minho climb into the passenger’s seat of Felix’s car. Through the windshield, you watch as he speaks to Felix. You can’t hear what’s being said, but Felix’s head stays bowed the entire time, his usual cockiness completely deflated. The dough roller, thankfully, remains unused, but it’s clear the conversation is one-sided.

After a few tense minutes, Minho gets out of the car and walks toward you. He points the dough roller at you like it’s a weapon, his eyes narrowing. “Sit.”

You blink, confused. “I am sitting.”

“On the steps,” he clarifies.

Scrambling to obey, you shift to the stone steps leading to the dining hall. Minho sits down beside you, the dough roller resting across his knees.

“I’m sorry, Chef,” you start quickly, hoping to preempt any punishment by putting on a pitiful look.

Minho leans back slightly, his gaze fixed on you. “You made a big mess today.”

“I know,” you reply, frowning deeply. “What are you going to do to me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do? I will do whatever you want.”

You pause, sensing a trap. “That’s scarier than you just telling me,” you admit.

Minho sighs, his voice low and measured. “Because of you and Felix, I got humiliated today. The sisters worked hard to help me, but honestly? I’m scared to face them now.”

Despite the tension, you can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Minho—the infamous Head Chef—being afraid of two line cooks. You stop immediately when his glare shifts to you.

“When I was reading the orders earlier, I kept waiting for one of them to throw a frying pan at me.” He shares with a low sigh.

“You can tell them that you're grateful for their help tonight,” you suggest, trying to suppress another laugh. “But if you’re scared of them, why did you choose them?”

Minho’s gaze softens slightly. “Because you and Felix walked out on your own. Those two? They didn’t get a choice. I pushed them out. It wasn’t easy for them to come back, but they did. That’s more than I deserved from them.”

You nod slowly, realizing the depth of his regret.

Minho taps the dough roller against his palm before pointing it at you again. “You’re helping Taesoo with the mussels for tomorrow’s special. Don’t even think about leaving until it’s done.”

“Yes, Chef,” you mumble, accepting your punishment.

He stands, brushing off his apron. As he turns to leave, you grab the corner of his apron and tug gently. “Chef?”

He looks down at you, one brow arched.

“Are you… still going to be nicer to me?” you ask hesitantly.

For the first time that night, Minho smirks. “We’ll see.”

With that, he walks off, leaving you to sit on the steps, equal parts relieved and terrified.

The kitchen is silent except for the faint trickle of water as you and Taesoo scrub the last bucket of mussels. The clock above ticks closer to three in the morning, each passing second making the ache in your back and arms more noticeable. Taesoo sits beside you, head bobbing slightly as sleep tugs at him.

You nudge his elbow. “Hey, no falling asleep on me now.”

He jolts awake, blinking rapidly. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he mutters, though his slurred words say otherwise.

You stifle a laugh. “Sure, you weren’t.”

Taesoo groans loudly. “I swear, if I see another mussel or shrimp special, I’m quitting. Can’t we just ban seafood altogether?”

You chuckle, rinsing another mussel. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what’s coming. Octopus, blue crabs, clams, lobsters… and that’s just the seafood. Then there’s beef, chicken, lamb…”

He looks at you, horrified. “There’s more? For a whole year?”

“And who knows how many more years after that? But hey, I survived it, so can you.” You encourage with a playful bump to his shoulder.

He groans again, rubbing his face. Feeling a pang of sympathy, you wave him off. “Go nap. I’ll finish the rest.”

Taesoo hesitates, looking torn. “Are you sure?”

“Go. Before you fall face-first into the bucket.”

With a grateful smile, he mumbles his thanks and wanders off to find a quiet corner to sleep.

The silence that follows is almost comforting, and you work steadily, scrubbing each mussel clean. By the time you finish and drag the buckets to the freezer, exhaustion weighs heavily on you. You tidy up the kitchen, then slump into the chef’s table, letting your body relax for the first time in hours.

The empty kitchen feels vast and eerily still. From where you sit, you can see Minho’s usual spot, his apron draped neatly over a hook, his cutting board spotless.

You sigh, leaning back against the table. Your eyes flutter shut as you take in the rare peace, only for the sound of the kitchen door creaking open to jolt you upright.

Before you can fully scramble to your feet, Minho’s voice cuts through the silence. “Stay there.”

Your heart skips a beat as he approaches, his footsteps slow and deliberate. His presence fills the space effortlessly, his expression unreadable but his gaze locked onto you.

“Chef—”

“Quiet,” he says softly, his tone carrying a weight that stops you in your tracks. He steps closer, caging you in with his arms on either side of you.

His scent reaches you first—faint traces of soap and the sharp, warm hint of alcohol. You glance up at him, your heart hammering as his eyes study your face with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

“You sent Felix to have drinks with Sara. You went drinking with the sisters. Why am I the one not having fun?” you grumble, more to fill the charged silence than anything.

He doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the bandages on your arms. His brows furrow, and his voice comes out low and sharp. “You skipped your doctor’s appointment.”

Caught, you glance away. “I didn’t have time.”

“You didn’t have time?” he repeats, his tone bordering on scolding. “Do you want it to scar? You should at least listen to the doctor, even if you won’t listen to me.”

You groan, covering your ears. “If you’re about to give another lecture about women in the kitchen, I’m not listening.”

He leans in closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek. “I’m not giving you a lecture.” His voice softens, dropping into something that sends a shiver down your spine. “But you’ll regret it if you don’t listen to what I’m about to say.”

Curiosity wins out. Slowly, you lower your hands.

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking over your face as if committing every detail to memory. “I’m only going to say this once.”

Your breath catches, and you nod, urging him to continue.

“Even though you’re not the most appealing ingredient,” he begins, his lips curving into a teasing smile, “and this might be the alcohol talking… you have one thing that’s very pretty.”

The words make your heart skip, but you manage to ask, “What is it?”

Instead of answering, Minho leans in, his lips brushing softly against the corner of your eye. The touch is fleeting but sends warmth rushing to your cheeks. He pulls back just enough to see your flustered expression, a small, mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Since it’s uneven…” he murmurs, leaning in again to press a matching kiss to your other eye.

You’re left speechless, your heart pounding as he lingers close.

He smirks, leaning back slightly. “If you get off my cutting board, you’re dead.”

His words draw a soft laugh from you, though you’re too stunned to fully process them. “What… what does that even mean?”

“It means,” he says, his voice dropping, “I like you.”

Your heart skips again, the words hitting you like a bolt of lightning. “We’re in the kitchen,” you blurt out, your voice barely above a whisper. “Does that mean you like me... even in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, his gaze unwavering.

“What if we get caught?” you ask, suddenly nervous.

“They won’t,” he says simply and lower his voice into a whisper. “We’ll keep it a secret.”

Feeling overwhelmed, you look away, only for him to gently cup your chin and guide your face back toward his. His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s soft and slow, yet leaves no doubt about his feelings.

When he pulls back, he lingers close, his lips brushing yours as he murmurs, “Let’s go home, mmh? So I can discover more parts of you to like.”

Still dazed, you nod, warmth spreading through your chest as he takes your hand. Together, you leave the kitchen, the weight of exhaustion replaced by a giddy, fluttering feeling you can’t quite shake.

Minho holds your hand firmly as the two of you step out into the stillness of the night. The cool air brushes against your flushed cheeks, but it does little to soothe the heat still lingering from his kiss. He walks you to his car, his strides confident, but his silence speaks volumes.

You glance at him nervously, the fluttering in your chest growing more intense. He opens the passenger door for you, his expression unreadable. The gesture is uncharacteristically gentle, and it leaves you feeling both comforted and on edge.

The drive to his apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine. You keep sneaking glances at him, wondering if he regrets what just happened. But when his hand casually reaches over to rest on your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze, your doubts dissipate.

Once inside his apartment, Minho guides you in, his hand still holding yours. The space is dimly lit, cozy, and smells faintly of him—a mix of cedarwood and something uniquely Minho.

“Sit,” he instructs, his voice firm but not unkind.

You obey, perching on the edge of his couch, unsure of what to expect. He disappears into the kitchen for a moment and returns with a glass of wine, which he hands to you.

“You worked hard tonight,” he says softly, sitting down beside you. “Now drink.”

You blink, taken aback by his change in demeanor and take a small sip of the wine. “Is this... still part of my punishment?”

His lips twitch into a smirk, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes now. “No. Your punishment is over. Now it’s time for your reward.”

Before you can ask what he means, Minho leans in again, his hand cupping your cheek as he kisses you deeply. This kiss is different—more deliberate, more consuming. It pulls you in, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his voice drops to a whisper. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

Your breath hitches, your heart pounding. “Minho…”

He trails his fingers along your jaw, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re stubborn, reckless, and you never listen. But you’re also everything I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

You feel your cheeks burn, his words settling in your chest like a warm flame. “I didn’t think you…”

“Liked you?” he finishes, his smirk returning. “Maybe I didn’t want to admit it. But tonight… watching you push through, even when I know I was too harsh on you… I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Instead, you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest as you kiss him again, this time with all the emotions you’ve been holding back.

The kiss deepens, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer until you’re practically in his lap. The exhaustion of the night melts away, replaced by the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and the steady beat of his heart against yours.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of promise.

You hesitate, your mind racing with thoughts of what this might mean for both of you. But when he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, whispering, “Let me take care of you,” all your resistance crumbles.

Nodding, you let him lead you to his bedroom. And as the night unfolds, what started as a punishment turns into something far more tender, intimate, and unforgettable—a reward neither of you could have anticipated.

The clothes are littering the bedroom floor and the air is quiet, save for the subtle rustle of fabric as he shifts beside you on the bed. His intense gaze locks onto yours, and the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten, your breath catching in your throat.

“You have no idea, do you?” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You blink up at him, the warmth of his presence overwhelming. “What?”

His lips quirk into the faintest smile as he leans over you, his hand sliding up your arm to cradle your face. “How absolutely beautiful you are,” he says, his eyes softening as he speaks.

Before you can respond, Minho dips his head down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that feels like a vow. “Here,” he whispers, his voice reverent. “This is where you frown too much, always worrying about things that don’t matter.”

His lips trail lower, brushing over the bridge of your nose before he presses a soft kiss to the tip. “And here… so perfect, so adorable, it drives me insane.”

Your cheeks burn, and you reach out to push at his shoulder, embarrassed by his sudden affection. But Minho catches your wrist, pinning it gently to the bed as he smirks down at you. “Don’t hide from me. Not tonight.”

He shifts lower, his lips finding your cheek, then your jawline, his kisses slow and deliberate. His other hand skims along your side, sending sparks dancing across your skin.

When his lips press against the curve of your neck, just below your ear, you can’t suppress the soft gasp that escapes you. Minho chuckles against your skin, his breath warm and teasing. “Here,” he murmurs, “where I can feel your pulse. Proof that you’re here, with me.”

His hand moves to your collarbone, his thumb brushing over the delicate line before his lips follow, pressing kisses there that are both tender and possessive. “And here,” he continues, his voice growing quieter, “because it reminds me how strong you are. Even when you think you’re not.”

You can’t look away, his devotion leaving you utterly captivated. Minho’s lips move lower, grazing the curve of your shoulder, then down your arm, where he peppers kisses along your wrist and the inside of your palm. “Your hands,” he murmurs, intertwining his fingers with yours for a moment before kissing the back of your hand. “These hands are capable of so much, but they’re also so soft, so perfect.”

Your heart swells, the intensity of his words and actions making you feel like you might burst. “Minho…” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

He leans back up, his face hovering inches from yours as his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I’m not finished,” he teases, his voice playful but his gaze serious.

His lips move down again, finding the sensitive skin just below your collarbone, then along the curve of your chest, his kisses slower, deeper, as though he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And here,” he says, his voice barely audible now, “because it’s where your heart beats strongest.”

When he finally meets your gaze again, there’s a warmth in his eyes that steals the breath from your lungs. “You don’t need to say anything,” he whispers, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “Just let me show you.”

And as his lips return to yours in a kiss that feels like both a promise and a confession, you can’t help but feel utterly cherished, as though every part of you is loved in a way you’ve never known before.

The warmth of Minho’s lips against your skin sends a cascade of shivers through your body as he tenderly shifts you onto your stomach. His touch is careful, as if you’re something precious he’s afraid to break, and his hands gently trace the curve of your shoulders, coaxing you to relax beneath him.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs, his voice husky and low, almost reverent.

You sink further into the bed, his words wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The softness of the pillow beneath your cheek contrasts with the heat radiating from him as he leans over you, placing a kiss at the nape of your neck. His lips linger there, the sensation drawing a soft sigh from you, your fingers curling into the sheets.

Minho moves slowly, purposefully, his lips trailing down your back. Each kiss feels like a confession, a piece of himself he’s baring to you. He pauses at your shoulder blades, his hands smoothing down your sides as his lips continue their gentle exploration.

When he reaches the small of your back, you feel a soft moan escape your lips, muffled against the pillow. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “Don’t hold back,” he says, his tone teasing but affectionate. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle another sound, but it’s impossible as his lips travel further down, tracing the curve of your hips with painstaking care. Minho’s hands are warm as they knead your thighs, his lips following, pressing kisses to the back of your knees and down to your calves.

By the time he reaches your ankles, you’re trembling beneath him, the slow, deliberate pace unraveling you in ways you didn’t think possible. He shifts, leaning up to place a kiss on the sole of your foot before trailing back up, this time turning you onto your back with gentle hands.

Minho hovers above you, his gaze intense yet soft, as if he’s searching for something within you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, the sincerity in his voice making your chest tighten.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that feels like a culmination of every unspoken word between you. It’s slow, tender, but there’s a hunger beneath it, a need to show you what he can’t put into words.

As his body moves against yours, the intimacy of the moment feels like a key unlocking a door you never thought you’d open. Minho’s movements are deliberate, unhurried, as if he wants to savor every second, every sensation. His hands explore your body with a reverence that makes you feel worshipped, loved in a way that’s almost overwhelming.

You find yourself whispering his name, the sound barely audible but enough to make him pause, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m here,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The way he moves with you feels like a conversation, each touch, each kiss a response to the unspoken questions in your heart. By the time the night draws to a close, you feel as though you’ve glimpsed a side of Minho that he keeps hidden from the world, a vulnerability that he’s chosen to share only with you.

As you lay tangled together in the aftermath, his arms wrapped securely around you, you can’t help but feel that the cracks in his armor have finally begun to let you in, allowing you to see the man he truly is beneath the surface. And in that moment, as your head rests against his chest and his fingers lazily trace patterns on your back, you know this night has changed everything.

Minho leans against the sink, letting the cool water wash over his hands before glancing up at his reflection. The man staring back at him feels different—softer somehow, less burdened. For a moment, he studies the faint curve of his lips, the way they betray a smile he didn’t even realize he was wearing.

He exhales deeply, brushing a hand through his damp hair, and chuckles under his breath. What are you doing, Minho? he thinks, shaking his head at himself. This feeling—this warmth spreading through his chest like sunlight—feels almost foreign, like a distant memory of who he used to be. He didn’t think he’d ever find his way back to this version of himself, someone unguarded, someone willing to let another person in.

And yet, here he was, standing in the dim light of the bathroom, smiling like a fool because of you.

When he steps out of the bathroom and sees you lying on the bed, your body draped lazily across the sheets, waiting for him, the smile threatens to return. But Minho quickly schools his expression, an idea sparking in his mind. Let’s see how far I can push you.

Without a word, he climbs into bed, settling himself on his side with his back turned to you. He keeps his movements calm and casual, feigning exhaustion as he pulls the blanket over himself.

The quiet stretches between you, and he doesn’t have to look to know you’re frowning.

“Are you just going to sleep?” you ask, your voice laced with disappointment.

He suppresses the urge to smirk and mumbles, “We have work tomorrow.”

He can almost hear you preparing a playful jab or a protest, but instead, the room falls silent. Then, after a moment, he feels you shift on the bed. Your low sigh reaches his ears, followed by a soft, unexpected compliment.

“Gosh,” you murmur, “you even look good from the back of your head.”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He doesn’t respond, feigning indifference as he feels your hand lightly brush against his shoulder.

“And your shoulders,” you add, your voice softer this time, “so broad… they look so strong.”

That’s it—he can’t hold back anymore. Without turning to face you, he says with a teasing lilt, “You don’t have to sweet talk me anymore. You already have me.”

Before you can respond, Minho grabs your hand and tugs you closer, pulling you flush against his back. Your giggles spill out, warm and light against his ear as he traps your hand against his chest. He tilts his head slightly, feeling the soft press of your breath against his neck as you settle against him.

“That's right,” you whisper, your voice tender now, your words wrapping around him like a promise. “You are mine.”

Minho closes his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say anything aloud, but in the quiet of his heart, he whispers back, And you are mine.

Minho sits in his office, staring blankly at the untouched cup of coffee on his desk. The once-steaming liquid has gone cold, but he barely notices. His mind isn’t here; it’s still tethered to last night. The memories replay in his head like a film reel, fresh and vivid.

The taste of wine on your lips, the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth, the sound of his name falling from you in a breathless murmur—it all feels so real, like he could reach out and touch it again. A small smile tugs at his lips, one he doesn’t even realize he’s wearing.

He leans back in his chair, letting the warmth of the memories wash over him. Last night… It wasn’t just good. It was perfect.

The sharp knock at the door breaks his reverie, pulling him back to reality. For a moment, he doesn't react, too lost in the haze of his thoughts. It isn’t until the second knock that he swivels his chair toward the door and calls out, “Come in.”

To his mild surprise, Taesoo steps into the room, his posture rigid and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his apron.

“You should be in the kitchen,” Minho scolds, straightening up. “Dinner prep doesn’t wait for anyone, Taesoo.”

Taesoo hesitates, his head slightly bowed, avoiding Minho’s piercing gaze. “I... I have something to say, Chef.”

Minho’s brow furrows, irritation flickering to life. “It better be important,” he warns, pushing himself up from his chair. He rounds the desk and leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Speak up. We don’t have all day.”

Taesoo shuffles awkwardly, his shoulders hunched as though trying to make himself smaller. “It’s... I mean... I didn’t expect you to turn back on your word.”

Minho’s eyes narrow, confusion replacing his earlier irritation. “What are you talking about?”

Taesoo looks up for a brief moment, his gaze meeting Minho’s before darting away again. He swallows hard, visibly gathering the courage to continue.

“I saw it,” Taesoo mutters, his voice trembling slightly.

Minho straightens, his arms uncrossing. “Saw what?” he asks, his tone sharp but still laced with confusion.

Taesoo shifts on his feet, the air between them growing heavier with every passing second. “I... I saw you... and her,” he stammers.

Minho’s heartbeat quickens, a slow thrum of unease spreading through his chest. “What exactly did you see?”

Taesoo lifts his head, his expression both anxious and accusatory. “I saw you kiss her in the kitchen last night.”

For a moment, the world around Minho seems to freeze. His pulse pounds in his ears, drowning out the muffled sounds of the restaurant beyond the office door. His usually calm and collected demeanor cracks, his face turning cold—not from anger, but from a deep-seated fear that his secret is about to unravel.

The silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Minho’s jaw tightens as he stares at Taesoo, his mind racing for a way to contain the situation. He doesn’t know whether to deny it, deflect it, or confront it head-on.

This can’t get out, he thinks, his chest tightening. If it does…

He exhales slowly, but the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Minho feels cracks forming in the walls he’s spent so long building and for the first time, he isn’t sure he can stop them from breaking apart.

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withleeknow · 1 year ago

Note

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

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know angst #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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luvieluviedovie · 2 years ago

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LEE SARA JEALOUSY HCS OMGOMG

kinda toxic, angst.

she would be SUPER jealous of anything you did with someone else

if you're close to yeonjin or hyejeong, she would try to change your mind and make you have only her

yeonjin wouldn't be super close of you, but hyejeong would, and that makes sara go feral.

she hated it when you did any type of skin ship with hyejeong

and hyejeong doesn't really like sara, we all know that

so she would take advantage of you and tease sara just to make her jealous

it was until sara thrown a tantrum, taking a fist full of hyejeong's hair and start screaming at her

the two of them were screaming at each other until you stepped in and took sara somewhere more private

she would be super red and huffing multiple times

until you reassured her that you and hyejeong were only friends and that you would still love her no matter what.

she got a little calmer, but still told you to stay away from hyejeong, or she'd break up with you (she wouldn't, actually... she was just threatening you)

but even tho you knew about it, you did as she said

and from them you two became even happier

but it doesn't end there.

even if you were distant from hyejeong, there was still yeonjin.

yeonjin didn't tease sara like hyejeong did, but she enjoyed your friendship, so she couldn't keep her eyes off you or just end your friendship with her

but sara somehow managed to do that

you were sad, but you loved your girlfriend more than you loved yeonjin or hyejeong, so you just accepted it.

#kdrama #kdrama x fem reader #kdrama x reader #lee sara #the glory #the glory lee sara #the glory x reader #the glory x fem reader #lee sara x reader #lee sara x fem reader

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luxora · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#the glory highschool au #the glory reactions #the glory scenarios #the glory imagines #moon dongeun #moon dongeun x reader #park yeonjin #park yeonjin x reader #park yeon jin x reader #jeon jaejun #jeon jae jun x reader #jeon jae jun #choi hye jeong #choi hye jeong x reader #choi hyejeong #lee sara x reader #lee sara

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hisunshiine · 2 years ago

Text

—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!

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