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hoshifighting · 1 month ago

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Salt, Sugar and Everything Us

Synopsis: What do you get when the guy who literally threw salt in your dessert during a Michelin star competition 11 years ago, waltzes up to the door of your NGO like he didn’t ruin your entire life plan back in the day?

WC: 22k

WARNINGS: jihoon and children to heal our souls <3, angst, fluff, references to professional betrayal and its lingering effects, throwing up due to emotional discomfort, moments that may bring up past trauma especially related to rejection or failure, power imbalance.

SMUT WARNINGS: explicit language, penetrative sex, fingering, orgasm denial, overstimulation, semi-public setting, mutual desperation, body fluids (cum)

Manoir = Mansion in french.

NGO = Nonprofit organization that operates independently of any government.

Monsieur = Sir

— // December 2013 // —

You’re standing in the kitchen, staring at the bright lights overhead, your heart pounding so hard you swear it’s echoing off the marble countertops. The smell of sugar and chocolate floats in the air. You glance over at Jihoon, who’s methodically working on his plate. There’s no denying the guy’s a genius, but damn, does he have to be such an ass about it?

You flash him a shy smile—just a small one. Yeah, it’s a competition, and yeah, only one of you is gonna win and run the four Michelin-star restaurant in Switzerland—the prize of the contest. But like, after this, you’ll still all be chefs. You’ll still work together. You’d all end up in the same world soon enough, working in the same circles, maybe even crossing paths in some fancy kitchen.

Nothing. He doesn’t even look your way.

Fred, the tutor-slash-guardian angel for this trip, the one who dragged you halfway across the world to this kitchen in Europe, warned you. “Jihoon’s tutor hates you,” he had said, voice low like he was telling you some big secret. “It’s ‘cause you’re the only one who can match him. Maybe even beat him.” He had laughed, but it didn’t feel like a joke.

You shake your head and focus on your dessert. Your mousse sits on the plate, the top glistening perfectly under the lights, just the right amount of shine. The swirl of raspberry coulis looks like something out of a cooking magazine. You’re proud of it. Hell, you’re damn proud of it. You step back to admire it, and even the renowned chef standing in front of you—some big-shot Michelin-star guy whose name you can’t even pronounce—gives you a smile. But not a friendly one. More like a don’t get too cocky kind of smile.

And then he tastes it.

His face shifts so fast, your stomach drops. One second, he’s blank, and the next, he’s frowning, like really frowning, staring down at the plate like it face-to-face harmed him. He spits it out, not dramatically, just like he doesn’t wanna cause a scene. The whole kitchen goes quiet. Even the sound of knives chopping stops. You feel the heat crawling up your neck, spreading across your cheeks.

This can’t be happening.

“Did you taste this before serving it?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife.

Your throat is dry. You swallow, shaking your head slowly. “Uh… no, I—”

“Taste it,” he snaps, holding the spoon out toward you.

Your hands shake as you take the spoon, and before you can think twice, you taste it. The second it hits your tongue, you freeze.

Salt. Way too much salt.

It’s fucking disgusting.

You almost gag, but you force yourself to swallow, blinking fast as your brain tries to process what the hell just happened.

You glance over at Jihoon. He’s standing there, completely expressionless, not even pretending to be interested in the drama unfolding. But you remember. You remember when you left the mousse to rest, just for a minute, and Jihoon had passed by your station. Just a quick brush past, nothing suspicious. Nothing out of place.

Except now, all you can taste is salt.

The chef crosses his arms, still staring at you like he’s waiting for an explanation. You open your mouth, but no words come out. What are you supposed to say? That Jihoon sabotaged your dessert? That you think he did? You glance at him again, and for a split second, his eyes meet yours, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Just enough for you to see, before it’s gone.

“Do you have anything to say?” the chef asks, his tone icy.

You swallow again, shaking your head. “No, chef.”

This is it. The final round. Eliminatory. And you’re standing here with a plate of salted mousse because you trusted the wrong person for one damn second. You close your eyes for a brief moment, taking in a breath. You can feel the tension rolling off everyone in the room, and it takes everything in you not to scream.

You watch the chef walk over to Jihoon’s station, his expression already softening. Jihoon’s smiling now—this smug, self-assured grin plastered across his face as if he hadn’t just screwed you over minutes ago. His dessert does look good, though. Annoyingly good. Neat, precise, and probably just sweet enough to charm the hell out of the chef.

The chef takes a bite, nodding as if Jihoon’s dessert just confirmed every expectation. Then, just like that, he moves on, walking away without a second glance at you.

[...]

“Y/N, you’re eliminated. Please leave your apron on the station.”

The words slam into you like a punch, and your stomach twists. You don’t even know how you manage to stay upright, every muscle screaming at you to just collapse. You hear the gasps from the others behind you—your friends, competitors, but friends nonetheless—just as shocked as you are.

“What the fuck?” someone mutters.

“There’s no way…” another voice says, incredulous.

You don’t even turn around. You can’t. Instead, you glance at Fred in the back, your lifeline in this whole chaotic mess. He’s shaking his head, this look of defeat in his eyes that he’s trying so hard to hide. Like even he knew it was over the second Jihoon pulled that bullshit with your dessert.

Fred mouths, That’s it. Let’s go. But his sad eyes tell you everything you need to know. It wasn’t fair. And he knew it. You both knew it.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you force yourself to walk up to the chef. Your hands are shaking, and you clench your fists, trying to keep it together as you shake his hand. He’s stiff, formal, but you can’t help but notice the faint hint of pity in his eyes.

You avoid it.

When you turn back to your station, the weight of the moment crashes down on you. The stupid fucking apron you worked so hard to wear now feels like it’s burning a hole in your chest. As you reach up to untie it, your chin starts to quiver. You fight it—God, you fight it so hard—but the tears are already pooling in your eyes. This is it. The dream…gone.

Because of salt. Fucking salt.

You fold the apron, mechanical, like maybe if you take your time, this won’t feel so real. But it is. The apron sits on the counter in front of you, this symbol of everything you’ve lost, and you walk away before anyone can see you break.

As soon as you’re backstage, the tears come. Hot and heavy, spilling down your cheeks as you crumble into the arms of one of the friends you’d made here. They’re hugging you tight, whispering things like, “It’s not fair, you didn’t deserve this,” and “You were so close.” Their voice cracks too, sad that they didn’t win either, but it’s different for them. They weren’t robbed. They were sure you had it in the bag.

And then, after what feels like hours, you spot Jihoon again, his face glowing under the lights, a damn set of keys in his hand. The keys to the restaurant. Your restaurant. It should’ve been yours.

You blink through your tears, watching as he basks in the victory. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can take this sting away. This moment is etched into your brain, and you’re certain you’ll never forget it. No matter how much time passes, nothing will make you recover from this.

Leaving Europe had felt like defeat. It wasn’t just a loss on some cooking show—it was like watching a dream you’d nurtured since you were a kid slowly crumple and fade. Back then, you were so young, so full of ambition that your heart couldn’t even contain it all. Every time you thought of that moment, standing in that bright, sterile kitchen as Jihoon held those damn restaurant keys, it was like hearing your inner child sobbing hurtfully inside your eardrums. And that hurt more than you ever expected.

For the longest time, it felt like nothing could fill the void that salty mousse had left behind.

— // A decade later // —

But life has this weird way of surprising you when you least expect it. Turns out, there were plans far better than Michelin stars waiting for you. Plans you never even imagined, but ones that would heal you in ways a fancy restaurant never could.

It’s the little hands tugging at your apron now that remind you of just how far you’ve come. You’re not standing in some high-end kitchen with a sous-chef barking orders at you, or sweating over the chance to impress another judge. No, you’re standing in a small room, the walls plastered with drawings and messy crayon sketches of cupcakes, pizza slices, and lopsided bowls of spaghetti. Your apron’s a little stained, flour dusting the front of it, but you couldn’t care less.

“Why do you mix it like that?” A curious voice pipes up from below, and you glance down to find a pair of wide, sparkling eyes staring up at you. The flour and eggs in the bowl swirl together under your whisk, creating a soft, smooth batter. The kid—couldn’t be more than six—watches your hands like you’re performing magic.

“Because that’s how you make it fluffy,” you say, smiling as they nod, fascinated. A moment later, you feel tiny arms wrap around your leg, a small hug that makes your heart swell in ways that no standing ovation ever could. It’s innocent, pure, like they’re just happy to be near you, to learn from you.

Another voice chimes in, “How do you know when it’s ready?”

You chuckle, wiping a bit of flour from your forehead with your wrist. “You just know. It feels right.”

They tilt their head, brow furrowing like you’ve just told them some impossible riddle. You laugh softly and let them feel the batter between their fingers, watch as they giggle, amazed at how something so simple can be so right. There’s something about these moments, the curiosity in their eyes, the way they look at you with trust, like you’re some kind of culinary wizard. You weren’t Jihoon with his restaurant keys, and honestly, that’s never been more okay.

Because in these moments, surrounded by kids full of wonder, asking question after question, you realize that no Michelin star could pay for this feeling. There’s a joy here that runs deeper than prestige or recognition. A joy that healed something broken in you.

Your inner child, the one who cried in that cold European kitchen all those years ago, quieted here. She wasn’t crying anymore. She was laughing, learning how to mix flour with eggs, feeling the batter with her hands, like it was something new and wonderful. All those tears you shed for a dream that wasn’t meant for you? They were worth it, because they brought you here—to this.

It’s funny, really. Back then, you thought that only a shining career could fill the emptiness left behind by that loss. But here you are, standing in a room full of kids who look up to you like you’re a hero. And that? That’s priceless.

You’d started this nonprofit, an NGO for kids who didn’t have much, but who had the biggest imaginations you’d ever seen. You taught them to cook, sure, but it wasn’t just about food. It was about creating something with their hands, feeling proud of themselves, and finding a space to be themselves in a world that often made them feel small. Just like how you’d once felt—small, unworthy, like a failure. But now, every smile, every curious question they asked, it stitched up another tear in your heart.

It’s poetic, really. You thought you’d heal by chasing after the dream that slipped through your fingers in that European kitchen. But instead, you found healing in the hands of children, in their endless curiosity, in the way they saw the world full of possibilities. And in doing so, you healed the child inside of you—the one who had dreamed big but didn’t know how to handle disappointment when the dream didn’t come true.

Good things, they say, come to those who wait. And yeah, after everything you’d been through, you could finally see it—really see it. Your name, once tied to that one bitter loss back in 2013, now stood on its own, bold and bright in the culinary world. You weren’t just the kid who lost in Europe anymore. You were someone people sought after, someone who made a difference. The buzz around your NGO had grown so much that, by now, it felt like a new interview request hit your inbox every other day.

It was the fifth time this week you sat down for one.

"Tell us about your journey,” the interviewer smiled, setting the recorder between you both like they were about to hear some untold story. But by now, the story of your journey had become almost second nature. You leaned back in your chair, looking around the space—the walls adorned with photos of smiling kids, famous chefs who had come through your doors, all here to support the cause. This place, this NGO, had become something bigger than you ever imagined.

“Well," you started, a small smile tugging at your lips, “I guess it started with failure.”

That’s how you always began. Not shying away from what happened all those years ago but embracing it, wearing it like a badge of honor. Because, hell, if it hadn’t been for that loss, none of this would exist. Not the kitchen full of kids eager to learn. Not the world-class chefs flying in from every corner of the globe to share their wisdom with them. And certainly not the donations that had been pouring in, enough to keep this place thriving for years.

You ran a hand through your hair, glancing at a nearby photo. It was of you and a group of kids, all in their mini hats, standing next to one of the chefs from some Michelin-starred restaurant. They’d come to volunteer for a day, to give these kids a taste of their future—what could be theirs if they kept going.

“Back then, when I lost, I thought it was the end. But now…” You paused, looking around at the faces of the kids, at the excitement in their eyes as they tried to get their dough just right or figure out the balance between sweet and savory. “Now, I can’t imagine it going any other way. This is where I was meant to be.”

The interviewer nodded, clearly trying to keep up, but you could tell they hadn’t expected the story to take this turn. They probably thought you’d talk about how the loss fueled some revenge arc, a rise to the top, something a bit more dramatic. But the truth? The truth was softer than that, more human.

At this point, most of the world’s top chefs had been here at some point or another. Either they’d come to run a class, spend a day with the kids, or drop by to donate supplies. There was something magical about seeing their eyes light up when they walked through the doors, like they were stepping back into the beginning of their own journey.

“That’s amazing,” the interviewer said, scribbling something down. “You’ve had some huge names come here. What’s it like working alongside these big chefs now?”

You shrugged, letting out a soft laugh. “It’s surreal sometimes. You know, these are people I looked up to, the same ones I’d watch on TV or read about when I was younger, just starting out. And now they’re here, in my kitchen, helping my kids.”

[...]

You were just finishing up, wiping your hands on the towel after the last batch of cookies came out of the oven, when you saw Fred practically running into the kitchen. The grin on his face said it all before he even opened his mouth.

“Fifty grand!” he shouted, stopping just short of knocking over a jar of flour in his excitement.

“Fifty what?” you blinked, thinking you must’ve misheard. Fifty thousand dollars? That was… huge. Massive. Your mind raced, trying to figure out how that could even be possible.

“Yep,” Fred beamed, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Just got the news from the accountant. Some company called Lee Gastronomy—never heard of ‘em—but they sent the check and a little note saying they’re excited to support the house. Something about moving back to town soon and wanting to visit.”

You felt your heart race as you tugged your apron off, suddenly needing to see the paperwork for yourself. Fifty thousand dollars? That was enough to cover months of supplies, repairs, upgrades—hell, you could finally get that new oven you’d been dreaming about for the kitchen. “Lee?” you frowned, trying to jog your memory. “I don’t know any Lee.”

Fred shrugged, still grinning. “Me either. But who cares, right? We just got fifty grand!”

Even though the number hung in the air like a golden ticket, something felt strange. You didn’t know any Lee. You’d worked in this field long enough to know all the big players—chefs, donors, restaurant owners, food critics—but no one named Lee had ever crossed your path.

The next few days passed, Fred had started spreading the word about the donation, and suddenly, you found yourself knee-deep in logistics. Checking with the accountant, verifying the donation, making sure everything was legit. And yeah, it was. The company’s registration number checked out, the money had cleared, and everything seemed on the up and up. But that name… Lee Gastronomy. It still didn’t ring any bells.

Every time you mentioned it to someone—colleagues, friends, even the chefs who had been visiting the voluntary organization—they’d shake their heads too. No one had ever heard of them. You tried not to dwell on it too much; after all, it was a lot of money, and you had kids to take care of, projects to fund, and kitchens to keep running.

But then, more donations started rolling in.

First, another $10,000 from a small local bakery, then $15,000 from a chef’s association you’d partnered with in the past. Then $25,000 from an anonymous donor who didn’t leave any contact information—just a note saying they loved what you were doing and wanted to help. It felt like the floodgates had opened, and suddenly, people everywhere wanted to support your cause.

Each time, the donations brought a wave of gratitude and hope. The organization was growing faster than you’d ever imagined, and the possibilities felt endless. You could expand the programs, bring in more kids, offer more hands-on experiences with top chefs. And you did just that. You started upgrading the kitchen, organizing new field trips for the kids, even partnering with local schools to expand the reach of your work.

But that nagging feeling in the back of your mind never quite went away.

“Fred,” you said one afternoon as you both sat in the office, going over the latest set of donations, “Do you think it’s weird that all this is happening right after Lee Gastronomy showed up?”

Fred paused, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, maybe a little? But honestly, I just think word is spreading. People are seeing what we’re doing, and they want to help.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded, but your gut told you there was more to it.

The next week, another $30,000 came in. The donation slip was clean, but again, no name. No big donor stepping out of the shadows to claim credit for it. Just money pouring into your NGO like it was destined for you, and yet, you couldn’t figure out why it was all happening now.

[...]

The early morning air was cool as you bent down, adjusting the vases of flowers in front of the organization beautiful entrance. The kids wouldn’t arrive for another hour, and this was your moment of calm. A moment to breathe before the chaos of the day began. Today, your mind was occupied with the meeting you’d been anticipating for weeks.

Lee Gastronomy.

Whoever this mysterious benefactor was, they were finally coming to visit. You’d replayed the moment in your head a hundred times—meeting them, shaking their hand, expressing your endless gratitude. You wanted to make a good impression, show them what their generous donations had been doing. You straightened up, brushing off your pants, when the sound of footsteps on the pavement caught your attention. Two pairs of Gucci shoes appeared in your view, black leather, polished, expensive. The kind of shoes that had power written all over them.

You lifted your head, the best smile already set on your face. "Oh, you must be Lee! I—" The words stuck in your throat.

The face staring back at you wasn’t some stranger. It was him.

Jihoon. Lee? Lee Jihoon?

Your breath tied, and for a second, everything around you disappeared. It was like time rewound itself to that kitchen in Europe, to the sharp look in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitched into that subtle, knowing smirk. He was older now, more mature. His face had lost some of its softness, replaced with sharper angles, and yet… the eyes. You’d never forget those eyes. You couldn’t.

“Jihoon?” You muttered, like saying his name would break the reality in front of you.

Jihoon’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a faint smile on his lips. Fred, who had been standing beside you, froze. You could feel his tension, the silent question hanging in the air. He had no idea how you’d react. Hell, you didn’t even know how you’d react.

Everything came flooding back.

The way Jihoon had smirked as you stood there, staring down at your ruined dessert in disbelief. The way his fingers had curled around the restaurant’s keys, how he’d accepted his victory without so much as a glance your way. That little mole near his eye, the one you’d stared at for hours during the competition, watching it crinkle when he frowned or smiled—always at your expense.

You felt it then. The taste. That same, cursed taste of salt rising in the back of your throat. Your body tensed, memories crashing into you with such force it made you dizzy. You felt sick. So, so sick, that you feel like you are about to—

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, and before you could stop yourself, you were rushing inside the house, pushing past Fred, not even sparing a glance back at Jihoon. The nausea was enormous, the weight of the past pulling at your gut, twisting it into knots. You barely made it to the bathroom, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet, just in time for everything to spill out of you.

Fred was right behind you, voice panicked. “Y/N! Hey, hey, it's okay, I’m here.” He knelt beside you, gently pulling your hair back, trying to keep you steady as your body trembled.

You could hear the distant sound of Jihoon’s shoes shifting in the doorway. He hadn’t followed you in. He didn’t move. He just stood there. Watching.

Jihoon stood, frozen at the threshold, his sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly as Fred’s frantic voice echoed from inside. His assistant, standing beside him, looked equally stunned.

Were you this disgusted by him? To the point of throwing up? Jihoon wondered. He didn’t speak. He didn’t call out to you. Instead, he just stared at the open door, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for something but couldn’t figure out what. The sound of you retching filled the air, and for a moment, he felt it too—a strange, bitter taste creeping up the back of his own throat.

This wasn’t how he imagined seeing you again.

Fred’s voice was soft behind you, concern threaded through his words. “Do you want me to ask him to leave?”

You shook your head, still gripping the edge of the sink like it could anchor you back to reality. “No. Just... give me a few minutes.”

He didn’t argue. You heard his footsteps fade as he hurried to welcome Jihoon and his assistant. You stayed there for another few seconds, staring at your own reflection. Your face had fallen so fast, drained of all that confidence you’d tried to wear this morning. You brushed your teeth with shaky hands, telling yourself to calm down, to just be serene.

Just get through this. You took a deep breath and headed to the waiting room.

Jihoon and his assistant were seated, quiet, as if they hadn’t said much since Fred greeted them. You couldn’t bring yourself to shake his hand, so you bowed politely instead, keeping your hands clasped behind your back. You felt Jihoon’s eyes on you, but you didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

His assistant, a bright-eyed young man who didn’t seem to sense the tension in the air, smiled warmly. “It’s such an honor to finally meet you in person. Jihoon has told me a lot about the great work you're doing here,” he said, looking genuinely impressed.

You forced a smile, keeping your tone professional. “Thank you. We’re really grateful for all the donations, it’s made a huge difference. The kids... they’ve benefited so much.”

Jihoon’s assistant continued, eyes flicking between you and Fred, clearly excited to be there. “And it’s amazing how far you’ve come since your days in the competition. It must’ve been so tough, especially considering how—”

The room froze. You felt Fred tense beside you, his polite smile flickering, your breath catching in your throat. Even Jihoon’s expression shifted, his face hardening as he quickly looked away, avoiding your gaze entirely.

His assistant, oblivious, continued. “I mean, you two were so competitive back then, huh? And to think, all of this came from that one event—”

Fred cleared his throat sharply, cutting him off, but the damage was already done, his assistant clearly didn't know how Jihoon won. How much does he know? Does he even realize what he’s saying?

“Ah, well—” Fred began.

Jihoon cut him off, voice tight and low. “It’s… a long story.”

Before anyone could say more, the sound of laughter and tiny footsteps echoed down the hallway, saving you from the suffocating silence. The children had arrived.

Fred turned to greet them, and you stepped aside, watching as they rushed into the room, immediately diffusing the tension. They swarmed around you, bright-eyed and smiling, some of the little ones immediately latching onto your legs, asking if they could help in the kitchen today. You smiled softly, crouching down to ruffle their hair.

But then, some of them turned their attention to Jihoon.

Two of the kids, a boy and a girl, who couldn’t have been older than five, ran straight for him, hugging his legs like they’d known him forever. Jihoon stiffened at first, unsure how to respond, but the shock quickly melted as he crouched down, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. You noticed how different it looked from the smirk that used to haunt you.

"Who’s this?" one of the kids asked, looking up at Jihoon with wide, curious eyes.

You exhaled softly, your hands clenching and unclenching behind your back as you felt Fred’s eyes on you. You forced yourself to speak, turning to the kids, your voice softening, sweeter for them. “He’s a really good chef,” you explained, keeping it simple. “He has a biiiig restaurant in Switzerland.”

The younger ones gasped in awe, their faces lighting up as they hugged him tighter. "Wooooow," one of them breathed, eyes wide. “Is Switzerland far?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, it’s pretty far,” you said with a small scoff. It was cute how they clung to him without knowing anything about the man he was. How they immediately trusted him just because you said he was a chef, because in their world, chefs were superheroes who made magic with food.

But you didn’t miss the sound of the older kids behind you. Some of the pre-teens had recognized him. Their whispers were loud enough for you to catch, little gasps of “That’s Jihoon!” and “Oh my god, isn’t he, like, super famous?”

One of the girls, barely fourteen, looked at you with shining eyes. “You know Jihoon? Like, Jihoon Jihoon?”

You managed a nod, the tight smile still on your lips. “Yeah, I know him.”

Jihoon, standing there with the kids hugging him, stayed silent, his eyes drifting to you every now and then but never lasting. He looked uncomfortable. Maybe even lost. You wondered if he’d thought about this moment before—if he’d imagined what it would be like to see you again after all these years. Or if, like you, he hadn’t been ready at all.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “Alright, kids, let’s give our guest some space,” you said gently, guiding them away from Jihoon’s legs. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today, and I’m sure Chef Jihoon is going to want to take a look around.”

The younger ones reluctantly let go, giggling as they scampered off to join their friends.

You smiled softly when you saw Jihoon’s assistant already in the thick of it, playing with the kids like he'd been there for weeks. His laughter mixed with theirs, easy and carefree.

But then you turned, eyes flicking to Jihoon, who was still standing awkwardly at the edge of the room, like he wasn’t sure what to do next. You called his name quietly, over your shoulder, “Jihoon, come on.”

He dawdled but followed. As he walked toward you, you tied the apron behind your back like you had eyes on your hands, the kids gathering around the kitchen counter, their eyes wide with interest. Jihoon stayed a few steps behind, unsure of how to approach this situation—teaching kids was never something he'd done. Hell, it wasn’t even in his plans for the day.

But he remembered being the kid, the one sitting in front of a chef, hungry for knowledge and desperate to learn everything.

You leaned against the counter, your arms crossed as you gave him a sideways glance. “Do you guys know what Chef Jihoon is going to teach us today?”

The kids chorused a loud, excited “Noooo!” bouncing on their heels.

You turned fully to him, holding his gaze. He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like the spotlight was burning on him.

“I’ll let Chef Jihoon tell you then,” you said, challenging, like you were throwing him into the deep end on purpose. You wanted to see him squirm, maybe just a little.

Jihoon glanced at the eager faces in front of him, then back to you. His throat felt dry as he tried to come up with something to say, but for a second, all he could hear was the hum of his own nerves. The last time he had been in a kitchen like this, it wasn’t full of small hands and bright eyes—it was full of pressure, competition, and an entirely different energy.

But he wasn’t about to let you see him hesitate. He cleared his throat and stepped up to the counter, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Well,” he started, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I think today... we’ll be learning how to make something really special. Something I first learned when I was just starting out.”

He shot a quick look at you, and you could tell from the flicker in his eyes that he was stepping back into habitat. You smirked, leaning back against the counter as he continued.

“Let's make risotto… How's that sound?”

The kids’ faces immediately dropped, little frowns forming as they shook their heads. “We already know that one!” one of them piped up, crossing his arms, indignant. “Chef Y/N taught us already!”

You couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped, filling the room, and Jihoon shot you a sidelong look, his own lips twitching like he was fighting not to falter. Of course they already knew risotto. You’d practically burned through every recipe in the book with them.

Jihoon looked at the kids again, genuinely surprised. “Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “You already know how to make risotto?”

They nodded, several of them bouncing with pride. “Chef Y/N is really good!” a little girl said.

Jihoon’s expression softened, the faintest hint of surprise in his eyes as he took it in. He took a breath, thinking, before a sudden idea sparked across his face. “Alright, then. What about soufflé?”

The kids’ eyes widened, jaws dropping as they exchanged glances. “A soufflé?” one of the older kids asked, almost disbelieving. “Like the one in movies?”

Jihoon nodded, his face a little smug. “Yeah. It’s tricky, but I think you guys are up for it.”

One of the kids tugged at your sleeve, whispering, “Chef Y/N, do you think we can really make soufflés?”

You smiled, glancing at Jihoon. “With a chef like Jihoon teaching you? I think you can do anything.”

You and Jihoon began laying out the ingredients on the counter. Flour, sugar, butter, eggs—every item carefully arranged in neat little bowls. Then, stepping back, you let the kids gather around as Jihoon took his place at the front, an eyebrow raised in question.

“You’re not going to help me?”

You smirked, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall behind the children. “Nope. I’m here to learn too.”

He let out a scoff, but his eyes were amused. Reaching for a whisk, Jihoon’s fingers stopped as he noticed the brightly-colored utensils on the countertop—handles painted in cheerful blues, yellows, and pinks, completely different from the pristine silver ones he’d grown so used to in the rigid, professional kitchens.

His brow twitched, a bit thrown off, but he picked up a neon pink whisk, holding it up almost in disbelief before he finally began mixing, putting on the best show of professionalism he could manage with a grin sneaking in.

The kids were entranced as he worked. He answered each of their questions, even the simple ones—What’s this do? Why are eggs so runny? Is soufflé really magic? He gave patient answers, a spark in his eyes as he watched their faces light up with each response.

When he was done, a perfect, puffy soufflé stood in the middle of the counter. Golden, light, and exactly what you’d expect from someone with his skill. The kids were practically bouncing in excitement.

“Alright, your turn,” Jihoon said, stepping back and motioning for them to take over.

You paired up with a small boy, who looked completely intimidated by the fluffy soufflé sitting next to him. “I can’t make it like that,” he whispered to you.

You knelt down next to him, helping him break the eggs with careful hands, showing him how to separate the whites, then guiding his little hand as he whisked. “Doesn’t matter if it’s perfect,” you told him with a warm smile. “Just give it your best shot.”

Meanwhile, Jihoon crouched down beside a little girl who was struggling to mix the eggs. Her arm had started to tremble, the bowl wobbling in her hands.

“Here, I’ll help you,” he said, holding the bowl steady with one hand while he took the whisk with the other. “Let’s mix it together.”

The smile that spread across Jihoon’s face as he watched her efforts, a real, genuine smile that you hadn’t seen in years, softened something in—No. Hell no. Back to the recipe.

When the kids finally placed their soufflés in the oven, the results were… varied. Some soufflés rose tall and proud, while others sagged or deflated at the edges. One came out a bit lopsided, and another had been forgotten for a moment, the top a little browned, but that didn’t matter. They each wore their own version of pride on their faces, and you couldn’t help but feel it too.

Jihoon looked at the table, and shook his head, smiling. “They’re perfect,” he murmured, glancing at the children with an approval nod.

As the kids eagerly dug into their soufflés, one of the smaller boys took a big spoonful, his eyes lighting up at first. But then his face scrunched, his little nose wrinkling as he swallowed. He put his spoon down, looking directly at you with a distressed expression.

“Did I… put salt instead of sugar?” His lip started to tremble as he looked between you and Jihoon, mortified.

You froze. But before you could say anything, Jihoon, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, looked up, his eyes darting from the kid’s teary face to your stiff expression. The moment seemed to snap him to life, and he quickly sprang forward, kneeling down beside the boy, hands shaking in a mad rush.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry!” Jihoon said. He took the boy’s tiny hand in his. “There are tons of salty soufflés! I actually make one all the time. In my restaurant, it’s super fancy, with cheese and herbs, just like this one.”

The boy looked up, sniffling, his tears slowing a little. “Really? There’s… supposed to be salt?”

Jihoon nodded enthusiastically, glancing back at you as if asking for backup. “Absolutely! Chef Y/N could tell you all about it.” He shot you a look, almost saying like: What do I do now?

Taking a shaky breath, you knelt down beside the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s a great first try.” You ruffled his hair, seeing him perk up a bit.

Jihoon took a spoonful of the soufflé and tasted it, giving an exaggerated nodl. “Mm! It's really good!” He winked at the boy, who finally cracked a shy smile.

You watched with a small smile as each kid left with a bit of your heart in tow, feeling the echo of their laughter around you even as the room began to empty.

Fred lingered by the door, chatting with Jihoon’s assistant, while you and Jihoon moved to the side, staying silent, as if words would disturb whatever fragile peace had been built between you during the day. It felt strange, standing there beside him without the buffer of the kids to fill in the pauses.

Jihoon broke the silence first, clearing his throat softly. “I wanted to talk to you… I think my team and I would really love to support your organization long-term… Make it official, if you’d be interested. We could even bring some of the chefs, host classes, give the kids more to look forward to.”

“I appreciate the donation,” you began carefully measured. “I really do. But I need to be honest, Jihoon. I don’t want this house to lose what makes it special, what makes it ours. I don’t want it to turn into some… shiny project to impress donors or pull in crowds. It’s supposed to feel like us, like the kids. Not some big production.”

After a pause, he let out a soft hum, tilting his head slightly. “And what’s wrong with improving things? Giving the kids access to better resources, better… training?”

There it was—his tone wasn’t outright disdainful or insulting, but there was a bite to it, something faintly snobbish that made your stomach churn. You could feel Fred tense slightly beside you, the way his shoulders shifted like he wanted to step in but wasn’t sure if he should. Jihoon’s assistant, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by his boss’s words.

You scoffed. “Better training?” you repeated, folding your arms. “Is that what you think this is about? You think just because this isn’t the fancy kitchen you grew up in—or whatever perfect, silver-lined school taught you—you have the right to waltz in here and act like this isn’t good enough?”

Jihoon opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak. The floodgates were open now, the words spilling out of you like they’d been waiting years. “I learned to cook in a place like this,” you said firmly, jabbing a finger toward the counters, the bright utensils, the slightly battered cutting boards. “And guess what? It brought me to the same competition as you. So don’t stand there and act like these kids need some ‘upgrade’ to be worthy of your world.”

Fred's face went pale as he looked at you.

“You’re too busy chasing Michelin stars to see what really makes cooking special.” You spat.

Jihoon’s assistant visibly winced, and Fred looked at you with wide eyess.

Jihoon, though, didn’t react right away. He just stood there, his hands clenching slightly at his sides. “Is that what you think? That I came here just to… what? Smudge this in your face?”

It wasn’t until Fred gently touched your elbow that you realized how tense you were, your hands clenched your crossed arms. You took a breath.

“I don’t know why you came here,” you admitted finally, your voice softer now but no less firm. “But if you’re here to help, then help. Don’t stand there and tell me what this place is lacking. Because it’s got something no five-star kitchen could ever give you.”

He just nodded once. His assistant looked like he wanted to crawl into the floor, and Fred let out a low sigh, clearly debating whether to step in again.

Finally, Jihoon spoke, “I’m not here to tear this place down,” he said. “But if I’m going to help, I need to know how. You think I don’t understand what makes this place special? Fine. Show me then.”

Fred cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping in to break the silence. “Maybe we should, uh, pick this up another day?” he suggested, glancing between you and Jihoon. Neither of you responded. Enough for now.

You watched Jihoon step into the car, the heavy door closing with a muffled thud. From the front window, you could see him lean back against the seat, his face partially obscured by the tinted glass. His assistant was halfway to the car when he stopped, paused mid-step, and turned back toward you.He turned slow, really slow, like he’d been debating this for a while and finally made up his mind.

You raised an eyebrow as he approached, his blond hair catching the light “Chef Y/N,” he began, his voice sweet, with a thick French accent. His hands reached out to clasp yours—oddly personal. “I hope you’ll excuse me for interrupting, but… I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything today.”

His words took you off guard, and your brow furrowed slightly.

He sighed, the kind of long, exasperated exhale that suggested he’d had this conversation—or at least a version of it—with Jihoon before.

“Monsieur Lee,” he said carefully, “was truly excited to visit your NGO. It has been all he talks about since we first began planning this trip. But, you know him… he doesn’t always measure his words. He means well, but he can come off as—how do you say it?—impolite.”

You huffed a small, mirthless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

The assistant smiled faintly, “I hope you don’t let it affect your view of his intentions. He genuinely respects what you have built here. I’ll make sure to put some sense into his head, I promise. But please, don’t forget about our offer. It’s a good one, and I think… deep down, Monsieur Lee truly believes in what you’re doing here. Even if he doesn’t always know how to say it.”

You held his gaze, searching his expression for any sign of insincerity, but found none. He was genuine, you could tell. After a moment, you gave his hands a light squeeze and nodded. “I’ll think about it,” you said softly. “But this place… it’s not just about the offer. It’s personal to me. If I do decide to work with you all, it has to be on my terms.”

“Of course!” he said immediately, his smile growing. “And that is as it should be. Thank you for considering it.”

With that, he let go of your hands and returned to the car, leaving you standing there in the fading light. Jihoon didn’t look up as the car pulled away, while you looked until it disappeared down the road.

The days after Jihoon’s visit were surprisingly quiet, almost too quiet. You’d half-expected a deluge of follow-ups or more awkward exchanges, but instead, you found yourself with space to think. The children, as always, were a welcome distraction. They filled the kitchen with their laughter and the occasional misstep, their joy a constant reminder of why you’d built this house in the first place.

Still, Jihoon lingered in the back of your mind. His presence at the NGO had stirred up so many old emotions. Every time you thought about his assistant’s words, you felt a strange knot of uncertainty in your chest. Was it possible that Jihoon’s intentions weren’t as cold as they’d seemed? Could you trust him to help without losing the heart of what you’d created?

One evening, Fred found you sitting at your desk, staring blankly at a stack of donation forms. “You okay?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About Jihoon?”

You shot him a look, and he grinned. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve been quiet since he left. I can tell he got under your skin.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “It’s just… complicated. He said some things that really pissed me off, but his assistant made a good point. I don’t know, Fred. I don’t want to make the wrong decision.”

Fred crossed his arms, considering your words. “Look, I don’t know Jihoon like you do. But from what I’ve seen, he’s not the same guy he was back then. Maybe give him a chance to prove that.”

A week later, Jihoon showed up again, this time without his assistant. You spotted him standing awkwardly at the front gate, a bag slung over his shoulder. He looked out of place, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Back so soon?” you called out, walking toward him.

He turned, his eyes meeting yours. “I wanted to talk. Without the… entourage.”

You raised an eyebrow but gestured for him to follow you inside. The two of you sat in the empty kitchen, the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Jihoon placed the bag on the counter and pulled out a small box. “I brought something for the kids,” he said, opening it to reveal a set of beautifully crafted utensils, each one colorful and child-sized.

You blinked in surprise, your defenses momentarily lowering. “These are… amazing.”

“I thought they might like them,” he said, his voice quieter now. “And I thought maybe I could help more, if you’ll let me.”

You hesitated, studying his expression. There was no trace of the condescension you’d seen before.

[...]

The sound of running water filled the quiet kitchen, punctuated by the clink of dishes being handed off between you and Jihoon. The day had been long, the kind of long that left you too tired to think straight but restless enough to keep moving. You focused on scrubbing the edges of a baking dish, the suds thick around your fingers, and handed it to Jihoon without a glance. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, pausing more than he should. You pulled back instinctively, grabbing the next plate before he could say anything.

Jihoon sighed, turning toward the wide window above the sink. The last light of the day was fading, casting a soft orange glow over the room. He dried the dish slowly, as if trying to draw out the moment.

“You’ll never forgive me, will you?”

The question stopped you in your tracks. You placed the plate you were washing back into the sink and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the counter. The bubbles clung to your hands, foam dripping down to the marble. You stared at the suds for a moment, your mind swirling, before you turned your head slightly toward him.

“I never heard a sorry leave your mouth, Jihoon.” Your gaze shifted to the window, avoiding his reflection.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” he admitted. “I thought… what’s the point? Saying sorry wouldn’t change anything.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You thought what? You think you can just show up here, give donations, play nice with the kids, and everything gets wonderful well?”

Jihoon’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” You crossed your arms, still feeling the slickness of the detergent on your skin. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you trying to fix something without actually addressing the damage you caused.”

You opened your mouth to continur, but he cut you off. “What am I supposed to do, huh? Go back in time? Undo it? All I can do is try to make up for it now, and if that’s not good enough for you, then tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

The frustration in his voice caught you off guard, but you didn’t let it show. “You don’t get to decide how or when I forgive you, Jihoon. That’s not how this works. And for the record, no, you can’t undo it. You can’t take back the way you made me feel that day.”

He flinched at your words but didn’t look away. “I know. I know I can’t.”

You shook your head. “And yet here you are, acting like showing up and playing nice will fix it all. Like you can just… sweep it under the rug.”

“I’m not trying to sweep it under the rug. I’m trying to be better. To show you that I’ve changed.”

You go back to the dishes. The water ran over your hands as you scrubbed a stubborn stain on the bottom of a pot, the bubbles swirling down the drain. Jihoon stood beside you, methodically drying the dishes and placing them on the counter without a word.

But something twisted in your gut, you swallowed hard, the weight of the past pressing on your chest. Your voice, when it finally came out, was quiet, and more fragile than you wanted to sound.

“Why the salt?”

Jihoon froze mid-motion, the towel in his hands slipping slightly. You didn’t look at him, your eyes fixed on the pot as if it held all the answers you’d been seeking.

“Why did you do this to me Jihoon?”

He exhaled shakily, his knuckles white as he gripped the counter. It wasn’t just your question—it was the way you’d asked, like a small, innocent version of yourself had reached through the years to speak, like spiritually, your inner child canalized her voice to his ears. Jihoon felt it deep in his chest, an ache that mirrored yours. It was as though the girl you’d been when you first started chasing this dream was standing there, demanding an explanation he’d never given. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“I…” he started but faltered, running a hand through his hair, his voice dropped. “I didn’t… mean for it to be like that.”

You set the pot down, water dripping from your hands as you turned to him. Your eyes searched his face, looking for something—remorse, understanding, anything. “Then why? Why did you do it? Was it just… some sick joke to you?” Your voice wavered, and you blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Do you know what that did to me? What it felt like to watch—” You stopped, your words catching in your throat.

Jihoon closed his eyes, pressing his palms flat against the counter as if steadying himself. He felt sick, the kind of sickness that sat heavy in his chest and made it hard to breathe. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t my idea,” he said finally, his voice strained.

You frowned, your confusion evident. “What do you mean it wasn’t your idea?”

He turned to you then, his expression torn, guilt scripted all over his face. “It was my tutor’s idea,” he admitted, his words tumbling out like they’d been locked up for too long. “He… he told me to do it. Said it would make me stand out, give me an edge. He thought sabotaging someone else would make me look stronger. And I was—” He broke off, running a hand over his face. “I was stupid enough to listen.”

Your stomach churned, the twist in your gut tightening. “Your tutor?” you repeated, the disbelief clear in your voice.

Jihoon nodded, his eyes, pained. “He was more than just a tutor. He became my business partner after the competition. He was the one who pushed me toward the restaurant, who built me up to be this… this thing I didn’t even recognize anymore.” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And now…I can’t stand him. He’s why I’m back here. I couldn’t take it anymore. The way he runs things, the way he manipulates people—it was eating me alive.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning. “So you’re saying… you did it because he told you to?”

“Yes.. But I chose to do it. I could’ve said no. I should’ve said no. I was just so… desperate to prove myself, to win, to be the best.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “And I didn’t care who I hurt along the way.”

The importance of his confession lolled in the air. You turned your back to the sink. “I kept asking myself, What did I do wrong? And all the while, it was you.” Your voice cracked, and you hated how weak you sounded.

“I know, I know, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. Seeing you crying that day… it still haunts me. And when I saw you throw up when I came here, I realized just how deeply I’d hurt you. I…” He trailed off, his eyes glistening. “I can’t undo it. I know I can’t. But I’m trying to make it right. I just want you to know… I’m sorry. For everything. And I’ll keep saying it until it means something.”

“So…” you started, leaning back against the counter as you dried your hands on a towel. “You left a Michelin-starred restaurant behind? All of it?”

Jihoon nodded, like a weight had been partially lifted.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “And now that you don’t have it, you want this to be yours too? The house?”

He let out a scoff, but it wasn’t sharp like before, it was straight funny. “You could’ve had both,” he countered, tilting his head. “A Michelin-starred restaurant and this. I could never.”

You couldn’t help but hold back a small smile, shaking your head.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward in a small, genuine smile. Then he extended his hand, palm open, toward you. “Come on,�� he said softly.

You glanced at his hand, then back at his face, narrowing your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Offering a truce,” he replied. “Come on. You can’t make me stand here forever.”

For a second, you hesitated, looking at his hand again. With a resigned sigh, you dried your hands fully, reaching out to take his. Your grip was firm.

But you couldn’t help it. “You sure you want to start here? With that hair?” You gestured to his slightly mussed locks, which looked more chaotic than usual after hours in the kitchen. “You’ve been running from Michelin stars, but your hair looks like it’s been running from a comb.”

Jihoon froze for a second, then let out a genuine laugh, his head tilting back slightly. It was the first time you’d heard it that day, and it made something inside you soften.

“Don’t think the kids haven’t noticed. One of them asked if you were cosplaying as a hedgehog earlier.”

Jihoon smiled wide, almost beaming, though he tried to downplay it by scratching the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. I get it. Point taken. But you know, I think they like me.”

“They tolerate you,” you corrected, smirking. “Big difference. You’re still on trial here, Jihoon.”

He pressed his free hand dramatically to his chest. “Tolerate me? That hurts, Y/N. I thought I had charm.”

“You’ve got something,” you teased, releasing his hand to grab another dish towel. “I’ll let you know what it is once I figure it out.”

Jihoon leaned against the counter, his eyes softening as he watched you. “You’ll let me know, huh? That sounds fair.”

Jihoon’s attempts to help with the house didn’t feel like an intrusion anymore.

A few days later, Jihoon was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a group of kids, trying to teach them a few basic culinary techniques. His patience was better than you’d expected, though he still had moments where he looked at you like: How do you deal with this every day?

“Chef Jihoon, is this how you hold the whisk?” one of the smaller kids asked, holding it in a fist like a sword.

“No, not unless you’re planning to fight your eggs,” Jihoon replied, gently adjusting the child’s grip. “Like this. Light, but firm.”

You stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. Fred sidled up beside you, nodding toward Jihoon. “He’s really trying, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “He is.”

As the session wrapped up, Jihoon caught your eye from across the room. He raised an eyebrow, as if silently asking for your approval. You pretended to consider, then gave a small nod. His lips twitched upward, satisfied.

Jihoon had never considered himself great with kids.

He wasn’t the type of uncle who could entertain nieces and nephews for hours without breaking a sweat, like his friend Seungkwan. Yet, here he was, surrounded by giggling children who hung on his every word—and he had to admit, it wasn’t as terrifying as he’d thought.

He’d found himself loving this. The chaos, the noise, the silly little moments. The kids, with their endless energy and bright smiles, were teaching him things he never thought he would learn. They were curing him in ways he never imagined.

Jihoon couldn’t hide the change in his mood when the kids started leaving for the day. They’d crowded around the door, each of them getting picked up by their parents, giving their final hugs, running out of the kitchen, their little hands waving goodbye. Jihoon stood in the doorway, watching them, his gaze soft. He didn’t admit it out loud, but there was something about seeing the kids leave that made him feel a little emptier inside. Maybe it was because he could feel the bond forming between them even though they’d only spent a short time together.

“Are you really sulking now?” you asked, walking past him to grab the last dish from the counter.

He didn’t turn around, but you could see the slight pout on his lips. “No,” he mumbled, hands stuffed in the pockets of his apron. “I just... I’m not used to saying goodbye. Even if I’m going to see them again tomorrow.”

You chuckled, watching him—you've found yourself in this situation multiple times at the beginning. “It’s fine, Jihoon. You’re just getting attached.”

He shot you a side-eye, as if daring you to make fun of him. “I’m not attached.” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” You teased, nudging him lightly with your shoulder as you moved to the other side of the kitchen to help clean up. “You’ve become one of them now. A softie.”

[...]

The kitchen had never felt more alive than it does today. Jihoon, who had never been particularly fond of chaos, was smiling—almost laughing—while keeping his eyes on the counter. It was supposed to be a “friendly” competition between the boys and girls, but honestly, it was just an excuse to see how much you and Jihoon could handle before the chaos completely overtook you. And right now, it was clear neither of you were winning.

You stood on the boys’ side of the kitchen, trying to keep them from getting too rowdy as they threw flour at each other in some misguided attempt to "season" their dishes. On the other side, Jihoon was managing the girls, who, much to his dismay, were doing exactly what you expected them to do.

Jihoon stood there in your pink apron, his now short hair practically glistening with glittering accessories—tiny scrunchies, little clips holding stray locks back—making him look like the type of man who should’ve been anywhere but in a kitchen with a bunch of kids.

One of the girls tugged at Jihoon’s sleeve. “Chef Jihoon, can you stir this? It’s too heavy!” she whined, her small hands gripping the bowl.

“Of course,” Jihoon said, crouching slightly to be at her level, but not before side-eyeing you. “Unlike someone,” he said with mock emphasis, “I don’t leave my team hanging.”

You gasped dramatically from across the kitchen. “Excuse me, Chef Lee, but my boys are doing just fine, thank you very much!”

Jihoon smirked as he whisked the batter.

A few minutes later, the competition was in full swing, and the teasing between the kids was relentless. Every now and then, you had to intervene.

“Chef Y/N, Chef Jihoon’s team says our cookies will burn!” one of the boys pouted, pointing accusingly at Jihoon’s side of the kitchen.

You shot Jihoon a glare. “Chef Lee, are you sabotaging my team’s confidence?”

Jihoon feigned innocence, holding up his hands. “Sabotage? I would never,” he said, though his smirk betrayed him.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, narrowing your eyes. You crouched to whisper conspiratorially to the boys, loud enough for Jihoon to hear. “Don’t worry, kids. His cookies will taste like his personality—bitter.”

At one point, Jihoon crossed behind you to grab a pan, but instead of taking the wide-open space on the other side, he chose to squeeze behind you in the narrow gap between the counters.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, voice low and entirely unnecessary given the proximity. His hand brushed your waist as he reached past you, and you stiffened, gripping the spoon in your hand tighter.

“There’s a whole kitchen, Jihoon,” you scolded, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why are you in my personal space?”

He bit his bottom lip, as he moved away, holding the pan. “Just testing the waters. Seems warm.”

You huffed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Go test the waters on your side of the kitchen before I throw you in the sink.”

He laughed, a soft, melodic sound that you hated how much you were starting to like. “Alright, alright. Don’t get flustered, Chef Y/N. I’ll behave.”

Later, you decided to up the teasing as revenge. Jihoon was bent over, helping one of the girls pour batter into a mold. You leaned close to him, hand on his back, making his back stiff under your hand.

You scoff, your breath tickling his ear. “Careful, Chef Lee. Don’t spill. That would ruin your team’s reputation.”

Jihoon fumbled with the mold, nearly spilling the batter as he straightened up abruptly. He shot you a look, his cheeks faintly pink. “Very funny.” he muttered, grabbing the whisk with a little too much force, the batter splattering slightly.

The kids were oblivious to the Chef's bickering, fully focused on their creations. The teasing continued until the final moments, each team plating their cookies and presenting them proudly.

By the end of the competition, the kids were giggling and cheering as Fred and Jihoon’s assistant judged the dishes. Jihoon stood beside you, both of you wiping flour off your hands as the verdict was announced: a tie.

You stood beside Jihoon as the kids debated whose cookies looked better. He leaned closer to you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You know, you’re lucky there’s no actual judging panel. My team would wipe the floor with yours.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Keep dreaming, Lee.”

When the kids weren’t looking, he nudged you lightly with his elbow. You elbowed him back, harder, earning a stifled laugh.

[...]

You sat slumped at your desk, your face buried in your hands as Fred paced back and forth in front of you, rattling off potential solutions. The stress of the upcoming fundraiser gala was weighing on you like a damn cast-iron skillet.

The shelves in the stockroom were stacked with ingredients that you weren’t even sure you’d be able to use now that the catering service had ghosted you. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Fred sighed dramatically, flopping down in the chair across from you. “Alright, boss, what’s the game plan? Do we, like, call another service or… just throw in the towel and serve chips and soda?”

You groaned, peeking at him through your fingers. “Fred, I swear to God, if you bring up chips one more time—”

“Okay, okay, chill,” he said, throwing his hands up in defense. “But for real, though. We gotta figure this out. You know how fancy these people are. One whiff of ‘homemade’ and they’re gonna start asking if we milked the cows ourselves.”

You let out a dry laugh, leaning back in your chair and staring at the ceiling. “I should’ve just canceled the gala altogether. Who even does this every year? I’m not Beyoncé.”

Fred smirked. “True, but you’re like… Beyoncé of the kitchen. That counts for something, right?”

“Fred,” you deadpanned, narrowing your eyes at him. “That is not helpful.”

You were mid-spiral, staring at your disheveled desk, when a knock pulled you out of your chaos. Turning sharply, you found Jihoon leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to look casual—but you could tell he was hesitant, maybe even nervous.

What the hell did he want now? You thought he already headed home.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his eyes darting between you and Fred, who was sprawled across the chair forehead red from how stressed he got.

Fred’s head shot up like a meerkat. “Not at all! Actually, perfect timing—”

You shot Fred a glare sharp enough to make him frown. “Fred. Shut. Up.” Then you turned to Jihoon, crossing your arms. “What do you want?”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “Heard about the cancellation. Thought you might need a hand.”

Fred couldn’t help himself. He snorted. “She needs more than a hand. She needs, like, divine intervention at this point.”

“Fred!” you hissed, your face heating up. Fred waved you off, muttering something about grabbing coffee, and practically bolted out of the room, leaving you alone with Jihoon.

You sighed and turned your full attention to him. “Alright, so what’s this about? Because unless you have a whole-ass catering team hiding in your back pocket, I don’t think you can magically fix this.”

Jihoon tilted his head, his lips twitching into that insufferable smirk you hated so much. “Well, I don’t have one in my pocket, but I do have a team. Or did you forget I used to run a restaurant?”

You blinked at him. Once. Twice. “Wait. You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, straightening up a bit. “I can bring my team in. We’ll handle the food. You focus on… whatever else needs doing. Win-win.”

You stared at him, trying to gauge if he was actually being helpful or just showing off. “And what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said smoothly. “I just want the kids to have a good night. And… maybe—prove to you that I’m not as useless as you think.”

You let out a groan, rubbing your temples. “God, you’re so smug.”

“Smug, but capable,” he quipped.

It wasn’t like you had a long list of alternatives, and time was running out. You were about to say no—hell, you even opened your mouth to shut him down—but the words didn’t come. You were stuck, and deep down, you knew it.

“Fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms even tighter. “But if your team screws this up, Jihoon, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

His smirk widened into a full grin. “Deal.”

He turned to leave, and you couldn’t resist one last jab. “And don’t think this means I trust you or anything!”

Jihoon glanced back, his smirk back to its usual lazy self. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Chef.”

Fred found you in the kitchen later, supervising a delivery of more ingredients that just reminded you how overwhelming this whole gala was going to be. “So, you really letting Jihoon handle the food?”

“Not like I have a choice,” you muttered, signing off on a receipt. “It’s either him or I start calling catering companies and praying someone says yes for this weekend.”

Fred snickered, nudging you with his elbow. “You’re playing with fire, boss. You know that, right?”

“I know...” you sighed.

You bit your lip, your eyes fixed on Jihoon across the room as your thoughts tangled themselves into knots. He was chatting with his assistant, leaning slightly against the counter in that laid-back way of his. But then, a small hand tugged at his pant leg—a boy from the younger group, arms stretched high in the universal signal to pick me up, as he closed and opened his hands.

Jihoon hesitated for half a second, glancing down, but the moment the kid grinned up at him, Jihoon’s expression softened into something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. He crouched to the boy’s level, picking him up with ease, and the little guy immediately started chattering about… something. Jihoon nodded along like it was the most important thing he’d ever heard, even giving a small laugh that made your stomach twist.

“Y/N.” Fred’s voice brought you back, and you turned to see him giving you that I’m onto you look.

“What?” you whispered sharply, leaning closer.

Fred smirked. “I said, you’re really letting Jihoon handle this? Big leap of faith.”

You sighed, dropping your voice even lower so no one else could hear. “Do you think he’s gonna mess everything up again?”

Fred tilted his head, watching Jihoon over your shoulder. “Mess up? Nah. He’s too proud for that. He’d rather break his back making this perfect than give you more ammo to throw at him.”

You raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “You’re awfully optimistic.”

Fred leaned closer, his voice lowering to match yours. “Look, I know he’s got a reputation—believe me, I’ve heard all about it—but people change. I’ve been watching him. He’s trying, Y/N. He really is.”

You glanced back at Jihoon, just in time to see him toss the boy lightly into the air and catch him, earning a giggle loud enough to echo through the room. Jihoon smiled, genuinely, and you caught yourself blinking like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Fred nudged you. “See what I mean? That’s not the same guy who showed up on day one, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t screw this up,” you muttered, your fingers tightening around the clipboard you were holding.

Fred gave you a look that bordered on exasperation. “You’re allowed to doubt, boss, but at least give him credit for showing up. He’s not just phoning it in. Look at him.”

You did. Jihoon had set the boy down and was now crouching as a small group of kids swarmed him, waving drawings in his face. He listened intently, nodding as one of the girls pointed out the details of her masterpiece. Even from a distance, you could see the way his lips twitched into a small smile.

“See?” Fred whispered, his tone softer now. “He’s trying to be here, to be part of this. Maybe he’s not perfect, but none of us are. Don’t punish the guy for trying.”

You bit your lip again, uncertainty clawing at you. “It’s not just about trying, Fred. It’s about doing it.”

“And he’s doing,” Fred countered gently. “Every single day, in his own way.”

You stayed quiet, watching Jihoon stand up and ruffle one of the boy’s hair before turning back to his assistant. As if sensing your gaze, he glanced up, meeting your eyes for a fleeting moment.

Fred patted your shoulder, snapping you out of it. “Look, I’m not saying you have to trust him blindly. But maybe, you can let him prove himself.”

You exhaled sharply, the weight of everything pressing against your chest. “Fine. But if he screws this up, I’m not holding back.”

Fred grinned.

Jihoon, still watching from across the room, gave you a slight nod before turning back to his conversation. The boy at his feet clung to his leg like a koala, and Jihoon, didn’t seem to mind.

— // One day before the Fundraiser Gala // —

The sound of heels and boots against the tile floor echoed through the kitchen, direct contradiction to the usual patter of children’s sneakers and laughter. Jihoon’s team had arrived, and damn, they looked like they meant business. Clad in immaculate white chef coats and black pants, they marched in like some kind of culinary SWAT team, their faces serious as their eyes scanned the colorful cabinets, the shelves stacked with bright utensils, and the whimsical decorations scattered around.

For a second, you thought they might’ve walked into the wrong place. This wasn’t their sleek with its stainless steel everything and clinical vibes.

One of the chefs—a woman probably in her late thirties, with warm brown eyes and a bright smile—broke away from the group. Her crisp chef’s hat stood out even more because of the colorful butterfly pinned to the front. She approached you with her hands clasped in front of her, her energy immediately softening the sharpness of the arrival.

“You must be Chef Y/N,” she saidt. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I’m a big fan of your work. My daughter used to come here a few years ago before we moved away.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her warmth. Then your lips curved into a genuine smile as you reached out to clasp her outstretched hand. “Oh, really? That’s amazing! What’s her name?”

“Ellie,” she said, her smile widening. “She loved it here—always talked about the classes and how kind you were. You really made an impact on her.”

Your chest tightened with pride as you squeezed her hands lightly. “That means so much to me. Thank you for sharing that.”

Jihoon’s voice broke through the moment, sharp but not unkind, as he began directing his team like a seasoned general. “You, start unpacking the equipment and setting up the stations. Over there,” he pointed toward the far counters, “clear the area for plating tomorrow. We’ll use this section for prep. Let’s move efficiently; we don’t have all day.”

The chefs snapped into action, moving in sync as they carried crates of supplies and ingredients to the designated areas. Some paused briefly to take in the kitchen's playful décor—bright red mixing bowls, pink spatulas, even a small chalkboard where the kids had drawn messy pictures of cookies and cakes.

A younger chef paused at the chalkboard and tilted his head, squinting at a crookedly drawn cake. “What’s this supposed to be?”

You smirked, stepping closer. “That’s a birthday cake. Pretty sure it was done by a five-year-old last week.”

He grinned sheepishly and quickly got back to work.

As the flurry of activity settled into a rhythm, Jihoon finally approached you, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms dusted with flour—intimidating or approachable? you couldn't name it.

“So,” he said, nodding toward his team bustling behind him, “what do you think?”

You folded your arms, raising an eyebrow. “You brought an army.”

Jihoon smirked, his dimple flashing. “You said you were stressed about the gala. I figured I’d bring reinforcements.”

“I didn’t think reinforcements would look like... this.” You gestured toward the scene unfolding behind him—chefs moving almost mechanically, unpacking boxes of spices, knives, and tools that looked way too fancy for your humble kitchen. “They’re terrifyingly efficient.”

Jihoon’s smirk widened. “It’s what we do.”

You shook your head, pleasedly. “I’m not used to this many people in here. Usually, it’s just me, Fred, and the kids. Maybe a volunteer or two. This is... Geez.”

Jihoon’s expression softened just slightly. “It’ll be fine. They’re good at what they do, and they’re here to help.” He tilted his head toward the woman with the butterfly pin, who was busy organizing a shelf of ingredients. “And they’re not all bad, see? You’ve already made a fan.”

You let out a small laugh, glancing over at her. “She seems sweet. But you—” you pointed at him, mock serious, “—better not let this whole operation steamroll what we’ve got here. I don’t want this place feeling like some high-end restaurant. It’s not what we’re about.”

Jihoon held up his hands, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Noted, Chef. No steamrolling.”

“Good,” you said, though it was a simple conversation, it left your stomach flipping a little.

Fred appeared at your side, raising an eyebrow at the scene. “Well, this is new. You two... not bickering?”

Jihoon let out a low laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

Fred snorted. “Noted.”

As the three of you stood there, Jihoon’s team settled further into their work. And for the first time in days, you let yourself feel a tiny spark of hope. Maybe this fundraiser wouldn’t be a complete disaster.

The faint pop of balloons filled the air as you stood outside the big house, pointing toward the arch being assembled. The guy on the ladder adjusted the last few balloons based on your direction. “Yeah, a little to the left. No, too much—back a bit. Perfect!” you called, stepping back to admire the colorful display. Satisfied, you headed inside to check on the lobby.

The scene was coming together beautifully. Soft string lights cascaded down the walls, tables draped in crisp white cloths were adorned with modest floral arrangements, and a few colorful drawings from the kids had been framed and placed strategically to keep the spirit of the NGO alive. You smiled, exhaustion creeping in.

The kitchen door swung open briefly, the sound of movement spilling out. Jihoon’s voice rang clear as he called out commands. Curious, you moved closer, the faint smell of roasted vegetables and fresh herbs making your stomach grumble.

“Should we add the asparagus to the risotto?” one of the chefs asked Jihoon.

You peeked in to see Jihoon standing near the counter, frowning at the question. His arms were crossed as he considered the dish. “No. Substitute it with something the kids will like better. Maybe peas or sweet corn—something familiar.” His tone was sharp but thoughtful, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. He’s got this.

With the decoration finished, you looked around the lobby one last time, hands on your hips, your legs were starting to feel the long day. Just as you were about to head upstairs for a quick break, Jihoon’s voice called out.

“Chef Y/N! Come to the kitchen for a second!”

You groaned dramatically, rolling your eyes but heading toward the kitchen anyway. The team had gathered around the main counter, dishes from the menu arranged neatly in front of them. Jihoon stood in the center, sleeves rolled up, looking completely in his element. When you stepped in, he placed a firm hand on your lower back, gently guiding you to the counter.

“Alright, Chef,” he said with a small smirk. “You’re the boss—taste and let us know if anything needs adjusting.”

You set your clipboard down by the edge of the counter, glancing at the team. Their expressions ranged from curious to tense, some with hands clasped nervously in front of them, others holding their breath. The way they watched you reminded you of the kids during class, eagerly awaiting your feedback with shiny, hopeful eyes. It was a window straight to their inner child, and it warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected.

You picked up the first dish—a delicate risotto plated beautifully with fresh herbs—and took a bite. The creamy texture melted on your tongue, and you couldn’t help but nod in approval. The team collectively exhaled, and a few shared quiet smiles.

Moving to the next dish, a roasted chicken breast with a honey glaze, you chewed thoughtfully before nodding again. Your eyebrows raised as you flipped to a fresh page on your clipboard and started writing.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed a few of them shifting nervously, trying to sneak a peek at what you were jotting down. You heard someone’s breath hitch, and you fought back a grin. Their curiosity bubbling over like kids at a science fair.

Finally, you set the pen down and looked up at the group with a big smile. “Everything is excellent,” you said warmly, your tone full of genuine praise. The room erupted into quiet sighs of relief and soft laughter as they exchanged congratulatory nods.

Jihoon stood at your side, his eyes on you, but you didn’t miss the curiosity there, too. You ripped the page from your clipboard and handed it to him. “Here,” you said. “See you all tomorrow—get some rest. You’ve earned it!”

As you left the kitchen, you could feel their eyes lingering on you, their whispers audible even as you stepped into the hallway.

“What did she write?” someone asked, unable to contain their curiosity.

Jihoon unfolded the note, and for a moment, his face was unclear. Then he scoffed softly, a smile breaking across his face as he shook his head.

“What is it, Chef?”

Jihoon chuckled and held up the paper for them to see. Written in bold letters, surrounded by a big smiley face, were the words:

"You have the best team ever, Jihoon-ah! (P.S. Don’t mess it up, or I’ll switch the risotto for instant noodles tomorrow.)"

The room blast into laughter, the tension evaporating in an instant. Jihoon rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly.

— // The day of the Fundraiser Gala // —

The afternoon stretched lazily into evening. You were on autopilot, clipboard in hand, mentally running through the checklist one last time.

You didn’t even notice Jihoon’s team gathered in a loose circle near the kitchen, stifling laughter as they watched you stride past, completely oblivious. Jihoon, standing at the center, tried to hold it together, his lips twitching and his cheeks dangerously close to full-on pink.

When you finally looked up, feeling the weight of their stares, you froze. Jihoon caught your gaze, his face crumpling into silent laughter as he pointed at your head.

You blinked, confused, before your hand flew up and landed on the pink rollers still perched on your head. Your cheeks flamed instantly. “Oh my God,” you groaned, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Not a word!” you warned, glaring at Jihoon, who was practically doubled over, biting his fist to keep from cackling.

“Come on,” he teased, still grinning. “It’s a look!”

You huffed, trying to keep your composure as you giggled despite yourself. Jihoon straightened, still laughing. “Alright, alright, no judgment. But seriously…” His tone softened slightly, and his eyes swept over you. “You’ve been running around all day. Go get ready—we’ll take care of the rest from here.”

You smiled tiredly, feeling the faint brush of his fingers against your shoulder as he winked. The touch lingered, even as you turned to head upstairs.

In your office, the mirror reflected someone entirely different from your usual self. The rollers were gone, replaced by soft waves cascading around your face. The long dress hugged your waist and flared subtly at your hips. It was nothing like the practical aprons or flour-dusted chef hats you wore every day. For the first time in a while, you felt glamorous.

A knock sounded at your door, and Fred poked his head in. “You look…” He sniffed loudly, dramatically. “...so good. Do you even know how to walk in heels?”

You rolled your eyes and pushed at his shoulder playfully. “Shut up, Fred.” The hard texture of his tuxedo jacket pressed against your palm, a memo that tonight wasn’t just another day in the kitchen.

The lobby was alive when you descended the stairs. Guests filled the space—reporters, actors, chefs with Michelin stars under their belts, the kids’ parents, and longtime supporters of the organization. Some children were already laughing and playing with the monitors, their joy cutting through the formal atmosphere in the most perfect way.

You greeted guests warmly, flashing your practiced smile as cameras clicked and people extended hands to shake yours. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Jihoon.

He stood near one of the round tables, his pristine white chef’s coat gleaming under the lights. Unlike the standard uniforms, his was sharp and sophisticated, accented with a brooch showcasing his achievements. His short hair was perfectly styled, and the smell of his soap lingered faintly in the air—jihoon always smelled like a fresh bath.

Jihoon was mid-conversation with a Michelin-starred chef, but his attention kept drifting. You could feel his eyes on you as you moved through the crowd. When your gaze met his, he subtly adjusted the collar of his coat, looking flustered.

He raised his hand, beckoning you over.

“Y/N,” he called, a bit more breathless than usual.

You walked over, smiling as he introduced you. “This is Chef Park. I had classes with him when I was just starting out.”

Chef Park extended a hand warmly, and you shook it, your voice full of charm as you exchanged pleasantries. Jihoon tried to stay focused on the conversation, but his gaze kept sliding back to you.

The dress—damn, the dress. The way it emphasized the curve of your waist, the dip of your back, the subtle swell of your chest—Jihoon felt his mouth go dry.

While you chatted animatedly with Chef Park, Jihoon fought to keep himself together. His eyes darted downward for a split second, landing on your ass before quickly snapping back up.

Fred sidled up next to Jihoon, smirking. “She cleans up nice, huh?”

Jihoon shot him a sharp look, cheeks pink. “Shut up.”

Fred grinned wider, nudging him with an elbow. “Bet you’re regretting all those jokes about her rollers now.”

Jihoon groaned quietly, running a hand through his hair as he muttered, “You have no idea.”

When the conversation with Chef Park ended, you turned back to Jihoon, your smile soft. “So? Everything on track?”

Jihoon swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. All good. Just… don’t trip in those heels, okay?” he teased lightly, though his voice was a little hoarse.

You smirked, leaning in slightly. “Don’t burn the risotto, Jihoon-ah.”

Fred’s laugh from behind was loud enough to draw attention, but you were already slipping away, leaving Jihoon standing there, flustered and very much not focused on risotto anymore.

Everywhere you turned, there were people—donors, parents, fancy celebs holding glasses of wine like it was part of their outfits. The kind of people who looked too perfect.

Back in the kitchen, you caught glimpses of Jihoon barking orders—well, not barking, but you know, his stern-but-not-rude tone that somehow made you think, damn, is it hot in here, or is it just him? His uniform was doing wonders, too. That brooch on his chest? Fancy as hell. The sharp cut of his chef coat? Not fair. The dude was practically glowing, commanding his team with this quiet authority that made you wanna—well, your ego didn’t wanted to finish that thought.

But it wasn’t just his looks. Watching him orchestrate everything like a culinary conductor, was making your knees go weak—It just hit different. He made plating look like an Olympic sport—it was sexy in a he’s-too-distracted-to-realize-how-hot-he-is kinda way.

You tried not to linger in the kitchen doorway like some creep, but your feet betrayed you. You found yourself lingering by the double doors leading into the kitchen way more than necessary, just to sneak a peek. And when Jihoon glanced up mid-sentence—probably to tell someone to stop over-salting the soup, the devil on your shoulder moaned in the most slutty and mockingly way in your ear.

He had this stupid air about him tonight, like a general in a Michelin-starred army, his pristine chef’s jacket glowing under the lights.

Honestly, it was hot. Too hot.

Every detail mattered to him tonight, like he was pouring himself into every dish for the house—and for you.

Meanwhile, Jihoon… He felt you. He swore he could feel you every damn time you entered the kitchen. He didn’t even have to turn around to know you were standing there, clipboard probably in hand, lips pressed together as you analyzed everything.

At one point, as he was giving instructions about caramelizing the chiken, his assistant caught him mid-stutter. Jihoon blinked, realizing he’d glanced at the door when he didn’t even mean to. Sure enough, there you were, leaning slightly against the doorframe, watching him.

“Chef?” his assistant asked, clearly amused.

Jihoon shook his head, trying to focus. But god, how could he when you were out there looking like that? The memory of your dress earlier—was burned into his mind, everytime he finished a plate.

And you weren’t just standing around, either. You were networking like crazy, charming the big donors with your natural warmth. Jihoon kept overhearing snippets of your conversations, catching the soft laughs you’d coax out of the crowd. His chest tightened every time. How the hell were you this good at everything?

The main event started in the salon, where guests gathered around tables adorned with delicate flower arrangements. A massive screen hung at the front of the room, flashing photos of the NGO’s achievements, kids smiling and laughing, and heartfelt thank-you messages from families.

You had a glass of wine in your hand, but you weren’t drinking much—your attention was split between schmoozing the guests and keeping tabs on Jihoon. He entered the room with his team in tow, their white jackets contrasting beautifully with the dark, sleek space. His presence shifted the entire mood, drawing eyes like a magnet.

As the night went on, donations started rolling in. The screen showed the numbers climbing higher and higher, names of donors flashing beside each amount. You clapped along with everyone else, heart swelling every time the digits jumped. But then a new name appeared: Lee Jihoon. His real name by the side of the donation, not his professional one.

Your breath caught. The amount wasn’t just generous; it was enormous. Enough to make an audible gasp ripple through the crowd.

Fred’s hands landed on your shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. You didn’t respond, eyes fixed on Jihoon as he stood near the back of the room, his hands shoved into his pockets. He wasn’t looking at the screen. Instead, his gaze was on you.

Later, after the gala dinner had been served and the kids had performed their adorable little skit, Jihoon’s team gathered in the salon, celebrating their successful service. Jihoon found you again, his hand brushing yours as he handed you a flute of champagne, making you abandon your clipboard once for the night, before heading to the kitchen. Cute.

Minutes later Jihoon saw you coming towards his team direction, and he stepped aside, making room for you in the circle. His hand brushed against your back lightly, making your skin shiver under the pads of his fingers.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” you replied, glancing at him. “You really outdid yourself tonight.”

He gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite hide the way his chest puffed up a little at your praise.

One of the chefs leaned forward, clearly curious. “So… what’d you think of the risotto?”

You laughed softly, remembering the dish you’d tasted earlier. “Honestly? It was flawless. You guys knocked it out of the park.”

The team broke into wide smiles, their pride radiating through the room. Jihoon stood quietly beside you, but you could feel the satisfaction rolling off him.

“You really do have the best team, Jihoon-ah,” you said quietly, just for him to hear.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know. But don’t tell them that—they’ll get cocky.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile stayed.

[...]

The house was a ghost town now, silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The laughter of the kids and clinking of glasses had faded into memories, and the night felt heavy in the best way—like it had been full.

You stretched your legs out on the rest room couch, head lolling back. The long dress you’d cursed earlier now felt like salvation, hiding how much you wanted to just kick your heels off and sprawl indecently. Fred and Jihoon’s assistant sat across from you, chatting nonstop like they hadn’t just survived the most exhausting night of their lives.

Jihoon, was quiet, his head tilted back against the wall, arms crossed, looking done. You wanted to tell him to take a break, but you knew better—he’d earned the silence.

Still, your throat felt dry, and you sat up suddenly, pushing yourself off the couch. “I need another drink. Back in a sec.”

Fred shot you a look. “Champagne? Or vodka this time?”

“Champagne.” you fflip him off with a tired grin as you headed for the kitchen.

The kitchen was spotless, not a single dish out of place. You stared at the counters, blinking in disbelief.

“No way,” you murmured under your breath, tugging a fresh bottle of champagne from the cooler. “Even the dishes?”

A low voice startled you. “Even the dishes.”

You jumped, nearly dropping the bottle, and spun around. Jihoon was leaning against the doorway, his jacket draped over one arm, his hair slightly mussed like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. He smirked softly at your reaction.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” you lied, grabbing a second glass for him. You poured the champagne and handed him one.

“Cheers,” you said, raising your glass.

He clinked his against yours with a quiet chuckle, the sound of the glasses meeting delicate in the silence.

You sat on the counter, letting out a soft sigh as you sipped. Jihoon moved to lean against the counter beside you, his thigh brushing your knee as he turned his glass in his hand.

“You proved me wrong tonight,” you said suddenly, catching his eye.

He tilted his head, curious. “Oh yeah? About what?”

You smiled, a little softer this time. “About whether you really cared about this place. About the kids. About any of it. I thought you were just here because…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “I don’t know. Because you had to be.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed, no defensiveness in his voice when he said, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care, Y/N. You know that.”

“I do now,” you admitted, setting your glass beside you. “I see it in how you are with the kids. How you talk to them, listen to them. Even tonight, bowing to every single parent...”

Jihoon’s face softened. “They’re… incredible. Every single one of them. I’m not gonna lie—I thought I wasn’t great with kids. But these kids? I love them, Y/N. Like… it’s different. They’re different. They remind me why I even started doing all this in the first place.”

You leaned back slightly, studying him, your chest tightening at how genuine he looked.

“You’re a sap,” you said, grinning.

“And you’re not?” he shot back, smirking.

You nudged his leg with your knee. “Don’t deflect. I’m being serious. You’ve come so far since you got here. And honestly? The house wouldn’t be what it is tonight without you.”

Jihoon stared at you for a long moment, his lips twitching like he wanted to argue, but then he just took a final sip of his champagne and placed the glass beside yours.

You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until he shifted, slotting himself between your legs with a smoothness that should’ve been illegal. His hands found the counter on either side of your thighs, and he leaned in close.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he murmured. “This place is you. Every inch of it. I’m just… lucky to be part of it.”

Your breath hitched as you met his eyes, the proximity making it impossible to look anywhere else.

“Jihoon…”

“Hmm?” His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“You’re… a lot.”

“And you’re not?”

Jihoon stood close enough for you to notice how the soft cotton of his t-shirt clung to him underneath the chef’s coat he’d shrugged off earlier. Without thinking, your hand lifted, fingers brushing against the collar of the shirt.

He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His gaze stayed locked on you, soft and curious.

You cleared your throat, keeping your voice steady. “So… you staying in town? Or are you disappearing again?”

Jihoon tilted his head, smiling softly. “I’m staying.”

“Good,” you said with a small nod, your fingers lingering for a second longer before dropping back to your lap. “In that case… want to make it official?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Official?”

You grinned, your tired eyes sparkling. “I mean, if you want to be part of our team. Contract and everything. Full-on chef Jihoon at the NGO.”

Jihoon blinked at you, the surprise written all over his face. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” you replied. “At this point, if you leave, the kids are gonna cry for days.”

He scoffed, shaking his head with a laugh. “The kids? I’d probably cry.”

You laughed with him, the sound soft and genuine. “Would you?”

“Definitely,” he said, then glanced at you with a smirk. “Would you cry?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little as you place your palms behind you. “Please. I’ve already cried plenty because of you.”

Jihoon groaned, throwing his head back in defeat. “Don’t bring that up,” he whined.

You softened, nudging his arm. “I’m kidding.”

He sighed, resting his head on your shoulder like he was trying to hide from your teasing. “I know,” he mumbled. “But it’s real.”

You didn’t know if he meant the apology or the gratitude, but the way his hand lifted from the counter to rest on your leg through the slit of your dress made your back arch a bit. His palm was warm against your skin, his touch featherlight as he squeezed gently.

He straightened just slightly, his face close enough now that you could see the faint flush creeping along his cheekbones. “What if,” he said quietly, “I made you cry with something good instead?”

Your lips parted, the question taking you off guard. Jihoon didn’t pull back, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your mouth like he was waiting for an answer. His eyebrows furrowing as if he was doing a really big effort to not kiss you.

“I—” You swallowed, your voice catching as his thumb began to trace slow circles against your leg.

His other hand brushed the edge of the counter beside you, steadying himself as he leaned just a fraction closer. “Would you let me?” he asked softly.

Your breath hitched as Jihoon’s hand slid higher up your thigh, his palm warm and firm. The tiniest, unintentional sound escaped your lips—breathy and needy—and the way his smirk curved made your panties sticky almst instantly. He leaned in, close enough for a soft, teasing peck. Merely there. Then he pulled back just enough to catch your reaction, his smirk deepening at the horny look in your eyes.

“Ji,” you whispered, grabbing the front of his shirt before he could get smug. Your lips found his, no uncertainty at all this time, your tongue slipping between his parted lips.

His lips were impossibly soft, moving against yours with a rhythm that left your mind spinning. His tongue met yours, sweeping against it in a way that made you clutch his shirt tighter, pulling him closer. His hands abandoned your thigh, traveling upward, his palms smoothing over your hips, then the curve of your ass, before they settled on your waist.

Jihoon kissed like he worked in the kitchen—passionately, hard. Every movement was like he knew what would make you wetter, his lips pressing into yours harder, hungrier, as though he was savoring you. His thumbs brushed the edges of your ribs, fingers splaying as he drew you closer, swallowing the quiet moans that slipped out against his lips.

He broke away for a moment, sucking gently on your bottom lip before releasing it with a soft pop. His lips lingered, warm and swollen, against your skin as he caught his breath. You felt his breath fan against your jaw before his mouth trailed kisses to the sensitive skin behind your earlobe. The press of his lips there was wetter, slower, his tongue just grazing enough to make your head tilt back.

His lips were plush, his tongue warm as it laved over the skin just below your ear. The sensation was maddening—gentle nips and soothing licks. He kissed lower, his lips brushing the curve of your neck, finding the pulse point that fluttered beneath his tongue. His tongue darted out, hot and slick, tasting the salt of your skin before he pulled it back in to suck lightly.

You felt your pussy expulsing more honey right after an agonizing tug on your lower belly. You rolled your hipstrying to find his heat down there too. “Hey—Jihoon,” you murmured, hardly able to get his name out as his mouth kept working, your mind slurred, weak and the faint.

And then, just as his hand slid higher, brushing along your ribcage toward your chest, reality hit you like a slap in the face.

The kitchen.

You froze for a second, pulling back with a shaky laugh as you pressed a hand to his chest. “We can’t… here,” you whispered, your cheeks flaming. “This is literally where the kids cook.”

“You’re right. God, you’re right. Im sorry.” Jihoon said, voice muffled against your skin as he let out a shy laugh. “I know. I just…” He pulled back slightly, looking at you like he didn’t want to let go. “I’m sorry. You’re just…”

“Just what?” you teased, arching a brow even as you felt the heat rising to your cheeks.

“...So hot,” he admitted, his lips curving into a sheepish smile that only made you hornier.

You were about to respond—maybe tease him, maybe kiss him again—when the sound of someone clearing their throat made you both snap out of it like a couple of guilty teenagers caught sneaking around.

Standing in the doorway were Fred and Jihoon’s assistant, their jaws practically on the floor. Fred looked like he’d seen a ghost—or maybe his entire worldview shatter—while Jihoon’s assistant was holding a tray of neatly plated desserts, now slightly tilted as they both froze in place.

“Um…” Fred finally managed. “Are we… interrupting… something?”

You and Jihoon pulled apart instantly—well, as much as you could with him still standing between your legs and his hands still firmly on your waist.

“No!” you both blurted in unison, your voices hitting slightly different octaves, which only made the situation even more awkward.

Fred squinted at the two of you, his gaze darting between your flushed face, Jihoon’s equally guilty expression, and the very obvious fact that you were still sitting on the counter with Jihoon standing way too close.

“Uh-huh,” Fred said slowly, folding his arms. “Because it looks like I just walked into a scene straight out of a porno.”

Jihoon’s assistant, meanwhile, was trying—and failing—to hold back laughter, his shoulders shaking as he set the tray down on a nearby table, grinning like he’d just uncovered the gossip of the century. “Should we give you two a minute? Or, like… ten?”

“Okay, stop,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands as you tried to will the floor to swallow you whole. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because it looks like you were—”

“Fred!” you snapped, cutting him off before he could finish that sentence.

Jihoon, to his credit, was doing his best to look professional again, straightening his shirt and stepping back slightly, though his ears were burning red and his black pants were almost exploding with the hard bulge poking the zipper. “I mean… we were just… talking,” he said, his voice awkwardly high-pitched. “Right, Y/N?”

“Totally.” you said, nodding way too quickly.

Fred looked like he was physically restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “Oh yeah, because that totally explains why Jihoon’s lips were practically glued to your neck.”

Jihoon’s assistant let out a snort, finally losing it as he doubled over laughing. “This is so much better than I imagined,” he said between giggles. “I knew something was up between you two, but this? Oh, this is gold.”

“Can we not?” Jihoon mumbled, his hands rubbing his face as he leaned against the counter beside you. “Seriously, just… forget this happened, okay?”

Fred crossed his arms, looking suspiciously amused. “Oh, no chance. This is going in the house history books.”

Jihoon groaned. “You’re literally the worst.”

“Yeah, and yet you’re the one making out in the kitchen,” Fred shot back, smirking. “So who’s really winning here?”

You sighed, hopping off the counter and smoothing your dress as you tried to regain some semblance of dignity. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Can we move on now?”

Fred shrugged, still grinning as he followed Jihoon’s assistant out of the room. “Oh, sure. But just so you know, I’m never letting you live this down.”

As they disappeared around the corner, Jihoon let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. His face softened as he caught your eye, and he let out a quiet laugh.

You shrugged, biting back a smile. “Could be worse.”

“Yeah?” Jihoon asked, stepping closer again, his voice reducing slightly. “Like what?”

You didn’t answer, but the look you gave him said everything.

[...]

The NGO was officially closed for a week after the fundraiser gala—a well-deserved break for everyone involved. You had practically collapsed in exhaustion the night after the event, but now, as the week began, your nerves were alive again for a completely different reason: Jihoon was coming over.

Your house, modest and cozy, suddenly felt inadequate in your eyes. It wasn’t that it wasn’t clean or comfortable—it was—but compared to whatever sleek, high-tech penthouse you imagined Jihoon lived in, with modern furniture, and probably some state-of-the-art espresso machine that greeted him in the morning with a personalized message, you felt like your space might seem a little too... quaint.

Still, you’d spent the morning scrubbing your house from top to bottom. The counters were wiped down three times, the couch cushions fluffed and rearranged, and the tiny plant by the window watered, even though it definitely didn’t need it.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror for what had to be the fiftieth time, smoothing down the soft pink fabric of your loose dress. It wasn’t too dressy, but it was cute and casual enough to not feel overdone. The fabric swayed lightly as you moved, and you liked how it made you look pretty. Enough to say, “I’m not trying too hard, but also please notice I’m cute.”

Why are you acting like this is a date? you scolded yourself. It’s just Jihoon. He’s coming here for work.

To top it off, you’d spent way too long picking out a perfume that smelled sweet but subtle enough to not overpower him. You’d made sure you didn’t smell like cake batter or frosting—not that it would’ve been bad.

When the knock finally came, you nearly tripped over your own feet rushing to the door. Taking a deep breath, you smoothed your dress one last time and opened it, trying not to look like you’d been anxiously waiting there for twenty minutes.

Jihoon stood on your porch, casual but polished in a black crewneck and jeans, his hair perfectly messy in that way that looked completely effortless. He smiled softly, holding up a notebook and a small bag of groceries. “I come bearing snacks and bad handwriting,” he said.

You laughed, stepping aside to let him in. “Well, the snacks can stay. We’ll see about the handwriting.”

Jihoon looked around, his eyes scanning the cozy space. “This is nice,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “Way more personality than my place.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really? I thought you’d be used to… like… manoir vibes.”

“Manoirs don’t feel like this,” he said, glancing at the soft lighting and the framed photos on your shelves. “This feels like someone actually lives here.”

He smirked, stepping into the living room and setting his bag down. “So, what’s the big plan for this super important work meeting?”

Ah, yes. The “work.” You’d convinced yourself that this was about finalizing the “Culinary Educational Outreach Program” you’d both been brainstorming for the organization. Jihoon called it “CEOP,” pronounced like “sip,” which made Fred gag every time he said it.

“First,” you said, trying to ignore how nice Jihoon looked standing in your living room, “we sit down and outline the goals for CEOP. Then, we cook.”

“Cook?” Jihoon raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Are you just using this as an excuse to put me to work in your kitchen?”

You rolled your eyes, motioning for him to follow you to the dining table. “Shut up and sit down. We’ve got notes to take.”

The two of you sat across from each other, your knees brushing occasionally under the table. Jihoon’s handwriting was frustratingly neat for someone who claimed he didn’t care about stationary aesthetics, and for someone who claimed to have atrocious handwriting.

“So,” you started, tapping your pen against the page, “we want to make the cooking classes accessible, fun, and educational, right?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon said, jotting something down. “But we also need to keep the budget in mind. Like, how much can we actually afford to spend on those tiny aprons the kids keep asking for?”

You snorted. “You’re still salty about the aprons?”

“They’re expensive!” he argued, eyes narrowing at you. “And they’re just gonna get covered in flour and icing.”

“That’s the point, Jihoon. Let them be messy. It’s part of the fun.”

Jihoon shook his head, but you caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Fine. Tiny aprons. But if the kids start demanding personalized chef hats, that’s on you.”

You laughed, leaning forward slightly as you scribbled down some ideas. Jihoon’s gaze flickered to your neckline watching how your boobs moved as you breathe for a split second before he snapped back to his notebook, clearing his throat.

The plan transitioned seamlessly into the kitchen—almost seamlessly. You’d barely gotten past measuring the ingredients when Jihoon leaned over to adjust your grip on a whisk, his hand brushing yours.

“You’re holding it like you’re trying to stab the dough,” he teased.

“Maybe I am,” you shot back, sticking your tongue out at him.

Jihoon just laughed, stepping back to watch as you mixed the batter. His eyes wandered—innocently at first, but when you shifted your weight and the neckline of your dress dipped slightly, he had to bite the inside of his bottom lip to… focus.

“Okay, my turn,” he said, taking the whisk from you.

As he worked, you found yourself leaning in closer, watching the way his muscles shifted under his shirt, the way his jaw clenched slightly in concentration. You didn’t even realize how close you were until Jihoon dipped his finger into the icing sugar and smudged a line across your cheek, careful to not mess your pretty make up or accidentally spot your dress.

“Hey!” you gasped, stepping back, your eyes wide.

Jihoon grinned, holding up his hands. “What? It’s a kitchen. You’re supposed to get messy, remember?”

You frowned, sulking slightly as you wiped at your cheek. “I thought you were gonna kiss me, not… attack me with sugar.”

Jihoon leaned back just enough to meet your flustered gaze, his smirk downright unsafe. He tilted his head, pretending to be shocked, one hand pressed to his chest in mock disbelief.

“Oh,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “So you want me to kiss you?”

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I didn’t—”

“Mm-mm.” Jihoon shook his head, cutting you off as he stepped closer, crowding your space. “Don’t even try to deny it. You’ve been looking at me like that all dayy. And now this pout?” His eyes flicked to your lips, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “If you do that again, I might just have to—”

You couldn’t look at him. The pressure of his gaze was too much, and you turned your head to the side, lips pressed into a tight line. Jihoon wasn’t having it.

His hand reached up, fingers gently guiding your chin until you were looking at him again. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher, like he was restraining himself from jumping on you. “That pout.” His smile widened, and he took a small step between your legs, his hands finding your hips and squeezing lightly. “C’mere.”

His lips brushed yours—insufficiently, like a mock. It wasn’t enough to satisfy the yearn already forming between your legs, but it was enough to make you almost moan. And Jihoon noticed.

He grinned against your mouth, taking his time as his hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, bumping your tits in the process. “You’re gonna have to ask me properly, like the good girl you are,” he whispered, the tip of his nose grazing yours.

“Please?” you breathed, but it was all he longed for.

His lips captured yours fully this time, devastatingly thorough. He didn’t rush, every moment spent tasting your lips was something he savored. His tongue flicked out, tracing the seam of your lips, coaxing them open, and when you let him in, he took.

His tongue hungrily claimed yours, his tongue sliding against yours in deep, lazy strokes that made your knees weak. His other hand slipped around to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer, so close you could feel the heat of him through his shirt.

He tilted his head, angling the kiss to deepen it further. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging lightly before his tongue followed, soothing the slight sting. The contrast made you whimper, your hands clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright even though the kitchen counter was supporting your back.

“God, you sound so pretty,” Jihoon murmured against your lips. He pressed his hips into yours just enough for you to feel his cock growing inside his pants, making you frown desperately, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

His hand drifted lower, squeezing your waist before trailing over the curve of your ass. When he pulled back, just slightly, his lips were plum, slick and swollen. He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to your jaw, then to the sensitive spot that he tasted and teased days before.

Your head fell back as his lips traveled lower, his tongue flicking out to taste the skin of your neck. He sucked lightly, and you knew that it was enough to leave a redspot without even look at it.

Your hand slid between your bodies, and the second your palm made contact with the unyielding weight of his cock, Jihoon’s reaction was instant. His hips stuttered forward, a whiny, almost helpless sound escaping his lips as his forehead dropped against your shoulder. “Oh, fuck—you can’t just—” He cut himself off with a breathy laugh that turned into a moan, his hands gripping your hips to steady himself.

You couldn’t help but grin while rolling your eyes lightly, fingers curling around him to get a better feel. He felt big, so thick that your fingers barely wrapped halfway around the length of him. You gave an experimental squeeze, and his mouth fell open, his breath hitching as he muttered, “Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N.”

“Didn’t think you’d be so sensitive,” you teased, sliding your hand along him slowly, feeling the heat of him through the fabric. His hips jerked involuntarily, grinding into your palm, and you gasped at the weight of his phallus.

He lifted his head, his face flushed, lips shiny and parted. “Sensitive?” He let out a shaky laugh, biting his bottom lip before grinning wickedly. “You’re over here squeezing me, and you wanna talk about me being sensitive?”

You squeezed him again, just to see what he’d do, and he cursed loudly, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck—okay, okay, you’re insane.” His hands gripped your hips tighter, holding you still as he started to grind against your palm, his cock twitching under your touch.

“Jihoon,” you whispered, and he opened his eyes, his pupils broad as he looked at you.

“What?” he rasped with voice strained but, his hips never losing their rhythm against your hand.

“You’re literally humping my hand right now,” you pointed out, biting your lip to hold back a laugh.

“And?” His mouth curved into a smirk, though his voice wavered as you tightened your grip on him. “You think I’m just gonna sit here all chill while you touch me like that?” He let out another moan, his head falling back slightly before his gaze locked on you again.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his ear. “Feels good, huh?” You pressed your palm harder against him, your fingers teasing along his length. His response was immediate—his hips bucked, and a whiny “shit” escaped his lips, his face scrunching up in pleasure.

Jihoon smirked, leaning in until his lips hovered over yours. “Keep playing, and see what happens,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You raised an eyebrow, your fingers brushing against the tip of him, and he groaned, the pads of your fingers starting to get sticky with the precum already jutting through his pants.

He exhaled sharply, and suddenly, his body pressed against yours so firmly that you couldn’t move. The breath hitched in your throat as his hips pushed yours into the counter. Jihoon’s eyes flicked down, and that’s when he froze.

Your dress straps had slipped from your shoulder, the fabric falling just enough to expose the curve of your chest. The neckline dipped precariously low, your tits all but spilling out. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship or devour you.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth before smirking. “Hiding all that under an apron, hm? How dare you?”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a tiny, playful shake, but the motion only made things worse. Jihoon’s pupils dilated as his eyes flicked between the slight bounce and your face.

Without waiting another second, he hooked his fingers under the neckline of your dress and tugged it down, the fabric pooling at your feet in record time. He muttered something incoherent under his breath, hands already fumbling with the clasp of your bra, his desperation so endearing it made you giggle.

“You good?” you teased as he struggled with the hooks.

“Do not laugh at me right now,” he grumbled. Finally, the clasp came undone, and he yanked the straps down your arms like his life counted on it.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, his hands immediately cupping you, warm and firm. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you feel like jelly in his hands, your skin not even covering the shivering. “You’re actually perfect. Like, what the hell?”

You were about to retort when he leaned forward and pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast, and whatever witty comment you had died on your tongue.

Jihoon pulled back just enough to look at you. “Counter,” he rasped, already moving to lift you.

But the universe had other plans. His elbow knocked into a mixing bowl on the counter, sending it clattering to the floor with a loud metallic crash. Both of you froze, eyes wide like kids caught sneaking snacks.

“Shit,” Jihoon whispered, glancing down at the bowl before meeting your eyes. A laugh bubbled out of him, breathy and slightly unhinged. “Okay, yeah. This is cursed. New location.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, as he grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the bathroom like it was some grand escape.

The bathroom light flicked on, and Jihoon speeded, it was the next room. He turned to you, his hands sliding up your sides, fingers brushing over the straps still hanging limply on your forearms. “Let me,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less heated.

Instead of rushing, he dipped his head, his lips trailing down your shoulder as he pushed the straps down. The fabric fell away entirely, and his hands followed the motion, sliding down your body.

When you reached for his shirt, Jihoon smirked, pulling back just slightly. “Oh, you wanna do the honors?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you tugged the hem of his shirt up. He raised his arms, letting you peel it off him, the fabric catching on his mess of dark hair before dropping to the floor. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles as he watched you.

When it came to his pants, though, he grabbed your wrist. “Wait,” he said, his grin widening. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and drawers and pushed them down himself.

Your eyes dropped, and you couldn’t help the way your mouth fell open slightly. “Wow,” you whispered, and he laughed, stepping closer until his body pressed against yours again.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his lips brushing yours. “Wait ‘til I’m inside you.”

You didn’t even try to stifle the shameless moan that ripped from your throat, loud and unrestricted. It sounded like something straight out of a porno, and Jihoon had the nerve to smirk. “Damn, we’re not even there yet… You like it when I talk with you like this?”

You nodded quickly, disoriented in the sense to say anything coherent. Jihoon smirked, leaning in to nip at your jawline before pulling back just enough to hook a finger into the waistband of your panties.

“Come nearer,” he whispered, tugging you forward by the elastic until your chest clashed against his. His nails grazed the skin just above the fabric, teasing the sensitive area before his hand dipped lower. He let the material slide over your hips, his knuckles brushing your skin as he pushed it down. When the panties reached your thighs, he let gravity do the rest, the fabric pooling around your ankles.

Jihoon’s hands immediately found your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing and setting you on the cool marble of the bathroom sink. The contrast between the chill of the counter and the heat of his body made you shiver, your legs instinctively closing.

“Uh-uh,” Jihoon said, his voice a frolicsome warning. His hands gripped your knees, spreading them apart again, wider this time. His gaze dropped, and his breath audibly caught as the light from the mirror illuminated you perfectly—your thighs trembling, your folds glistening, and the way your body clenched and unclenched in forethought.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his thumb brushing the inside of your thigh as if to test if you were real. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty down here. Like, actually unreal.”

Your face burned at his words, but before you could respond, his hand was back. His index finger dragged lightly through your folds, collecting your slick before circling your clit with a featherlight touch. Your eyes squeezed shut as your turned your head to the side, as if the sight of him would make you weaker.

“Jihoon,” you whined, your voice high-pitched and needy.

He grinned at that, his other hand bracing your hip to keep you from squirming away. “Patience.” he murmured.

His finger pressed more firmly against your clit now, rubbing infinite motions that made you rest your back on the mirror, instantly melting. Just as you felt the stimulus start to build, he stopped.

Your head snapped up, a frustrated groan leaving your lips. Jihoon only laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek, the corner of your mouth, before pulling back again.

“What’s the rush?” he teased, his finger sliding lower to brush against your entrance but never pushing in. “We’ve got all night.”

You whimpered, your hips bucking toward his hand. His smirk widened, and he slid his finger back up, tapping lightly against your clit like he was testing how much more you could take.

“Jihoon! N-no!” you practically sobbed, your thighs trembling as you clenched around nothing.

“No…,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I want you shaking for me.”

He alternated his technique, sometimes circling your clit in lazy patterns, other times tapping. Each time you came close to your orgasm, he pulled back, leaving you swaying on the border.

Your breaths came out in short, shallow pants, and your hands gripped the counter so hard your knuckles started to hurt. “Please,” you begged, your voice breaking.

Jihoon leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “Just one more time.”

This time, he used two fingers, sliding them in a v-shape around your clit and moving them side to side in quick, ribbing motions. The sensation was unlike anything you’d felt before, and your hips jerked involuntarily.

“Shes so puffy already,” he murmured, his eyes locked on your cunt as he worked you over. “I can feel you shaking, baby. You gonna cum for me?”

You nodded desperately, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yes—please, Jihoon, I can’t—”

Jihoon pulled his hand away, and you sobbed. Your chest heaved as frustration and desperation coiled tight inside you, tears welling in your eyes.

“Aww, baby,” Jihoon cooed, his voice a mocking singsong that somehow felt like a soothing balm and fuel to your fire at the same time. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a stray tear that slid down. “Look at you. So needy. You’re so wet already, and you think you’re ready for this?”

Your breath caught as he grabbed his cock, thick and glistening at the tip with precum, and let it rest heavy on your stomach. He tapped it against your skin, each tap leaving a sticky, wet line that trailed down to your bellybutton.

“See this?” Jihoon asked, his tone low but tinged with teasing. He shifted his hips, dragging the head of his cock up your stomach so you could feel its full length. “How do you think this is gonna fit, huh? You can’t even take my fingers without cumming. What makes you think this cock’s gonna slide right in?”

You blinked down at him, the weight of his cock against your belly making your head spin. It reached your bellybutton, almost too far, the swollen head ruddy and glistening like it was mocking you, daring you to try.

Jihoon’s gaze softened for a second as he caught the wobble in your lip and the glossy sheen of your tear-filled eyes. “God, you’re too cute,” he muttered, before his hand was back between your legs. “Alright, sweetheart,” he said, cooing again as he pressed the pad of his finger to your entrance. “Guess I gotta get you nice and stretched out for me, hmm?”

You felt the slow, steady push of his finger as it slid inside you, every nerve brightening at the intrusion. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, and Jihoon let out a quiet groan.

“There we go,” He slid his finger in deeper, curling it slightly to press against your front wall. Your hips bucked at the sensation, and Jihoon smirked. “Right there, huh? You like that?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, your hands scrambling for purchase on the cool marble.

His finger pulled back almost completely before sliding in again, this time with a second one alongside it. The stretch was immediate, but your body welcomed it, pulsing around him. Jihoon wasted no time, curling his fingers and dragging them against your walls in a way that made you see stars.

“God, you’re so tight,” he muttered, his free hand resting on your trembling thigh to keep you steady. “You’re squeezing me so good. Can’t wait to feel you clench like this around my cock.”

His fingers picked up a rhythm, alternating between deep, curling strokes and quick, shallow thrusts that kept you guessing. He started adding little motions that made your head spin—scissoring his fingers to stretch you further, pressing his thumb firmly against your clit while his fingers stayed inside, or twisting his wrist slightly to drag his fingertips over new spots.

“You like that?” he asked, after noticing your hand chasing his fingers. “Of course you do. Look at how you’re dripping for me. You’re making such a mess, baby.”

“Jihoon—o-oh my god,” you whimpered, your back arching off the counter as his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot.

“Yeah? Right there?” Jihoon grinned, adjusting his angle to hit it again, harder this time. Your breath hitched, and he chuckled. “That’s it. So good for me.”

You couldn’t help it—the words tumbled out of your mouth in a whispered chant, your voice trembling with every syllable. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Jihoon smiled fondly at you, his cock twitching visibly against his stomach. “You’re so sweet when you beg,” he said, pulling his fingers out momentarily just to slide them back in with a delicious stretch. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”

This time, he focused on your clit with his thumb, rubbing quick, tight circles as his fingers curled inside you. He replaced fast stimulation and sudden, devastating stops.

“Ngh—Please,” you whimpered, your thighs trembling as you gripped his forearm.

“You’re so close, hmm?”

He slowed his movements again, dragging his fingers out just enough to feel the way you clenched around him, desperate to keep him inside. His thumb moved in teasing patterns over your clit, never quite enough pressure to satisfy.

“I need it,” you choked out, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your cheeks.

“I know, baby,” he said, his tone softening again. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple before his fingers resumed their relentless pace, curling and pressing against that sweet spot again. “But you’re doing so good for me. Just a little more, okay?”

The coil in your stomach tightened impossibly further, and you knew you couldn’t last much longer. Jihoon seemed to sense it too. His fingers curling like they were made to be inside you, massaging your g’spot with a rhythm that felt borderline illegal. His thumb merely rubbed your clit now, just enough to make you twitch, and the devilish smirk on his face said he was doing it on purpose. His other hand gripped your waist, steadying you like he knew you’d collapse if he let go.

“Um—thats why your strawberry mille-feuille is so good,” you suddenly gasped out.

Jihoon blinked, momentarily confused before realization dawned on him. His lips curled into that sly, cocky grin. “Wait—are you thinking about my dessert skills right now? While I’m two knuckles deep inside you?”

You whined, too far gone to deny it. “You’re too good with your hands!”

He chuckled, curling his fingers harder until your knees buckled. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m versatile then, hm?” His tone was light, but his fingers? Ruthless. He angled his wrist slightly, hitting that spot with pinpoint correctness, and you swore your vision went static for a second.

Your body jerked, your clit grinding against the heel of his palm as he shifted his thumb to flick at it—just once, but it sent sparks shooting down your back. His fingers pushed deeper, scissoring slightly, then dragging out achingly slow. “Jihoon, please," you whimpered, your nails digging into his wrist.

“Please what, baby? Want me to keep going? Or stop again?” he teased, his thumb pressing down on your clit just to lift off a second later, leaving you sobbing into his shoulder.

You wanted to slap him and beg him all at once. Instead, you cried out, “Don’t stop—oh my god—Jihoon!”

His smirk faltered for a second when your walls clamped down hard around his fingers, and a rush of wetness coated them. His hips grinding involuntarily into nothing, his cock throbbing visibly. “Greedy little thing.”

You couldnt form words anymore, your head falling back as your whole body spasmed. you chanted his name, completely gone, tears stinging your eyes as the coil in your stomach snapped hard, the force of your orgasm smashing you.

Jihoon didn’t stop. His fingers worked you through every wave, his thumb pressing firm, messy circles on your overstimulated clit until you physically had to push at his chest. “Too much” you croaked, but your legs trembled so bad you knew you couldn’t get far if he decided to keep going.

“Too much?” he repeated. He slowly slid his fingers out, holding them up for both of you to see, glistening and soaked.

Jihoon still breathed heavily like he was the one being stimulated, giving you time to catch your breath, but you weren’t letting go. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck as you pulled him in, your lips pressing to his. His tongue slid against yours, massaging it in a way that sent heat straight to your sopping pussy. The sound of wet, sticky smacks echoed in the bathroom.

This kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate; it was soft, and so heartbreakingly sweet. Jihoon’s hands roamed over your waist, and as much as he loved the way you tasted—loved the faint hint of the wine you’d shared earlier, the lingering sweetness that seemed to pour from your lips—there was something deeper about it.

Jihoon knew tastes. He knew them better than most people ever could.

He knew the tang of citrus, the buttery richness of a perfectly baked croissant, the smoky depth of roasted meat, and the way sugar could melt on your tongue like magic. He’d spent years chasing after flavors, crafting them into stories on a plate. But none of it, none of it, had ever come close to the taste of you.

It wasn’t just your lips or your skin—it was the whole experience of you. The warmth of your arms wrapped around him, the faint floral scent that clung to your hair, the way your body felt like home against his. If someone ever asked him, in an interview or at some fancy gala, what his favorite taste was, he already knew he’d be in trouble. Because he’d want to say “you.” And how could he not? You weren’t just a flavor; you were comfort food, the kind that nourished your soul in a way no recipe could replicate.

He pressed closer to you, losing himself in the feel of your lips, of your tongue stroking his with an intoxicating rhythm. You were both so caught up in each other that you didn’t even notice when he shifted his hips, the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. It wasn’t until the head of it nudged inside that you broke the kiss, gasping sharply as your chin fell forward, your moan feeling hot against his mouth.

“Jihoon—” you choked, and it made his stomach twist. He grinned against your lips, nasty and triumphant, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he tilted his head back slightly to look at your face.

“You didn’t even notice, hm? So focused on kissing me good, you didn’t feel me slip in?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your head tilting back as another moan escaped you. Jihoon’s grin only grew wider, so big it almost felt boyish, but there was nothing innocent about the way his hips pressed forward, inch by inch.

Your walls clenched instinctively and then gave way, molding around his girth. You tilted your head down just enough to catch a glimpse, and the sight alone made your stomach tense.

The thin, glossy skin of your folds was stretched taut around him, clinging desperately as if your body didn’t want to let go. The contrast was stark, almost hypnotizing: the way your wetness coated him, leaving a shiny trail that dripped down, pooling at the base where your pussy tried to hug. He followed your gaze to glance down between you, his lips parting in disbelief.

“Goddamn, you’re taking me so well..” He shifted slightly, pressing a little deeper, and yyour vision blurred.

Your head fell back against the mirror as you moaned, your chest heaving.

He cut you off with a slow roll of his hips, his cock pushing further, stretching you impossibly more. You gasped, your nails dragging down his shoulders as your body tried to adjust. “That’s my girl. Thought you could handle it.”

The slick sounds between you were filthy, echoing in the shadowy bathroom. You couldn’t stop the way your hips shifted, trying to meet him halfway despite the stretch. The movement made him groan, his hands tightening on your hips as he pressed you back against the marble sink.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he said, his voice almost a whine as his eyes flicked to where your bodies were joined. “You’re gonna ruin this counter... the floor..”

Your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper, and the motion earned a sharp intake of breath from Jihoon.

His cock pulsed inside you, the wet heat of your walls squeezing him like a vice, clenching around every inch he gave you. His teeth caught his bottom lip as he pulled back just slightly, dragging against your sensitive core before thrusting back in. He wanted to watch you unravel, to hear every desperate sound spilling from your lips.

His hands slid from your hips to your thighs, pushing your legs wider to take him deeper. He paused to glance between you again, mesmerized by the way you swallowed him whole. “Can’t believe this tight little pussy’s taking all of me.”

You whimpered at his words, the sound shamelessly loud in the quiet bathroom, and it sent a quiver down his back. He smiled satisfied, as he leaned in, his lips brushing over your ear. “You like it when I talk to you like that, hm?” he teased, his tongue flicking over your earlobe before he nipped it lightly. “Tell me. Tell me how much you like it.”

“I—fuck—I love it,” you stammered. Your nails scraped down his back, leaving faint red lines in their wake. “Love when you—when you talk to me like that. Love—oh my god—love when you’re inside me.”

“Yeah?” His thrusts slowed again, almost unbearably so, the head of his cock pressing against your g’spot with each measured roll of his hips. He let his forehead drop to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he grinned. He changed his angle slightly, shifting his hips just enough to hit a spot that sent fireworks exploding behind your eyes. The slick, wet sound of his cock moving in and out of you filled the room, mingling with the gasps and moans you couldn’t hold back.

Your head fell back, hitting the mirror with a soft thud, and Jihoon chuckled, his lips brushing over the curve of your jaw.

“Careful, baby,” he said, massaging your scalp with a care that made you lean on it. “Can’t have you breaking the mirror just ‘cause I’m fucking you so good.”

Your laugh came out breathless, cut off by a sharp gasp as he suddenly pressed harder on your clit. “Jihoon, please—”

“Please, what?” His thrusts slowed again, torturously so, and he pulled back just enough to make you whine in protest. His fingers tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he watched you with dark, hooded eyes. Your hands slid to his neck, clinging to him desperately. “Please, gonna cum.”

“You want me to fuck you harder? You want me to make you cum all over my cock, baby? Say it..”

“Want you to fuck me—ngh,” you rolled your eyes. “Want you to fuck me harder. Make me cum, Jihoon. Please.”

“So wet. God, I could fuck you all night. Don’t think I’d ever get enough of you.” Your walls clenched around him, and he cursed under his breath, his head dropping to your shoulder as he struggled to keep his pace steady. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing it.”

“Then cum,” you whispered insistent. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as your lips brushed over his ear. “Cum for me, Jihoon.”

He groaned, his thrusts growing faster, rougher that you thought that your sink wouldnt handle it. But even as he pushed you closer to the edge, his focus never wavered. “I—shit—I need to make you come first. I have to, baby.”

You shook your head violently, your own orgasm already clawing at the edge of your sanity. “No—no, I’m so close, Jihoon,” you gaspedr. “Just—just keep going, don’t stop—please—”

His hips jerked at your words, his cock twitching deep inside you as his body teetered on the brink of losing control. His thrusts slowed further, unsteady and disjointed as his thumb continued to draw tight, firm circles on your swollen clit.

“You feel so fucking good,” your voice sounded sultry and wrecked, your eyes locking onto his. “So deep—so fucking thick. Jihoon, I can feel you in my stomach. You’re so big, you’re gonna ruin me, baby. Do it. Come inside me. Fill me up.”

That did it.

The sound Jihoon let out wasn’t even human—a choked, strangled mix of a moan and a curse that hit its peak as his body shuddered violently. “Oh—shit—ah, fuck, fuck—!” His cock pulsed hard, the first spurt of his cum hitting so deep inside you that you felt it bloom with warmth against your cervix. You swore you could feel each throb as he came, his hips snapping forward instinctively to bury himself even further, his moans blending into desperate gasps. “Ah—hah—baby—!”

The heat, the pressure, the way his orgasm filled every inch of you—it all tipped you over the edge, dragging you into your own release. Your walls clenched around him, milking him for everything he had as you cried out, “Jihoon—fuck—yes—!”

You arched into him, your hips lifting slightly off the counter to grind against his cock, riding the quakes as your climax ruptured through you. The movement made Jihoon gasp, his hands flying to your hips to still you. “A-ah—fuck—stop—baby, stop—hah—ah, shit—!” His voice cracked as he groaned, overstimulation evident in the way he hissed through gritted teeth. “T-too much—oh my god—aw, fuck—!”

Jihoon’s laughter broke through his moans, a breathless, disbelieving chuckle that melted into another string of curses as he shuddered beneath you.

Finally, you stilled, your body collapsing into his as your head dropped to his shoulder. Both of you were trembling, your breaths ragged and uneven, your hearts pounding in sync.

The room settled into a quiet purr after the chaos. The bathroom was small, its muted light casting soft shadows on the tiles. But in this moment, it might as well have been the biggest place in the world, holding all the unsaid things between you, the weight of your shared history pressing down like a furry coat.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Jihoon asked suddenly, his voice soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to dig this deep. He looked at you then, his eyes more serious, like he was searching for something in your face.

You laughed, a small, shaky sound. “You mean when you accused me of stealing your recipe for strawberry shortcake at the first days of competition? Yeah, hard to forget.”

His lips quirked up, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “God, I was such an asshole,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I didn’t even taste it. Just saw your name on the board and thought, ‘Oh, great. Another rich kid with connections, swooping in to take what I’ve worked my whole life for.’”

You frowned, your fingers twitching where they rested on his chest. “You really thought that?”

“I didn’t know you,” he admitted, his tone apologetic. “I was so used to fighting for every little thing, you know? Scholarships, internships, a spot on the team—hell, even a secondhand stand mixer. And then you walked in, all… pretty and shiny. I just assumed you’d never struggled for anything in your life.”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. Because yeah, he wasn’t wrong—you hadn’t grown up worrying about money or how you’d pay for school. But you’d struggled in other ways, ways that people like Jihoon—driven, hyper-focused, and painfully independent—might not have seen.

“That’s not fair,” you said softly. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. Just because I didn’t have to fight for a secondhand mixer doesn’t mean I haven’t fought for other things.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know that now.”

The quiet between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… cogitative. Like you were both sifting through the memories, pulling them out one by one to examine under the bathroom light.

“The NGO,” you said suddenly, your voice intruding upon the silence. “That’s when everything changed.”

Jihoon nodded, his hands still on your waist, his fingers tightening slightly. “Yeah. When I saw what you were doing—what the competition money was for—I felt like shit. Here I was, thinking you were just some spoiled kid looking for another trophy to add to the shelf, and you were… Something that important.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “It wasn’t just me. It was all of us—Fred, the kids, you. God, Jihoon, you don’t even realize how much you’ve done for this place.”

He shook his head, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know about that. I just… I wanted to help. And honestly, it was selfish at first. I needed a job, and you offered one. But then…”

“Then you fell in love with it.” The journey from strangers to colleagues to whatever this was had been anything but smooth. It had been messy and painful but it had also been beautiful in its own way. “I hated you, you know,” you said suddenly. “At the beginning, I mean. You were so… cold. And I thought, ‘How the hell am I supposed to work with someone who looks like he’d rather set the kitchen on fire than have a conversation with me?’”

He laughed, a genuine sound that softened the strain in the room. “Yeah, I hated you too. Thought you were this privileged, clueless brat who’d never survive a day in a real kitchen.”

“And now?”

“And now…” he bit his lip, analyzing your face as he tilts his head. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“Jihoon…”

“I mean it,” he said firmly, his hands moving to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “You’re… you’re my favorite taste, you know? Out of everything I’ve ever made, ever eaten, ever dreamed of tasting—you’re the one thing I’ll never get enough of.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your heart swelling in your chest. “That’s cheesy as hell.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, his lips quirking up into a small, shy smile. “Sometimes the truth is cheesy.”

Jihoon’s smile faltered just a bit. “Sometimes, though… I wonder if you really forgave me. Like, deep in your heart.”

You blinked, stunned by the sudden shift, and searched his face for more. His brows were slightly furrowed, his jaw tight, like the weight of the question had been pressing on him for longer than he cared to confess.

“Forgave you?”

“For the way I acted back then,” he said, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “The way I doubted you. The things I said, the things I did, the things I thought. I mean… I know we’ve moved past it. But deep down, I’ve always wondered if there’s a part of you that still holds onto it. That maybe you… couldn’t fully forgive me.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I did,” you said firmly. “I forgave you, Jihoon.”

He tilted his head, skepticism flickering across his features. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I don’t blame you for it anymore,” you said, leaning into him slightly, needing him to understand. “At that time, I had this picture in my head of what my life was supposed to look like. The glamorous Michelin-starred restaurant, the prestige, the accolades… It was all I wanted.”

“And I ruined it.”

“No,” you said firmly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything. If anything, you gave me something better.”

His eyes searched yours, still unconvinced. “But what if… what if I hadn’t? What if I hadn’t been so bitter, so determined to take you down? What if your dessert had won anyway?”

You paused, the weight of the question settling between you. “Or what if I’d won, Jihoon? What if I’d walked away with the title and the prestige and never thought about anything else? What if the organization never existed because I was too busy chasing some dream that wasn’t even mine anymore?”

He frowned at that, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You think… things were meant to happen this way?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But I’d rather believe that they were. That everything—every fight, every misstep, every moment we wanted to strangle each other—led us here. To this.”

Jihoon let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You always were the optimistic one.”

“Not always,” you said with a small smile. “But I am about this. About us. About what we’ve built together.”

He exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to where his hands rested on your hips. “You know… I think about it sometimes. The restaurant, I mean. How it’s under new management now. How I used to dream about a place like that—sleek, modern, perfect. And then I look at what we’ve done with the organization, and it’s… messy and chaotic, but so beautifull. Like it actually matters.”

“It does matter… And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the restaurant was never supposed to be our story. Maybe this is.”

He looked at you then, something shining in his eyes. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you said, your lips curving into a gentle smile. “Because if it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t have the kids, the bakery, the messes we can’t clean up without three people and a prayer.”

He chuckled at that. “The messes are your fault, you know. You’re the one who thought it was a good idea to teach a bunch of middle schoolers how to make éclairs.”

You grinned, leaning into him. “And you’re the one who decided to teach them soufflés.”

He rolled his eyes, but his smile was soft. “Well played.”

As you looked at him—messy hair, tired eyes, and a softness in his expression that you rarely saw—you felt something settle in your chest.

“Jihoon,” you said quietly. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

— // Two Years Later // —

The NGO was quieter than usual. You noticed it the moment you stepped inside. Normally, the kitchen buzzed with the chaos of kids laughing, mixing ingredients, and occasionally bickering over who got to use the electric mixer. But today, there was an eerie calm.

“Hello?” you called out, setting your bag down on the counter. The faint scent of something baking lingered in the air, but it wasn’t enough to mask the odd tension. “Where is everyone?”

You wandered into the main hall, expecting to see at least Jihoon with his clipboard, corralling the kids into some elaborate baking lesson. Instead, the room was empty save for a lone piece of paper taped to the center of one of the tables.

“Come to the garden.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The garden? The small plot out back that you and Jihoon had transformed into a herb and flower garden over countless weekends?

Curious, you made your way outside, the warm sunlight spilling over the neatly trimmed rows of basil and lavender. At first glance, the garden seemed empty too, until you heard the faint giggle of one of the kids.

“Okay, who’s hiding?” you called out, scanning the area.

Suddenly, the kids burst out from behind the hedges, each holding a small bouquet of flowers, their faces lit with excitement. “Surprise!” they shouted in unison, running toward you and handing you the mismatched bundles.

“What is this?” you asked, laughing as you tried to catch all the flowers being shoved into your arms.

But before anyone could answer, Jihoon appeared at the edge of the garden, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was dressed neatly, his usually casual outfit swapped for a crisp white shirt and a pair of dark slacks. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and his lips quirked up in a nervous smile as he approached.

“Jihoon?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat.

The kids scrambled to the side, forming a small semi-circle as Jihoon stepped closer. He stopped just in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“You always said this garden was your favorite place,” he began. “You said it’s where you felt the most at peace, where everything feels real. So I thought it was the perfect place to do this.”

Your heart raced as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

“Yah… What are you doing Jihoon-ah?,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He dropped to one knee, the kids giggling in soft gasps and excited murmurs. “I’ve spent the last two years trying to figure out how I got so lucky. How someone as stubborn and chaotic as me ended up with someone as kind and brilliant as you. And honestly? I still don’t know.”

You laughed softly, tears already welling in your eyes.

“But what I do know… is that I don’t want to spend another day without you. You changed my life, and you keep changing it, every single day. So…” He opened the box, revealing a delicate ring with a big, oval, sparkling diamond. “Will you marry me?”

The kids broke out into cheers before you could even process what was happening. Your hands flew to your mouth as you nodded quickly, too swamped to speak. Jihoon’s grin spread wide as he stood, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into a tight hug.

“Yes,” you finally managed to say, your voice muffled against his buff chest. “Of course, yes.”

The kids swarmed around you both, cheering and hugging as Jihoon pressed a kiss to your temple. “I had a lot of help,” he admitted with a soft laugh, gesturing toward the group. “They’re surprisingly good at keeping secrets.”

“Well, I can’t believe you pulled this off,” you said, laughing through your tears as you looked down at the ring.

“I had to,” Jihoon said, his voice soft and sincere. “Because I wanted to give you a moment as perfect as you’ve made my life.”

The kids had prepared cupcakes with little fondant hearts on top, and the staff brought out bottles of sparkling cider to toast the two of you. Jihoon never left your side, his hand warm and steady in yours, his smile never fading.

As the sun set over the garden, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you leaned into Jihoon’s side, the ring catching the last rays of light.

He tilted his head to look at you, his lips quirking into a soft smile. “You know, I was thinking,” he started, “when we’re, like, seventy or something, do you think we’ll still be able to handle all the chaos the kids bring?”

You snorted a laugh, turning to face him fully. “Seventy? Jihoon, I’m not even sure we’re handling it well now.”

He laughed with you. “What happens when we’re too old to keep up with their energy? You know they’re just going to keep multiplying, right? They bring their friends, their siblings, their cousins… It’s like a never-ending kid buffet in there.”

You shook your head, leaning into his side. “First of all, let’s not talk about being seventy when we just got engaged. Can I at least have a honeymoon phase before we’re planning for wheelchairs and dentures?”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that naughty smirk. “Honeymoon~?” he drawled.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the grin tugging at your lips.

“And you’re stuck with me now,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows before leaning back, the smirk still firmly in place. “So, where are we going for this so-called honeymoon? Somewhere romantic? Tropical? Or do you just want to stay in and let me make you dinner—while wearing nothing but an apron?”

fanfic inspiration by @thepoopdokyeomtouched thank you for giving me the motivation to write this fic! you're the sweetener to my blog's flavor. wishing you all the best this holiday season!

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aliyahwritings · 1 month ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (11)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player!Rafe & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.4k

Aliyah's Notes: LIFE IS GOOD DONT KYS GUYS!!!!!

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing Rafe’s penthouse in all its cold, modern glory. You stepped inside, arms full of a precariously stacked pile of boxes, your eyes scanning the pristine place. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of the city, but it was the sterile, minimalist decor that always caught you by surprise.

“Wow,” you muttered, setting the boxes down with a grunt. “So this is where personality comes to die.”

Rafe appeared behind you, carrying a single suitcase and looking annoyingly relaxed (and sexy). “You’re welcome for letting you upgrade your life,” he quipped, tossing the suitcase onto the sleek leather couch. “From your childish apartment to the lap of luxury. I’m a real hero.”

“Hero, my ass,” you turned to him, hands on your hips. “And this place has all the warmth of a dentist’s office.”

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Clean, sharp, and no clutter.”

“Well, get ready for that to change,” you shot back, heading to another box. You pulled out a bright orange vase with swirling patterns and held it up with a triumphant smile. “Because this is going front and center.”

He froze mid-step, staring at the vase like it was radioactive. “No.”

“Yes,” you replied, your smile widening as you marched toward the nearest shelf.

“No,” he repeated, moving to block your path. “You’re not seriously bringing that ugly vase into my penthouse. I have standards.”

You held the vase above your head, as if presenting it to the decor gods. “Typical white man behavior,” you declared. “This must be the colonizer in you that’s stopping me from doing what I want—”

“I knew you’d start saying those things,” Rafe shook his head.

“Just because it’s colorful and unique, it’s ‘ugly’ to you.”

He crossed his arms as he looked between you and the vase. “It’s not colorful, YN, it’s an eyesore. It doesn’t ‘pop’—it assaults.”

“You wouldn’t know real art if it hit you in the face,” you retorted, setting the vase down triumphantly on a shelf. “This is staying.”

“It’s not art—it’s a cry for help,” Rafe muttered, shaking his head as he reached for the vase.

You smacked his hand away. “Touch it, and I’ll bring all of my colorful vases here.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You leaned in with a devilish grin. “Try me.”

The standoff had been interrupted by a loud thud as another box had toppled from the stack you had brought in. Rafe turned to survey the mess, raising an eyebrow. “What else did you bring? Your collection of weird cat figurines?”

“I’ll have you know Lady Purrsalot is a legend,” you said, brushing past him to rescue the fallen box. “And yes, she’s staying too.”

Rafe let out a dramatic groan, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the pile of your belongings filling the space. “Perfect. My penthouse is about to turn into a shrine to bad taste,” he muttered.

You shot him an incredulous look, hands on your hips, before flashing him a playful but smug smile. “This isn’t bad taste, it’s cute.”

“If I find anything glittery, it’s going straight in the trash.”

Your eyes narrowed, giving him the full force of your best glare. He winced, immediately muttering a sheepish “sorry,” his hands up in surrender. You gave him a satisfied nod, knowing he'd learned his lesson.

“You agreed to this when you accepted to marry me,” you said, your voice smooth but laced with a challenge. You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow as though daring him to argue.

He sighed dramatically, leaning against the wall. “I didn’t know ‘marriage’ meant signing up for interior design hell.”

Your lips quirked upward as you threw a glance at the now-established vase. “Don’t worry, fiancé, I think you’re handling it really well for someone who just got a major upgrade in life.”

“Can’t help it,” he smirked, and stepped closer to you. “You’re kind of hard to resist,” he paused, eyes glinting with something that wasn’t just playful teasing. “Even when you’re trying to torture me with your cat figurines.”

You chuckled, stepping around him and tossing a few more things onto the shelf—mostly knick-knacks and personal items that would soon add a sense of comfort to the otherwise sterile space. You could feel the tension between you two, a quiet undercurrent of attraction, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“You have hands, and a cold shower to help you, Rafe,” you told him, rolling your eyes. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Who said something was going to happen?” he smirked, and you wanted to wipe that smirk off his beautiful, beautiful face. “Are you thinking of naughty—”

“That’s enough communication for right now,” you clapped your hands. “We have more stuff to do.”

You both continued to unload boxes in comfortable silence, the sounds of moving things around punctuated by banter every now and then. Rafe was doing half of the work—he said he’d prefer you standing back and watching him take charge—and you did not mind, at all. The penthouse was big enough that it gave you space to spread out your things. Eventually, though, the once-overwhelming pile of boxes began to dwindle, and the place started to feel a little more like home.

“Alright, I think that’s the last one,” Rafe said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he stacked the final few boxes in the corner. “I’m exhausted.”

You nodded, and gave him a smile. “Thanks for the help, big arms. I would’ve taken 24 years to finish it all,” you told him and laughed.

“You’re going to make me blush,” he joked, and you laughed some more. “Alright, now that the worst of it’s done, how about I give you the grand tour? I know you’ve been here a few times, but not everywhere. Let me show you the full deal.”

You sighed and gestured dramatically. “Lead the way.”

With a self-satisfied grin, Rafe led you down the sleek hallway. He threw open the first door with a flourish, revealing a space so minimalist it was almost sterile. “My office,” he declared.

You peeked inside, noting the barely-touched desk, the pristine shelves, and a gaming console taking up prime real estate. “Wow,” you deadpanned. “Really grinding out those business emails, huh?”

“Hey, I do plenty of work,” he said defensively. “Like checking stats, signing autographs… crushing high scores.” You rolled your eyes but followed as he moved to the next door, revealing a home gym. “State-of-the-art equipment,” he boasted. “Not that you’d know, since you don’t lift.”

“Rafe, I’m literally a model. I do pilates, yoga, and weight training.”

“Pilates doesn’t count,” he shot back, smirking. “That’s just stretching with extra steps.”

“Asshole,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He took you through a theater room, complete with plush recliners and an oversized screen, and then to his master bedroom. The sheer size of the space made you pause. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a stunning view of the city skyline, and the decor screamed effortless luxury. You hated that it impressed you.

“Alright, you’ve had your little brag session. Can I go back to unpacking now?”

“Not yet,” he said, walking ahead of you. He stopped in front of the guest room—your room now—and pushed the door open. “Saved the best for last.”

You stepped inside, your eyes immediately catching on the changes. Gone was the sterile, hotel-like vibe. Instead, the space felt warmer, more personal. The bedding was a deep crimson red, bold and striking, and a textured rug covered the hardwood floor. Your favorite candles were neatly arranged on the windowsill, and a small vase of fresh flowers sat on the nightstand. Even your books, the ones you thought you’d packed, were already shelved on the built-in.

Your brows furrowed as you took it all in. “Why are the covers red?”

Rafe, leaning casually against the doorframe, hesitated for a beat before replying. “You know… because you…”

A teasing grin spread across your face. “Are you racially profiling me because I’m South Asian?”

His eyes widened slightly, and then he let out a laugh, shaking his head. “What? No! That’s not—”

You cut him off, crossing your arms with mock seriousness. “Oh, sure. Just because I like vibrant colors, you think red is my personality now?”

“Okay, first of all,” he said, “you do like vibrant colors. Second, red is bold, classy, and badass—like you. So stop making me sound like a jerk.”

You raised a brow, still trying to stifle your laughter. “Smooth recovery, Cameron. Real smooth.”

“Thanks,” he said, flashing you a grin. “I aim to please,” he teased, though his smirk softened slightly. “Maids come every three days, by the way, so you don’t need to worry about keeping the place spotless.”

You crossed your arms, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “You mean I didn’t have to bring a box of cleaning supplies?”

“Nope,” he said with an unapologetic shrug. “But it was cute watching you haul it up here.”

Your mouth fell open. “You let me carry that thing around when you knew I wouldn’t need it?”

“You seemed determined,” he said, his grin widening. “I didn’t want to crush your little homemaker dreams.”

You groaned.

You collapsed onto the oversized sofa with a dramatic sigh, sinking into the soft cushions as though they could swallow you whole. Your body ached from the day of unpacking and dealing with Rafe’s incessant commentary.

Rafe plopped down beside you, equally worn out but still managing to look annoyingly composed. He stretched his long legs across the coffee table, earning a glare from you.

“Feet down,” you muttered, voice muffled by the throw pillow you’d buried your face into.

“Make me,” he quipped, but the usual edge of teasing was dulled by the clear exhaustion in his tone.

You turned your head to give him a tired look, too drained to argue properly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re bossy,” he shot back, though there was no real heat in his words. “But look at us. Day one of living together, and we didn’t kill each other. I’d say that’s progress.”

You snorted, turning to face him fully. “Barely. That vase almost did you in.”

He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief despite his fatigue. “You’ve got a lot of nerve bringing that thing into my house. It’s offensive to art.”

“It’s staying,” you declared, closing your eyes and sinking further into the couch. “I’m too tired to argue anymore.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, a stark contrast to the usual whirlwind of your dynamic. The dim lighting in the penthouse bathed the room in a soft glow, it was peaceful, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Rafe turn his head, his gaze resting on you. But it wasn’t fleeting—his eyes lingered, studying you in a way that felt tender. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at you, his usually sharp blue eyes softened by the warmth of the moment. It was as if he were memorizing the curve of your cheek in the dim light, the way your hair fell over your shoulder, the quiet calm in your expression. It made your skin tingle under his attention, your pulse quickening despite the stillness.

“You did good today,” he murmured, his voice stripped of its usual cockiness, leaving only a quiet sincerity that caught you off guard.

You opened one eye to glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Thanks...”

He shrugged, his lips curving into a small, crooked smile that made him look younger somehow, softer. “I mean it. This place… it already feels different. Warmer,” he admitted, his eyes flicking briefly to the room before returning to you. They lingered, holding yours in a way that made your breath hitch—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing. “And not just because of that god-awful vase.”

A laugh escaped you, light and unguarded, filling the space between you. It felt good—freeing, even. The knot of tension in your chest began to loosen, melting away under the weight of his rare vulnerability. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Cameron,” you teased, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a quiet chuckle, leaning his head back against the couch.

The peace was interrupted by the faint buzz of your phone in your pocket. You groaned, pulling it out to check the screen. The sight of the message made your stomach twist all over again.

“Mom and Dad are flying in next week. They want to see you.”

Rafe noticed the change in your expression immediately. “What’s up?”

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the screen before locking the phone. “Nothing. Just… family stuff.”

He didn’t press, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if trying to figure out what you weren’t saying. Instead, he let his head loll back again, closing his eyes.

“Family stuff, huh?” he murmured. “Well, if it’s anything like mine, I recommend a lot of wine. Or tequila.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, though your chest still felt tight. The idea of seeing your parents again—after everything—was a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, with Rafe beside you and the weight of the day finally catching up, you let yourself push it to the back of your mind.

“Noted,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You always wear socks indoors.” he said suddenly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

He nodded toward your feet, wiggling his own toes for emphasis. “The socks. You’ve been in them all day. Do you ever just… go barefoot?”

You looked down at the patterned socks you were wearing—yellow with tiny sunflowers. “I like socks. They’re cozy,” you replied defensively. “Not all of us can just parade around barefoot like some child.”

Rafe snorted, shaking his head. “You’re missing out. Bare feet are freedom.”

“Freedom? That’s dramatic,” you shot back.

“Dramatic is wearing sunflower socks in a penthouse,” he countered, gesturing toward your feet.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Alright, since we’re apparently sharing quirks, what’s with the candle obsession? You’ve got, like, ten of them over there.”

Rafe followed your gaze to the collection of candles on the coffee table and nearby shelves. “What can I say? I like a good vibe,” he said, shrugging.

You raised an eyebrow. “Big, tough basketball player… lighting candles to set the mood?”

He grinned, leaning slightly closer. “I’ll have you know those candles are luxury. That one—” he pointed to a sleek black jar, “—is oud wood. Costs more than your vase, I’m sure.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “You’re just scared of the dark.”

“Not scared,” he corrected. “Just prepared. You never know when the power might go out.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you said, sinking further into the cushions.

For a moment, the banter lulled, and you both stared at the flickering flame of one of the candles. Then, out of nowhere, Rafe spoke again. “I can’t whistle.”

You turned to him, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“Whistling,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “Can’t do it. Never could.”

A grin spread across your face, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Wait, really? You’re telling me Mr. Perfect Athlete can’t whistle?”

“Laugh it up,” he said, though there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Everyone’s got their thing. What about you? What’s something random you can’t do?”

You thought for a moment before admitting, “I can’t snap my fingers. Like, no matter how hard I try.’”

Rafe’s eyes lit up, and he immediately sat up straighter. “No way. Let me see.”

You demonstrated, rubbing your thumb and middle finger together in an attempt to snap. The result was a sad thud.

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “That’s terrible.”

“Shut up,” you said, trying not to smile. “At least I can whistle.”

“Debatable,” he teased, leaning back again. “Bet your whistle sounds like a dying bird.”

“I know you’re not the one talking right now—you can’t even fucking whistle,” you shot back.

“Touché,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

The conversation flowed as easily as the soft light from the candles, meandering through odd confessions and surprising revelations. You were tucked into one corner of the oversized couch, legs crossed beneath you, while Rafe sprawled in his usual casual way, one arm slung along the back of the sofa as he toyed with a loose thread in the cushion.

“So, wait,” he said, his brows furrowing in mock disbelief. “You’re telling me you’ve never watched a single episode of The Office?”

“Not one,” you replied, unapologetic. “I’ve seen the memes. Isn’t that enough?”

Rafe placed a dramatic hand over his chest, like you’d just personally insulted him. “No, Y/N, that’s not fucking enough. You’re missing out on peak comedy.”

“I prefer my comedy with a little more effort, thank you,” you teased.

“Effort? It’s genius! Dwight Schrute alone could carry a show.”

You smirked. “Is this your idea of a personality test? Judging me based on sitcom preferences?”

“Yes!” he said, deadpan. “It tells me everything I need to know about you. And so far? Not looking great for you, wife.”

You reached over and shoved his arm lightly, laughing. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am, willingly living with you,” he shot back, grinning.

“Willingly might be a stretch,” you countered, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “Alright, since we’re trading weird facts, here’s one: I can recite the entire opening number to Wicked by heart.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but there was amusement in his gaze. “No way. Wicked? That’s the one with the green witch, right?”

“Yes, that’s the one with the green witch,” you said, mimicking his tone. “It’s a masterpiece, by the way.”

“If you say so,” he said, holding his hands up. “I just… didn’t peg you for the Broadway type.”

You shrugged, a little defensive. “What can I say? I like stories that stick with you.”

“Okay, fair. But you’re gonna have to prove it one day. Full performance.”

“Fuck no,” you said quickly, chuckling. “Your turn. What’s something no one would guess about you?”

He hesitated, looking away like he was searching for the right thing to say. Finally, he said, “I used to draw. Like, a lot.”

Your head tilted, curiosity piqued. “You? Draw? That’s amazing… but I can’t picture it.”

“Yeah, no one can,” he said with a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I stopped when, uh, I got serious about basketball. But back in the day, I was obsessed. I even sketched my own sneaker designs once. Thought I’d have my own line or something.”

"That's actually really cool," you said, your voice warm with genuine admiration. Your eyes stayed fixed on him, sparkling with a curiosity that made his chest tighten.

For a moment, Rafe just looked at you, taken aback by the way you seemed so invested in his words, like what he said actually mattered. No one had ever looked at him like that before—not with real interest, not like this.

He cleared his throat, glancing away as a flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression. “Nah,” he said, his tone lighter than the weight in his eyes. “They’re long gone. Just... a stupid kid thing, anyway.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said, surprising even yourself with the firmness in your tone. “You should try it again. Who knows? Maybe you’d still be good at it.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment, before a small smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe.”

The moment stretched between you, warm and unspoken, until you finally broke it with a grin. “Okay, random question: what’s your weirdest food combination?”

Rafe laughed, the sound low and genuine. “You’re gonna judge me for this.”

“Definitely,” you said without hesitation.

“Alright, fine. Peanut butter and pickles.”

Your jaw dropped, and you stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” he said, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“No, thanks,” you replied, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s some white people shit.”

“Your loss,” he said, smirking. “What about you? What’s your weird food thing?”

You hesitated, then admitted, “Okay, don’t laugh… but I dip fries in milkshakes.”

His face lit up with mock offense. “And you call me disgusting?”

“Hey, it’s a classic!” you defended.

He opened his mouth to say something, probably asking another weird question, but before the words could leave his lips, the sharp chime of the doorbell cut through the cozy atmosphere.

Rafe groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Who the hell—”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe it’s one of your girlfriends that you didn’t tell me about.”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched as he stood up.

Before he could reach the door, the muffled sound of voices filtered through, followed by another ring—longer this time, like someone was leaning on the buzzer.

“Open up, Rafael!” a familiar voice called out.

“Oh, great,” Rafe muttered, his hand reaching for the door.

Sarah, JJ, and Aisha entered, bringing the kind of chaos only they could manage. Sarah deposited a pizza box on the living room table with a dramatic flourish, while JJ hoisted a takeout bag in the air like a trophy.

“Food’s here, peasants,” JJ announced, dropping onto the couch beside you as though he owned it. He nudged your leg with his knee, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off a prank. “You’re welcome for saving you from whatever sad dinner you were planning.”

“JJ, be polite,” Sarah muttered as she flopped onto the rug with a container of fries.

“Polite is boring,” JJ retorted. “You’re welcome for making your life exciting.”

“You’re fucking annoying,” Rafe said, sitting next to his sister.

“See? That’s gratitude,” JJ replied, leaning back and helping himself to the fries Sarah had claimed.

Aisha rolled her eyes as she set plates on the table. “I didn’t know people like him existed until twenty minutes ago.”

“Thank you, beautiful,” he said, winking at her.

“Anyway,” Sarah cut in, already swiping a slice of pizza, “what were you two up to before we so graciously interrupted?”

“I was gonna ask her dream place to live,” Rafe said, his voice carrying a teasing edge as he leaned against the counter. “But I guess we’ll never know now, thanks to you guys.”

“Oh, we’re not letting that go,” Sarah declared, pointing a fry at you. “Spill it. Where’s your dream home?”

You waved her off. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Now you have to tell us,” JJ said, sitting up straighter with exaggerated curiosity. “Somewhere glamorous, right? Like Paris? Or Cleveland. I feel like you give Cleveland energy.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “What does that even mean?”

“Cleveland has a vibe!” JJ insisted.

“No one says that,” Aisha shot back, throwing a balled-up napkin at him.

Sarah shook her head, laughing. “I’m guessing you’re a Milan or Tokyo kind of girl. Am I close?”

“Closer,” you admitted, smiling despite their relentless pestering. “London. Somewhere with smarter, and more fun people.”

“Cool,” Sarah said with a grin, nodding approvingly.

“Basic,” Rafe quipped, earning a pillow to the chest from you.

“Say that again, and I’m redecorating this whole place with vases,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Vasegate continues,” JJ deadpanned, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “What a tragic tale.”

“Can we talk about how you two are already bickering like an old married couple?” Aisha said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s very domestic in here.”

Rafe snorted. “Please. If this is domestic bliss, I want a refund.”

“He’s been annoying since this morning,” you countered, smirking at Rafe. “He’s been critiquing my interior design all day. He’s very invested.”

“Someone had to be,” Rafe shot back, but his eyes softened when they met yours, the teasing edge in his voice blunted by something warmer.

“I think it’s cute,” Sarah interjected, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “You guys are like one of those sitcom couples that secretly loves each other but spends every episode pretending they don’t.”

“Excuse me,” JJ said, raising his hand like a teacher’s pet. “If this is a sitcom, I’m the fan-favorite supporting character. Just putting that out there.”

“You wish,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

“And what does that make me?” Aisha asked, feigning offense.

“The responsible one who keeps everyone from burning the house down,” you said with a laugh, nudging her shoulder.

“Accurate,” Sarah replied, grinning.

“But seriously, this is nice. All of us hanging out. It feels... cozy,” you said, with a small smile.

JJ gasped dramatically. “Is that sentiment I hear? Someone mark the calendar!”

“Watch your mouth, Maybank,” Rafe warned.

The conversation flowed easily after that, bouncing from JJ’s ridiculous anecdotes about being chased by geese to Sarah recounting a disastrous double date she’d been on. Rafe chimed in with sarcastic remarks that made everyone laugh, and even Aisha’s usual composed demeanor cracked when JJ impersonated Rafe’s annoyed voice.

At one point, Aisha leaned over to you, her voice low. “You seem happier,” she said, her eyes soft.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“With him,” she said, nodding subtly toward Rafe, who was currently trying (and failing) to win an arm-wrestling match with his sister. “I don’t know. There’s just... something lighter about you.”

Your gaze shifted to Rafe as he laughed at something JJ said, his shoulders relaxed, his grin unguarded. He caught your eye for a moment, his expression softening in a way that sent a ripple through your chest.

You turned back to Aisha, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said simply, and she gave you a knowing look before standing to help gather the empty containers.

By the time everyone started leaving, the penthouse felt fuller, warmer. Sarah and JJ bickered their way out the door, and Aisha hugged you tightly, her smile lingering as she said, “You deserve this. Don’t forget that.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, you leaned against it, the quiet settling back in. Rafe glanced up from where he was stacking empty pizza boxes, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head as you pushed off the door. “Just... thinking.”

“That’s never good,” he teased, his smirk softening as you joined him to help clean up.

And as you cleaned side by side, the thought lingered: maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the chaos you’d expected. Maybe it was something better.

chapter twelve

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acotarxreader · 5 months ago

Text

Flower

Azriel x Reader (Rhysands sister)

Synopsis: You and Azriel are sent deep into the mountains in search of a flower that may save Feyre's life during childbirth but quickly the frenemy status is put to the test as past trials come to a head leaving you to decide between your new sister and the potential love of your life.

Warnings: Fluff,, teasing angst, frenemies, physical fighting, mentions of wing damage/loss, blood, sweetness, silliness, Az calling the reader Kid.

A/N: You voted for it so here it is, my next Azriel fic. I enjoyed writing this, did it kinda quickly so forgive any mistakes and let me know what you think!

P.s I named Rhysand and Readers sister Aruna which means Moon in some languages.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“We’re lost Azriel”

“We’re not, you have no trust in me, this is basic Illyrian training” Azriel pushed an elongated branch from his path, releasing it thoughtlessly to smack you into the chest, a small yelp leaving you.

“Fucking hell!” You swiped the pollen markings it left from your chest, knotting your face into a scowl towards the back of the Spymaster's head.

“Next time duck” he called back, grin-laced words.

“Next time pick someone else to accompany you on your wild goose chases” Your boot sank into the uphill climb, the mud sinking its teeth into the well-worn leather as you fought with your lungs to keep breathing.

“You were chosen for official Night Court duties by an official member of the Night Court government, have a little pride”

“An official Night Court prick more like” You muttered in reply to Azriel’s faux-inflated self-importance. Two days ago you had left Velaris, in pursuit of a special medicinal flower, Madja’s hope to save Feyre from the birth of her child. You had been hiking upwards for what felt like all 48 hours of your journey, your calves practically speaking to you now.

“Do they not cover outdoor pursuit in your healer apprenticeship?” Another branch slapped into from the direction of the Spymaster.

“Do they not cover manners in Windhaven?”

“You’ve known me for centuries, you know they don’t teach manners” He grinned, your sure footing overtaking his position as he held back a thicket of branches for you. You rolled your eyes as you passed him, missing his clear deception. Your foot snagged on a millennia old root system of an ancient tree, sending you finally downwards on your travel to bump along a forgotten path for a few seconds before another primeval tree stopped your course. Azriel shot with his usual agile step down after you.

“I didn’t think you’d fly that far” He laughed down at you, your clothing covered in moss and mulch from your trip.

“This is it, this is where you kill me. This was all a plot, all those centuries as the best pain in the ass culminating in this fake trip, Feyre isn’t even pregnant is she?!” You threw your arm across your forehead in fake dramatics, feining pain as he Azriel rolled his eyes before offering you a hand to pull you up.

“I think if I was going to kill you, I’d have left Cassian to drown you that time we went swimming when we were 40”

“Ah, the last time I went swimming with you fools” You took his hand as he hauled you up, your muscles settling back into their place after their 360. You both continued your hike with some element of hurry but also with comfort.

“You used to love swimming with us and I mean c’mon I stopped him, no points for that?”

“You only stopped him because the death of Mor’s favourite cousin would have meant your certain death”

“I’m telling Rhysand you said that”

“Fine by me, he knows” You smirked before skipping along, hands behind your back in rested peace, your head gazing up through the canopy, the stars beginning to sparkle down over the moon-bathed forest. Azriel marvelled towards you, somewhat enamoured at the strong sense of peace radiating from his best friend's sister. You stretched above the sunken path towards a low-hanging branch, bright blush berries glowing in the scarce light. Your linen shifted slightly from your skin as you reached, revealing the troves of scars and chasms from the savagery of Spring's deepest betrayal of Azriel’s chosen family. You turned to him, a childlike grin as your cheeks filled with the lush fruit, a small laugh leaving Azriel as he gently shook his head.

“Come here Kid, you’re all berry” He smiled, running the back of his sleeve down your cheek, banishing stray seeds until you pushed his arm away.

“I’m like 10 years younger than you Gramps”

“And I’ll always take care of you because of it” Soft tones of sincerity radiated from the Spymaster, his usual sarcasm towards you banished for a moment of truth.

“Until you get old and frail and I send you to a retirement camp, you have about five good years left my friend” He shoved you back with a laugh, moment over.

Another hour of so of what felt like aimless walking culminated in the both of you scaling prehistoric trees to settle in the canopy for rest, safe from the creatures roaming below in search of their next meal.

Leaks of light snuck through the budding Spring flush of growth, crossing Azriel’s eyes until he stirred from his sleep. He sat up from his hammock, to look over to the adjacent tree to find your sling empty.

“YN?” He yawned out, stretching as the branches creaked with the movement, your lack of reply had him calling out again. Azriel’s boots nearly split the soil on landing as he tried his best to keep his imagination from running away with his logic. He always woke up first and always had to haul you from your sleep, you were famously not a morning person. He called louder into the forest, listening back for any reply or clue as to where you’d run off to. He found his step quicken to match his heartbeat as he transversed great ground quickly. Light flashed around him as he found the edge of one of Illyria's many mountainous lakes, to see your silhouette floating in the centre of it.

“YN!” He roared out, no response from you as his imagination very much took control. Without full consciousness, he tossed his over jacket to the ground, his heavy boots taking a spot next to it as he waded quickly into the silty lake, still calling for you. His feet could no longer touch the muddy bottom as he reached you in the centre of the still lake.

“YN!!!” A marred hand met your abdomen as the other found your lower back beneath the water, forcing your body up where you jolted out of your trance, thrashing water as you kicked your legs awake.

“What the fuck you frightened me!” You pushed back from his hold, wrapping your arms around your waist, your snowy tank top clinging to your wet skin.

“You frightened me! What are you doing out here?” He pushed his wet hair from his face, allowing the colour to return to his face.

“I was getting the moss and leaves out of my hair after yesterday’s little escapades, no need to lose your head” You shot back, before beginning to swim back to shore.

“I was calling for you! I thought something terrible happened to you!” Azriel allowed uncharacteristic anger to leech through his words as you both met the shore again. You turned your back to him as you wring out your hair, the drips of water creating mud in the dust. The soaked fabric clung to the fissures in your back where your wings once sat proudly, Azriel swallowed deeply at the sight, trying to keep the crime from inflating his anger further. You turned at his silence, noticing the path his eyes would have followed.

“Something terrible already did happen Azriel” You bit, snatching your overshirt from the ground to shroud your scars, your shaking hands attempting to lock the buttons into place as the dots connected in Azriel’s head.

“Is-is that why you don’t swim anymore? You don’t want people to see-to see what they did?” You looked up slowly through your eyelashes, hands on the final button before uprighting yourself completely.

“The world should know what they did to me, what no amount of healer study I do can fix, what Tamlin’s fath- what that Court did to me, to my mother to my sister-” You bit out, the anger heating your skin seemingly drying the beads of water on your flesh “-and they will one day when Rhysand decides, when I am once again of use to my Court”

“YN, you’re of use now” he attempted to silence your inner voice escaping into the world, only to have you raise a palm.

“To answer your question, no, that’s not why I don’t swim with you anymore, I don’t because Aruna loved it and the water feels wrong without our little sister-” Cold burning rage that Azriel was accustomed to seeing in Rhysand but never from you filled the space between you.

“Now, let's go find that flower and go home, I’m not losing another sister” Azriel only nodded before leading the way back to the make-shift camp in contemplative silence.

The next few hours carried that thematic silence through the woods, only the occasional check-in broke it up. You didn’t even comment when Azriel released multiple branches in your direction or when you definitely passed the same boulder twice. The soles of your shoes were leaving imprints on your feet but you stayed silent, refusing to give Azriel the satisfaction of being right when he told you to change your shoes.

Azriel swung around to you on his heels as you released a blood-curdling scream from your exhausted lungs, a nearby bird fleeing the tree top at the raised alarm. His face lost any flush of colour as his eyes locked on the arrow piercing through your right thigh. He moved quickly to guide you to the floor as you screamed, blood spurting free from your flesh. In one swift movement, Azriel shielded you from another targeted arrow, it splicing one of the veins of his wings as he winced.

“Azriel!” You cried, your shaking hand going towards the bloodied arrow.

“Stay down!” He ordered, pulling some shrubbery over you as you crowed, his century-long training kicking into action as he launched in the direction of the ammunition. Tracking and trailing as fast as he could until he found the perpetrators, two members of the Hybern army armed to their teeth in weaponry. Azriel launched into swift movements, like a well-learned dance with vicious precision.

Meanwhile, you snapped the long end of the arrow, leaving the cruel head with its teeth buried in your flesh. You pulled yourself up, desperate to follow the sounds of your best friend and his battle cry. Your hobbled step worked perfectly with your exhausted feet, sending you crashing for a second time this trip, down a bank to a stream. The welcomed thud of a great tree stopped you before you could enter the rushing water. You lifted your face from the squelch of the river clay, hazy eyes landing on a brilliantly blue flower, growing like a solitary soldier between ancient rocks. You groaned as you pushed up from the mud, your detour causing the head of the arrow to be pushed in further. You managed to snatch the lifeline from its home, tucking it into your pack before beginning your laboured ascent up the steep bank. The definition of an uphill battle as you fought against the overgrowth, using deep root systems like rescue ropes until you reached the mouth of the bank again. Your faltering step carried you in the direction of the Spymaster, who was deep in his own entanglement. You watched as Azriel slashed the leg of one soldier before pressing the other into a knotty tree trunk, his blood soon covering Azriel as Truth Teller dealt its fatal blow.

“Azriel!” You shrieked in warning as the other soldier regained some strength, just as Azriel turned to your voice, a green-soaked blade slid into the Shadowsinger’s wing releasing pressurised blood systems. The advantage didn’t last very long before Truth Teller claimed another victim, the soldier slumping to the ground with a final breath. Azriel stumbled backwards, his adrenaline fleeting until the support of a large oak met his back, allowing him to slide to the cool ground.

“Az!” You yelped, limping to collapse next to his side, pallor growing across his face. You ran a hand over the wound, bright scarlet mixing with the sickly poison of a blade.

“I told, I told you to stay” He spoke with gritted teeth, attempting to sit more upright against the tree.

“You know I try my best to never listen to you” You smiled weakly, tears beginning to threaten the rim of your eyes as Azriel’s head dipped to fall on his chest. You moved quickly to prop his head up, his eyelids like lead as the poison worked through his system.

“We have to get you help, we have to get back”

“I-I can’t winn-ow both of-of us” Huffs of air left Azriel.

“Winnow yourself, I’ll figure it out” He lifted a heavy eyelid open, looking down to find your wound weeping fresh blood, swirling into his own.

“The-re there could be mor-more of them out here YN, you-you have to be the one to-to go”

“No!” You began digging through your pack, pouring the canteen of drinking water you had over his wound, trying to flush as much of the sick serum out as you could. The cobalt shimmer of the flower caught your eye again as you dug through for more water, looking from its bright colour to the dullness in your best friend. You began mashing it up into the lid of the canteen, its healing powers flowing into the water as you shook the two lifelines together.

“YN you-you found it”

“I did Az and you’re going to drink it” He pushed away slightly from you.

“Its-its for Feyre, get it to Feyre”

“I’ll figure that out, you need it Az” You held the lid of the canteen to his lips, Azriel turning his head from it despite his screaming nerves calling out for its relief.

“Kid, it’s too-too valuable, give it to Feyre”

“You’re too valuable Az! I’m not losing you too, for once in your Godsdamn life don’t fight me! Let me look after you for once!” You grabbed the nape of his neck, tilting his head back to help the liquid into his mouth despite his futile protests. The sacred serum swirled through his system, like a torch in a blackout, defending off the tar-like liquid that tried to clog his system. You took your overshirt from your skin, ripping the clean sections free to soak in the remaining drips in the lid before applying it to the wound.

“No YN, use-use it on yourself” He tried his best to push your arm away, unable to find the strength to allow you to make contact with the tattered spine. Unbeknownst to you, in your adrenaline-fueled state, your trousers were becoming laden with the blood spurting from your wounds. You sat back on your ankles, two Azriels dancing in your double-vision. You forced your eyes close, trying to banish one of the Azriels away, the swirl of blood loss becoming a bit too much as you fell back on your side, using a weakened arm to prop yourself up.

“YN! You’re okay Kid! You’re gonna be okay, stay awake” Azriel turned himself onto his knees, his strength finding its way back to him as his hands met the soft skin of your cheeks, blood leaving them to rush towards your open wound.

“I knew you’d be the death of me” You gave a weak laugh, your head rocking slightly from side to side. Azriel gave a small smile before closing the space between you, his medicinal-soaked lips meeting your frosted ones. Pulses of energy beat between you both, like everything that has ever happened both good and bad didn’t matter before this moment, each other’s lifeline in every sense. The traces of the river flower pulled you back from the brink with the essence of Azriel’s every being guiding you home. Shadows leapt around you both, pulling you both through the space until cool, clean stone laid under your legs. Azriel pulled back from you, his thumbs tracing over your cheeks as your eyes fluttered open.

“Are you kissing my sister?” Rhysand stood from his desk to look down at his closest allies, in a ball on his office floor. Cassian leapt to help you up, lying you down on the chaise before Rhysand went to pull Azriel to his own feet.

“It-it was to save her life” Azriel had thoughts of wishing the arrow had finished him off.

“Likely story” Rhysand laughed, guiding his dear friend to his desk chair before sending for Madja. Cassian busied inspecting your battle wounds.

“We were attacked and-and they poisoned me and YN she-”

“-she gave you the flower?” Rhysand sank to Azriels eyelevel, searching for answers in the stormy eyes of the Spymaster. Azriel nodded gently, his head hanging in both shame and exhaustion.

“It's okay Azriel, I wanted it for my mate, YN wanted it for hers” Azriel’s head shot back up to look at the High Lord's grinning face. Rhysand raised his hand to his face, making a locking motion at his lips before standing again, Madja quick on the scene to help.

—-------------------

5 years later

Azriel stood at the water's edge, the small lapping of the lake at his feet, the sun warming his wings as he stretched in the healing heat, a small V-shaped scar left in one of the spines. He allowed his eyes to fall close, inhaling the scents of the forest and the whoosh of the gentle breeze.

“Argh!” He flinched at the sudden wave of cold water meeting his face, rubbing it from his eyes until he opened to see you stood, waist-deep in the lake and laughing.

“You’re dead” He laughed before wading in as you roared with laughter, attempting to swim away from him to your friends. You took Nyx from Cassian’s arms as Azriel reached you.

“I have the baby!” You laughed.

“Oh weak move YN, hiding behind a child” He tilted his head back in laughter, Nyx kicking water up at his uncle, his own fit of giggles leaving him.

“Not you too Kid! Betrayal!” Azriel chuckled, wiping the water from his face that Nyx quickly replaced again. You hugged Nyx close into your chest, Azriel paddling closer to you, his arms wrapping around the both of you, his hands tracing down the scars on your back, melting into the deep fissures on his hands, making the skin feel whole again.

“Hey Az! Someone’s awake!” Rhysand called from the shoreline before bending down to the travel cot, pulling your baby from her cocoon, still swaddled in plush towelling. Cassian took Nyx from your arms before tossing him high in the air, Feyre immediately lecturing him. You and Azriel went laughing to the shore again, stray splashes escaping you both. Azriel took the baby from his brother's arms, kissing her head softly as she looked up at him, his entire world.

“Hello Flower”

-------------------------------------

Whatcha think?

ALSO! There are over 500 of you lovelies!!?? That's so crazy!!! Thank you so much for all of your kind words and support my friends! -C

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khuzena · 2 months ago

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Elegy of the hopeless, a savior’s love

Pairing: Sunday & You (g/n)

Synopsis: There will come a day when you will have to choose between fleeting love and lifelong devotion. There was a clear gap between you two. Sunday, the former head of the Family in Penacony, an outcast. You, some nobody who aims to make it big someday, just a nobody. Both outcasts, both commoners. However, Sunday will always be the savior of the people, a man who devotes himself for the freedom and peace of mankind. And you? Someone who’s story is meant to take a different road.

C.w: Angst, trauma, happy ending, he needs therapy, I change my mind you both need therapy

Note: This was written 23 minutes before the release date of 2.7, there may not be any accuracies since I want to write this fanfic as a tribute for Sunday to guarantee a higher chance of getting him with my sad 89 pulls. Thanks.

Sunday was a man who once prided himself for being righteous.

However, the said Halovian was no longer a priest, no longer the decorated head of the Family. Despite this, not once had he abandoned his values, not once had he forsaken the dream he once dreamed as a child, to sing odes of hope and to bring salvation to those who maybe or maybe not worthy of paradise.

He who walks the path of the nameless, will one day make a name for himself. He will carve his own place in paradise, even if the world no longer deems him as a prophet.

Yet, he hadn’t expected falling for someone. Someone of your stature.

Before you both knew it, your affections for each other grew, and so was his devotion for you. But he had to choose between his goals and you.

His mind was riddled with memories that continue to haunt him. The piano keys carried the weight of his sins the more he played a low tune. A debut between who he was, and who he is.

That fateful day marked the day his faith was tested.

One, two, three.

The notes reverberated softly in the dimly lit room, his fingers brushing over the keys with a precision honed by years of practice. But each sound struck a chord in his mind, dragging him back to memories he’d rather bury. He couldn’t ignore how the melody warped, pulling him into the shadows of his past. The rise to power, the unrelenting pursuit of his dreams, the countless lives he’d affected—knowingly or not. The moments where he trapped innocent people in his grand vision, their lives twisted into threads of a tapestry only he could see.

He felt the weight of it all pressing on him, a phantom force tightening around his chest. Each note seemed to mock him, whispering accusations he couldn’t escape.

Then, there was you.

Some idiot from the Astral Express, bright-eyed and reckless, who somehow wormed your way into his life. You were no better than the Trailblazer—maybe even worse, an enabler of chaos and bad decisions. Yet you carried a dream so simple, so pure it made him envious: to travel the universe, collect stories, and one day become a writer whose words would immortalize the memories you crafted with your own hands.

Envy. Was that the right word?

How could he envy you?

You brought him peace, a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in years. Piece by piece, you shattered the walls he had meticulously built around his heart. At first, it was the small things: teasing jabs, lighthearted jokes that made him bristle, then laugh despite himself. But before he realized it, you had become something far greater. He longed for you, craved your presence like a man starved of affection.

Sunday, who had never known love, yearned for something he could barely understand. He wanted your arms around him, grounding him under a sky filled with stars, your voice whispering that everything would be okay. That he would be okay. That he was more than the sum of his sins.

But the past never let him rest.

The piano’s melody faltered as memories clawed at him. The faces of those he’d hurt flashed before his eyes: expressions of fear, betrayal, and pain. He saw himself standing above them all, a figure of absolute power yet utterly alone. His hands, now gloved, trembled as he remembered what they’d done—what they’d created, what they’d destroyed.

“Sunday?”

Your voice broke through the haze, shattering the storm of his thoughts. He glanced up, startled, to see your concerned face. There was no hatred in your eyes, no judgment—only that familiar warmth that felt so foreign to him.

“You’re thinking too much again. What’s on your mind?”

He wanted to tell you. He wanted to lay bare every ugly, broken part of himself. But the words caught in his throat. What if you saw him as the monster he believed himself to be? What if your kindness was a fragile mask, hiding resentment and disgust?

“I’m just thinking,” he lied, the words barely audible.

You didn’t believe him. With a small shake of your head, you slipped onto the bench beside him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice laced with exhaustion.

The truth spilled from him in that single word: his fall from grace, the haunting memory of his sister’s absence, the crushing weight of his failures. He was at war—with himself, for you. He couldn’t save you from the wreckage of his mind, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of pushing you away.

“You should go to bed,” you murmured gently. “We’re dropping off at Amphoreus tomorrow.”

He didn’t move, his hands returning to the piano. The melody that filled the room was softer now, almost mournful. Each note resonated with the echoes of his guilt, yet drowned them out just enough for him to keep playing.

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop thinking.”

He wished he could.

Another kiss, then another.

“Just play the piano,” you whispered. “I’m still here.”

The tears threatened again, hot and stinging, but he swallowed them down. He didn’t deserve to cry—not for himself, not for his sins. Instead, he focused on the weight of your head on his shoulder, the steady rhythm of your breathing.

“Play your favorite song,” you suggested, your voice a soft murmur. “It’ll help.”

For a moment, his hands hovered over the keys. Then, slowly, he began to play. The melody was one he and Robin had composed as children—back when the world was simple, their dreams untouched by the cruelty of reality. The tune carried a bittersweet nostalgia, weaving through the room like a ghost of their innocence.

He glanced at you as he played. Your eyes sparkled with wonder, watching him like he was worth something more than his mistakes. At that moment, he almost believed it.

“I’m listening,” you said softly, your voice fading as you drifted into sleep.

His shoulders still bore the weight of his past, but with you resting against him, it felt a little lighter. The melody shifted, becoming softer, gentler. One day, he thought, he would compose something even more beautiful—something worthy of you.

Until then, he would keep playing. For you. For himself. For the chance to heal, note by note.

Maybe one day, he could repay your kindness a hundred times over.

Note: very rushed ig bc I started at 10:37 am and ended at 11:59 am bc I wanted to write this as tribute for the 2.7 update. !!! I don't know but jf there's any errors let me know lol my keyboard was so loud going TACK TACK TACKKK

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fluff #hsr x reader #honkai star rail angst #hsr angst #honkai star rail sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #hsr sunday #sunday fluff #sunday smut #sunday angst #honkai star rail smut #what have i done

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mariasont · 9 months ago

Text

The Manuscript - A.H

a/n: this was supposed to be based on t.s new song manuscript, but it didn't realllyyy turn out like that

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while unpacking you find a series of letters aaron wrote to you in college

warnings: angst, age gap (reader is 20s, hotch is 40s), haley and jack don't exist in this universe

wc: 1.3k

Your gaze swept over the towering stacks of boxes littering your living room floor, and with a resigned sigh, you began the daunting task of unpacking them. Your hands found the nearest box deftly lifting the flaps as you began to pull out its contents. Your felt the soft crinkle of paper beneath your fingers, and gently, you drew out a stack of letters, their edges softened with time, all neatly tied together with a string.

Your heart seized a sudden halt as you realized just what they were. Your throat constricted, parched, as tears stung your eyes, threatening to spill over, your fingers coming to rest over your mouth. Instinctively, your body sank onto the cold hardwood floor, gently placing the papers down beside you. You had forgotten these had even existed, let alone made it with you on the move.

You didn't remember seeing them when you packed, did you? Your fingers shook slightly as they picked apart the knot, and with a hesitant touch, you reached for the first piece of weathered paper.

January 5

Honey,

Your letter was a welcome surprise, far sweeter than any text message could be. I enjoyed spending New Years Eve with you too, and I hope this case ends quickly so I can take you on a real date.

I'm glad to hear college is going well. Should you encounter any more issues with your professor, please let me know. You're a bright young woman, and I have no doubt he'll see that in time. I am looking forward to your next letter.

Yours,

Aaron

March 12

Honey,

I'm glad you enjoyed our date as much as I did. At times, I find my thoughts wandering to you in that dress, and it's a welcome distraction.

I'm glad you look forward to our letters, because I do too. And yes, rest assured, I'm taking all necessary precautions in the field. Don't worry, the team has my back, especially Garcia--she's got more eyes on us than stars in the sky.

Goodluck on your psychology exam. I know you will ace it.

Yours,

Aaron.

May 5

Honey,

I've read your letter several times, and I want you to know that it's perfectly normal to question your path. Trust your instincts--they've led you well thus far. Remember you are allowed to change your mind. Your parents will understand.

No matter what you decide, I have no doubt you will succeed. You have a rare combination of intelligence and empathy that will serve you well in any profession.

Once I'm back, how about we go to that restaurant you love? Consider it a date.

Yours,

Aaron.

July 19

Honey,

Summer suits you, I can tell--even from a distance. I'm proud of the work you're doing--shadowing at the occupational therpay office and working with children is no small feat. You'll have to tell me all about it when I get back.

The case is demanding, as they often are. And as for the sweatshirt, consider it yours. I had a feeling it wouldn't find its way back to me anyway.

We should talk about getting you a key to my place. Then you'll have no need to borrow my things--you'll have access to them whenever you wish.

I love you. I'll say it again when I see you.

Yours forever,

Aaron

January 14

Honey,

Congratulations on your first semester of OT school. I am incredibly proud of you and everything you have accomplished. Smarty pants.

I'm glad to hear you've been using the journal I gave you for Christmas. I would give you a thousand if that's what you wanted.

When I'm back, we'll celebrate your achievements properly. Until then, know I'm grateful for you every day. You've made me the happiest I've been, and I cherish every moment we share. I love you.

Yours forever,

Aaron

May 20

Honey,

Your last letter lingered on the topic of our age difference, and I've been giving it a lot of thought. It's a subject that, admittedly, has crossed my mind more than once. But let me reassure you, to me, it's the person you are, not the years you've lived, that matters most.

I understand the concerns that come with this, and I want you to know that it's okay. Your feelings are valid. We're navigating this together, and I remain certain in my commitment to you and to us.

We'll talk more about this when I'm home. I love you.

Yours forever,

Aaron

August 8

Honey,

I want you to know that I didn't mean to leave things unresolved, I'm sorry I was called away. I'm not writing to rehash the argument. I understand everything you said, and it's given me much to think about.

You are the most important part of my life, and us being at odds is more challenging than any case I've ever face. I love you deeply, and I'm committed to finding a way through this together. When I return, let's sit down and talk--really talk. I'm sorry for the way things were left, and I hope we can move past this.

Yours forever,

Aaron

December 22

Honey,

I find myself at a loss for words yet compelled to write to you. I've had time to reflect on everything that happened between us. I'm deeply sorry for any hurt I've caused, and how things unfolded. My only wish was for us to want the same things.

Please know, I will always be here for you, in any capacity you need. I hope you find someone who is worthy of you and can provide the life you deserve. You deserve someone who can walk with you through all stages of your life--someone who can give you the family you dream of. You have so much to offer.

You are an extraordinary person, and I have no doubt you will find great love and joy. And though it may not be with me, please remember, I still love you.

Yours always,

Aaron.

You hadn't even realized you were crying until your tears began to soak into the page, each droplet distorting the text as it spread. Your hand moved instinctively to your face, the fabric of your sleeve brushing against your wet cheek. A decade-old ache twisted inside you sharply, as fresh as if it were only yesterday.

You returned the letters to their stack, the bow tied as neatly as it was before, and laid them at the bottom of the box. As the papers found their place, your focus shifted, something else catching your attention--the journal he'd given you.

The sudden patter of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped you back to the present. Hastily, you wiped away the lingering tears and secured the lid on the box. As you turned, your face transformed with a practiced smile just as your seven-year-old daughter came skipping into view, her voice bubbling with excitement, "Mommy, mommy!"

Gathering her up in your arms, you showered her cheeks with affectionate kisses, her infectious giggles filling the empty house.

"When is daddy going to be home?"

With a gentle smile, you replied, "Soon, sweetheart," while your fingers danced along her side, eliciting more giggles. "Do you want to help Mommy unpack?"

She quickly scrunched her nose and shook her head. "Mmm, no, not really."

You laughed, and your heart swelled with love so intense it almost hurt. The front door swung open, and your daughter's voice pierced the air once more with a, "Daddy!"

Her little feet dashed off as she rushed to greet him, leaving you to resume unpacking. You barely had time to refocus when you felt a gentle touch in your hair. Aaron was there, kneeling to your level with a tender smile.

"Hi, honey," he said, his hand pausing as he noted the redness around your eyes. "What's wrong angel?"

You reach for the letters, holding them out to Aaron with a half-smile. "Just revisiting the time you were this close to losing the best thing in your life," you tease, a laugh bubbling up. But as the laughter fades, it morphs into a sob.

Aaron's laughter mingled with yours as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. "Yeah, that was a close one," he admitted, his voice a soft rumble. "Glad I came to my senses."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotchner #criminal minds angst #cm #thomas gibson #Spotify

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motthe · 2 months ago

Note

I was just rereading the house call the other day so I'm super stoked you're doing Arcane fics again! I adore the lumen au SO much. May I request academic rivals lumen au with Viktor? Him and reader both being incredible academics competing for the same position, but up til now haven't met in person and don't realize it's their soulmate they're trying to beat. However short/long you want and whatever format you prefer!

I hope you don't mind, I did fem!reader for this drabble. If not I can go back over it, no problem!

Professor Heimerdinger did his best to not show favoritism amongst his students. Each and every one of them had a grand mind, reaching aspirations, and a passion to learn. They were the stars to his sky and he would not trade anything for a single one.

But there were those who earned their place in the elite, guiding those with their brilliance onto a path of achievement some might fail to find. Heimerdinger did not make it any easier on them in their greatness, if anything he asked for more. And now with it being time for a new assistant he was having a hard time choosing from his collection of constellations.

“I’ve finally narrowed it down to two of you,” he said to Viktor, taking a moment to sip his tea. “You’ve shown marvelous progress this semester as you have for all the others—a constant, you are, my boy!”

Viktor swirled the amber liquid around in his cup. He had known what the meeting was about as soon as Heimerdinger had invited him to his office. It left his stomach in knots.

A softness grazed his ear, adding pressure as it traveled under his jaw. He allowed himself a small moment to bask in the touch before he raised his hand to gather your light and bring it down to sit on his leg.

Lumens all had their shows of affection, always doing their best to help when they sensed stress. You preferred to pull him out of his head by taking up his attention. From running through his hair and making a mess of it to nudging his cheek, you would do anything to get his eyes on you. Right now, he couldn’t have you distracting him, so he kept a hand over you, biting back a smile as you wiggled against his palm.

“And the other student you are ruminating on?” he asked.

“Hm?” The wise yordle’s ears perked up as he swallowed another sip of tea. “Oh, no need to worry about that. The point of this meeting is to gauge your overall interest in the job at hand.”

“Consider me interested, Professor.” Viktor set his porcelain cup down, leaning back to meet his gaze. “Is there to be a contest? A, eh, battle of the wits?”

“By the spirits, no!” chuckled Heimerdinger. “I would never pin you against one another like that. The last thing I need is having two of my best students at each other’s throats!”

“And, yet, you seem…concerned about me knowing of the other candidate.” Viktor raised an eyebrow as his professor coughed, turning in his chair and hopping down. The young man grabbed his cane and stood as Heimerdinger approached.

As soon as he raised his hand from you, your bright form went twirling up into the air. He blew a short breath at you as you tried to hover in front of him, clearly irritated if your budding red color was any indication. You bounced against his nose in retaliation, floating down to sit on his shoulder.

“I only mean to keep the mystery alive, my boy! There are many times in life we are faced with the unknown and must navigate blind.” He slowed his pace to remain by Viktor’s side as the two made for the door. “By the end of the week, I will have come up with something suitable to decide which of you will become my assistant, but for now, I ask you to think on it and be sure the job is something you truly want for yourself.”

“Of course, Professor,” said Viktor as he stepped through the doorway, cane clicking against the ground.

“Spectacular! Now off with you! I know finals are right around the corner for you two.” Heimerdinger waved before shutting the door, leaving Viktor out in the hall with an inkling he was not too fond of.

As he began his walk to the library, he noticed your stillness on his shoulder and grinned to himself.

“Pouting, are we?” he hummed. A flash of crimson light had him glancing over, but the majority of you was still a soft yellow. It made him chuckle.

Entering the library, he went straight to the front desk, nodding to the librarian as she looked up from her paperwork.

“Hello, Viktor, anything I can help with?” she asked.

“Just a pickup. I sent the requests this morning,” he answered.

“Let me check the cart.” Pushing her chair out from the desk, a purple lumen rolled off the counter to follow her as she went to the back office in search of his books. He waited by patiently, taking in the peaceful ambiance of turning pages and scribbling pens.

You nudged at his neck, done with your little strike. He brought his hand up to rub a finger over the top of you, returning the sentiment. The yellow light phased into that lovely pink shade he adored—the sign you were content.

“Here we are.” He looked up, surprised as the librarian sat down his books. He hadn’t heard her returning. “One of them was already checked out, it seems, but you’ll be the next in line for it as soon as it’s turned in.”

“Many thanks,” he said, gathering the study material against his side before heading off to his dorm.

There was mail—the scores from last week’s test, no doubt, and a vanilla envelope stamped with that cursed emblem. He rolled his eyes, attempting to prepare himself for what was to come as he unlocked his door. He went straight to his desk to drop off his books and sit. You wandered down his arm and under the lamp as he switched it on, enjoying the warmth of the bulb as he grabbed his letter knife.

As he scanned the parchment he was met with usual sight. His marks were as predicted in his class, but there sitting on the next column over for the professor’s second class of the day, was that same name that shadowed him since his third semester. He opened the second piece of mail with a sigh.

Guess we’re both head to head for the role of Heimerdinger’s assistant. He didn’t want me to know who I’m up against as I’m sure he won’t want you to, but there’s no mistaking his two, brightest candidates.

P.S. Tied again for perfect scores. I hope you’re studying for finals. Don’t want to end up a point shy again, do you?

He tossed the letter into the bin, jaw clenched. You moved from your spot to rub against his hand, back to your color of neutrality. He let out a slow breath.

“I know,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t get so worked up.”

He knew better. Years had passed but his rival had not lost a bit of their flare. He had met his fair share of competitive students as well as bullies, but this one walked a fine line.

Viktor never bothered to waste energy on such petty pastimes. He recognized her name and had heard it in passing from professors when they spoke of the highest grades. She was always mentioned—a star pupil. In the beginning, he had been curious, but she was a ghost, then. No classes were shared and Viktor was never a social being to begin with, so seeking her out was never a priority. He wouldn’t know her face if he passed her in the hall.

Yet, somehow, she tracked him down enough to send these little notes time and time again. He never replied, but it did not stop her.

He did his best to push her from his mind, burying himself into his classes. When he checked with the library the next day, the book he needed was returned, so he added it to his growing collection on his desk. The week went by quietly.

A knock came at his door.

“One moment,” he called, a tired breath slipping from his chest as he pried himself away from his chair and towards the door. You tussled along the top of his head as he peered through the peephole, humming. It was only went he looked further down he saw a tuft of hair.

“Professor,” he said as the door opened.

“Good evening, Viktor,” said Heimerdinger, holding up an envelope, “I’ve come to deliver my assignment to you and miss—er, to the other student I’m considering for the role of my assistant!”

He leaned against his door jam, managing a tight smile. “You need not keep secrets. I’m more than aware who your other ‘star pupil’ is.”

Heimerdinger sighed, brow furrowing. “Oh, fiddlesticks! I should’ve known you would figure me out. She did, too.”

Viktor would say it was obvious, but he spared the poor man. It wasn’t as if he knew how cumbersome the girl was, needling Viktor any chance she got.

“Well, it makes things a bit easier, I suppose,” Heimerdinger said, holding up the envelope again. “I know your exams are beginning, so I made this as simple as I could. The details of the assignment are within. I looked forward to it, my boy!”

With that, the yordle went on his way, leaving Viktor to slip back into his room and lock his door. Looking down at the parchment in his hand, he squinted as you fell into sight, catching yourself just in time before floating off behind him.

“Were you up there the entire time?” he huffed, raising a hand to fix his hair.

You twinkled mischievously, back on his desk and in the warmth of his lamp light.

Shaking his head, he crossed his room and eased down into his desk chair once more. You nudged the letter opener where it sat beside you.

The assignment was as Heimerdinger promised, simple. He wanted a written answer of what being his assistant would mean to him as both a scientist and a person. There was no word limit and he expected it to be turned in to his office by the end of the weekend before classes began.

“I’m assuming he doesn’t want a basic answer,” Viktor mused allowed, eyes slinking back to you. He smiled as you swayed from side to side, the outer layer of your light trailing with the movement. You were a strange combination of green and orange—excited and nervous. Perhaps plans for the weekends? Or maybe you were facing something just as important as he was—a door to the future.

“Better to start right away,” he breathed, searching his desk. When he couldn’t find his pen, he began closing and stacking the books to open up the space. One must have been teetering on the edge because the next thing he knew there was a mess on the floor.

Accepting the new chore with a roll of his shoulders, he turned and began to tidy up. He paused, though, at the book that lied open. Sitting in the crease of the pages was some sort of bookmark, thin and metallic if the light reflection off of it had any indication. Grasping the edges, he brought the text back to his desk’s surface, holding up the thin item for better observation. There was an intricate design that changed when angled in different ways. It was quite pretty and likely cost more than Viktor would pay to keep tabs in a book.

Flipping to the start, he looked for the checkout slip attached and slid it from the pocket, roving over the names until he found his. Above it was that cursed name.

“For the love of—” He let out an aggravated scoff, glaring at the bookmark. Of course it would belong to her. With all the letters she sends, she probably doesn’t glance twice at the cost of a stamp or mailing fees. She has money to spare if she buys trinkets like that.

He laid it aside along with the mess of books. When he turned in Heimerdinger’s assignment he’d give the bookmark to him as well. He would get it back to her.

Come the end of the weekend, Viktor was up bright and early to drop off his explication. The halls were mostly quiet, a few teachers offering a greeting as they went by. The students still recovering from whatever activities they got up to. Viktor didn't have the time. He needed to return the textbooks and check out more for the next exam, also grab some more pens. He was running low.

Turning the corner that was attached to Heimerdinger’s office, Viktor stopped as he spotted a figure by the door. The uniform revealed she was a student, her hair pinned back from her face as she opened the mail slot and tucked an envelope inside. He spotted a lumen in the crook of her elbow, a warm brown against the cream of her coat.

The metallic clap of the mail slot closing broke him from his observation. When he raised his eyes he found the girl had noticed him, eyes wide before a smirk curled at her lips.

“Well,” she chuckled, “we finally meet.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said, repositioning himself as she turned to face him.

“Oh, c’mon, Viktor.” She crossed her arms, careful of her lumen as she cupped a hand under it. His chest warmed at the sight. Despite such a devil-may-care attitude, she was soft with it. “Another student here this early, turning something into Professor Heimerdinger? Need I say more?”

“Ah,” he muttered, lips curling just a bit in distaste as he let her name slip.

“Ding, ding, ding,” she sang, chin rising. “I suppose it’s about time we met, being academic rivals and all.”

“You enjoy it a bit too much,” he said, shaking his head as you tumble from his shoulder, slowly floating forward. You’re a bright orange, so very excited. If only he wasn’t dealing with her right now, he’d smile.

“Oh, it’s all in good fun!” She glances at her lumen as it hovers up from her embrace before turning her attention back to him. “You’re always all by your lonesome. I’d thought you’d enjoy some friendly competition.”

“I don’t have time for frivolous games. I thought you might have understood that seeing as I never replied.”

You froze, midair, causing Viktor to realize just how far your light had wandered from him. That sparkling orange had dulled to a grayish blue.

He reached for you, concerned before he noticed his rival’s face beyond you. She was looking at the floor, smugness gone, and the lumen attached to her was now slowly floating up, a foot away from yours.

His breath caught in his throat as it moved higher. He let his hand fall to his side as it nudged against you, sending a bright flash that had him closing his eyes. When he blinked again his rival—you—were staring at the two lumens in shock. The dull color of your lumen had gone milky white.

You both stared at one another, then.

“I change colors?” you muttered.

He sucked in a breath. “Y-you do, yes.”

“Oh,” you said, rubbing your hands over your sides, “weird.”

“No, it’s, eh,” he stumbled over the correct words, bringing a hand to his neck, “you are honest with your emotions. Very, what do they say, er…”

“I wear my heart on my sleeve?” you said, smiling.

“Yes, that,” he murmured, nodding.

“I get that a lot,” you chuckled. It was nothing like the first one he’d heard from you. This one was much weaker. Sadder.

“I apologize,” he began.

You shook your head. “No, I get how irritating I must’ve been. I should’ve stopped when you never sent a letter back. That’s on me.”

“No, I ,” he sighed, taking a step towards you, the hit of his cane on the floor pulling your eyes to his, “I assumed you were ‘poking the fun’ at me. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“No, no I meant it to be friendly, I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, bridging the distance bit by bit. “I would never poke fun at you, Viktor. You’re brilliant. I hold such high respect for you.”

“Oh.” He was blindsided by the joy that came from hearing that, especially from his soulmate. “I, well, thank you…”

“Can we start over?” you asked, smiling nervously as you held up a hand. “I promise I’m much better in person.”

You are perfect, he thought, unsure how fate would bless him with something as beautiful and smart as you.

#viktor #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor x fem!reader #arcane content #fic content #masterlist #arcane fanfic #arcane series #arcane oneshots #lumen au #soulmate au

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chaoticbardlady99 · 7 months ago

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Nobody's Fool (Astarion x GN! Reader) Part 1

Synopsis: You approach Astarion at the Tiefling party and get rejected. Everyone else and Astarion knows he made a mistake, but you certainly don't.

Author Note: I LOVE Shadowheart- okay. Love her, but she is also my favorite hot girl rival in my fiction. No idea why. I just also love the idea of her being best friends with a Selunite by the end of her journey (or ship her hardcore with an Oathbreaker Paladin)

CW: Sad boi rejection hours, mentions of sex, mentions of Dead Dove.

Based off of a post by @golden-baby

(I also listened to Avril Lavigne’s Nobody’s Fool while writing this and it’s very good if you haven’t heard it)

(IDK Who this gif belongs too, but it is not mine)

You have always been the first person to throw yourself into a situation and help others- it was what had drawn you to being a Cleric of Selune in the first place.

You miss being a young cleric studying the life domain under the stars and the bright moon. You miss not feeling so terrified.

All this tadpole has brought you is anxiety and fear, you have a feeling it will be okay. You are here for a reason and you trust that Selune needs you to trust her.

Meeting Shadowheart had certainly confirmed that- she obviously was plummeting down the wrong path, but she has also flipped this thinking on you a few times. Only, you cannot understand following a Goddess as cruel as Shar. She has obviously brought serious damage to Shadowheart’s life and you are determined to support her- whether she gets away from Shar’s doctrine now or fifty years from now, you will be here to help her when the time comes.

In spite of your differences, you actually go to the same spot and pray together- farther away from each other, but the sentiment is still there. Occasionally you drink together after a particularly weird or bad day. You find you both can talk about your religious beliefs and you are open to hers which in turn has begun to show her how to be open to your religious doctrine. It’s nice to have someone to talk about the bigger powers at play- even if that person opposes your Goddess so viciously. You don’t really care- you know followers of Shar are hurt people hurting people. They need love just as much as the next person.

Lae’zel has been a tougher nut to crack, but you have provided sympathy where you can and support her. You promised her that you would all head to the mountains and search for the Creché. If the cure is there- she will get it. That has made Lae’zel feel better a few times.

Karlach just wants a good life and to talk about the joys of Life, Gale wants someone to talk to about magic and help finding magic items, and Wyll just wants to feel accepted and like he is still the mighty Blade of Frontiers.

Then there is Astarion.

You have been head over heels for the man since he knocked you to the ground and questioned you. You could probably stare at him forever if it wasn’t so Gods damn creepy.

You practically bend over backwards to help him- far more than you do for others, anyhow. He seems to like you and you have definitely thought about asking him to go on a date with you at some point.

But then you think about how not romantic having a tadpole in your head is and nix the idea.

You listen to him whenever he speaks to you, any books you find usually end up going to him. Gale is still pretty upset about the Necromancy of Thay.

Any new short swords, daggers, arrows, bows, crossbows, armor, potions, etc- you name it, you probably already gave it to him. You often think you may be far too obvious with your affections, but it’s the only thing you know kind of appeases him.

Every decision you make he despises and makes a point of mocking you for. Karlach is often telling him to knock it off, but that usually just makes it worse so you just laugh it off even though it hurts. You just remind yourself that he lived as a slave for the last 200 years and you are the first to admit that your Goddess failed to save him. You don’t know why, but it is what it is. Maybe one day he will see that not all people are his ruthless master.

You also let him drink from you every three or so days. If he is injured in battle- you are first to offer him another drink.

Astarion calls you, “Darling '' from time to time and you thought that might be something, but you also heard him call Karlach and Shadowheart that too.

You feel so conflicted when you go to bed- he seeks out Shadowheart and never you at bedtime. He spends all night talking to her about Gods only knows what. You are certain some of it is mocking you, but you try to remain optimistic. He wouldn’t do that- you have been nothing but kind to him. What could he even say?

Tonight is the first night that he is by himself and not talking to Shadowheart. You can do it- just go up and ask him if he would like to take a walk with you. No big deal.

“Hi Astarion,” you say softly, “are you having fun?”

“No- no thanks to you, by the way.”

Your smile falters slightly, but you rebound.

“I’m sorry- I wasn’t trying to ruin your night.”

Astarion rolls his eyes and flashes a smile that makes your breath catch.

“I suppose it couldn’t be helped, Darling,” he says with a dismissive wave, “you and all your do gooder nonsense was bound to get us here eventually.”

You smile brightly- happy with the positive step forward.

“How rude of me- I forgot to ask- how can I help you this evening?”

This is the big moment- you can do it!

“I was-“ you clear your throat, take a deep breath and avoid his eyes, “I was wondering if you would want to go on a walk with me on the beach later?”

Astarion blinks a few times and you think you see the hint of a smile- it makes you feel slightly optimistic.

Until it turns into a snort and a laugh he can’t hold back.

“You are so naive,” your heart drops, “whatever gave you the impression that I would want to ‘go on a walk’ with you?”

You frown, a lump in your throat is beginning to form and you feel so embarrassed that you wouldn’t even know where to begin to explain yourself.

“I- you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I am glad we could clear that up.”

“Me too,” you say with a forced smile, “good night.”

“You don’t have to-“

You walk away- all the horror and heartbreak simply being far far too much to bear. How could you be so positively stupid?

Your mother always chastised you for this kind of thing- you give and give and give, hoping it will make people love you, but it never works. They will take everything from you and then some because they can.

You sit on an alcove overlooking the camp- far enough away that you hopefully won’t be spotted by anyone. You wish you hadn’t- you just barely catch a glimpse of Astarion dragging the all alluring and elusive Shadowheart away into the forest.

You are diminished to tears- your heart feels like it has splinters all over it and your stomach feels like it may twist before collapsing in on itself.

You are about to give up and leave, but the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention.

“It’s just me,” Wyll says with his hands up, a friendly smile on his face, “you seemed like you may need a friend.”

You laugh and wipe your tears away, “and here I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“You do, my friend,” Wyll says before putting a hand on your shoulder, “what troubles you?”

“You are going to think I’m stupid.”

Wyll laughs lightheartedly, “I have seen and done my fair share of ‘stupid’.”

You inhale deeply and tell Wyll your story- from start to finish. You are a crying mess by the end of it- so much so that Wyll actually maneuvered you and began cradling you in his arms.

His heartbeat helps steady you- the connection to nature and the ground is helpful. It makes it all feel a bit better- you suppose.

You eventually sit back down next to Wyll- your face is blotchy and red, tear stained and puffy.

“I have noticed that you give Astarion all of you,” Wyll says with a frown, “spirit, body, heart, and mind.

“Maybe it is time to stop- set some boundaries for yourself. I am sorry that you did not get the answer you wanted, but at least now you know and that is a blessing. You can now look for someone who truly wants you and gives equally as much as they take.”

You nod. You had hoped to hear more of a, “he will come around” message, but you know this is the better, healthier message. You despise it, but it’s true.

You and Wyll spend time talking about other things. You tell him how you hope to open your own clinic one day and help people who cannot afford it. Wyll tells you about the Sword Coast, his failings, and his own trauma.

He teaches you different constellations, the different flora in the area, and what the fishing season was like when the town was functioning and Wakeen’s rest was up and running. It sounds like it was a beautiful place to live before all of this nonsense erupted.

It’s fun and Wyll makes you feel seen and appreciated. He still isn’t Astarion, but you know it will take some time before you can look at someone else and that’s okay.

Wyll walks you back to camp and you don’t bother to look over at Astarion’s tent nor do you go that way like you usually would. You noticed he was back and so was Shadowheart. Both of their clothes were ruffled- it’s been at least two hours so you can only imagine.

“Good night, Tav,” Wyll kisses you on the back of the hand before engulfing you in a large hug that you gladly accept, “sleep well- tomorrow will be better.”

You go to your bedroll and begin to open your healing magics book when a knock on your tent post gets your attention. Maybe it’s Wyll. He did say he enjoyed talking to you, maybe he wants to spend the night? That doesn’t seem overly realistic though- he is a perfect gentleman.

“Come in,” you say, still not looking up, “what’s up?”

“I was hoping I may be able to get a small snack?”

Oh. It’s Astarion.

You just fed him earlier today before the party. Usually you would say yes, but Wyll is right- you can’t keep giving him everything and leaving nothing for yourself.

“I- I am really sorry,” he frowns and his ears even droop, “I am just really tired and I don’t-“

“No worries, Tav.” He says with a forced smile on his face, “have a good evening.”

You are shaking after he leaves the tent. You cannot believe you just did that. You set a whole boundary.

No he did not call you by a pet name nor did he flirt with you. Yes he frowned and it made your heart hurt, but you need to start putting yourself first.

You still cry yourself to sleep and you wake up early enough to wash your face with cold water- any evidence of your heartbreak is completely gone.

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

You have managed to really avoid Astarion for the last four, almost five days. You let him feed because you don’t want him to starve to death, but you found out that casting “calm” on yourself beforehand keeps your adrenaline from kicking up so you no longer react to him.

You cry afterwards, obviously, but he doesn’t need to know that. He is right- he never did anything to make you believe he liked you and it was very naive of you to assume he did. However, you do commend yourself for your courage to try and you even walked away with your dignity.

At the end of the day, you are proud of yourself and you love yourself more than anything. You will continue your mission and continue to help people because you enjoy helping people. Right now, this group of weirdos needs you and you need you so that you all make it out of this nonsense alive.

That is more than enough to keep someone busy.

First there was a Hag to fight, then you unfortunately had to kill a monster hunter (you didn’t talk to Astarion about it afterwards, that is Shadowheart’s job), and fought a bunch of spiders off- which also brought up the Necromancy of Thay argument again. That was exhausting.

Astarion opened the door on a Bugbear and Ogre bumping uglies, you also had to really put your foot down so that he wouldn’t send a dark Gnome flying. He was quite frustrated with you, but he understood your reasoning enough to not do it.

Then there were the Gnolls and Astarion had opened the chest which caused the Zhentarim guild to attack and try to make you all explode. Thankfully you were able to save that weird artist, but no one from the guild survived. 10/10 supplies though.

There are things to be done and places to see. Exploring the Underdark first made the most sense. It upset Lae’zel, but she said she trusts your judgment which warms your heart.

It is certainly not a quick or easy journey to get to the entrance inside the abandoned temple of your Goddess. You can hear Shadowheart saying snarky things- Astarion snorts here and there, but doesn’t actually chime in for once.

At least you get some relief from that for a day. You wrap your hand around your Moondrop pendant and you already feel the love of Selune flow through you. You kept the statue as well and you keep it next to you- last night you actually slept with it in your hand.

You had grown up exceptionally poor and your parents died from some disease in the mines where you were all imprisoned. The mine was eventually raided by Selune clerics and paladins- you immediately knew that is what you wanted to be. Selune had saved you right before you were being shipped to another location and you lived with her clergy ever since.

You were grateful you had a potion of flying as well as the support of the others to keep the moonstone. Even Astarion expressed his approval when Shadowheart became upset. You waited until it killed the Minotaur, of course. The splash of blood that hit the group wasn’t necessarily welcome, but oh well.

And at least you don’t have a ridiculous name.

You snicker to yourself as you walk- earning an odd look from Gale who is covered in Minotaur blood. You urge him to keep talking about whatever book he finished last night and he gladly dives back into the subject.

Finding a decent spot to camp was actually pretty easy. The camp is beautiful and your tent is set up next to Karlach’s. She convinces you to make a massive tent fort and Fort Tavlach is born.

You pass a bottle of wine back and forth as you talk. Karlach is letting you hug Clive as you talk about the tiefling party and the aftermath of everything.

“Is that why those two are sitting next to each other so miserably?”

You cock your head to the side, “what do you mean?”

“What I mean is they look miserable and haven’t stopped fighting for the last three days,” Karlach states with a raised eyebrow, “have you really not been paying attention?”

You shake your head. Karlach gapes at you, chugging a bit of the wine before passing it back.

“Well- I have been waiting to tell you all day, but Shadowheart finally told me what they were fighting about.”

“Oh, Karlach, I really should-“

“Two nights ago, they tried to be intimate again and he said your name during the act itself.”

You simultaneously choke on and spit out your wine- some of it comes out of your nose. You can’t stop coughing and Karlach is dying laughing- she is crying she is laughing so hard. You are crossing your arms and uncrossing them in front of your face- a look of bewilderment as you process what just happened.

“mE!?”

This just makes Karlach laugh even harder, she goes running straight for behind a rock- screaming that she is going to pee herself.

The entire camp is looking over in curiosity and you just wave awkwardly. You catch Astarion’s gaze from the corner of your eye and he looks sad- maybe even a little angry.

He storms off to his tent and Shadowheart rolls her eyes, glaring at you before going off to her own tent.

Karlach eventually comes back and you both continue your drunken gossip.

“That- that can’t possibly be true,” you say, “I asked him on a date and he told me I was naive to think he would ever want to be with me that way.”

“What!?” Karlach looks like she may light the entire camp on fire, “why didn’t you say something! We could have-“

“No,” you chastise, “he is right. It was naive of me to assume- my hurt is no one else’s fault. I also chose to give him everything I had.

“He doesn’t owe me, I wanted to do those things,” you affirm, Karlach is smiling softly, “I still adore him, of course, but this is for the best, you know? Wyll says it means I can set my sights elsewhere now that I know Astarion isn’t into me.”

“That is very big of you. Look at you in your big kid pants.”

You roll your eyes and give her a playful shove.

“He has been hurt and used enough for a dozen lifetimes- I don’t want to contribute to that hurt.”

“You are a good person, Soldier,” Karlach hands you the bottle of wine, “you know- Halsin would be an amazing lover. I am sure of it.”

“You think?”

“Oh ho- let me tell you what I think, Soldier-“

Karlach goes into her wild theories and you try so hard to listen intently, but your drunken mind is stuck on Astarion and wondering if he is okay.

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion romance #astarion x you #karlach #astarin x f! reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn! reader #skinny love #astarion ancunin #halsin #wyll

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tmwcs · 9 months ago

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H I S M A R K : H E E T H A N

WARNINGS: SMUT (UNPROTECTED), DUBCON TO NONCON SMUT, OVERSTIMULATION, SYMBOLISM, MARKINGS, YANDERE LOVE, OBSESSION, POSSESSIVE, MENTIONS OF MURDER, MISSING PERSON, FORCED LOVE, ISOLATION, CURSING, RESTRAINING, SOLITARY CONFINEMENT, HATE SEX, ANGRY SEX, MAYBE MAKEUP SEX, NOT PROOREAD (YET).

NOTE: THIS TAKES PLACE RIGHT BEFORE THE LATEST EVENTS OF HHP.

‘Let me tell you a story…

It is a tale that takes place before God created angels, and the continents spoke in ancient dialect.

Less stars filled the night sky, and the planets lingered in a straight line. Mortals in their youth stared and admired these stars, and drafted tales based on their alignment. Stories of The Big Dipper, and Orions Belt came to life, fulfilling philosophers with ideas and astronomers with hope. Amongst these glittering specters, was the Goddess of the Moon.

Unlike those around her, she laid in lonesome silence, and invisible to all who stared at the sky. Residing in her shadowed kingdom, she cries out of sorrow, for no light emerged from her home. In truth, she was nothing but the queen of a shallow orbit, despaired at the thought of mortals never witnessing her presence.

One day, while traveling in his usual circuit to warmthe earth, the Sun God appeared, crossing paths with the pitiful Moon. Seeing her in distress, he asks her delicately…

“Pretty Moon, why do you cry?”

Tilting her chin up, she bestows a wet, wide-eyed stare, and tells him. “I am invisible…I have no light. I lay amongst the twinkling of stars who shine brightly without effort, and witness tales created in their honor…I cannot make light of my own, therefore man will never witness my glory.”

The Sun God looks down at the dreadful Goddess, sympathizing with her. To provide comfort, he gives her a solution, by telling her to use his own light to generate her own. He shines brightly and warms her gray kingdom. “Shine bright, my beauty. For you will no longer be ignored by anyone. Let me warm you with my rays, and may you glow brighter than anything in the universe.”

Just as the Sun God promised through his aid, the Moon Goddess shined brightly. She glowed brighter than any star in the sky, and was called the “Sun of the night”.

As the hours of the day rotate, the Moon stationed herself in the middle of the darkened sky, only to find that she went back to being an invisible silhouette again. Seeking his help, she pleads to the merciful Sun; his response gave her gratification once more.

“Pretty Moon, don’t you worry. I will always make you shine and glow. Everyone in the world will know of your beauty. They will use your presence as a guide in the darkness…all you need to do is to commit yourself to me. Never leave my side and use my light to make ‘our’ light. Be a part of me forever…”

The Moon, not withstanding the thought of being invisible any longer, did as the Sun bids her…and each night, she shone brightly than the last.

But as time went by, she soon learned, that no matter how glorious she appeared, everyone could see that she was only as beautiful as the Sun would allow her to be. Mortals spoke and philosophically determined her reliance to the Sun, configuring that her existence could only be due to him.

Shamed at the thought of losing her independence as the Queen of the night, and becoming a slave to the Sun God.

Refusing to end the long line of matriarchal reign, the Moon tries to distance herself from the Sun’s grasp, yearning to gain the freedom she once had…but it was too late.

“Pretty Moon you can’t escape. Don’t you see? Without me, you cannot brighten the dark sky…leaving me means to leave the entire world in darkness. Stay with me and never leave again, and I will ensure that you shine brighter than ever.”

For centuries, the Moon rested in the shackles of the suns rays, finding it impossible to leave. Craving his light, she feeds off his hand and thus lived off of him. The Moon accepted her fate; without him, she would cease to exist…

Without him…she cannot produce light….

Without her Sun…she is nothing. And so, by his side she stays…forever holding back tears of regret. With a permanent smile edged on her surface, mortals are fooled by her perfected glow. Just as she had wanted, tales of her glory did emerge, yet always paired with her husband, the Sun.

“I am forever stuck here. I can never leave…I can never go back home….the Sun has his grasp on me and I won’t ever be the same again…for centuries I have been stationed this side….even during the day. They see my hallow form in daylight, not realizing that I am left with no choice…I am left with no say….for thousands of years he has kept me…and for thousands more, he will.”

Oh, to be the Diamond in the Sky….what an eternal price to pay…’

………………

This week had been the worst…followed by the last, and even the one before that. Was it just a twist of fate? Or perhaps it was something in the atmosphere. There was no way in telling, all you could figure was that each time you tried to make up with him, he pushed you further over the edge.

It has been over a year since you and Heeseung started dating. Despite the atrocities that occurred, such as the one with Samuel, or Tiff and Scott, you both lived blissfully in each other’s presence…just you and Heeseung.

It didn’t take long for people to see the rather unusual circumstance of your relationship with him. Just days after you became his, it became well known that you were strictly off limits…and by strictly, you mean that had anyone so much as looked your way, they would meet a very unpleasant meeting. Sometimes, though you have yet to substantiate it yourself, but you were quite certain by the disappearance of some who took interest, that they may even have met with death at his hand.

Of course with his family connections and the corruption they stirred in the city, any case that raised eyebrows always came to an unsolved end without any leads. The last time you inquired about a certain classmate, who miraculously disappeared after he approached and handed you a note that read…

‘I won’t tell if you don’t. ;)’

Of course, had he had enough brains to hand you the note aside and not in front of Heeseung’s car, he might have still been around. Had he any brains at all, he would have refrained from even seeking any prospective relation with you since you were claimed by “Ethan the Heathen”, or so they called him by.

You knew his level of love for you extended past what was considered normal, and sane. But it didn’t mean that innocent people should get hurt, all because of you. You figured that since he placed you above all, even himself, it may have earned you leeway in talking to him, perhaps even bringing the toxicity down a bit. But just as you inquired about the missing male, he accused you of loving him less. He further provoked you by claiming that your inquiry of another man’s whereabouts was unwarranted and that the only one you should ever think about, was him.

How could he ever speak to you in such a manner?

Perhaps you were at fault…since the very beginning, you knew of his crazed obsession with you. Not only were you aware…you liked it.

Many people would think you’re crazy if they ever heard you say it aloud, and rightfully so. Unlike those around you, they will never know this feeling of belonging to one person, who out of their own selfish love for you, suppresses you in isolation. Detaching you from the world, and safekeeping you for their own pleasure, they beat and pass deathly judgement onto those who touch you, those who try and hurt you. It was a sinful feeling of danger and adventure, and despite wanting him to do things right and in a rational sense, you’d be lying if you told others that his malicious insanity didn’t make you feel most loved.

But you knew it was wrong…and you couldn’t live the rest of your life being a death trap for others.

You denied that he had done anything extensive, but at the accidental discovery of bloodied clothes, kerosene, shovels, and potential weapons, all tucked away in a false wall within the closet, you developed the worst of fears.

……

“I just think that…maybe you could relax a little bit. I am always going to be here with you.” You initiate the conversation…again. Much to his annoyance. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit too crazy? Plus, it would be nice if I could leave the room and go to the store or cafe by myself from time to time. I wouldn’t mind being treated like a human being, and not so much as a dog kept in a cage.”

You knew you were crossing the line, and surely you expected for him to give out one of usual punishments of locking you away for hours, chained or tied to one of the heavy upholsteries inside the room, sometimes nude or barely dressed in undergarments. Then of course, when he was really angered by your abhorrence, he took it up a step further from lessons learned through solitary confinement, and subjected you to derogatory acts that resulted in him demeaning you, physically and mentally, and breaking your spirit.

Strange…how one man could make you feel the most love, and yet at the same time, make you feel most ignored and even hated.

“Whenever you’re good, why can’t you just stay that way?” He’d snap out, hissing his tongue as he corners you, pressing your frame into a cowering stance as you kneel before him. “Why can’t you just fucking see how much I love you…it should be obvious by now.”

You argued back that there was no doubt that his love for you was present, and that you appreciated his gestures and the strength of his desire for you…it’s just…

“It’s just—I just want us to be a normal couple. Sometimes you really scare me, and I don’t know how to live with you when you display that side of you…that side that almost seems murderous.”

Instantly you regretted being so upfront. The moment he took your wrist, you regretted it even more.

“I’m so done fighting, get over here!” He spits out as he drags you away. Immediately, you realize he intended on chaining you up again, locking you away while he would ignore and leave you for God knows how long. It always drove you crazy with how lonely you’d become. He’d take away your phone, silence your screams through whatever gag-suppressing method he intended to use, and would even drug you to sleep by forcing a sleeping pill, or two, or sometimes opted for a natural sedative such as melatonin infused tea. It all depended how angry you got him, and right now, he was up there.

“No—stop! No more!” You yell out. It’s too bad you decided to pick today to argue, as his sorority brothers all left for the weekend. In fact, almost everyone on campus did, except you. He wouldn’t let you leave, and since his own schedule didn’t permit him to take you, he kept you back with him. “I want to go home! I hate you!”

You screamed as loudly as you could, not caring if your words hurt or angered him. “One more fucking word and I swear to God, y/n!”

He throws you on the bed, kneeling as he meandered a strategic grip on your arm, attempting to tie you to the bed frame. He’d do so by tightening the ropes to be just taunting enough so that your hands could not meet, and another attached to a belted choker would be latched onto your neck.

He successfully gets one wrist coiled in, and straddles over you to do the next. “You hate me? Then fucking stay here and rot for all I care.”

Your eyes began to tear up as you watch him reach for the other rope. “Don’t worry, I’ll still love you—I can love you even from afar.” He laconically spits out as he attempts to grab hold of your free hand. Desperate to avoid being alone and tied mercilessly, you reach around his neck and pull him in.

“Don’t! Stop! Please don’t do this!”

He ignores your pleads as he attempts to raise his frame, but your hold on his neck brings you up with him. He reaches up and tries to peel your arm off, and nearly succeeded effortlessly had it not been you regaining a grip on his jacket collar.

“Don’t do this…don’t leave me, I need you.” Your voice calls as you feel yourself on the verge of breaking down. Yes, you took on a tone of defeat, but if it meant that you weren’t facing lonely-induced depression, then you were willing to do anything. The sudden realization that you wanted him near you, to pay attention to you and to hold you was stronger now. “Please, don’t do this…I can’t be without you.” You cry into his neck as you held a python grip, embracing him as hard as you could.

He kept fighting with you, trying to break free from the single-arm embrace you had, but the softness of your voice and the pleading desire of needing him was starting to get to him. After all, he still loved you…and all he wanted, was for you to love him the way he understands it. It is brutal, irrational, non-sensible, and sadistic, but it was true love.

You cried into his throat and rubbed the tips of your fingers on the back of his nape. Feeling his tense body softened, you gained hope that he would be kind again. You truly were sorry…in the breach of his harsh punishment, you were left with no choice but to feel remorse. Through the guilt of spitting such terrible words, you realized more than ever that you couldn’t survive without him. What would have happened had he not been there to stop Samuel? What about Scott, and Tiff?

“Please…” you sobbed. Feeling his body growing dense against you, it encouraged for you to initiate the movements of passion as you waved your hips up and down, grinding against his groin. Nearly instantaneously, his cock hardens above and yearned to break free from the cloth.

“Please…Heeseung. I’m sorry…Im just scared…scared and nervous.”

You weren’t lying, you truly were scared, but the claim of being nervous wasn’t entirely so. You just knew him so well that had you said the right things, you could turn his mood around in a flick of an instant. Quicker than two fingers snapping. “I just don’t want anyone to break us apart…I’m scared of losing you.”

He raises his head, and you loosened your embrace as you felt him creating distance, not out of spite, but to relay sweet words. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of…not even me…” he gently takes your hand, while reaching for the rope. Damn he was so stubborn. Was he really intending on still tying you up? You committed another desperate move as you quickly raise your face to meet his, and there you kiss him. Initially, he wouldn’t let you in, but feeling your breath coating his lips, and the more your hips grinds against him, he falters. Finally…he kisses you.

“What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m sorry? Isn’t there anything I could do than to be locked away?” You breathed against his mouth once more, speaking softly as your tongue gently massages his. “Don’t you want me to be close to you anyhow? Wouldn’t you rather be locked away with me? Just the two of us…away from it all? Heeseung?”

Your hips begin to gyrate as that familiar tingle blisters beneath your pelvic muscles. You pick up the pace just a little more, and wrap a leg around his hips. “Heeseung…please…please touch me.”

You begged. He was staying strong in trying to refuse your advances, but seeing how much you yearned for him…it’s all he’s ever wanted and loved on this earth. Staying silent and stoic, he tries and stays strong, but your tenacity is breaking him piece by piece. God…why did you have to put on your bedroom voice…why did you have to move into him the way you were right now…why did you have to kiss him and tell him that you needed him.

“Heeseung please…please touch me. Fuck me…do everything to me.” You moaned out the last bit and that did it for him. Despite being angry with you, he could never resist your obedient nature.

He squares his face with yours, gripping onto your neck, a little more tighter than usual. “Tell me you need me.” His voice was dark and heavy, a bit husky as he clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. He as still angry.

“I need you.” You whined, licking his throat with the very tip of your tongue, barely making contact. Had his grip on your throat not pinned you down to the pillow, you would have completely swallowed in skin, lacing his Adams apple with your saliva.

“Tell me you love me—“ his grip snaps tightly, knotting your airway. You slightly gasp as he jerks his grip and squeezes. You choked out the words as you looked pitifully in his eyes. “I-I….l-l-love….you-!”

You coughed up the air flowing back into your lungs as he releases his grip. He comes to a kneeling stance and releases the other rope, but does not untie the one already latched to you. He removes his cap and flings it to the floor, followed by stretching his abdominal muscles while he reaches overhead and peels his shirt off. Your free hand latches onto his belt, attempting to loosen it, only for his hands to slap it away. “No—I’m still pissed off at you.” He hisses as he undoes the buckle and zipper of his trousers. Pulling them a quarter way down, along with his briefs, he slides his pants down just enough for his lengthy cock to poke out freely, testicles included.

He leans back in, hovering on her as he extends an arm and props it next to your head, while the other lines his tip directly at your entrance. You could tell that by his nature, he wasn’t going to be as cementing as he would have been, and this been a punishable act, but not entirely loving. It was going to be a little of both.

“Fuck you…y/n.” Was all he said before leaning his head down and aggressively kissing you. Ramming himself in, he thrusts his cock inside, forcing it past un-prepped tissue and muscle as you felt yourself tearing. You help into his mouth, screaming eternally as he swallows it all. He wouldn’t let your mouth break free, in fact each time you moved your head away, his mouth remained latched on and his face trailed your every movement. You felt the flaring of his nostrils as he chalked harshly against your skin while thrusting deeper and deeper. Once he hit bottom, he strung it out rather fast, before rampaging into you at inhuman speed and momentum. You could feel it…the slight bit of blood and skin ripping apart until finally your body responds, producing a hint of moisture, which allowed him to slide in easily. The subtle curve of his length formed a C-shape, allowing the tip to easily find the soft button deep inside. Each time he thrusted in, his tip poked it, causing it to leak your orgasm little by little.

Squelching, squeezing, and slipping in and out, his movements became faster and more pungent as you kept leaking. From blood and pain comes perfection, and that’s where you were at right now.

“Ah! Ffffffuck! Oh my God—!” You gasp out, screaming and moaning as he kept fucking into you. You spew out your moans into his mouth as he restricted your breathing, by permanently enveloping your lips into a kiss that felt eternal.

Deeper and deeper, he digs in. Grunting and growling against your tongue. He adjust his position by extending both arms, propping his chest up to grant just a bit of space between you two. You gasp and moan, mouth wide open and tongue sticking out as he continued to fuck you senseless and numb. Sticking out his own tongue, he licks the flat surface of your own before swallowing your mouth into another prolonged kiss.

“Please—!!! Oh fuck! Heeseung!!” Your desperate cries only provoked him to keep going, to the point where the stimulation stayed past its welcome, and it became blisteringly painful.

“Sssstop! N-no—no more!” You begged, yearning for mercy. How much longer could this man go? How could he always have so much stamina and vigor in his body?

“Come on y/n…keep screaming…make me fucking cum!” He grunts as he swallows a kiss one final time, before plunging deep inside and filling you. So much, you felt the secretion of his fluids rimming out as his cock pulsed, his balls kissing your soft taint.

Your chest heaves, and you gasp for air as your free hair slaps onto his bicep. Your restrained wrist develops rope burn from all the friction of movement. Suddenly you felt the soft touch of his fingers, gently pinching your chin as he forced you to face him. A small glare from your eye greets the gaze of none other than—

“E..Ethan?”

He smirks maliciously. His usual psychotic stare reeks of a sinister intention as he bites down his lip, chuckling as he slurps in the excess saliva. “Miss me?”

You didn’t have the chance to put the moves on him as you did with his softer side…though you could hardly deem him soft to begin with. But compared to Ethan, anything was soft, even hard steel.

“Oh no wait—you could have missed me because….what was it that you said earlier?” He taps his fingertips along the center of your chest, spider crawling them upwards until he establishes a grip around your neck. “You hate me…RIIIIIIGHT? BABYDOLL?”

Your eyes are widen in fear as you attempt to scream but his offensive lips re-engages you to a lengthy kiss…own that contained the loudest of all your screams.

“Please! Stop! I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean it! You know I don’t hate you, Ethan—“

His dark giggle halts your pleads. “I know…and don’t worry—“ licking a teardrop from your cheek, he whispers into your ear. “By the end of this, you just might hate me. But never to fear…I’m always going to love you…and that’s all that matters right now.”

He lines himself, centered to your soft flesh. “Got a surprise for you after this…”

“W-what….what are you—?”

“Shhh….you’ll see…”

……..

“Y/n! When did you get this?” H/n takes on an exciting tone as she notices the small mark located behind your ear. You tied your hair into a high piney tail, allowing the subtle tattoo to gain some air to help the healing process. “Over the weekend…” you softly spoke. An emotionless expression graces your face as you stare at the blackboard ahead, eyes tracing the white chalked equation your professor drafted. The beating pain from between your thighs sets a reminder of words you could never use against him…ever again.

As per usual, he waits by the curb, already standing outside his car as you walk outside. A part of you happy to see him, while the other half resented him for the pleasure he bestowed you…with pain.

“Hi pretty baby, how was class?”

He cups both sides of your neck, placing a kiss on your forehead. He tilts his head to the side, admiring his mark on you. “It’s healing well. Good.” He smirks against your forehead.

You embrace him in return. You love him…and you can’t live without him. Though you’re not sure if that was by your own willingness or if he has broken you down so many times, rebuilding and training you to rely on him…just him.

You look up and admire the dark look in his eye. Yeah…you do love him.

Reaching up, you delicately tuck some of his shaggy hair away from his cheek, the rest remained pinched against his forehead from the baseball cap adorning his head. In plain sight behind his ear, was the sun. It healed completely.

“My pretty moon loves her sun?” He asked you’d you, gripping your neck subtly as he leans into kiss your lips. “Hmm…yes….”

I must always have…the sun.

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enha x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha heeseung #yandere heeseung imagines #heeseung yandere #yandere imagines #yandere enha #yandere enhypen #heeseung imagine #heeseung imagines

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loriannbowman · 9 months ago

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Honkai: Star Rail X Arknights | Yandere!Sunday X Sankta!Reader

You had no idea how you got to this city of bright lights and sounds. Music seems to pour in from every corner and building. The last thing you remember, is Doctor Loriann sent you to the rec-room and you decided to take a little nap. And now you're 'awake' in this bizarre and unknown city. What seems like thousands of people swarm the streets. Just where the hell are you?

"Excuse me? Are you lost?~" a sweet voice asks you.

You whip your head around to see a man with a halo... and wings sprouting from his head? Sankta have wings, yes, but never from their head... At least not the ones you've met, and you've met quite a few.

"U-Um... Y-Yeah..." you stutter out, unsure if talking to a stranger in a strange place is the best idea.

He looks at you, focusing his gaze on you. You can almost feel the deep set eyes burning into your soul.

"U-Uh... S-Sir...? Why are you-"

His stare grows harder before he looks away, letting out a sigh.

"Are you not a Halovian?"

"Ha-what? Is that some different title for a Sankta?"

"Sankta...?" he whispers under his breath. "You have a halo."

"Y-Yeah... I do..."

"So are you not a Halovian?"

"No."

His eyes seem to sharpen and a small scowl crosses his body.

He steps closer to you. You have no idea what he plans to do until-

He reaches out and touches your halo. You can't help but yelp at the cool touch from his gloved hands.

"So you can feel my touch."

You swat his hand.

"Of course I can!"

"Interesting..."

You push his away, trying to make space.

"A-Anyway, sir, do you know where I am?"

The man tilts his head confused.

"You're in Penacony."

"Pena-wha-? What's with all these names?! Never mind... D-Do you know how I got here?"

"... Did you not enter a dream pool?"

"Dream pool?! Are you-" you shake your head, now is not the time to be rude to someone, "No, no I didn't. The last thing I remember was being on the Rhodes Island Land Ship and going to take a nap."

"Rhodes Island...? I've never heard of that."

"What? Even very secluded people know of Rhodes Island..."

The man hums slightly.

"Interesting... it seems as though... we have a stowaway..."

"Stowaway?! I didn't even mean to come here!"

"Yes, I can clearly see that, however I still need to take you into custody for the protection of the Family and the citizens of Penacony. Though, as a head of the Family myself, I will be taking you with me. It's best if no one else knows of this, it might cause anxiety amongst the people."

"So I'm getting arrested... cool. Doctor, when I get back, you're getting kicked."

❥ Sunday doesn't understand how or why you got here. He monitors the coming and going of every person that enters the dreamscape, and the reverie.

❥ Sunday is confused. He tried to communicate with you through telepathy to keep the conversation privet, yet... you couldn't connect to him.

❥ Sunday keeps you under custody. That custody, however, his by his side at all times. He wants to understand what is with you.

❥ Sunday, who's every thought is slowing shifting to figuring you out. How did you come here? Where are you from? Why do you also have a halo? Why do you know nothing of Aeons and Paths?

❥ Sunday who can't help but itch wanting to pick you apart.

❥ Sunday who doesn't want to let you go, because if you do, he fears he may never see you again, he may never figure out this mystery.

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zvhiux34 · 3 months ago

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(Credits to its respectiva owners ).

Pairing: König x virgin reader

Plot: You and König had a special date, where you both confess your feelings to each other. But he suspects there is something more.

warnings: Fluff, angst, slow burn, Reader is veeery stubborn. Age gap+10 years (She 18yo, König 30yo). Sexual inuendo. English it's not my first language

W.c: 2.5k

What a treasure to have found you.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 Pt.4

Until now, your meetings/dates with him took place during the morning and afternoon.

Going out at night... only mean one thing.

Running into your parents, and having big problems with them.

When he saw the doubt in your eyes, he didn't hesitate to convince you.

—Come on, princess, it's not a bother for me to pick you up at your home—He assured you, while he put a lock of your hair behind your ear—I'll rent a carriage, so I can go to get you, 'kay?— Then, he placed a kiss on your cheek that burned away allá your doubts.

And here you were, about to escape through the window of your room before your soldier arrived at your fake home.

Or worse, discovered which one was your real house.

You did some juggling to escape without dirtying your dress, until to step on solid ground without harming yourself, then you began to walk through the neighborhood.

You walked down the sidewalk until the lights of a car «Or maybe a truck» coming in your direction dazzled you.

The driver, whoever it was, got out and started walking towards you.

When you tried to see who it was, he took you in his arms at bridal style to the vehicle with such ease that you recognized who it was.

—You are very stubborn, princess —He admonished you as he scolded you on the copilot seat— You were going to go on your own no matter what I told you, uh?—He sat in the driver's seat, and put the truck in motion.

—I may be stubborn, but you are cheeky— You crossed your arms in objection.

—Believe me, you haven't seen anything yet—He answered with a smirk in his face.

You did like it, but you were a little embarrassed to admit it out loud.

—Where did you get this truck?—You ask to avoid the past subject.

—It’s nice, isn’t it?—He inquired, You didn't know the model, but it was big and rustic at the outside, just like him—It's rented, I wanted to rent a carriage, but I couldn't found one, so I did what I could, little princess—You let out a chuckle about it.

You rembered how the soldier warned you days ago to you not be too surprised if he appeared with a car, so you don't get so tired of walking.

You appreciated his gesture a lot.

He drove until you two reached the destination, apparently, it was a place that was starting to become popular due to the amount of people there.

You all entered the park, and as you immersed yourselves in the site with the others, every source of artificial light disappeared.

It was a kind of path with long bushes on the sides that led to extensive green gardens.

It seemed that the only lighting was the cold light of the moon that came from somewhere, you could see each other without problem as the guide led the group and you along the path, while he was explaining some stuff about the main leads of the evening.

Then he fell silencie, and suddenly a little yellow flash appeared floating in the air.

—Mommy, look!—You heard a child pointing at it in the air to his mother.

The fireflies began to appear one by one until you could no longer count them all, they flew around the entire space as if they were stars in the sky floating around you like bright bubbles.

The children were exasperated with excitement, the adults were fascinated, and when König looked down to see your reaction, you were simply contemplating the spectacle without any words that could express your emotion.

It was such a beautiful and surreal scene that it transported you to a scene from a magical movie where you were one of the fairies belonging to this forest.

The soldier caught your attention by grabbing your hand.

It was the very first time when he entraleced his fingers with yours, and you let it be enjoying every second of the moment, his hand was warm and protecting over yours.

When you looked at him, he pointed out a path that no one had noticed.

You let yourself be guided by him and entered a passage of green bushes, which led you two to a large garden where the fireflies floated around a beautiful gazebo in the center.

You and König walked under the gazebo, looking at the spectacle that loomed around the two of you.

And suddenly you understood what was going to happen.

—You like the place, don’t you?— The soldier asked to you, you stood in front of him and looked up, straight into his eyes.

—Yes, it's very beautiful — You answered, still moved by what the scenery conveyed to you, as if it was possible to bring magic to real life.

—If you like...we could come many more times—He proposed with a thread of longing intertwined in his voice, at this point you were excited for the fact he has included you in a future plan, together.

—Yes, I would like to—You expressed with sincerity.

You felt his warm fingers cup the edges of your face with his eyes fixed on yours, you remembered the first time you'd see his icy blue eyes in that park, the guilty ones for transmitting you the mystery of a calm sea you wish to discover.

—Dove, when I came to this city... I never expected to meet...someone like you —He paused for a moment, while he found the right words— But my biggest surprise was when I started to get to know you and...I discovered a tender, intelligent woman, with hundreds of other virtues that I don't know how to say in english —He let out a light chuckle.

«Liar, liar, liar»

But those thoughts didn't stop your heart from beating hard.

—I accept you with everything you are... And you... would fulfill one of my wildest dreams if you accept me with... everything I am —He confessed in a whisper that captures you.

His message was so clear you had no chance to pretend you didn't understand anything.

But you had stopped acting rationally for a long time ago.

You stood on your tiptoes and finally shortened the distance between your lips with his.

It had been a long time since you had placed your lips on someone else's, but none of those chances could compare to this.

He received the kiss like a person receives a coat in the middle of a cold night.

He put his arm around your waist and in a movement as sensual as daring, you felt your chest pressed against his.

If you were the warm coat, then König was about to freeze all this time, until he found you.

But the way you kissed him back made you think that perhaps the person about to freeze was you.

The intensity that enveloped you both made you believe for a moment you were going to faint.

König, who apparently noticed this, instead of stopping to calm the waters, he simply adjusted his grip on your body.

Even though you were the one who started this act, he was now the one who was taking the reins, you were even a little disappointed when he stopped the kiss but without ever letting go of his arms, while both of you caught your breath.

The soldier couldn't help but contain the ear-to-ear smile on his face.

—Princess... You didn't let me... finish what... I was going to say...

«What?»

The soldier, seeing your confused face, carried you until you both reached and sat on a bench nearby.

Several seconds passed before he spoke again.

—First of all, I don't intend for you to feel like I'm invading your privacy —He assured, you nodded slowly— But I'd be lying to you if... If I told you I haven't noticed strange things about you.

Your heart almost skipped a beat.

—Things... Like what?

—For example, since I've been spending more time with you...—You saw how he searched for the best words to not hurt you even by chance— I've noticed how sometimes you're very meditative, you're very careful with what you say and...you give me the impression on certain occasions you agree to do things just so I don't ask you more questions.

He began to caress your chin with the tips of his fingers.

—And above all... I'm worried by the way your gaze turns dark...and sad. —He tells you almost in a whisper.

And you finally understood that your mask was not as perfect as you thought.

—Many times I have wanted to ask you the reason... But I know I cannot force you to be honest with me if I have not been honest with you.

And now perhaps the moment you have been waiting for has arrived, König will finally show you his true face.

You thought of several scenarios that did not help to quench the growing panic inside you.

«Tomorrow I return to the Middle East to never return»

«I have one month to live»

«I'm married and I have four children in another country»

—You are married and you have children abroad? —You interrupted in an attempt to accept the cruel reality.

The soldier looked at you strangely, and then let out a loud laugh.

—Jeez princess, who do you take me for? I am not married and I do not have children, in fact, I never thought of doing that until I met a certain person—He answered you suggestively—But it can be worse from your point of view.

Here it comes, you prepared for the final blow.

—I'm not a simple soldier.

«Okay»

—The truth is...I work as a mercenary for a private company dedicated to dismantling terrorist groups in foreign countries, among other words, I kill for a living.

König said it so fast that you needed a moment to process everything

«I kill for a living»

«Dismantle terrorist groups»

You felt how the rising panic slowly subside.

—...So you kill criminals for a living, right? —You saw the soldier, mercenary or whatever he was looking at you, expectantly.

With his looks, you're not surprised by the nature of the job he had.

—Basically.

—Bad people all and the scum of society?

—...Yes.

«Was it questionably moral? Maybe»

«It's a perfect reason to run away?...No»

You shrugged your shoulders, and only managed to say «I get it»

—So it doesn't bother you? —He questioned.

—No.

—Not even a little?

—No.

You saw how König stretched his limbs as if he were releasing pressure from them, as if he were a prisoner whose sentence had been pardoned.

—Christ, princess, you don't know how much it relieves me to hear you say that— He bellowed, then, like he was holding it in all this time, cradled your face in his hands and kissed your forehead, both of your cheeks, and the tip of your nose.

—By the way, in fact «König» is not my real name, it's a code—He confessed.

That did surprise you a little more.

—So, what's your real name?

He brought his mouth close to your ear and whispered his real name, but to tell the truth, you paid more attention to the way your skin received his warm breath on it.

A war was taking place inside you to balance what would be best for you, but the feelings that this man brought to you, mercenary or not, overwhelmed you so much, that you couldn't think well.

Obviously he confessed that so you could do the same with him.

He delicately placed his forehead against yours.

—Your turn—He whispered.

Your mind came to the realization this wasn't the first time you thought about confessing everything to him.

Anyway, he was going to insist a thousand times on taking you home even if he had to drag you.

And his hundreds of lights were going to turn on red when he saw you couldn't enter the house you supposedly called «your home».

And you couldn't ignore the feeling you had at this moment, you felt like you weren't going to free yourself from the knot you felt in your stomach until you confessed the truth to him.

He's a good person, he would surely understand you, and he wouldn't see you as less for your situation.

But...but....

Besides, there were only a couple of exams left that you would take this Monday, and you would finally complete your studies.

The next day, would be the day you'll finally leave your house.

You'll be free to go out with him whenever you wanted.

Free to do whatever you wanted to do with him without caring who's watching you.

Free of the fear.

—It's true —You answered in a delicate mumur— There's something I haven't told you...

The soldier paid more attention to you than he ever had before. You wanted to find the right words but your vocal cords wanted to betray you, feeling the knot that was forming.

—...But I can't tell you —You looked into his eyes, unlike his, yours were already wet, you took the hand that had comforted you so many times without knowing— Until after tomorrow, then I swear... I'll tell you everything.

Just one and a half days.

You waited for König to say a word, a sound.

But he only managed to say an «Okay, little dove»

And you got up from the bench to return to the group.

You knew from his gestures he was a little disappointed, but despite that, his hand never left yours.

After that, you had dinner in a quiet place with a pleasant conversation...and he took you back to the home he believed all this time it was yours, and say goodbye with a sweet kiss on the lips before you get out of the car.

He waited to you enter to the house, you knew the moment when he realized you lied to him when you, instead, entered in another backyard's house.

You looked at him as you watched him leave

You assumed it was for the best, just two and a half days and this whole farce would be over, if he accepted you again despite the lie.

On Sunday, you dedicated yourself to reviewing your notes, you studied from morning to late night.

You made a great effort not to think about kiss of last night, and the way that made you feel.

On Monday you attended high school and gave your all in your two final exams.

That was it, you had finally finished high school. You talked to your group of friends, one of them commented that you looked more radiant than ever, which you thanked him for.

You agreed to meet up to celebrate that you had finally finished the hell of school.

You attend to work routinely to do your shift, several of your colleagues congratulated you for finishing your studied, you thanked them all.

You were sincerely happy.

With the money you received today, it was going to be enough to get out of your house once and for all.

Right know, under your bed, there was a suitcase with your clothes and enough things you needed to start from scratch, in a small apartment in the city that you were going to share with a girl your age, while you waited to start college.

Everything was going as planned, the day after tomorrow you would have a new home, living with a complete stranger but in peace, which was what you had been longing for all these years.

While you were working, you thought about your mercenary with whom you haven't spoken since Saturday night...not even by text to wish you luck.

That thought made you a little sad until you saw him walk through the door.

Carrying a bouquet of flowers.

And heading towards you.

You froze immediately, almost dropping the ipad from your hands.

König finally reached surrounded you with his arms while he whisper to you congratulations in middle of dozens of costumers looking at the two of you.

At that moment, you didn't know if you were overcome with happiness or in the grip of a nascent panic.

Because today the manager, the eyes and the ears of your father in this place, was taking his turn tonight.

And he's probably watching you from somewhere in the restaurant.

M A S T E R L I S T

#konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig x you #call of duty #fluff #könig mw2 #cod mw2 #konig cod #könig cod #Spotify

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loveslibrarywp · 1 year ago

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Little Red

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!reader

Summary: After only wanting to take a simple stroll in the evening, you end up getting chased through the woods by a mysterious stranger..

Warnings: NSFW. Outdoor sex (she gets fucked behind a tree). Non con (at first). Breeding kink. Praising + degradation kink. Werewolf!Aemond. Reader is Helaena’s friend. Aemond lowkey obsessed with reader (Joe Goldberg type shi).

Requested by: @slytherincursebreaker

“I don’t know Helaena, I just want to be married and have children like you!” The young stark girl complained to her friend whom sat beside her on the loveseat. “My marriage is the least bit happy!” Helaena protested with a sigh as she continued to stitch onto her cloth.

“Some women have happy marriages, though I’m sorry yours isn’t..” she said as she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It is alright, I find solitude in being alone anyway.” She said with a bright smile.

“Well, it is getting dark and I don’t want to talk your ear off, my dear friend. Shall we continue tomorrow?” She asked as she placed down her embroidered cloth on the seat. Helaena agreed as she went to tend to her children.

Y/N tied on her red coat and walked towards the exit of the castle, though she didn’t feel the eyes on her as she did so, nor had she felt them the entire day while with Helaena.

She made it to the entrance of the forest she adored taking long walks in. She loved nature and all of the animals she saw as she strolled through the path. Little did she know, something was following her as the sun came down and the moon hung in the sky.

The stars lit up the gravel path as she walked through the dark forest. She watched little squirrels run up the trees, fighting over the nuts they had collected from the day, she giggled at the small animals but she felt silent when she heard a twig snap behind her.

She whipped towards the sound to see nothing, just the dark abyss between the trees. She let out a deep breath she had been keeping in and decided to just keep walking.

With her foot in front of the other, she heard another stick snap under something foot. Her heartbeat began to pick up as well as her speed. She quickly walked through the trees and began to think if it was time to go home.

The sound of leaves crunching filled the quiet forest. She stopped in her tracks, “hello…?” She called out. Once she heard the sound again, she took off as fast as her feet could take her.

Another figure ran right after her, practically announcing that they were following her. Her heart was beating out of her chest from running and from fear.

Softly and low growls came from the figure chasing her. ‘What was it?’ She thought. She continued to run throw the thick trees of the forest. She looked back to see the figure but she only saw a dark cloak hiding the figures face and body.

Her hair and red cloak flew behind her in the wind as she sprinted. She was terrified for her life. What did this thing want from her? She panted and gasped for air.

She quickly turned and hid behind a nearby tree to maybe lose the creature. She quickly caught her breath and hid her body behind the big tree.

The forest was silent. Too silent. She felt a hand cup her mouth and grab her waist to pull her towards its body.

She screamed into its hand. It’s long claws caressed her cheek. She was then pressed up against the tree she was hiding behind.

The figure only looked down so she couldn’t see its face. Yet, it towered over her. “Please, let me go!” She shouted at the tall figure. She was shaking in fear, fear the she may not see the light of the day again.

“I’ll do anything! Please!” She pleaded. The figure finally spoke, “anything..?” It said with a masculine voice, one she had very well heard before. Tears painted her red cheeks, “please..”

The cloaked man took off his hood to reveal its face. Aemond. It was Aemond.

“Aemond? Why are you doing this? Let me go!” She cried out. Why would her best friend’s younger brother try to scare her like this? Was it a prank?

“I’m going to finally have my way with you, little one..” he growled into her ear as he grabbed her neck. “You said you’d do anything, right? So, just listen to me…it’s that simple, lovie.” A sly smirk was plastered on his face.

“Why? What are you going to do to me?” She asked as she shook in fear and confusion. His hand that wasn’t pressed up against her neck slid down her leg and up her white dress. His long fingers caressed her thigh and her hip as he slid into her undergarments, snapping them off her hips.

“I just wanna play with you, baby..” he whispered with a soft smile, she just stared at him in shock. The names he was calling her and the way he was touching her left her with a burning sensation in her belly and an ache in her cunt. She didn’t want to feel like this for him, not at this moment that is. Not when he was scaring her.

He dipped his fingers into her panties felt the growing arousal she had felt just moments ago. He laughed when his fingers felt the wetness of her cunt, “you like this, don’t you, little girl?”

“Tsk, tsk…sweet girl. What are we going to do with you?” He asked with false worry. She couldn’t draw her eyes away from his face no matter how bad she wanted too. She hated how attractive he looked in this moment.

She let out a small whimper as he flicked over her clit. Her noises made him smile, oh how sick he was. “Aemond, please…” she begged. She didn’t know what she was pleading for, multiple things maybe.

“Don’t worry, lovie. I’ll take good care of you.” He nipped at her neck and moved his hands down her body. He tugged her dress up and over her hips and lifted her off the ground.

She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t even know if she wanted this. He unlaced his breeches with one hand and pulled out his leaking cock. She didn’t know something so vulgar could be so pretty.

He swiftly pulled her panties the side and ran his tip through her slit. He tapped his tip against her swollen clip. She whimpered and whined at his actions, “please…” she begged.

“Please what?” He asked, he dragged his cock against her dripping cunt as he waited for her answer. “Fuck me, Aemond.” She pleaded.

He plunged his cock inside of her in one thrust. She almost fell over as she moaned before he held her up. His pace moved fast and uncontrolled, yet so good. The quiet forest was filled with her moans and whimpers and his low groans.

“What a little whore you are…getting fucked behind a tree, where anyone could stumble upon us..” he groaned in her ear. She could only respond with her whines.

He let out a low laugh at her little noises. They only fueled his desire and drive to fuck her stupid. He pounding into her, her back was hitting the tree but she could only focus on the pleasure the man was giving her.

“Oh fuck!” She gasped as he repeatedly hit that special spot inside of her, “that feel good? Fucking slut..” he said as his fingers moved towards her clit. He pressed lighting into the small button and rubbed little circles into it, earning him a loud moan.

“I heard you with Helaena today. You want a husband, lovie? I can be that for you. I can make every desire of yours come true.” He admitted, making her gasp as he continued to fuck her. “What that to happen? want me to be your husband?” She nodded against the tree even though she hadn’t completely comprehended what she was agreeing too, she was too fucked out to even think.

“I bet you do, sweet girl. I’ll give you anything you want.” He smiled as his thrust became short and scattered. He was reached his peak as was she. She clenched around his cock and her moans became even louder than they were before.

“-so close!” She shouted. He picked up his pace with his fingers, her peak came crashing over her. She came with a groan. Aemond fucked her through her orgasam as he approached his. “Gonna let me fuck a baby into, lovie?” He groaned at the thought of her pregnant with his child. “Yes! Please, Aemond! Let me carry your children!” She gasped.

He groaned as he came inside her at her words. All of his dreams were coming true at that moment, she was finally his.

“You’re mine now.”

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond smut #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen

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vulpixisananimal · 1 month ago

Text

[A:2 C:44.3]

(Siffrin) [Loop] {Mal Du Pays} <Null>

[Polaris belongs to @neoncityrain ]

(Tonight was your favorite kind of night. It was a clear night, with every star in the sky shining bright. Stepping out from the inn, it struck you speechless. Not that you were speaking to anyone in the moment, but if you were, you'd have stopped.)

{. . . It, really was, beautiful. . .}

(Huh? That's, not something, I- w-well-)

{Am I not allowed to appreciate the stars?}

(. . .R-right, sorry. . . Why where you out here, again?)

{Polaris.}

(Right, Polaris.)

(Soon, you would be going your separate ways. Polaris, Wren, and Vixul to Jouvente, and you and your family to Wolworth. You may never see each other again, so, if you wanted to talk to him, it was tonight, or not at all. Besides, you were asked to.)

(“You’re both from that island.” Vixul said, “if anyone could help him, it’s you.”)

{“He’s not an idiot.” Wren said, “But he is stubborn. He won’t ask for help, so you must go to him.”}

(And tonight, he would be at the favor tree. He was at the favor tree every night, from the moment the stars came out, to when he was dragging himself to bed. That’s where you headed now, walking along the small path up the hill, to the grand tree that stood taller than the rest.)

(The small figure with darker hair stood at the favor tree; a book on the ground to his side. You saw the leaf in his hands, how he whispered into it. How he folded it closed, and let it fall to the dirt. The tree rustled in the wind. The night creatures were silent. He turned, and jumped, surprised that you were here.)

“W-what, what’re you doing here?”

“It’s a nice night.” (You shrug.) “I couldn’t just leaf an opportunity to see the stars.”

(Polaris makes a face, then turns away.) “Well, then go see the stars somewhere else. I’m busy.”

“. . . I wanted to talk to you, Polaris.” (You step forward.)

“Vixul gave my name away again.” (He sits down at the base of the tree, arms crossed.) “I told her not to, stupid, blinding-”

“N-no uh, you did, actually.” (You sit down a few feet in front of him.) “S-sorry, uh, it’s, complicated. How about we try this again?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” (He pouts.) “I told you my name, even though I don’t remember. But yeah, go on, take two on introductions, and then you can blinding leave!”

{Stars.}

(You let out a little sigh.) “My name is Siffrin, he/they.”

“. . . Polaris. He/him” (He grumbles in response.) “Can you go now?”

“No, sorry.” (You chuckle awkwardly.) “. . . You’re from that island, too, right? The one no-one can remember?”

(This got a reaction out of Pol, he didn’t respond for a few seconds, and when he did, his voice was softer.) “. . . Yeah, I am. You too?”

“. . . Yeah. . .”

(The two of you sat there for a few seconds. Polaris moved a bit to the side, making room for you. You sat next to him, wordlessly. The two of you ended up looking to the sky.)

(The stars were. . . . Beautiful. Each and every one twinkled in the lightless canvas. The galaxy, the Universe, spread for all to see. Yet, almost no-one in Vaugarde knew about the stars. You felt like a crazy person here, sometimes.)

“. . . . . Big Dipper.” (Polaris points to the sky, to a constellation.) “And, Orion, Andromeda, Cygnus, Vela, Pyxis, and, and. . . .”

(He paused, taking a shaky breath.) “. . . Ursa major. Ursa minor.”

“. . . Are, those two important to you?”

“. . .” (He looks away, voice wavering.) “I. . . Don’t know.”

(The silence returned for a time.)

“. . . . Pisces.” (Your turn, you point to the constellations in order.) “Leo, Cetus, Virgo, Perseus, Capricornus. . . Cancer, Aries, Cassiopeia.”

“. . . . I always liked Cassiopeia.”

“Yeah. . . Me too.”

(There was another rustling of wind. Silence returned like a blanket. A place of comfort that you didn’t want to leave, but you knew you had to eventually. You look to Polaris, his face was. . . Sad. He was sad.)

“. . . It means north star, right. . ?”

“Huh?” (He turns to you.) “Oh, right. My name. Yeah, it means north star, or star that guides. I think.”

“Vixul gave it to you?”

“Not, really.” (He gives you a suspicious look, then turns away.) “More that she just, knew that’s what my name was. She knew it, I didn’t. She promised me it’s what my name was, but she won't say why.”

“Right. . .” (After the other day, you had only grown more curious about her.) “. . . How, have you been dealing with it? Forgetting, and all.”

“. . . . I’m not.” (He tucks his legs to his chest under his cloak.)

“. . .” (Stars. . .) “I. . Would, you like to talk about it?”

“No, I wouldn’t like to talk about it!” (He shoots you a nasty look.)

“B-but, I’m sure I could-”

“Just leave me alone!” (He fully turns to face away from you.) “Like you could help. Those other stupid blinding idiots couldn’t help. No-one could help. Not even the stars could help!! So, just, leave me alone!!”

(You pause. He, yeah. . . He’s, he reminds you of you.)

{No-one could understand your obsession with stars. Your accent. Who you are.}

(. . .)

“. . . Could, you let me try, at least?” (You want to reach out to him.)

“Why, so you can get my hopes up?” (Polaris grumbles, and grabs the book on the ground. He shoves it into your arms.) “Sure, go ahead, try.”

(. . . . .)

(The book was worn. It was a sturdy notebook with a hard cover. There were words on the cover, it was a journal. A, a journal from home? You, open it to the first page.)

(. . . The first page has words you can’t read. Depictions you can’t make out, it’s. . .){Home. You say the words on the page. “Dedicated to furthering the studies of Astronomy.”}

“. . . It’s, a scientist's journal. A researcher's journal.” (you turn the page.)

{It’s a description of the constellations, and of the stars that make them up. You say some of their names. You turn another page, more constellations. You skip forward a few pages, and it’s now talking about something called-}

“Stellar drift?” (You say, turning to Polaris.) “Do you know, what-”

(He’s staring at you. Eyes wide.)

“. . . Polaris?”

“Y-you can read that?!?” (He asks, voice shaky, you nod.) “D-don’t stop! Keep, keep reading!”

(You turn back to the book turning pages and describing what they were. Thank you, Mal.){It’s nothing. This page is on the death of a star, of iron, of its importance in culture. The pages after are about wishing rituals, and what happens if they are done wrong. The next few dozen pages are illegible. After that, there’s pages on reversing wishes, theoreticals, what-if scenarios.}

{The writing gets more frantic, the diagrams, sloppier. The next entries were on how to work around a wish, or how to fix a wish. The entries after you couldn’t read.}(You had, such a headache. You had to pause.)

(. . . You felt Polaris staring at you with anticipation.)

(You shake your head, and flip through the last few pages, most of it was impossible to read. The only thing you could tell was that you probably couldn’t understand it anyways. They were all scientific diagrams like the type Odile would use.)

(. . . Except the last page.)

“. . . There’s. . . T-there’s, I think it’s a message. On the last page.”

(Another glance at Polaris. His face was. . . . He, he was, desperate. You didn’t need a response.)

(You turn to the book, and read the message aloud.)

“‘Dear, uh, t-there’s, there’s a name here I can’t read.” (Polaris nods for you to go on.) “O-okay.”

“Dear, name.”

“I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you. Things are going fast right now and this is the only thing I could think to do. I love you, you mean everything to me, little brother. I don't know what's happening, but I just want you to be okay, and if that means knocking you out to get you on this boat then so be it. I hope you find a good life, a good family, a good home. I love you, little brother. I hope you're ok. I hope that no matter where you end up, no matter who you decide to be, that you’re okay.”

“Please, don’t try to come back. It’s too late now, too late to stop it. Something’s broken, falling, rotting. I, I can’t fix this on my own, but, but I have to try. I just hope, little brother, that one day, you might learn to forgive me.”

“I’m sorry. Name I, can’t read.”

(You’re holding the book, shaking. That name, those words, those last words. They, they were so, so familiar. You knew those words, by heart. You knew what they meant. What they are. What, they must have, meant. That name you, you couldn’t read it but, but you knew it! You KNEW that name!!)

“T-that’s. . .” (Polaris, he’s talking. His voice was wavey.) “O-older, older, sibling. I-I, I. . .”

(He’s hyperventilating.) “I-It, it was, their name, I know them. T-them, and, ma, pa, a-and, the island it, it, i-it was, called-”

(WAIT-) “DON’T!!”

(Polaris collapses to the ground. You’re by him in a flash, hand on his shoulder. You saw the blood, the shade. You- y-you-) “P-Polaris! A-are, are-”

“I. . . I-I. . . I, need to-” (His voice was raspy, desperate.)

“N-NO! No no no d-don’t, don’t try please, d-don’t!” (You’re breathing faster.)

“B-but, I can, I-I, I-”

“Polaris!”

{You don’t remember this person. This older sibling. The owner of this book. You don’t know their age, height, appearance, hair, anything. But their voice, it comes to you like it was your own. Their voice, on your tongue.}

{Polaris freezes.}

“Polaris, you’re safe here, okay?” {Your voice was deeper, closer to Nilles. A bit thicker in an accent that was barely familiar.} “A good family, a good life. Don’t throw it away. Don’t throw your big sibling away. Don’t throw the chance away. Okay?”

“. . . . . I. . .” {He’s crying, not looking up at you.}

(Mal?!? How, h-how are you-)

“Live. For them.” {You speak in a voice that doesn’t belong to you.} “Will you?”

“. . I . . . I-I. . .” (He wipes the blood from his mouth, and looks up at you.) “. . . I’ll, I-I’ll try. . .”

{You nod. And then collapse back, dizzy.}

(MAL!?!?!?! WHAT DID YOU DO!??!?!)

(. . . . . . It's gone.)

(You look at Polaris. He’s holding the book close. Still some blood dribbling from his mouth, and tears from his eyes. He’s looking at you.)

“. . . P-Polaris, I-” (Your voice catches.) Ï’m, I’m sorry I, didn't, mean to-”

“Navi. . .” (Polaris finally mumbles.) “Their name, was, Navi. . .”

(. . . . .)

(The two of you stare at each other for a moment. You shuffle back to your spot, Polaris does the same. You both sit there, thinking.)

(Navi. . .)

“. . . . That, means navigator, doesn’t it.” (You finally respond.) “O-or, one who reads the stars. To navigate the oceans.”

“Yeah. . . .” (Polaris was still sniffling.) “. . . . . The ocean navigator, the star that guides. . .”

“. . . Heh, I bet you two were close.”

“I hope so. . .”

(The silence returned, you let it stay for a few more minutes before asking it to leave again.) “. . . What’d you wish for?”

“Huh? Oh. . .” (Polaris is looking at the book.) “. . . For, for my sibling to be okay. Wherever they are.”

“Oh. . .” (The tree rustles in the wind.)

(. . . . . .)

(You stand up, and look in the dirt.)

“. . . Uh, what’re you doing?” (Polaris asks.)

“Looking for a leaf.” (You pick one up. One that represents you.)

(. . . You whisper your wish into it. You want Navi to be safe. Wherever they are, you want them to be safe.)

(It’s. What. You. Want.)

(You repeat it six times, then fold the leaf, and let it fall back to the ground.)

(You stretch your arms.) “I’m going back to the inn.”

“. . . I. . .” (Polaris is looking at you, dumbfounded, before grumbling as he stands up.) “I should head back too.”

“Head back?” (You stick your tongue out.) “Isn’t your head supposed to be on your neck?”

“UGH!” (He storms down the hill to the inn.) “I’m leaving.”

“Good to meet you leaving!” (You walk side by side with him.) "My names Siffrin-”

“Shut UP! I HATE you!”

“Nuh uh~”

“What do you MEAN nuh uh!!”

“I mean nuh uh!!”

“Well, well NUH UH to you back!!”

“Yuh huh.”

“UUUUUUUGH.”

(The two of you continued like this until you were back at the inn. That night, you spent your time with Navis notebook. Transcribing as much as you could before passing out.)

#isat #in stars and time #art #isat art #isat au #siffrin system au #isat fanart #sifstem #isat spoilers #isat siffrin #isat mal du pays #isat polaris #isat oc

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jinxedruby · 1 month ago

Text

Whumptober Day Thirty-One: Used as Bait

Featuring Legend and Warriors.

wow hi hello I finally DID IT I can finally rest Sorry for the wait! But here's the conclusion to days fourteen and twenty-seven (where Warriors and Legend fight some hunters in the woods), and the conclusion to Whumptober 2024! God I'm tired lol

Heads up for some major violence, injury, and minor character death (bad guys) in this one.

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part -> (may or may not do art for this one, we'll see lol)

-------------------------------

Legend’s knee throbbed with each and every step. He stifled the urge to groan or hiss, pulling his lips into his mouth and clamping them between his teeth. He kept one hand wrapped around the loaded crossbow, the other darting out to steady himself against every tree he passed. He wanted to stop and sit down the moment the adrenaline had worn away, but the hunter kept walking so Legend kept following.

A poorly-placed step drove a sharp thorn of fire up under his kneecap. He smothered a grunt against his closed lips, hopping on his good leg. He took the briefest of moments to lean against a tree, knocking his forehead against the bark and shutting his eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. His knee, his throat, his head, every part of him ached and burned. At this rate, even if the man did lead him to Warriors, which Legend had begun to doubt, Legend probably wouldn’t be in any fit state to stage a rescue. Or body recovery.

Legend screwed his eyes shut tight until he saw stars, shoving back the nagging voice. He opened them again, took a quick breath that hurt his throat just like every other inhale, and pushed away from the tree. He peered around it to ascertain the man’s location before hobbling after him once more. The moon hung large and bright in the sky, palely illuminating Legend’s path. The shade of the woods still hid some bumps and roots in the ground that Legend occasionally stumbled over, but the moon provided enough light that he could tail the man at a safer distance.

A faint, low din pricked at Legend’s ears. He slowed, softened his steps as much as he could in order to strain his hearing. The din grew louder as he followed the hunter, enough for Legend to make out the sharp s’s and t’s of speech. His heart thudded against his ribs. The hunter must have heard the voices too as he suddenly picked up the pace, muttering something under his breath. Legend didn’t speed up, electing to stay low and move slowly, switching from following the man to following the sounds of voices. The speaking stuttered into silence, a sharp yell rising above it.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Legend heard the hunter shout. A moment passed, followed by a different voice responding. The hunter replied and conversation ensued, but Legend couldn’t make out any words, only scattered syllables. The din of talking resumed. Legend picked his way through the forest, keeping a close eye on his surroundings for movement or the glow of a fire.

“...st someone got something,” a voice ahead of him said. He crouched slightly, knee protesting at the action. He sank his teeth into his lip and ignored it best he could, slinking from bush to bush.

A snort punctured the air. “Yeah, the others did. You three are the only ones that came back.”

At least four of them. Legend mentally filed the information away.

“Yeah, because that guy is a trained swordsman!” a new voice called angrily. “I thought we were too far out of the way for knights!”

“We are.”

“Clearlynot, I watched him take out four of us like it was nothing!”

“We’re plenty far from Castle Town, he’s not a knight!”

“How would you know? You’ve been sitting on your ass this whole damn time-”

“In any case-” a third voice cut in loudly, silencing the brewing argument, “-he’s not a threat anymore. Let’s all just take a breath, alright? No need to be going at each others’ throats.”

A few begrudging grumbles of assent responded. Legend stiffened, mouth dry. They were talking about Warriors. A brief wave of despair washed over him at the man saying Warriors wasn’t a threat anymore. Legend tightened his jaw before his mind could spiral with every horrible scenario it could conjure. They used present tense when referring to the captain. Which probably meant he still lived. Legend took a slow breath, blinking quickly. He refocused and shuffled forward. The low drone of voices resumed, snatches of inconsequential conversations drifting past him. A branch of a bush rustled as it scraped along his arm and he winced at the sound. The hunters made no indication of having heard and he forced himself to continue forward. He still couldn’t see the light of a fire, navigating only based on their voices. The closer they sounded, the tenser he grew.

He very clearly heard one of them clear his throat. Blood rushed through Legend’s head and fingers, aching in his knee and throat. Any second, he expected a man to come around a tree just ahead and spot him. Every second that it didn’t happen only left him feeling more wound up.

He poked his head around a bush. A man sat on a fallen log only a few paces away, back turned to Legend. Beyond him stood two men before short stacks of cages, the moonlight glimmering off the metal of the bars. Legend risked leaning out just a bit farther to get a better lay of the land. Two more men sat on the ground at the right edge of the small clearing, chatting idly. Legend slowly ducked back behind the bush. Five hunters. Five, and his state could hardly be called fit to fight. His head spun. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, rubbing his brow. He’d need to think about this. He couldn’t charge in, he’d be caught or killed immediately. If he just knew where they had Warriors…

Staying as quiet as possible, he carefully peered around the bush again. Now that he got a better look, he could see the two men checking each cage. The cages were made mostly of wood, only the front of them having a metal grate. The night made the insides of the cages dark with shadow and difficult to see. Legend couldn’t tell if any of them even contained anything. Only one cage rose above the men’s heads, the others varying sizes of medium and small.

A little whimper pricked Legend’s ears. It rose to a soft cry that sounded feminine. One of the men sighed and moved to a cage that barely reached his knee. He gave it a swift kick, a watery yelp mingling with the crash of metal and wood.

“Quiet,” the man demanded gruffly. Another small whimper rose from the cage before falling back into silence. Anger bubbled in Legend’s gut.

“Getting kinda late, isn’t it?” Legend’s eyes flicked over to one of the men sitting on the right. “Should someone look for the others?”

“We can wait a bit longer,” the one sitting with his back to Legend said, voice clear and loud from the proximity. “If they don’t get back soon we’ll take what we have to the couriers.”

“We’d better get good money for that swordsman,” one of the men before the cages grumbled.

A man on the right barked out a hollow laugh. “Doubt it.”

“Why?” The other man by the cages turned his head, revealing his profile. Legend recognized him as the hunter he had followed.

“’Cause he just turned into an animal.” The man on the right pointed to a small cage at the edge of the stacks. “A very normal one, at that.”

The hunter Legend had followed picked it up, tilting it back to peer inside. He snorted. “That… yeah, alright.” He shook his head and set the cage down with a thud. Half behind the other cages. Legend’s eyes widened slightly.

The men continued to talk but Legend unconsciously tuned it out, gaze fixed on what must have been Warriors’ cage. His heart thudded against his ribs, picking up speed as a plan hastily whipped together in his mind. Carefully, he turned away from the hunters and silently moved deeper into the woods. After what felt like a safer distance away, he began circling around the edge of the camp. He caught glimpses of the men or the cages through the trees. He used those brief glances to guide himself around behind the cages. The stacks of cages formed a makeshift wall between him and the men, since the backs were solid wood. He moved closer, gaze darting between the cages and the two men seated at the edge of the clearing. They were the only of the five men in line of sight of where Legend needed to go to reach Warriors’ cage. Legend stalled behind a tree, skin alight with nerves. He swept his gaze across the cages, the trees, gauged the distance between himself and Warriors, trying to figure out a way to get to him without the hunters spotting him. He chanced another look at the men.

Their spots at the edge of the clearing sat bare. Legend blinked, stared, a mix of dread and impatience churning in his gut and making him feel nauseous. He glanced around himself, half-expecting to see the two men sneaking up behind him. But the woods around him stood empty. He returned his gaze to Warriors’ cage, jaw set in determination. Whatever the reason the men had moved, he couldn’t miss his chance. He loosely fastened the crossbow to his belt to free his hands. Steeling himself, taking a steadying breath, he hurried out of the cover of trees.

His heart crashed about in his chest. Adrenaline buzzed through his veins as he closed the distance between him and the little cage. He continually tossed glances about, making sure the two men hadn’t made a surprise reappearance. His knee burned from the half-crouch and quick pace, pain radiating down his shin and up his thigh. He gritted his teeth and pressed onwards.

After a few more steps, he reached the cage. He dragged it fully behind the other cages, staying low and hidden. He turned it around, ducked down to look through the metal grate.

A large bundle and black and white lay in a heap at the back of the cage. Legend narrowed his eyes as he fiddled with the cage’s latch, trying to get a better look. Royal blue fabric stood starkly against the monochrome, a little scarf wrapped around the animal’s neck. The bundle moved, feathers rustled. A small black head lifted, a little tuft of fluff at the crown reminiscent of the captain’s hair shifting at the movement. Blue eyes blinked open and drifted across Legend’s face. Legend could have laughed with relief, instead giving a quiet huff.

The bird’s – the captain’s – beak opened, Warriors’ voice coming out in a soft croak. “Collector…?”

Legend quickly pressed a finger to his lips, eyes darting around himself. He glanced down at the latch again, figuring out to squeeze the metal loop and slide it out of place. He pinched a bar between two fingers to pull the grate open.

Footsteps pounded behind him. He didn’t even have time to reach for his sword. Arms wrapped around him, yanked him back. His damaged throat turned his yelp into a hiss as hands twisted into his tunic and hair, dragging him around the cages. He wrenched an arm free, swung a fist blindly. His knuckles grazed across a whiskered jaw, not nearly hard enough to do any damage. Then the man seized his arm again, wrapping his own around it and holding him by a fistful of his tunic. He struggled futilely against the two men as they wrestled him away from Warriors and around to the other three hunters. They twisted him around as he fought against them. He aimed a wild kick up towards one, dug his nails into the flesh of one of the arms holding him. The hand in his hair yanked back harshly on it, forcing his head back. An arm locked around his throat, the bruised flesh burning at the contact. The arm tightened, not enough to cut off blood or air, but enough to threaten him into falling still.

The hunter he had followed strolled forward, a dark grin on his face. “You really think I didn’t hear you following me, kid?”

Legend snarled. He lashed a boot out that the hunter easily skipped away from with a laugh. The arm around his throat squeezed and he choked. It loosened again a moment later so he could breathe. Reflexive tears stung in his eyes. He silently cursed himself. Of course. Of course, the hunter he followed must have quietly told the others about Legend and they’d made a plan. He put Warriors’ cage in an easily accessible place on purpose and Legend wanted to kick himself for falling for the trap so easily. The two men had vanished because they’d seen him coming and he felt like an idiot for not questioning it more.

“So he is alive,” another hunter said, moving closer. “How the hell did he survive that fall?”

A familiar clicking sound made Legend’s blood run cold. A hunter loaded one of the glass-tipped bolts into his crossbow, moving toward Legend as he did. “No idea, but this kid’ll be worth a fortune alone.”

“Oh?”

The man leveled the crossbow at Legend. Legend started struggling against the hunters holding him again, heedless of the arm tightening around his neck. He felt the light weight of the moon pearl on his chest. It worked to change him back before, it should work again, but he didn’t know if the bolt wouldn’t work at all and if the men would just decide to kill him in that case. The hunter squeezed the trigger and Legend flinched.

The bolt slammed into his stomach, glass ball popping open. A bright yellow flash filled his vision followed by the immediate, familiar sensation of shifting forms. Pain roared through his knee as the ligaments and cartilage shifted and stretched in spite of the damage. The same happened in his throat and a harsh yell ripped from it, only making the burning worse. The sensation ended as quickly as it began. Before he could even think to move, a hand wrapped around his rabbit ears and lifted him straight off the ground. Pain speared through his head at the harsh pulling and he yelped, squirming, trying to scratch the arm holding him.

“A pink rabbit?” a hunter exclaimed with delight that made Legend’s skin crawl. The voice laughed, the sound muffled weirdly by the hand around his ears. “There are hardly any rabbits left! Goddess, he’s big, too.”

“He’ll be worth a fortune, alright.”

“We could even haggle with this one. Lot of these creatures start to look the same after so many, but this one’s special.”

They continued talking as the man holding Legend swung around, carrying him toward the cages. Legend kicked and thrashed, panic flooding his senses. The moon pearl would kick in, right? Any second now, right? The cage the man brought him towards looked small. He didn’t want to find out what would happen if he transformed inside a confined space, he really, really didn’t want to find out. He struggled to scratch the hand holding him, kick at the arm, anything to stall for time. But the man held him at arm’s length, he couldn’t reach any part of him with his stupid little legs. The man crouched down, unlatching one of the cages.

Something jerked in Legend’s gut. His blood roared, fire screeched through his wounds as his bones and muscles shifted again. The man, suddenly holding a fistful of Legend’s hair instead of ears, shouted a startled curse, reeling back. Legend yanked his one crossbow bolt out from under his belt. Holding it like a knife, he jabbed it against the man’s leg, hard enough to break the glass ball. The man vanished with a yell in a puff of smoke and a flash of yellow light. Something small replaced him that Legend didn’t bother to look at, lunging to his feet. He ripped the loaded crossbow off his belt as he whipped around. The other four hunters gaped at him, some already starting to move. He zeroed in on the one that had shot him, yanked the crossbow up. He fired his final bolt into the man’s chest. The man stumbled and transformed into a squat creature with a squashed face and little horns.

The remaining three hunters all charged forward at once. Abandoning the crossbow, Legend threw himself to the side. Dirt shoved up under his fingernails as he desperately used any purchase he could to scramble to his feet. He lunged out of the way of the hunter that reached him first. The hunter streaked past him, cages crashing and toppling as he ran headlong into them. Several gasps and shouts rose from within the containers as they fell. Legend’s knee screeched as he struggled to run. He dragged in a haggard gasp, reaching for his sword. It raked along the scabbard as he drew it, the muscles in his forearm aching. The two hunters bore down on him and he hobbled to the side, crossing his sword across his body. One hunter delivered a strike to his blade that sent him stumbling. The second man attacked just as quickly. Legend barely moved in time to block the blow. He parried another attack, desperately searching for an opening to strike. Every time he saw one, he didn’t move quick enough to take advantage of it, slowed by his wounds and fatigue.

Legend caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, where the big hunter had careened into the cages. He tried to look, nearly caught a blade in his arm for the distraction. He blocked one swing, ducked under another. He wrenched his sword around, carving a slash along one hunter’s middle. The man grunted and stumbled back. Just as Legend started to move to attack the other one, a dark mass appeared to his left. His heart leapt into his throat, he frantically tried to move. Something heavy crashed into his calves, sweeping them out from under him and sending him sprawling.

He tried and failed to catch himself, the back of his head colliding with the hard ground. It felt like a spike driving through his skull, hot pain searing through his brain and blurring his vision. The fairy must not have fully healed his head from the fall. He struggled to move, frantically trying to gather his wits and sit up. A boot connected with his wrist, knocking his sword from his grasp. Another came down on his chest, forcing a wheeze from him and pressing him flat against the ground.

“Turn him back before he gets any ideas!” a hunter from somewhere to his right shouted.

“No, we gotta figure out how he turned back to a human in the first place,” the one pinning him down replied. He shifted more weight onto Legend’s chest, the collector’s ribs creaking beneath it. “How’d you change back?”

Legend mustered up a scowl. His eyes darted around as he looked for his sword. As he did, his gaze fell on the large cage just beside him. He could just make out a hulking figure huddled at the back of it. Intelligent eyes met his own, and the figure shifted forward. Even more weight crushing against his sternum snapped his attention back to the hunter.

“Tell me,” the hunter snarled, “if you want to keep your miserable life.”

Legend didn’t trust his throat to support his voice to any capacity. But he didn’t need to speak in order to glare daggers at the man. The man’s expression darkened. He shifted his foot upwards along Legend’s chest. The toe pressed into Legend’s throat and a surge of fear coursed through him. He thrashed, bent his legs and reached for his boot.

A familiar shout pierced the air. A flurry of black, white, and blue vaulted from outside Legend’s field of view. It collided with the man’s head in a mess of feathers and talons. The man yelled, reeling back and swatting wildly at the bird, at Warriors. His boot twisted away from Legend’s throat as he did. Legend sucked in a painful gasp, jammed his fingers down his own boot. He grabbed the knife hidden there, yanked it out, and plunged it into the man’s calf. The man roared, stumbling off of Legend. Legend shot away from him the second that he could. He scrambled to his feet, staggering a little. Warriors scratched and pecked at the hunter’s face, the streak of brilliant blue feathers on his wings flashing in the moonlight. The shock of Warriors’ display began to wear off on the other two hunters, the men refocusing on Legend. Legend took a step, desperately casting his gaze about for his sword. His knee gave out from under him, sending him crashing into the large cage beside him. He hissed at the pain, fingers curling into the holes of the metal grate. Something large moved next to him and he flinched. His head snapped up to see the hulking figure in the cage again. A beat passed. Legend made a snap decision.

He lunged for the cage’s latch. He fumbled with it for a second before managing to unlock it. Just as he began to pull the cage open, two arms wrapped around him and hauled him back. A yelp died in his throat, heart exploding in his chest. He threw an elbow back, trying to catch the hunter in the face or the stomach. He thrashed but the man didn’t flinch or slow, only moving to restrain Legend more securely.

A roar rose from the large cage. The door banged open and the figure charged out into the open. It appeared to be some cross between a deer and a lion, four hoofed legs and a feline-like head. The man-turned-beast charged for Legend and the man. The man hesitated for a moment, hanging onto Legend as if to use him as a shield. Then he seemed to think better of it, hurling Legend to the ground with a curse and diving to the side. Legend scrambled out of the way, the beast streaking past.

As Legend struggled to his feet, he caught sight of his sword laying in the grass. He hurried toward it, nearly toppled over as he stooped to grab it. As he straightened again, sword in hand, a sharp yelp struck his ears. He stiffened and whipped around in time to see a hunter finishing a swish of his sword through the air. Warriors sailed away from it and toward Legend, black and white feathers fluttering in his wake. He hit the ground in a crumpled heap and fell still. Blood roared in Legend’s ears. He hobbled towards him, knee burning fiercely.

A shout rang in his ears, the beast having successfully rammed one of the hunters and sent him flying. Another scrambled to get away from its rampage. The third strode toward Warriors’ motionless form. Legend quickened his pace, desperate to reach the captain first. The hunter moved faster than Legend, sword drawn and raised to strike. A fresh wave of adrenaline rushed through Legend, pushing the pain of his knee to the fringes of his awareness. He broke into a sprint, head pounding with each step. He reached Warriors in the nick of time, scooping the bird up off the ground in one hand and wrenching his sword up with the other. The hunter’s sword crashed against his, sending a jolt through his arm. He shoved the hunter’s blade back to give himself enough room to stagger a few steps away. He half-turned away from the hunter, keeping one arm curled around Warriors to hold him against himself. Chest heaving, he lifted his sword defensively between him and the hunter.

The hunter gave a rough, exasperated sigh, hand tightening around his sword. Only then did Legend register him to be the hunter he’d followed. “You are way too much trouble, kid.”

Legend scowled and lifted his sword a hair higher. The man lunged. Legend stepped to the side to dodge the first swing. He kept Warriors hugged to his chest as he returned the blow, careful to keep his body turned so the man couldn’t hit the bird. The hunter pressed the attack, forcing Legend back. Each step reminded Legend of his wounded knee. He struggled to ignore the burning pain, but he’d been ignoring it for over an hour. Not even the adrenaline could repress it very much anymore. Even so, he sidestepped, parried, attacked. He scored a hit across the man’s arm. The hunter slashed across Legend’s leg in response. Legend darted back from a swing. He unconsciously landed on his bad knee. It gave under him with a sharp ache, sending him stumbling. The hunter leapt forward. Legend tried to recover, moving while horribly off-balance. His knee twisted beneath him. He fell one way, the hunter’s sword sliced in the other. He felt the blade carve a jagged line along his chest before he felt the pain. He staggered to one knee as a feeling of fire burst from the wound, licking at the harsh edges in his flesh.

The hunter followed up with another attack that Legend narrowly blocked on its path to his throat. He followed the force of the blow onto his side, sending the hunter stumbling from the lack of resistance. His shoulder collided with the ground and he swung. The tip of his sword tore deep gashes across the man’s shins. He shouted, hobbling back. Legend rolled, trying not to crush Warriors, and shoved himself to his feet again. The wound in his chest burned in tandem with his knee. His vision blurred. He bit back a cry, legs feeling cold and farther away from his body than should be possible. He limped through the sensation, sword raised in a trembling hand.

The man recovered and charged forward again, albeit more unsteadily than before. Legend watched the swing come toward him, moonlight glinting off the blade. He skipped to the side at the last second, pushing all his weight onto his good leg. The man overshot, frantically tried to recover. Legend drove his sword through the man’s side before he could.

Legend wanted to vomit from the sound of flesh and muscle giving way to his blade. The hunter gasped wetly. Legend yanked his sword free before he could think about it. The hunter screeched, curling around the wound and collapsing to the ground. A shaky exhale passed across Legend’s lips as the man writhed weakly, groaning in pain. He unconsciously tightened his hold on Warriors as he lifted his sword again. He only glanced at the man once to aim before plunging the blade through the man’s heart to put him out of his misery.

He took a short breath and forced his focus elsewhere, turning away from the body. The pain of all of his wounds combined gave him a very easy distraction. He abruptly found himself on his knees, face screwed tight as fire danced through his body. Shakily, he lowered Warriors to the ground. The captain stirred weakly and Legend let out a breath of relief. He glanced up just to make sure they weren’t in immediate danger. One of the two remaining hunters lay motionless on the ground some distance away, a couple limbs twisting at odd angles. The beast fully occupied the attention of the last one, the man running every which way to avoid its ferocious attacks. Legend returned his attention to Warriors, reaching toward his neck for his moon pearl. He didn’t know if Warriors could take a potion as a bird or not. But forcing him to change forms when Legend didn’t know his injuries wasn’t a very good option, either. Even so, he pulled the moon pearl from around his neck and reached into his pouch. Better to have both out, just in case. He dug out the potion he’d tried and failed to take earlier, setting it down beside the moon pearl. He pursed his lips, glancing between the two items. Then a particularly sharp pain speared through him.

He hissed, lowering his head into his hands. His chest burned as he lifted his arms, his head ached from the resulting flinch, so did his knee and- goddess he just wanted it to stop. But, of course, he couldn’t drink a potion because his throat hurt too much to even speak, let alone swallow anything. He wearily shifted from his knees to sit down, suddenly so exhausted he thought for a moment he might pass out right then and there. He hesitantly swallowed to test and that nearly sent him into a painful coughing fit.

“Collector?” a voice murmured.

He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus again. Feathers rustled as Warriors shifted on the ground before him. The bird stiffened suddenly, letting out a hiss. Legend reached toward him haltingly, unsure what to do. His eyes darted across Warriors’ form, trying to figure out the issue. Warriors moved like he was trying to sit up and Legend carefully helped him. He’d noticed it when picking him up earlier, but the captain was surprisingly light for being larger than Legend’s head. Then again, Legend had never held a bird before. As Warriors got settled with his talons under him, Legend noticed how his right wing remained splayed out beside him, not folded against his body like the other. Legend found himself staring at it, at Warriors in general. He recognized the kind of bird Warriors had become. A magpie, he thought they were called. They’d roost in trees in his uncle’s orchard sometimes.

“Oh, thank the goddess,” Warriors sighed, looking up at Legend. “When you went over that cliff, I thought…”

Legend pursed his lips and looked away. Before Warriors could say anything else, Legend nudged the potion toward him. Warriors eyed it for a moment, somehow managing to frown despite having a beak instead of a mouth.

“You’re blee-”

Legend didn’t let him finish the thought, shoving the potion toward Warriors. When Warriors parted his beak to speak again, Legend gestured roughly to his throat, gingerly tugging down the collar of his undershirt to more fully reveal the bruises that must have been there. Warriors’ eyes widened.

A shout and loud crack stole their attention. Legend’s head snapped up to see the beast on its knees before a tree, dazed. The last hunter darted out from behind the tree with a laugh. He must have tricked the beast into running headlong into it. As the hunter moved, his gaze fell on Legend and Warriors. His eyes darted across them for a moment before moving behind. His eyes widened then narrowed. He’d seen the body. He started toward them and Legend’s stomach dropped into his gut. He wouldn’t survive another fight. He couldn’t even stand anymore, as his knee sharply informed him when he tried.

“The cork, Collector, help me get out the cork!” Warriors called.

Legend’s gaze darted down to see Warriors unsuccessfully trying to pull the cork out with his beak, only managing to rip chunks of it out. Legend quickly yanked it out with his fingers and tipped it forward. Warriors dipped his head into the bottle, beak snapping as he drank the red potion. He glanced up to see the man having already crossed half the distance toward them.

Warriors yanked his head out of the bottle, gave his wing a couple experimental flaps. Seemingly satisfied, he spun around toward the man, wings spreading to take flight. Before he could, Legend snatched up the moon pearl and pressed it to Warriors’ back. Warriors yelped as his body abruptly stretched and shifted. The little scarf around his neck grew to full size, tumbling down the back of his green tunic. He ended up on his hands and knees, remaining stunned for a moment.

“That works, too,” he said. Then he lunged to his feet, grabbed his sword from its sheath, and charged forward to meet the man.

His gait seemed unsteady, but even so, it could hardly be called a fight. The moment Legend realized Warriors’ victory was inevitable, he slouched down, vision doubling and dimming. Goddess, he was tired. He didn’t realize he’d been tipping to the side until Warriors caught him, calling his nickname. Legend’s eyes fluttered open, Warriors’ concerned expression slowly swimming into focus before him.

“Hey, hey, I don’t have a fairy,” Warriors said, voice echoing slightly. “You have to get up, we need to find the others so they can help.”

Legend started to nod but stopped as his gaze drifted past Warriors. The beast had begun to move again, giving its head a light shake. Legend still held the moon pearl in his hand, fingers tightening around it. He took a breath, struggled to draw himself up with Warriors’ help. He lifted the moon pearl so the captain could see it then pointed toward the beast. Warriors turned to follow the gesture. His eyes widened, stunted words of shock halting on his tongue. Legend gestured with the moon pearl again, tugging on his pink hair when Warriors turned back. Warriors stared at him blankly for a moment.

“Your hair is pink,” he said.

Legend scowled and weakly swatted him. He pointed to the beast again, it now having stood up and turned toward them. He tapped the moon pearl to his hair. He resisted the urge to smack Warriors again. Realization dawned on Warriors’ face.

“It’s human like us,” he murmured. “Is that it?”

Legend bobbed his head only once, his skull pounding too much for anything more than that.

“And this is the item you used to turn me back just now,” Warriors concluded, pointing to the moon pearl. Legend nodded again, more weakly, as the desperate energy that came from trying to make himself understood drained from him.

“Okay.” Warriors dug around in his pouch for a moment before withdrawing a roll of bandages. He held them out to Legend, the other hand also held out palm-up. “I’ll go change him back. You put pressure on the cut in your chest in the meantime. We don’t need you losing any more blood.”

Legend dropped the moon pearl into Warriors’ waiting palm and took the bandages. Warriors lingered until Legend began to unroll them before nodding curtly and hurrying toward the beast. As Legend slipped the bandages through the tear in his tunic to press against his chest, he watched Warriors speak briefly to the beast. Then he touched the moon pearl to the beast’s forehead. Hooves morphed to hands and feet, fangs receded, the head narrowed, and soon enough, a very tired-looking bearded man knelt in the beast’s place. He blinked, lifting his hands and turning them over before his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he chuckled in relief. He looked up, firmly grasping Warriors’ hand in thanks. Then he pointed toward the other cages. Warriors gave a nod, leaving the man in order to go open the cages. Legend counted the beasts that Warriors freed and his heart sank. Only five or six. Dozens more had been reported missing from the town.

As Warriors transformed the others back into humans, the first man staggered to his feet and made his way over to Legend. Legend watched in a sort of daze as the man approached him, half his focus going toward keeping himself upright, the other half trained on keeping the bandages pressed to his bleeding chest.

The man knelt down before him, catching his gaze and holding it. “I can never thank you enough, son.”

Legend blinked. He lifted a hand to flap it weakly. The man chuckled and caught it, holding it much the same as he had with Warriors’.

“No need for modesty,” he said, beard shifting as he smiled beneath it. Even if Legend could speak, he was too tired to formulate any kind of response.

Time slurred as Warriors helped the remaining captives. He returned to Legend, the worry lines in his brow blurry in the collector’s warbling vision. He knelt down before Legend, reaching out again to help steady him. He said something about wrapping Legend’s wounds and Legend just nodded, focus drifting somewhere out of reach and refusing to return to him. He hissed as Warriors wound the bandages more properly around his chest. The captain stood and asked him something at some point, but Legend couldn’t quite hear him anymore. The lack of response apparently answered his question, the captain kneeling back down. He gently grabbed Legend’s wrists and turned around, guiding Legend’s arms around his neck. Somewhere in the back of Legend’s mind, he thought he should protest, but the exhaustion outweighed his shame by a long shot. He shuffled forward as much as he could, so, hardly at all. Warriors made do, reaching for Legend’s legs. His hand closed around Legend’s knee and Legend hissed, pressing his forehead to the back of Warriors’ neck. Warriors’ said something, his hand shifted higher so it didn’t grip Legend’s knee. Then he stood.

The change in equilibrium filled Legend’s head with vertigo. He closed his eyes, fighting back nausea. Gravity bounced slightly as Warriors began to walk. Legend felt vaguely aware of the small group of people they’d saved walking with them. But with his eyes closed, the exhaustion leapt forward and clung to him like sap. He thought he heard Warriors saying that they’d find the others, they’d be okay. He sagged against Warriors’ back with a sigh. He couldn’t really open his eyes again anyway, the exhaustion easily winning the half-hearted fight. He trusted Warriors’ words and finally let himself drift away into sleep.

#linked universe #linked universe fic #ruby writes #whumptober #whumptober 2024 #lu legend #lu warriors #me presenting bird warriors to everyone like that one cutscene from crash bandicoot: fish??#that definitely well known cutscene that i'm sure everyone knows right off the bat

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bellofthemeadow · 1 year ago

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Harrington!reader, Steve’s little sister. Popular, a cheerleader, first time senior and Chrissy’s best friend. But she has a secret that only her best friend knows. She’s had a crush on Eddie Munson since middle school. She’s afraid to tell him, thinking there’s no way he’d be into her. Until one day in the cafeteria, Jason Carver calls Eddie a freak. She confronts him, and punches him in the face, breaking or spraining her hand/wrist. Guess her little secret is out, and she may never be popular again.

OF COURSE MY DEAR ANON! I am so sorry it took forever to address this request! I have just started my final year of Uni, and with four seminars and graduate applications, I have not had any time to write consistently! But this idea was too enticing to pass up, so thank you very much for sharing it! For those waiting on other fics, I am slowly but surely getting back into the groove of writing more consistently so it should all come out sooner rather than later (hopefully) and I always welcome more fics or one shot ideas! Thank you to y'all for bearing with me, I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU SO SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️

No warnings excpet for some violence (against Jason Carver so thats fine I think) and some heavy make out session

Word Count: 5.3K

Masterlist

Hit Me Baby One More Time

You had gotten your first taste of popularity on your very first day of middle school, a couple of years ago. That entire week leading up to it had been filled with fear and stress about what people would think of you. Overwhelmed, you had spent the last few days of your summer agonizing over your outfit choice, turning your daily fashion show into a reluctant performance for your big brother, Steve. Despite his huffs and puffs, he had reassured you that everything would go smoothly, but you couldn't help to worry. Eventually, you ended up settling on a cute white dress that reached just above your knees, paired with a soft baby pink cardigan. You had hoped it would be enough to get some of the right kind of attention that Steve always talked about.

In hindsight, you realized that you might have been a tad dramatic as when lunchtime had rolled around, a group of girls had approached you, giggling with excitement. "Are you Steve Harrington's sister?" they had asked-whispered with bright envious eyes. You slowly nodded, and with elated giggles, they ushered you over to their table, where the popular crowd was hanging out. It turned out your brother had quite the reputation, and while you knew he was popular, you hadn't fully grasped the extent to which the name Harrington would impact your social life. For you, Steve was just the idiot older brother who used Farah Fawcet's hairspray to keep his dumb hair in place – But to everyone else, it seemed that Steve was a pretty big deal. So, you were, it seemed, a legacy, and the rest, as they say, was history. And that very day, you also ended up meeting your future best friend, Chrissy Cunningham, who you would grow to love with all your heart.

Five years had come and gone, and now, you were finally well-established into your senior year, ready to graduate in the spring. And while it was true that your older brother might have facilitated your initial entry into the realm of popularity, you had since etched out a distinctive name for yourself. As your brother moved on to new chapters in his life (namely an underpaid job at family video), your own journey through high school took a markedly different path. In fact, your popularity had continued to ascend, like a rising star in the night sky.

Though the Harrington name may have laid the foundation, you had meticulously built upon it, brick by brick. You had cultivated your own unique persona, and it had become a force to be reckoned with in the hallways of your school. No longer living in the shadow of your brother's glory days, you had emerged as a charismatic figure in your own right.

You had become The Harrington sibling who truly counted, especially after the dramatic showdown between Steve and Billy Hargrove during his own senior year. In the aftermath of that clash, your brother's social standing had taken a considerable hit, with much of his social credit being seized by the mullet-wearing bad-boy. The Harrington name, which had once been associated with Steve's swagger, now conjured images of a radiant, saccharine smile, cheerleading outfits, and a personality as pinky-sweet as bubblegum.

While Chrissy indisputably reigned as the queen of Hawkins High, some believed it was only because you had no desire to claim that throne—a belief rooted in truth as you had no interest of being the queen of anything, especially Hawkins High as beyond Chrissy, you harboured little affection for the other members of the popular clique. Whether it was Jason Carver and his cronies or the remainder of the cheer squad, you couldn't help but find them increasingly vapid.

Nestled at the popular table right in the heart of the bustling cafeteria, always donning Hawkins’ green cheer outfit, a nagging sensation of inauthenticity always clung to you. Hitching deep into your soul, making you feel like the fraud you’ve always believed yourself to be as although your elevated social status had smoothed your journey through high school, ensuring a constant stream of party invitations, a steadfast companion, and even a few favors from teachers who were drawn to your preppy smile and sunny disposition, it all felt like a facade, far removed from your true self.

You’ve always known how deep inside, there were facets of who you really were that you couldn't openly share with anyone but Chrissy. She alone knew of your profound love for fantasy and science fiction novels. Nothing brought you more joy than retreating home to dive headlong into the mystical realms crafted by H.P. Lovecraft or to lose yourself once more in the pages of your well-worn copy of "Frankenstein." Yet, these passions remained concealed beneath the veneer you projected: the princess of Hawkins High, painted in shades of pink, sweet, and deceptively perfect.

The idea of letting those hidden, nerdy passions of yours see the light of day felt like a risky bet, one that could potentially leave you feeling incredibly alone at Hawkins High. The thought of losing friends and having nowhere to sit during lunch was a constant source of worry. You had faith in Chrissy's unwavering support, regardless of your social standing, but you couldn't bear the idea of burdening her. She was just so kind, always forgiving even to those who didn't deserve it, and you didn't want to be the one responsible for pulling her down.

As a result, the decision to keep these aspects of your identity hidden weighed heavily on your heart. It felt like an unspoken loneliness, a sacrifice you were making to preserve the fragile balance of the life you'd carefully constructed in high school. Hawkins High had its own intricate ecosystem, and you were very much a part of it. Your place within that system was delicate, and you couldn't afford to disrupt it, fearing that it might set off a chain reaction that could destabilize everything. You had no intention of being the one to upset the frail high school biome of Hawkins High.

Now, however, your situation was far from ideal as you found yourself sandwiched between Carly and Tina during lunch, and today, they were even more exasperating than usual. There seemed to be some sort of fallout from Tina's last party, something involving a boy, and now the two girls communicated exclusively through snarky remarks, making the tension rise with every snip from either girl. A brewing headache was beginning to claw at your temples as you were waiting for the explosion to erupt sooner rather than later.

What was happening in front of you wasn’t any better as you were given a front-row seat to the somewhat uncomfortable sight of Jason Carver deeply engrossed in a passionate kiss with Chrissy. She appeared to be on the brink of embarrassment, her attempts to gently push Jason away carried out with shy reluctance. "Jason, please," she implored, her manicured hand finding its way to his chest, a plea in her eyes. "Not in front of everyone..."

In response, Jason merely rolled his eyes dismissively. "Come on, baby," he insisted, his voice low and unconcerned. "No one's even paying attention to us."

You couldn't help but scowl, unhappiness etching your delicate features as you watched the uncomfortable display unfold before you. Finally, you couldn't take it any longer. You cleared your throat and loudly exclaimed, "Hey, Chrissy?" All eyes turned to you, and you continued, "Do you think we could slip away from lunch a bit early to go over the routine we've been practicing for the upcoming game? I really want to make sure I've got it down perfectly before tonight's match."

Chrissy's sigh of relief was almost audible, and you could sense her gratitude. In contrast, Jason huffed unhappily, clearly irritated by the interruption. He muttered something about leaving you girls to your conversation before he got up and headed to chat with one of his buddies at the far end of the table.

You and Chrissy shared a quick, wordless girl-to-girl conversation. All the words you needed were conveyed through a bombastic side-eye from you and a subtle nod of your head toward Jason. Chrissy responded with a playful roll of her eyes and a slight shake of her shoulder, silently agreeing with your sentiment.

As your eyes shifted away from Chrissy, they unexpectedly locked onto the deep brown ones of Eddie Munson. Two distinct emotions surged from deep within you. One was a rush of excitement as the warmth of your crush enveloped you, causing your face to flush as red as a ripe apple under his gaze. But in an instant, that crush felt almost crushing when you realized that it wasn't you that Eddie was looking at, but rather Chrissy's high ponytail that had captured his attention.

Eddie and Chrissy. Chrissy and Eddie. ChrissyandEddie. It was an undeniable fact that the guy you had the most enormous crush on happened to be utterly smitten with your best friend. It felt almost tragically comical, if you were being honest with yourself. Throughout high school, countless guys had mustered the courage to ask you out, but you had dismissed them all without a second thought. Football jocks, band nerds, potheads, music fanatics – none of them could hold a candle to Eddie Munson in your eyes.From the very moment you first crossed paths with Eddie during your freshman year, your heart had been irreversibly, completely, and utterly captivated by the charismatic and outspoken boy. You were utterly unprepared for it, not like you were out there seeking Cupid's arrow to pierce your heart. You had simply been an unsuspecting victim of one of its whims, but the exquisite pain that followed was worth it. At least, you hoped so.

Thanks to Eddie's recurring attempts at redoing his senior year and your placement in advanced classes, your worlds intersected more than once. One particularly unforgettable encounter unfolded in Mrs. Allen's math class, where the teacher had a peculiar notion that pairing the class's worst student (Eddie) with its best (you) would somehow work magic. You were left a bit shy and entirely tongue-tied in his presence, but Eddie had an uncanny talent for leaning in close and delivering a barrage of side-splitting, utterly inappropriate observations about Mrs. Allen that left you snorting with laughter. For a glorious three months, Eddie was your math partner in crime, and during that time, you dared to believe that something more could evolve from your interactions. If only you could string together coherent sentences without tripping over your words.

However, as fate would have it, the teacher eventually grew tired of her seating arrangement, deciding it was high time to shake things up. This twist in your high school narrative resulted in you and Eddie being separated, an alteration you weren't particularly thrilled about. The new arrangement effectively put a damper on your burgeoning connection.

It was in the midst of this seating shuffle that Eddie tossed a rather loaded question your way, catching you off guard. "Your friend Chrissy," he began, as you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. "Is she still with that Carver douche?" Your gaze faltered as you met his, a nod escaping your lips as a wave of disappointment surged within you. Inwardly grappling with the sting of unspoken heartache, you found yourself clutching the hem of your cheer skirt almost desperately. Without another word, you retreated to your newly assigned seat, a sense of melancholy lingering like a shadow and bitter disappointment coating your tongue.

Even now, your gaze would involuntarily flicker to Eddie whenever you found yourself in the same room. Often, he'd be engrossed in conversations with his bandmates or his D&D group, leaving you on the outside looking in. It was a conflicting sensation, feeling his presence so near yet so far away. If only you could gather the nerve to strike up a conversation with him, but you hesitated. After all, you were the popular girl, the one who played by the rules, and good girls weren't supposed to mix with people like Eddie, no matter how much you desperately longed for it. Perhaps during math class today, you thought, you might find a plausible excuse to approach him. Maybe something as simple as asking about the homework or...

"And what the hell do you think you're staring at, Freak!?" The sudden hush that swept over the cafeteria was palpable as every head turned toward Jason, who had abandoned your table and was now striding purposefully toward the one where Eddie and his friends were seated. A chill coursed through your veins, causing your face to pale. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the unfolding drama as Eddie rose from his seat. While he appeared outwardly confident, the telltale clenching and unclenching of his hand betrayed the nervousness bubbling beneath the surface. It was clear to you that what he was displaying might just be a facade of bravado.

"Did you dribble that orange ball a few too many times, Carver?" Eddie sarcastically chimed in. His words hung in the air, an open challenge that seemed to stoke the flames of Jason's anger. In a fit of rage, Jason lunged forward, grabbing Eddie by the front of his well-worn jeans jacket. The cafeteria held its breath, anticipation hanging heavy in.

A gasp escaped your lips, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath as the dramatic confrontation unfolded before your eyes. Abruptly, you shot up from your seat, causing Chrissy to turn around in surprise. She sent you an uncertain look as you started to stride toward the two boys. It was as if you were possessed by a force stronger than yourself, you couldn’t let whatever was happening continue – you had to do something!

"Don't try to bullshit me, freak!" Jason's voice reverberated through the cafeteria, anger and scorn dripping from his words. "I saw you looking at Chrissy. You think you can just lay your eyes on her, you freak? She isn't yours; you're nothing but trailer trash! Don't you ever dare to look at her again, alright? Or I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!" Jason was so close to Eddie's face that his spittle sprayed across the other boy's features. He shoved Eddie backward, and it was at that moment, as you were making your way between the mass of students that had clustered around Jason and Eddie that you felt a surge of red-hot anger like nothing you had ever felt before.

"Do I make myself clear, freak?" Jason continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Or do I need to send my boys to deal with you and your pathetic group of losers?" Eddie looked incensed, but he cowered under Jason's menacing threat.

"I...wasn't...looking," Eddie enunciated each word through gritted teeth, avoiding Jason's eyes. Jason burst into fake laughter, glancing around at the onlookers.

"Does the freak have a crush?" he taunted, his voice cruel and derisive. "That's hilarious. You honestly think you'd have a chance with Chrissy? Be realistic, freak. What is it now, twice repeating your senior year?" Eddie's face turned a deep shade of pink, shame washing over him as Jason's taunts struck at his insecurities. His shoulders sagged with each insult, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Everyone knows anyway that the only way a freak like you could ever get close to a girl is when you and your little cult of Satan practice some sacrifices," Jason continued, his words laced with venom. "I'm even surprised they let people like you in here. Everyone knows what kind of trash your dad was, it ain't surprising that the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree…”

You pushed your way through the crowd, determination propelling you forward. Without a second thought, you strode purposefully toward the back of Jason. Eddie's surprised gaze locked onto you as you confidently approached them.

You extended your arm and lightly tapped Jason on the shoulder, effectively cutting off his rant mid-sentence. The abruptness of your action prompted Jason to whirl around to face you, his typically handsome features now contorted into a repulsive mask of anger. It was a stark contrast to the carefully cultivated "cool-guy" image he often projected. But deep down, you knew this enraged countenance was his true face, hidden behind the facade. In fight or flight mode, you recalled your brother Steve's advice about fighting, which you had stored away in your memory, "Sis," Steve's voice echoed in your mind, "when you throw a punch, put your entire body behind it."

And that's precisely what you did. With every ounce of your body weight, you thrust your fist forward directly into Jason's face. The cafeteria was filled with a sharp crack, echoing through the room, followed by a collective gasp from everyone present. An eerie silence descended upon the cafeteria.

Jason lay sprawled on the floor, a violent stream of blood gushing from his nose, while you clutched your hand close to your chest. Tears welled up at the corners of your eyes. No one had ever warned you that hitting someone would hurt like an absolute nightmare! It ] wasn’t like that in the movies!

Your gaze landed on Eddie, and you noticed a peculiar expression take over the young metalhead’s face – His brown gaze held something unfamiliar, a look you had never seen throughout the time you had been admiring him from afar. I was as though he were seeing you – like he was attempting to decipher the mechanics of your very being. It caught you off guard, this intensity in his stare, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

“YOU BITCH! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM!!!” Jason roared from his sprawled position on the ground.

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from Eddie, you redirected it toward the fallen boy who cut a rather pathetic figure at your feet. Curling your lip in disdain, you adopted your most haughty tone and huffed, "You, Jason Carver, are the problem here!"

Jason, still sprawled on the floor with a nosebleed, glared up at you, his anger palpable, "You little—"

Before he could finish his sentence, you cut him off with a stern gesture. "Save it, Jason. You had this coming."

A stunned silence blanketed the cafeteria, every eye fixed on the unfolding confrontation. It was as if time had frozen, and the entire room held its breath in rapt attention as Hawkins' princess unleashed her verbal assault on the school's reigning king.

In that moment, you felt like you had the entire cafeteria in a chokehold, and you were determined not to let this opportunity slip away, not after what Jason had put Eddie through. Gathering your resolve, you continued, your voice dripping with disdain, "Do you honestly believe you can bully and belittle people just because they don't conform to your narrow definition of 'normal'? Well, I've had enough of your toxic attitude! You, my dear Jason, are the most insufferable idiot I've ever had the displeasure of encountering in my entire life! And I am done catering to whatever you and your dumb friends say!”

Jason struggled to get up, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Turning back to Jason, you crossed your arms and delivered your final message with authority. "Consider this a warning, Jason. Mess with Eddie or anyone else again, and you'll have me to answer to."

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" Principal Higgins' thunderous voice pierced through the otherwise eerily silent cafeteria. In an instant, your confidence evaporated, leaving you feeling pale and exposed. You were caught off guard, unable to process what to do or say.

Before you could even react, a familiar, warm hand firmly grabbed yours, yanking you along as they sprinted in the opposite direction, forcefully pushing people out of the way. It was a grip you knew well, and you didn't hesitate to follow Eddie as he practically dragged you toward the exit of the cafeteria.

The scene you left behind was nothing short of chaotic. The entire school stood in a collective stupor, mouths agape in disbelief. Jason Carver, his face an alarming shade of red, appeared on the brink of an aneurysm as he struggled to regain his composure. Principal Higgins, in his authoritative fury, barked orders at the bewildered students, demanding answers and an immediate end to the commotion.

As you reached the exit and the clamor of the cafeteria began to fade, you couldn't help but let out a giggle of exhilaration. Eddie continued to lead you, now behind the school building and into the dense woods that bordered the campus. The farther you ventured into the secluded forest, the more you appreciated the sudden escape from the madness. Eventually, Eddie brought you to a worn-out picnic table, the wood weathered by years of exposure to the elements. Eddie finally managed to catch his breath. He exhaled heavily and asked, "What the hell... hfff... was that?!"

You leaned against the picnic table, still catching your own breath, and grinned at Eddie. "That, Eddie, was me finally giving Jason Carver a taste of his own medicine. That douchebag had it coming!"

Eddie let out a loud surprised laugh while still trying to catch his breath, his eyes still wide from the unexpected turn of events. "Well, I've gotta say, sweetheart, that was quite the show back there. You really let him have it, you got a mean hook princess." A warm flush of pride swept over you as you soaked in Eddie's praises. How long had you waited to hear him say something like that—to acknowledge you and gaze at you as if you were the most wonderful girl in the world? It was a feeling you had been yearning for so long, and if you were to die right now, you would die happy!

Eddie's warm, chocolate-coloured gaze landed on you, and it felt as though it softly swept over every inch of your being. He spoke, his voice filled with curiosity, "I don't think anyone was expecting Hawkins' princess to come to the defence of the 'freak.' You know they won't let you forget this, right? Why would you risk all that for little old me, Harrington?"

You let out a sigh, the weight of his inquisitive gaze pressing on you. As you closed your eyes briefly, you grappled with the emotions that had been swirling within you since the first time you had laid eyes on Eddie. A small smile crept onto your lips as you slowly opened your eyes, fixing them on the boy of your dreams. "You're worth it, Munson."

Eddie drew in a sharp breath, taking three steps closer to you. His large, warm hands, bearing tiny scars from playing the guitar, gently swept across your cheeks as he gazed intently into your eyes. "Do you mean that, Harrington? Because there's no going back if I kiss you right now—it's you and me, the princess and the 'freak.' You won’t climb back from that fall.”

You glanced at your right hand, the knuckles scraped and the skin raw, with a slight swelling on your wrist. "I think it's a little too late for that anyway," you sheepishly admitted. Eddie smiled warmly, his eyes filled with admiration, before gently taking your hand in his two larger ones. He slowly brought your bruised knuckles to his mouth, planting a soft kiss on each of them, causing your breath to hitch.

"Who knew that the princess of Hawkins High was Indiana’s future boxing champion," Eddie softly joked, his voice laced with affection. "I just feel bad for this pretty, soft hand – all bruised and battered to protect me, like the prettiest knight in pink armor coming to my rescue." You couldn't help but swoon at his words as Eddie continued to softly kiss your hand, his gaze slowly lifting to meet yours, his eyes filled with… Love? Tenderness? A girl could dream.

A warm smile curved across Eddie's lips, and he leaned in, capturing your mouth with his in a searing kiss. As you both savored each other, Eddie's hand slowly wrapped around the base of your neck, holding you close to him. As you were trying not to faint from the sheer pleasure this moment was bringing you, a flash of remembrance rushed through you, snapping you back from your trance and causing you to break the kiss and catch your breath. You whispered softly against Eddie's lips, "What about Chrissy?"

Eddie nuzzled your face with his nose, his lips brushing lightly against your skin. "What about her?" he retorted playfully. "I mean... I thought... I thought you had a thing for her," you admitted meekly.

Eddie smirked against your cheek. "If I did, I wouldn't be kissing you right now, right?" His voice held a teasing edge as he continued to shower your neck with tender kisses.

You closed your eyes, feeling a mix of contradicting emotions – wanting to keep going to feel more of him, wishing him to stop playing with your heart because you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. "I mean it, Eddie... I don't want to be your second choice."

Eddie stopped his ministrations and returned to your face, holding your gaze with his. "You were always my first choice, Eddie," you confessed, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. "And I don't think I could handle being your backup plan."

Eddie's whispers were tender as he wiped away the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks. "Nononono, sweetheart. Don't cry, please," he implored softly. "You were always my first choice." His words held a reassuring sincerity that began to soothe your racing heart. But you wouldn’t be so easily swayed, as much as you loathed Jason Carver, you had witnessed first hand how Eddie seemed enraptured with Chrissy.

You huffed in disbelief, but Eddie insisted, urging you to meet his gaze. "No, it's true. Hey, look at me," he gently encouraged. "I never thought I would ever have a chance with a girl like you. You know, you're like my dream girl, right?" You gave him an uncertain look, still wrestling with your doubts. "You always stare at Chrissy, though. And you did ask me if she was still with Jason, remember?"

Eddie released your cheeks and took a step back, embarrassment tinging his cheeks as he used a piece of his shaggy hair to shield himself from you. "I wasn't looking at Chrissy. You're always with Chrissy, so I was looking at you," he admitted, his voice tinged with shyness. "And I only asked you that because I panicked. I was going to ask you out, but the guys had been teasing me for weeks, telling me I was too much of a coward to do it. I guess they were right because I chickened out."

As Eddie continued, his embarrassment grew, and he took another step back. He held the piece of hair in front of his face, as if to hide himself from you. "I've actually had a crush on you since last year," he confessed, his words shocking you.

"Are you joking?!" you blurted out, astonished.

He shook his head, his warm brown eyes holding your gaze. "Not at all, princess," he began with a soft smile. "It was last year. You were on your way back from cheer practice, and you were in a hurry, holding a huge backpack. It happened so fast that you didn't even realize a book had fallen out."

His eyes sparkled as he continued, his tone becoming more animated. "I saw it lying there, and curiosity got the best of me – I picked it up, and to my surprise, it was a copy of 'The Hobbit.’” He grinned as if sharing a secret. "I was planning to return it to you, honestly, but then, when I opened it, I saw that there was a bunch of notes in the margins." Eddie started grinning even more as he continued “All there in the margins, notes, thoughts, musings. It was like reading your mind with every turn of the page. Your insights, your emotions, your laughter, and even your frustrations were all there in the margins. I knew I had stumbled upon the most precious treasure in the universe – it was a private window into you."

Your breath hitched at his words, and as Eddie spoke, you felt a warmth spreading through you, "It felt like we were close," Eddie continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "I couldn't put the book down. It was like having a conversation with you, even when you weren't around. I realized how much we had in common, how you saw the world, and it fascinated me.”

The thought that Eddie had held onto that copy of 'The Hobbit,' with your notes and thoughts, all this time was both surprising and heartwarming. Damn, he was perfect.

"Fuck, I sound so creepy," Eddie confessed, breaking your reverie. He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish.

But you weren’t creeped out, far from it. For the first time in your life, you felt completely understood by someone – inside and out. "No, Eddie," you whispered softly, your heart swelling with love. "You don't sound creepy at all. You sound... perfect." A sweet cocky grin got etched on Eddie’s lips “Perfect, eh?”

Getting overwhelmed by his stare, you tried to play it cool and diverted his question by teasingly asking, "So you’ve had a big fat crush on me for a while, right?"

Eddie chuckled, taking a step closer to you, his gaze locked on yours. "Don't get too high and mighty, princess," he said with a warm smile, his voice laced with adoration. "From the looks of it, you've got a pretty big crush on little old me too…"

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling a delightful warmth in the pit of your stomach. "I can neither confirm nor deny that," you replied in a sing-song voice, your eyes never leaving his.

Eddie's smile deepened, his gaze filled with affection. With a tender touch, he placed his hands on your waist, and before you knew it, he had spun you around. You couldn't help but let out a joyful squeak as you twirled together in a sweet, romantic dance. As he gently lowered you back to the ground, his strong arms remained securely wrapped around your back, pulling you close.

In that intimate moment, it felt as though the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you entwined in each other's embrace. Your breaths synchronized, and you lost yourselves in each other's eyes, the unspoken promise of a beautiful future passing between you.

"Hey, Eddie," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath but filled with affection and longing.

Eddie's gaze softened even more, his eyes filled with tenderness as he held you close. "Yeah, princess?"

With a radiant smile, you leaned in closer to him, your heart singing with love. "I've got a big fat crush on you too."

A soft, contented sigh escaped Eddie's lips, and he held you even tighter as if he never wanted to let you go. "Good." And without another word, he pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. Nothing ever tasted sweeter.

“You gonna be alright sitting with the freaks now?” “As long as I sit with you Eddie, I could not care less.”

The fallen princess and the freak," you thought contentedly, "that has the ringing of a love story for the ages.” And all it took was that punch you threw at Jason Carver's face for you and Eddie to find your way to each other.

#eddie x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fandom #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #chrissy cunningham #jason carver

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