#mousse is coming soon

[cakemousse]

her hair ribbons and hair style look so much like red spider lilies aka the flower of death and toga himiko's messy hair buns who literally kills the people she loves by consuming their blood and she finds immense joy in doing so

toxinelle looks so dangerous and evil i love her ❤🖤

red spider lilies and toga himiko below the cut

[babythegod]

I made this giant wax melt and injected fragrance oil into the middle 🫠🕯️😻 it smelt very heavenly.

[hoshifighting]

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!

[brittle-doughie]

What If?: Deceit or Defeat?

(Scenario 3. Time for Shadow Milk Cookie to shine!)

You, as well as Prune Juice Cookie, Capsaicin Cookie, and Kouign-Amann Cookie were exhausted. You all barely won the round against Choco Drizzle Cookie, Green Tea Mousse Cookie, and Pudding à la Mode Cookie.

You weren’t sure if you could win against them in the final round of the Grand Cookie Games. Their teamwork, not to mention unforgiving strategies, were too well-thought out and coordinated to predict.

You didn’t want your team to loose, not when you all made it this far. There was only one way to win, and do it, you had to ask him for help…

You were out of options. Your team was exhausted, and if they fell in battle, it would be all up to you…

So, you decided to go to a private part in the locker room, where your teammates wouldn’t be able to hear you, stared at the mirror…and say the words that he wanted to hear…

“…I…I need your help, Shadow Milk Cookie…”

He’d never let you hear the end of it. The oh-so capable and renowned Y/N Cookie asking a Beast Cookie for help?! It was so deliciously absurd!

And yet, tempting~ So tempting that he’s willing to help, with no strings attached. For now. For he knows that he’ll get well acquainted with you very soon~

He can already spot certain flaws in the dynamics of the three sisters. The youngest is distracted and lured easy, the middle sister doesn’t take things seriously, and the eldest is so focused on one specific thing at times that she fails to coordinate with her sisters, leaving her a lone target.

You wanted to ask how Shadow Milk was able to provide exact flaws in their strategy, but that would just lead to you facepalming a second later. He used to be the Virtue of Knowledge as well as being Deceit right now, he’d know how to find the proper buttons to push to drive Cookies into disarray.

Time was running out, you had to chose whether to handle things on your own..or allow the Beast to come out of his cage…

“Hehehe~ I knew you were a smart one, ya cutie patootie~”

[juuuulez]

📰 | dessert.

i can imagine being woken up at ridiculous hours because carmen needs you to try a dish…anyway that’s what this is + domesticity + husband carmy + soft pregnancy vibes.

short and sweet.

You’re lying half-asleep in bed, vaguely tethered to reality by the distant clanging of pots and pans. It isn’t enough to fully wake you, too comfortable buried under the thick blankets, having finally found the perfect position where your stomach doesn’t seem to get in the way.

Which, lately, it’s always in the way.

The door creaks open, and Carmen’s footsteps are quiet, feather-light. He sits down at the edge of the bed, one hand nudging your shoulder, the other guiding a spoon into a little dish he sits on his lap.

The movement rouses you just enough, gaining the smallest inkling of consciousness. It’s in front of your face and pressing against your lips before the awareness can fully set in, velvety chocolate coating your tongue. The taste is thick, yet not overwhelming, somehow both dense and light at the same time. Maybe some sort of mousse.

“That’s.. yeah, ‘s good..” You mumble, eyes blinking open blearily to twist slightly on the bed, moving to face him. The movement causes your shirt to ride up, not bothering to tug it down, despite the slight chill that spreads over your stomach.

Carmen’s hand finds the edge of the duvet, pulling it to cover your body properly. “Good?” He echos. “Just good? C’mon, baby. Gotta give me a bit more than that.”

You suck in a breath, resisting the temptation to fall back asleep, which has amplified now that he’s finally next to you. It has to be around 1am, at this point. Usually, the baby keeps you up, kicking incessantly, but it seems the little bear has finally quietened down. Not Carmy, though.

“I dunno, Carm. I like it,” You sigh, eyes fluttering closed. “It’s good.”

Without your gaze on him, Carmen looks down at the dish, staring into the ceramic bowl like it’s his worst enemy. About a thousand things run through his mind, all with the primary focus being perfecting the desert.

“Yeah, okay..” He’s resigned, already making a move to try and stand. The motion causes you to stir again, a hand blindly fumbling with his wrist to pull it back in.

“No, don’t take it away. I’m not done.” You protest.

The spoon has already been caught between your fingers, and Carmen doesn’t have it in him to stop you. It penetrates the light mixture with ease, scooping another mouthful of the light mousse between your lips.

“It’s not right,” Carmen would say, sounding so utterly defeated. “You don’t have to eat it.”

You simply shrug, having already gone back for the last little piece. “I wanna eat it. I’m hungry.”

The smile threatens to return to Carmy’s face. With the renovations underway, he’s been missing his time in the kitchen. So, he brings it home. Working endlessly on new recipes, testing menu variations, anything to keep his mind running. Maybe the notion of having a child is starting to freak him out a little, so the work serves as a distraction.

“Hungry?” He repeats, “Weren’t you just asleep?”

“Well, I’m awake now. Might as well eat.

It’s a sound argument, and Carmen knows not to push it. He’s just lucky that you’re always so willing to put up with him like this. So, he puts the empty dish down, taking the spoon and laying it on the bedside counter.

He’ll stroke your hair while you chew the last mouthful, your eyes coming to a soft close. There’s some chocolate on your lip, which Carmen swipes off with his thumb, before sucking the digit into his mouth. It doesn’t taste that bad.

“I’ll join you soon.” He promises, leaning down to place a chaste kiss to the same spot. You give a small grunt in response, wanting to persuade him otherwise, but not having the energy to do so.

You’ve already melted back into the pillow, happy and sated with the taste of chocolate on your tongue.

[hatsukeii]

Today I'm thinking about...haikyuu + other anime characters who think you're just a little too sweet for them.

warning(s): nothing LOL you're safe with me again today!!

To them, life should be lived silently, like slipping between cracks that emerge amidst the lives of others. Their presence is fleeting, manifesting as a helping hand in a crowded hallway that is never seen again, a coffee order that is forgotten after the next few customers, a glossary that is skimmed through once, then never looked at a second time. A presence that you know for certain was here once before, but have nothing to show for it. When you grace their life for the first time, maybe in a library, or a bakery, perhaps a coffee shop, it is as fleeting as a comet that zips across a night sky, your presence escaping from between the seams of their own life the way they do to others. A glance shared between the gaps of leathery bookends, the dropping of change in their hand, the calling out of their name for their black coffee order. He finds eternity in the gleam of your irises, the clink of coins as they fall from your hand, the sugar that leaks from their name in your mouth. You find solace in the darkness of their tired eyes, the wrinkles and calluses in the palm that collects change, the grainy, sultry earth that echoes in their thank yous. They return to the libraries, and bakeries, and coffee shops day after day, hoping to bask in the sweetness of whatever you do and say again, mellowing out pools of black caffeine with mugs of syrup and milk, neat whiskey with crisp ice, balancing the earthy, soiled ground with a star-studded night sky. They change their order from an Americano to your recommended latte, smile at you from the opening created between books on a shelf, treat themselves to a small cake once every so often along with their usual purchase of plain bread. And when you finally chat them up one day, a wink flashing across your face as you slide your number to them on a doodled-over sticky-note across the counter, or thread it through hardbacks on a shelf, or palm their hand sneakily as you hand them change, their presence becomes an engraving on the spine of a book, a coffee stain in a worn out mug, the lingering decadence of mousse and cake that dances on their tongue, impatient for the next taste. They are a bitter canister of brewed tea, a hollow body and soul worn down by the trials of life. You are a shot of espresso in the afternoon sun, golden daylight peeking through half-lidded blinds, honey in your veins and prosperous life in your eyes. Perhaps your sweetness could accomodate for two.

Characters: Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Kenma Kozume, Iwaizumi Hajime, Aone Takanobu, Akaashi Keiji, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Shirabu Kenjiro, Osamu Miya, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Maki Zenin, Yuuta Okkotsu but specifically after training in Africa and coming back to Shibuya, Megumi Fushiguro, Aki Hayakawa, Kishibe, Shouta Aizawa, Hitoshi Shinso, Shouto Todoroki, Tomura Shigaraki

author's note:

be honest chat do i post like a scary amount and does it get annoying </3 i have too many ideas when i should be studying for externals in two months but i DON'T CARE i need to rest for like the next week after that trials period

i had hozier's too sweet in mind with this one and i initially wanted to do like just nanami but UGH too many characters work with this i can't DO ITTTTT so i made it a general drabble EE

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @catsoupki @fiannee @bailey-reeds @akaakeis @hiraethwa

ok bye bye until the next one which will be soon LMFAO love u all

[silencesscreams]

santa doesn’t know you like i do

james potter x f!reader (smut)

summary: you and james had been distant for a month, until you saw him at a christmas reunion. you thought he didn’t see you the way you wanted him, until he couldn’t help but bringing you over to his apartment next door.

a/n: did this in a rush but i needed to do a christmas james fic, also stream fruitcake (i love you sabrina carpenter) happy holidays!! didn’t really check for mistakes so just tell me if you see any (please), also keep in mind english isn’t my first language so sorry about any errors.

warnings: smut with plot, muggle + modern day au, afab!reader, she/her pronouns referring to reader, reader knows how to bake, james is taller than reader, wolfstar, friends to lovers, petnames (love, darling, sugar), casual drinking, use of y/n once, kissing, hickeys, swearing, praise, fingering, oral (f receiving), slight dom!james and sub!reader dynamic, james loves biting, orgasm denial?, a bit of a size kink, unprotected (sorry) penetration

you loved the winter time, especially christmas.

gifts, snow, hot chocolate, good food, what could be top that?

you and your friends had planned a christmas reunion, you were so excited you felt stupid. sirius and remus were hosting the party in their apartment, which was right next to james’, so you assumed he’d be there.

even though you and james were very close friends, since you had developed a crush on him you both had been a bit distant, especially because he was in a situationship with a girl you barely knew and you didn’t want to get in the way. even if you were attracted to him, you wanted what has best for him, though you couldn’t handle being around him while he was obsessing over her.

you told your roommate, lily, about it and she said that you were acting silly, distancing yourself from him like that and that you should try and talk to him normally at the party. you guessed she was right, you just wondered if he was going to bring the girl there, you would absolutely hate it.

you and lily went separately, which you realized was a bad idea once you stood in an elevator with a very heavy glass tray filled with chocolate mousse not being able to press the floor buttons without dropping the dessert on the floor or getting your dress dirty. and so you heard him.

shit.

“remus, are you sure she’s not coming?” you heard james say from far away. “no, i just don’t want to-” he saw you. “listen, i’m getting on the elevator, see you soon” he stepped in, cheeks flushed looking at you. you knew he was talking about you in that phone call.

“hi, it been a while” he says, trying to look away from you.

“james, could you press the button please?” you request, signaling to the buttons on the elevator with your head.

“oh, yeah, of course. going to the party?” he asked, already knowing the answer. you nod a yes, hating how awkward the situation felt. the elevator doors close and you feel obliged to say something

“how’s anna?” you question, remembering the girl he had been with for the past month.

“alright, i think” he looks at you. “it didn’t work out between us, you know? we broke up one or two weeks ago”

“sorry to hear that” you weren’t sorry at all.

“it’s whatever, i’m not even sure if i really liked her, just felt like i was trying to get over someone” he stated, the doors open and he held up his arm, holding the door so you could get out before him.

“that sucks. thank you” you step out, staring at him as he got out. he looked pretty like this, his hair looked messy-cute, just the way you liked it. he was wearing the black pants you bought him once and a sweater. he was probably freezing outside. sure, you weren’t wearing the best clothes to keep you warm, specially with the length of the dress, but you took an uber, he walked everywhere.

“hey, could you help me out with something?” he asked, opening the door to his apartment.

“sure” you follow him, closing the door behind you with a bump of your left shoulder, gently placing the tray you were holding on his entrance table. he looks at you, blank look on his face, he looked like his mind was fully empty. “so, what is it you want help with?"

“right, hm, could you help me pick out a sweater?” before you distanced yourself from him, he would always call you randomly and ask you to pick out his clothes. you loved it, it felt like playing with dolls again. you nodded a yes and he went to his room, you looked around his living room. it looked the exact same as it did a month ago, except it had a small christmas tree in the corner between the tv and the framed mirror. you got on your knees to look at the ornaments. they all had pictures of him and his friends. once you saw a picture of you and him in one, you felt like crying, it was the cutest thing. you were smiling and his face was glued to the side of yours, pretending he was biting your cheek. you quickly took a photo and put your phone back in your cardigan's pocket.

“you like the tree?” he smiled, you turned your head and got up, straightening your dress. he had given you quite the fright.

“it’s cute” you smile back, he was shirtless, holding two options in his hands.

“did you see that photo of us from thanksgiving?”

“yeah, i did” you look away. he holds up two sweaters, a cream colored one with little blue patterns and an awfully ugly one that had christmas lights. you were sure he had worn the ugly one to last years holiday party, it was ugly sweater themed.

“i would go with the one that doesn’t have lights” you were sure he was joking when he brought that one. “also, that has to be some sort of fire risk.” you joke as he put son the cream one.

“good choice, thank you, love” he referred to you like that, you just didn’t expect he would feel okay with doing it now.

“you’re welcome, james” you smile, looking at him, but not directly into his eyes. he goes to the door and picks up the mousse effortlessly.

“i’ll get this for you, don’t worry” he said before you could question him. you follow him and open the door.

once he steps out, you close the door behind him and he looks at you that way again.

“we’re doing okay, right? we’re not fighting or anything like that?” he asked, your brows furrow, feeling bad for not treating him like you usually did this past month.

“of course we’re okay, aren’t we? i’m okay” except you weren’t okay with loving him, you weren’t okay at all, but it was better to love him and him not corresponding than not having him in your life at all.

“good, ‘cause i wouldn’t know what to do without you, darling” he said, smiling.

“i wouldn’t know what to do without you either” you smile back and ring the doorbell to the apartment next to james’. it takes him a while but remus opens the door, looking at you and james in shock.

“hey, guys” he said in an awkward tone, the one that his voice turned into when he was nervous. “come in” he said, opening the door wider and mouthing something to james as he held the door for you.

“i’ll take your dessert to the kitchen” james says to you as you head over to lily, who was talking to mary.

“okay, just put it in the refrigerator, alright?” he nods and sirius follows him as he goes to the kitchen.

“why’d you lie to me?” he interrogates remus as he opens the door of the refrigerator.

“listen, i knew you wouldn’t come if i told you she’d be here. i didn’t want you to spend christmas all alone in your apartment, plus, you guys weren’t even in a fight, you’re just distant” he explains himself nervously moving his hands.

“he saw her?” sirius questions, coming into the kitchen and seeing his boyfriend nervous.

“went up the elevator with her.” james stated and looked at remus again “she could’ve heard what i was telling you on the phone, you know?” james said almost whispering, scared you’d hear that too.

“please, everyone knows that you’re in love with her. don’t torture rem’ over it” sirius jokes, giving the man next to him a kiss on the cheek.

“listen, chill out, drink a bit. it’ll be fine” remus says, looking at james with empathetic eyes.

james was trying to not think about you. he had been trying for the past year. until he met anna a month ago, as time passed and he spent more time around anna, he realized that everything she did reminded him of you. it seemed like he had been falling for someone who was a bad copy of you and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he stayed with her. that month was by far the worst in his year, it was the one without you. you pulled away and he didn’t understand why, so when he saw you that night, he thought you hated him. he didn’t know what to do.

until you talked to him.

that was when he felt like everything good was happening to him, like somehow the universe had brought you back to him. and when he saw you taking a picture of his christmas tree his heart could’ve just melted. he knew you didn’t hate him and that was the biggest relief possible. so he stayed at the party.

“hi” you greeted him, sitting down next to him on the couch. everyone was doing their own thing. james would usually be around the boys joking and drinking, but that night he had spent most of his time sitting on the couch across from you, eyeing your every move. when mary, who had been talking to you for the past twenty minutes, saw him, she announced that she was going to get a drink and chat with peter for a bit. and so you were left making eye contact with james from across the room. after thirty seconds you got up and sat next to him.

“hey” he smiled, you took his drink from his hand and took a sip, not breaking eye contact once. the heat burned your throat in the best way possible, it was way stronger than what he usually had.

“changing it up for the holidays? you’re usually a beer guy, aren’t you?” you ask, putting his drink on the coffee table in front of you both.

“decided i needed something more for tonight, 'was feeling kind of tired, you know?” you nod in answer, your leg brushed against james’ and you immediately looked away from him, he casually put his right hand on your knee and led it up to where your dress ended in the middle of your thighs. you were so incredibly close it was driving you insane, what was he even doing?

“have you baked those cookies recently?" he looks at you, like he wasn’t doing nothing at all. was he drunk?

“i haven’t, but i can bake some for you another day, i know you like them. how much did you drink?” you ask, his tolerance was high, the party had been going for about an hour and a half, he didn’t drink much, did he?

“almost nothing. two cups of that you drank” his hand there was driving you crazy, you tried to hide it but your nervousness was pretty noticeable. “i really like the cookies, what do you put in them that’s different?” “hm, usually i put more salt and vanilla extract than what’s recommended by recipes but that’s it” you felt a lump in your throat, he was making you so nervous. he looked so good and you felt like screaming because he had never touched you like that before. sure, very long hugs and sometimes cuddles, but not hands on thighs and whatever it was he was doing to you.

“are you alright, love? you seem a bit pale” he questioned, smiling at you, that damned smile.

“i’m fine. i’m going to the bathroom to freshen up, but i’ll be back soon” you got up and walked quicker than usual to the guest bathroom, locking the door behind you as you walked in. you looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to calm down. no, he wasn’t flirting with you, you were just being delusional, it was all fine. plus, you both were really good friends. it was completely normal for friends to touch each other like that, you were just letting your feelings for him get in the way of some friendly physical touch. that was probably it. you checked your makeup and flushed the empty toilet, to at least fake you were actually in the bathroom.

as you opened the door, you were faced with james potter, in all his glory, staring at the door of the bathroom you were just in.

“sorry, did i take long? i-” he interrupted you.

“listen, y/n, i have been trying to brush this off for about a year now but i can’t. i hope this doesn’t affect our friendship, but im interested in you. as more than a friend and i really like you. i think you’re pretty, funny, i think you smell great and have an amazing taste on basically everything. i want to take you out on dates and treat you better than anyone ever has, this past month i have felt so bad without you around me and when i saw you again today i just felt better. well, that was until i realized about half an hour ago that i hadn’t bought you a christmas gift, but just text me your wishlist and i’ll get you whatever you want because i just want to make you happy. that’s all i want this christmas. also, is this bad timing to point out the mistletoe on the doorframe?”

you couldn’t believe it. you loved everything he had just said, you wanted him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. you loved him.

“kiss me” you said simply like your heart wasn’t pounding crazy quick in your chest.

“what?” “kiss me. isn’t it bad luck not to kiss under mistletoe?” so he did. his lips crashed with yours, his right hand holding you by the back of your neck and his left on your hip, closer to your ass than it normally would be in any kiss. he spent a while like that, lips glued to yours, taking the situation in. he pulled away, looked at you from top to bottom and then went back to the kiss. his tongue entered your mouth smoothly, but the kiss was feral and hungry. he craved your taste, he kissed you like a starved man.

soon enough, the left hand was grabbing your ass for dear life. he pulled away again, leaving you craving the feeling of his mouth on yours.

“you’re not feeling well, can i take you home?” he asked, looking at your lips. it took you a while to understand what he was implying.

“please” you whisper, he takes your hand and leads you to the living room, grabbing your cardigan from the chair it was on.

“wait here” he said to you, going over to sirius and telling him you were feeling a bit sick. sirius waved to you and mouthed a get well soon, it was sweet he believed james, specially since his mouth looked pink from your tinted lipgloss.

as soon as you stepped out of the apartment you looked at james with a big smile on your face.

“this is so weird, i suddenly feel better” you joke.

“really, huh? should take you to my apartment just to be safe” he picked you up, holding you with one arm.

“james!” you shouted, laughing.

“don’t worry, darling. ‘gonna take good care of you” he opened the door to his apartment, closing it with his foot. he took you to his room, throwing you on the bed and jumping to lay down on the spot next to you. he took his shoes off lazily and took off your heels for you.

“you’re so stupid, you know that?” you comment, rolling your eyes at his gesture. you loved it.

“yeah, i am the one who’s stupid” he smiled, crawling over you, his legs between yours and his face right over yours, giving you a sweet smile. he kissed you again, that same starved way, this time he wouldn’t have to stop though.

his hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts through your dress. your hands went over to his hair, tugging on it lightly. he chuckled into your mouth when you did it the first time, but he liked it more than anything. he pulled away from your mouth, now kissing from your cheeks to your neck, biting it lightly, leaving marks. you gasped at the feeling of his teeth nipping on your skin, the wet patch on your underwear becoming absolutely undeniable.

his kisses turned sloppy once they reached your chest, he pulled down your dress to get a good look, you weren’t wearing a bra. your breasts looked absolutely perfect, your nipples perked up because of the cold.

“you look so fucking gorgeous” he whispered “hate to mess you up like this” no he didn’t. he was loving every second of it.

his lips sucked on your right nipple, his hand grabbing your left boob. you moaned at the warm feeling of his mouth on you. his tongue flicking your nipple before moving onto the other.

“james” you gasp, shivering under him. he’s loving the way you react to him. your hand goes down to palm him through his jeans, he can’t help but groan.

“needy, aren’t we?” he teases. he’s been waiting for this moment for so long, at the same time he wants to take it slow, he wants to absolutely wreck you.

“please” you beg, he wants something else first.

“not yet, princess. be patient” he slips his hand under the waistband of your underwear, feeling how wet you were. “all for me?”

“all yours” you tried not to stutter, holding back a moan once he pinched your clit.

“good girl” he says, putting one finger in you, using his thumb to stimulate your sensitive bud. you bring the back of your hand over your mouth to hold in a moan but he stops you.

“nonono, none of that. i wanna hear you, love” he puts another finger in and you moan, lightly arching your back. he smiles and trusts his fingers into you whilst stimulating your bud.

“you’re being so good, sugar. so pretty like this” he praised you, your walls clench around him and you moan loudly at his words. he smirks, already knowing how much you love being praised like that. being told you’re a good girl. he pulls out his fingers and you whine at the empty feeling. he pulls the sweater he was wearing from off of him, discarding the piece of clothing you had picked for him earlier that night. he takes your lacy underwear off and opens your legs, holding apart with his wrists and getting a perfect view of you.

he kisses the inside of your thighs upwards in the direction of your pussy, he was kissing you everywhere except where you most wanted him. until suddenly he kitten licked your hole, his thumb moved in circular motions on your clit. you groaned at the feeling of his mouth on you. he sucked on your clit and put two fingers in again, flicking over your sensitive bud with his tongue.

“fuck!” you moaned once he nipped at your clit with his teeth, you were so close. your hands tug on his hair and you can feel his cocky smile against you. he kept on thrusting his fingers into you, sucking onto your bud harder. you moaned loudly at the feeling, not being able to hold it in.

“shit, james, i’m gonna cum” you say in between moans and groans. you were almost reaching your high but he pulled his fingers out, giving your cunt a peck before pulling away, making you whine.

“not yet” he took off his pants hurriedly, he was wearing white underwear and you could see his hard cock pressed against the fabric. he was bigger than what you thought was. james took himself out of his underwear, he was on his knees towering over you, not breaking eye contact as he stroked himself before penetrating you. it was probably the hottest thing you had ever seen. he gave you a quick kiss before lining himself up against your entrance, the tip against your aching hole.

“tell me if you want to stop, alright?” he asks, looking into your eyes as you nod. you close your eyes as he begins to put it in.

“no, look at me, love” he demands, you open your eyes and look at him over you. holy shit. once he’s fully in he groans, not moving an inch. “you’re so fucking tight, feels so good” he whispers, pulling out almost fully and then trusting back in. you moaned at the exciting new feeling.

it took him a few thrusts, but once he finally picked up his pace he didn’t hold back, hitting your g-spot perfectly with every thrust. he made you a moaning and shivering mess beneath him, scratching harshly his back. you were sure it would leave marks.

his head was in the crook of your neck, biting the soft skin beneath him. it felt better than anything, it didn’t take long for you to start feel your orgasm coming onto you. he thrusted deeply, hitting the perfect spot even harder.

you moaned loudly, your walls clenched around him, he groaned at the feeling.

“are you alright?” he teased you, voice sounding strained as his thrusts hit deep inside of you. he lifts your hips, thrusting harder and hitting everywhere you needed him to. you threw your head back, completely taken by the pleasure he was causing over you, your eyes fluttering shut.

“shit, james. ‘m gonna cum” you state, scratching his back roughly.

“do it, be a good girl and cum for me” he said, groaning as your walls tightened around him. your climax hits you hard and you're moaning and arching your back as he holds you against him. his thrusts don’t stop once you’ve finished.

“gonna cum in you, is that alright?” you nod in answer, not being able to form a coherent sentence because of how fucked out you were. the sound of his hips slapping against yours filling up the room along with your moans and his swearing. after a few thrusts you felt his cock twitch inside of you, his hot juices mixing with yours.

once he’s finished he collapses over you, not pulling out. he leaves a trail of kisses from your collarbone to your mouth, kissing you firmly once he gets to the end.

“i think i should take you out on a date sometime” he says, grinning. he was so stupid.

“you really should” you kiss him softly and you knew what it was. he was also in love.

[baby-stay92]

Movie Night

Pairing: Idol!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

SMUT (MDNI)

Warnings: Hand-fun (both recieving), P in V & unprotected sex (wrap before you tap) - (Let me know if I’ve forgotten any)

WD: 1.939

Credit: baby-stay92

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After what had seemed to be the most stressful week ever for you boyfriend Hyunjin, you had decided to surprise him with a nice saturday night dinner and his favourite movie. You had spent the good part of 3 hours preparing and cooking the meal, whilst Jinnie was at dance practice with his band members. You even challenged yourself by making homemade chocolate mousse for dessert which, by the look of things, seemed to be turning out okay. Around 6pm you got a message from Jinnie, saying that practice was over and he’d be home in about half an hour. You quickly answered him back, saying that you had missed him and that you had a surprise ready for him, when he came home. You rush to your shared bedroom, where you quickly change into a tight red cocktail dress and Hyunies favourite high heels of yours. You sat at your vanity mirror and quickly touched up your make up and added some slightly pink lipstick. Once you were satisfied with your outfit, you went back to the kitchen and started setting the table, complete with candle light and a single rose as the centrepiece. Once everything was to your liking, you sat down on one of the bar stools in the kitchen and started scrolling through your phone, waiting for Hyunie to come home. Soon enough you heard the sound of keys unlocking the front door, making you get up from your seat and head down the hallway to greet your beloved boyfriend.

“Honey! I’m home!” He called out whilst hanging up his coat and kicking off his sneakers. You stopped a few steps away from him and smiled widely at him as he turned towards you.

“Welcome home, babe!” You hugged him tightly and continued: “I’ve got a surprise for you!” 

“Hold on, princess.” He smiled down at you, before spinning you in around slowly, so he could drink in every inch of you. “God, you look ethereal, my muse.”

You giggled and felt yourself blush from his compliment. You kissed him quickly before grabbing his hand, dragging him down the hall to the kitchen where the food was on the table, all ready for you both.

“Wauw, babe!” he smiled at the sight. “It looks delicious!” he added and pulled you closer to the table. 

“Oh, I’m glad you like your surprise.” You smile and bite your lip. “How about you go change real quick, so we can eat, huh?” You suggest and he agrees before leaving for the bedroom. 10 short minutes later Hyunie returned, now dressed in dress pants, nice shoes and a simple white dress shirt, he had also managed to quickly fix up his hair, no doubt helped by some dry shampoo.

“Well, well, well!” You smile at him as he leans down to kiss you lightly. “You sure clean up nicely, Mr. Hwang” You add as he pulls out your chair, for you to sit down, before sitting down across from you.

“I thought it best to match your outfit, future Mrs. Hwang.” He replied from across the table. Him calling you his future wife, made you blush again and deep down, you just couldn’t wait for that day you’d get to marry him. After serving you a well-filled plate, he served himself before pouring the wine that you had bought for the occasion.

“Cheers to reaching the end of a stressful week.” You smile as you hold up your glass for him to cheer with you.

“And cheers to you, for always being my rock.” He added and let his glass lightly tap yours, making a ding sound. You both enjoy the meal and talk about the week that’s past, but also the weeks that’s to come. After dinner you start clearing the table, being the hallmark version of a good girlfriend.

“Want any help, princess?” Jinnie asks as he gets up from his seat.

“Actually, would you please go put on the movie? I’ve left it on the coffee table.” You smile, walking towards the kitchen sink to rinse the plates, before putting them in the dishwasher.

“I can do that, love.” he nods and leaves for the living room.

After a while you were both cuddled up on the couch under a blanket. He had an arm around your shoulders and you were leaning against his chest. You caught yourself readjusting as the two main characters in the movie started making out, which embarrassingly turned you on slightly, much to your own surprise. You couldn’t help but wonder if the gorgeous man next to you noticed, but you didn’t dare look at him, in fear of giving it away. But soon enough you learned that the movie couple making out, and now undressing each other, clearly also got him hot and bothered. This was proven by the growing tent of the blanket covering Hyunies lap. You bit your bottom lip and slyly moved your hand to his thigh, where you slowly let it move higher and higher, until you heard him clear his throat. You still didn’t look at him, but simply let your hand palm him over his dress pants.

“Honey…” He groaned lowly. “The movie isn’t over yet” He added, but you could clearly hear the pleasure in his voice.

“And?” You smirked to yourself and quickly undid the button on his pants before unzipping them as well. He didn’t stop you, as a matter of fact, he only moved to give you better access to his semi hard cock. You sat up next to him, quickly pausing the movie before you begin to pump him under the blanket and before you knew it he moved a hand to your thigh, pushing up your dress. As his hand reached for your rather wet centre, a low groan escaped his lips.

“No underwear, huh, princess?” He whispered between moans.

“Didn’t want them to get in the way.” You whispered back, your cheeks turning a light pink. He didn’t respond, he just pushed your thighs apart, before letting his fingers part your lips so he could rub circles on your needy clit. Pleasure filled moans slipped form the both of you and filled the room, as you felt your orgasm coming closer and closer.

“God….S-so close…” You breathed out as you shut your eyes from pleasure, preparing for you to reach your high.

“Good, cum for me, baby” Hyunie Moaned from beside you, knowing what his words did to you. His honey-like voice, pushed you over the edge, ensuring your orgasm to come crashing down on you. He didn’t let you ride out the high, before he grabbed your hand that was still pumping him, forcing you to let go of him as he pulled you on top of him, causing the blanket to fall to the floor. You straddled him, causing your dress to ride up over your hips, your wet and dripping pussy now on display as it hovered over his rock hard dick. You lowered yourself to grind against him as you crashed your lips onto his, needing to feel as much of him as possible. He eagerly kissed you back, soon running his tongue against your lips, begging for you to let him in. You gladly parted your lips, letting your tongues dance together as you felt his hands on your hips. He lifted you up, so he could align himself with your aching hole, using one hand. Without wasting any time, he pushed you down on him - hard. You threw your head back in a loud moan, breaking the kiss as he stretched you around him. God you loved the feeling of your pussy stretching to fit him, the pain was nothing but pure pleasure to you and it almost had you coming again already. Before you could gather your thoughts about what just happened, he started to lift you up off him before slamming you back down, over and over and over again. For each time, your moans grew a little louder, to the point where you for a split second wondered if the neighbours would come knocking to complain. But honestly, you didn’t care - all that mattered to you was the sweet pain-filled pleasure that was being delivered by the feeling of Hyunies dick filling you up, deep inside. He managed to hit that magical spot with every thrust, which no longer surprised you. You knew that he was gifted at hitting your sweet spot just right, as so did he, for that matter. He, in fact, took great pride in knowing that only he had ever managed to hit that spot.

“Good you look so fucking good, bouncing on my like this, sweet baby” he smirked, looking up at you as he moved one hand from your hip. He let it run up your body, making its way to your throat, where he quickly grabbed onto you, and squeezed. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the pleasure of being choked by his big veiny hands flushed over you, you loved when he was rough on you, especially when he at the same time, called you sweet pet names. The conflict of the two very different vibes, simply did your head in - and he knew that. He knew that if he wanted your orgasms to be more intense, all he had to do was to mix rough actions with sweet words and god, was he a master at it. He tightens his grip on your throat a bit more as he moved to your ear and whispered:

“That’s it, muse, ride me like your life depended on it” He nibbled at your earlobe as he stopped guiding you up and down on him, now letting you work for pleasure by yourself. You quickly started rocking your hips back and forth, the pleasure still building in your stomach, that familiar knot tightening more and more. His now free hand found its way to your clit, where it immediately started rubbing circles, drawing you even closer to the edge. Suddenly Hyunie began to grind along with you, making it obvious that he, too, was getting close to that sweet release. Both of you started moving more and more frantically and once again both of Jinnies hands were on your hips. You were both hunting the explosion, begging to happen. Not long after, the both of you moaned loudly as you flung over the edge together, causing you to fall forward against him as you slowed down your grinding as you rode out your shared highs. You stayed there for a good minute, letting your breathing calm just a little, before rolling off of Jinnie who was also breathing heavily.

“That wasn’t exactly planned” You giggled and turned Hyunies head to face you before kissing him lovingly.

“But I’m not complaining”, you added after breaking the kiss.

“Neither am I” he smiled softly down at you, his eyes dark from hunger. Without another word he stood up, turned the movie off and quickly scooped you up into his arms before carrying you to the bathroom, so you both could clean up after what had just happened. Once you were both clean and had changed into comfier clothes, Hyunie carried you, princess style, to your bed, where he carefully laid you down before joining you. He pulled the sheets over the two of you and you cuddled in close to him, feeling tired and worn out.

“Goodnight, princess” he murmured before kissing your forehead.

“Goodnight, my prince” you replied tiredly before closing your eyes and giving in to the tiredness.

[mossygirl333]

if the bakery is open...chocolate mousse and tequila for logan please? 👉🏻👈🏻

AN: Oh my god, yes, we need submissive Logan, we need that (also listening to whimper audios while writing smut is fucking wild)

Bakery Order: Chocolate Mousse- "You look pretty fucked dumb." + Tequila- Dom reader

CW/TW: male + female masturbation, handjobs, teasing, Dom!reader, Sub!Logan

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!

Your feet are padding silently through the kitchen, filling up your glass of water. Throat parched and eyes still tired, glancing over at the clock.

'11:54 P.M'

You sigh, sipping on your water and shifting in your oversized hoodie. Socks sliding against the floor as you walk back to your dorm. Your clothes still smelled like Logan, bitter cigars and warm cologne, a comforting scent that filled your nose.

A hush was settled over the empty halls of the institute, everyone asleep in there dorms except...

There was some...noise. Somewhere. A few doors down, where he slept. You walked towards it, ears straining to hear the sounds coming from Logans dorm. He was definitely not sleeping.

Your fingers brush against the door handle, hearing the barely muffled whimpers leaving your boyfriends lips. You push it slightly open, choking out moan leaving his lips as he sits up, staring at the door in fear. You peek your head in, a sly smirk starting to play on your lips.

"Hi baby.." You whisper and he visibly relaxes when he sees you. Eyes bleary and blown out in lust, swallowing thickly. His cheeks flushed and hair disheveled.

"H- Hi...yer up late." He grumbled, shifting under the blanket. You close the door behind you, padding silently towards his bed. He pushes himself up more, meeting your eyes

"I heard some noises." You murmur, sliding into bed with him, your hand sliding down to push away his blankets. Brushing against his achy cock, fingernails scratching against the twitching veins.

He practically whimpers. "F- fuck-" His hips slightly buck into your palm, laying back on his elbows. His head tipped back, Adams apple bobbing. "swee'heart-"

You shush him, your thumb coming down to swipe at the dripping precum, gathering it as you languidly pump. Up and down his shaft, settling beside him. "Let me make you feel good baby."

He pants, nodding and trying not to move his hands. "F- faster-"

You coo gently in his ear. "Be patient. You'll cum soon baby. I promise." You felt him twitch in your palm, his hips jerking up slightly.

Your grip gets tighter and he whines, his breath hitching in his chest. Your knee nudging his apart, settling between his thick trembling thighs. "There we go."

He sat there, face flushed as you rubbed him off. A warmth spreading across his face, his body trembling and shaking. His eyes half rolled back and blown out, a drop of drool coating his bottom lip. Getting rougher and faster, lips parted as he moaned. The sheets balled up in his fist.

God it was such a sight wasn't it?

Spurts of cum coated your hand, a shock running down his body, eyes widening as his orgasm rolls across him. You continue to pump your hand, letting him ride out the pleasure wave before wiping your hand on his blanket.

"Aww...look at you. All fucked dumb and pretty." You kiss his nose, but he's too sluggish to retort. "Gonna go clean these sheets. Sleep pretty boy."

AN: sorry this was so ass and took so long to get out, life has been wilding bro

[that-butch-archivist]

"Tess was a performance artist and part-time jewelry maker who now worked as a set designer. [...] The first night we spent together, I taught her to knit — my classic seduction technique (High Femme Camp Antics, or HFCA) — and about frisson, that carbonated feeling that accompanies a crush. We stared at each other for a long time, unblinking. Because I knew that this otherwise might take forever (lesbians!), I finally asked Tess point-blank if she felt a frisson for me (HFCA). In response, Tess kissed me hard, with teeth. I knew she wanted to fuck, but I pushed her hands away dramatically when they crept under my skirt (HFCA). I told her that I didn’t typically sleep with people so soon (HFCA), which was true not for any real reason but because I was privately humiliated by my body (HFCA). Instead of letting her fuck me, I scratched Tess’s entire torso with my long, pink fingernails (HFCA). “Her fingernails drifted down my neck, across my shoulders,” Jess Goldberg, the butch narrator of Stone Butch Blues, says of a high femme whose camp antics thrill her. “I’d forgotten the sheer pleasure of a high femme tease.” “Your fingernails are full of frisson,” Tess said as morning light began to stream in through the window above her bed. “I know,” I said. I recently read a collection of funny stories by Lesléa Newman, high-femme chronicler of dyke life in the 1990s (the materialistic, shopping-addicted Golden Age of HFCA). In one story, a butch named Flash arrives to pick Lesléa up and take her out to dinner. Flash politely tells Lesléa that she looks nice. “The average femme would have taken that to be a compliment,” Lesléa dishes. “But this high-maintenance femme hadn’t spent the last two weeks shopping for the perfect outfit and the last seven hours bathing, shaving, bleaching, filing, polishing, combing, brushing, drying, moussing, spritzing, spraying, and applying five pounds of makeup to have all her efforts summed up in one little four-letter word.” Flash’s flimsy compliment doesn’t satisfy Lesléa’s desires to be seen, appreciated, and worshiped, and so Lesléa starts from the bottom and works her way up, prompting Flash to compliment her shoes, her miniskirt, and finally her hair in a grand, shimmering pyramid of HFCA. But even as she performs satiation, Lesléa is insatiable. Her antics fail at getting her precisely what she wants from Flash, because there’s always something unsatisfying about getting what you want by asking for it. Lesléa’s desire glows from within the frame of her HFCA, distilled and exposed and unmet. Can I Come Inside, my high-femme sex game, deals primarily with unmet, outsourced, and circumnavigated desire. In Females (2019), trans lesbian critic Andrea Long Chu argues that femaleness is a universal, existential condition rather than a gender or a sex — a condition of being and of consciousness that involves letting others do our desiring for us. At stake in Can I Come Inside, as well as in HFCA at large, is a femaleness that both craves and rebels against its tendency to outsource desire. In playing Can I Come Inside, I, like Lesléa, ask Tess to do my desiring for me, and Tess in turn defers her desire to me: the game is strictly my desire, one that she insists she does not share. Even though it mandates a performance of aggressive desire from Tess, there’s no doubt that Can I Come Inside is about my desire; it’s my game; I make the rules."

-- An excerpt from "High Femme Camp Antics," an essay written by Jenny Fran Davis. (Emphasis in bold my own.)

[atinystraynstay]

You Calling My Name - Seo Changbin

Synopsis: You were his favorite. His favorite person, his favorite scent, his favorite sound. Being away from you for so long was driving him insane, but thank god for modern technology.

Pairing: idol! Seo Changbin x fem reader

Genre: Smut, established relationship, long distance - Minors DNI

Contains: nudity, male masturbation, mentions of oral (f. receiving), video call sex, dirty talk, pet names, female masturbation, dacryphilia, orgasm

Word Count: 3k

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

It was around 12:11am, meaning it was a little after 2:11pm in Korea. You did an everything shower - washed your hair, did a sugar scrub on your legs and arms, shaved, and moisturized your legs. You had put mousse in your hair, giving the extra volume you know that drove Changbin wild.

It's been over two months since you last saw Changbin. You were fortunate to have been able to fly out to visit him during your fall break of your college program. You spent five days exploring Seoul together, him showing you his favorite spots and introducing you to his friend group. You even got to meet his family and sister! It was a wonderful trip, but one that happened far too quickly for your liking.

In just a few short weeks, Changbin would be flying from Korea to America to spend the holidays with you - both Christmas and the new year! You were beyond excited to spend one on one time together, as well as get to show him around like he did for you. You also were excited to be able to spend your favorite time of the year with the love of your life.

That didn't replace the emptiness you felt. You craved his touch, you craved his kisses, you craved him. And for now, FaceTime was your only option that got you two close to satisfying your desires.

Soon, you heard your laptop ringing, indicating you had a FaceTime call coming in. Right on time. You looked over to see Changbin's name in the corner with a green accept button and a red decline button. Quickly, you situated yourself so you were sat up on your knees. The white tee shirt riding up gently to expose your bare thighs on the call. In fact, it was a tee shirt of his you stashed away in your suitcase before leaving. You made sure your hair looked neat before answering.

"There's my girl," he said the moment you came into view.

He was leaned back in a chair, assuming he was back at the dorm. Stray Kids had just completed a successful dome tour in Japan, so they were getting some well-deserved time off before their schedules ramp back up in 2023.

Changbin was wearing a black t-shirt and black sweatpants. What drew your attention first was his naturally curly hair. God, he was so gorgeous. From his position, you knew he had his laptop on the coffee table so you could see him fully relaxed. He had his legs slightly spread, hand resting on his thigh close to his crotch. What you would give to be on your knees in front of him right now.

"Hi Binnie," you said softly. "How are you doing tonight?" "It's been an alright day so far, doll. But this is my highlight. God, I wish I was there with you right now. Is that my shirt, by the way?"

You glanced down, unable to hide your smirk. Your fingers twisted the hem of his t-shirt. The movement gave him a glance of the pink lace underwear you wearing. Just for him. You could have sworn you heard him groan from your computer. I guess he saw a glimpse of his surprise.

"Maybe it is," you said nonchalantly before looking up at him through your lashes. "I just wanted something to remember you by," you confessed.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm not mad. I can't be when you look so perfect for me. I just wish I could jump through the screen to be with you."

Your heart fluttered at Changbin's words. To the world, he was this tough guy who rapped insanely fast. He was buff and intimidating, someone who you didn't want to anger. Yet, you knew the real Changbin. To you, he was your adorable boyfriend who couldn't harm a fly even if he tried. He had a soft heart and gentle touch, but ready to go to war for those he cares the most about.

"You know, I feel like I'm wearing too much clothing. Why don't you get comfortable, baby?" You suggested.

Changbin smirked at your question, nodding his head. He wasn't the type of guy to be sly. He liked getting straight to the point. He stood up from his seat, very slowly undoing the tie around his waist that kept his sweatpants at his hips. You subconsciously squeezed your tights together as you watched him. He knew how much you adored his thighs. If you had to pick a favorite feature, his thighs might take the crown.

His hands gripped onto the waistband of his sweatpants as he slowly pushed them down. Your eyes widened as you noticed he wasn't wearing any boxers. Like you said though, Changbin always knew what he wanted and didn't like to waste time. His cock was already hard, slapping up against his clothed abs. He stepped out of his sweatpants, not wanting them to just pool around his ankles before reclaiming his seat in front of you. You weren't sure where to look - his cock with a flaming red tip or his bare face.

"What you got underneath for me, sweetheart?" He asked.

Slowly, his hand grasped onto his hard cock. But he didn't move it. He didn't want to get too ahead of himself. Changbin always favored when you two finished together.

You smiled at him sweetly before sitting up straighter. Both of your hands this time grabbed onto the hem of the t-shirt before lifting it above your head. Much to his surprise, you had no bra underneath. The extra large shirt did a good job of hiding that surprise. His jaw was dropped which caused you to giggle.

"Like what you see, baby?" "God, you already know I do, darling. I love it."

You leaned forward, bringing both of your hands to rest on your knees. You pushed your arms somewhat inward so they brought your breasts closer together. Changbin just wanted to put his face in your breasts and plant kisses all over. He also was hypnotized by your hard nipples, thanks to the chilly air in the bedroom. He wanted so desperately to wrap his lips on one and suck as if his life depended on it.

"Do me a favor. Sit back against the headboard, spread your legs for me. I want see all of you."

Shivers ran up and down your spine. Memories from the last time you were in this position came flooding back to your mind. You remembered how Changbin placed his head in-between your legs. Every time he ate you out, he treated you as if you were his last meal. If you closed your eyes, you could see feel his tongue sliding up and down your slit just before sticking his tongue in your pussy.

You were his favorite meal after all.

Compiling to his request, you scooted back so your back rested against the dark wood of your headboard. You slowly spread your legs open for him. Through FaceTime, you could see a darker pink patch forming on your crotch.

He didn't know where to look first. His eyes first went to your panties, noticing the wet patch forming and getting larger by the second. The second thing he noticed was how hard your nipples were. You were laid out for him, just waiting for him to pounce. He began to move his closed fist up and down his cock, thumb teasing the angry head as you would've done. His precum already collecting on his thumb.

"God dammit, baby. You really must miss me? Just the sight of my cock over FaceTime and you're getting so wet. I wish I could taste you right now."

You whined slightly at his words. You wanted that more than anything. You wanted to feel his hands run all over your body, you wanted his mouth everywhere and anywhere. You just wanted him. Subconsciously, your fingers began to move towards your clothed pussy and ran over it gently. "I bet you smell so delicious too, hmm? Why don't you take the panties off and show daddy what is mine. Show me your pussy." "All yours, baby. Just waiting for you."

You moved your legs together and lifted your hips, just enough to slip the panties off of your hips. Changbin's eyes followed as your panties sliding down your legs, until they were out of the view from being dropped on the floor. You resumed your previous position, legs spread and now your glistening pussy on full display.

"The moment I get home, I'm ruining that pussy. You hear me?" He growled. "I'm going to make you cry, scream, or cum so many times you lose count. I'm going to make up for all the time you've spent without me."

You wanted to squeeze your thighs together in response to Changbin. You craved the feeling of him pinning you down, doing whatever he likes to you.

Your fingers at the moment ghosted over your clit. You didn't allow yourself to touch yourself, not yet at least. Even though your lover was already masturbating to the sight of your naked form, you had to wait. Changbin prided himself in being able to provide for you, taking much of that pride from your intimacy. He was in charge. "S-Sir, can I please touch myself?"

Changbin groaned hearing the name you call him. You noticed his free hand moved down to fondle his balls, just as you would do if you were on your knees. Your voice shook a bit, fighting off your own urges.

"Baby girl, there's no need for formalities right now. But I do appreciate you asking. Go ahead, show me what my poor girl has to endure while I'm away."

You didn't have to be told twist. You spread your legs as wide as they allowed you. Your fingers circled your clit at first, almost to get you warmed up. Yet, since the moment you got ready for him, you've already been in the headspace. You moaned softly at the feeling of your clit getting pressure it desperately craved.

"Atta girl. Keep going," he encouraged you.

Your fingers traced figure-eights first into your clit. It was Changbin's signature move until you begged for more. His words though were enough for the time being, as you both were horny and just wanting to watch each other.

As your fingers slipped from your clit to your pussy, you kept your eyes on him. You noticed the vein on the side of Changbin's cock becoming more prominent. The pace of his hand had picked up a bit. If you were there, you would have taken over for him. You would jerk him off as you suck him dry.

"Is my girl lost in thought, hmm?" Changbin questioned. He noticed how quiet you got rather quickly. Yet, your eyes twinkled as you watched him jerk off to the sight of you. It made his ego swell. He loved knowing you were attracted to him.

"I c-can't help it, Binnie. You just look so handsome," you whimpered.

Two of your fingers slipped into your pussy. You arched your back slightly at the relief and pleasure setting in. You pumped your fingers gently, not quite matching Changbin's current pace, but you were building up to it. Your fingers already curling into your g-spot.

Changbin was nearly drooling over you. He saw the way your wetness coated your inner thighs and now your knuckles that were in your pussy. He found himself growing jealous, wishing that was him fingering you instead of yourself. it was indeed a heavenly sight to see his angel blissed out, but he wanted to be the only one giving you pleasure. "I miss your cock, Binnie," you called out to him. "I miss the way you fill me up. I miss the way you make me scream, make my body ache. I miss you filling me up with your cum," you panted out.

He had gotten so focused on watching your fingers go in and out of your soaking, tight cunt, he didn't notice what else you had gotten up to. Your free hand had reached up to cup your breast, squeezing it every now and then. The feeling of your harden nipple underneath the palm of your hand caused you to scream. Your body was trembling slightly already.

He could feel his orgasm approaching him, but he didn't want to rush this moment. He didn't want to rush time with you.

Suddenly, you cried out in frustration. You were trying to move your fingers at a faster speed, trying to reach deeper inside of you. But you couldn't. You never could reach the same spots that Changbin could, the same spots that made your toes curl and made you see the stars.

Changbin noticed the tears starting to fill and fall from your eyes. While it pained him to see you frustrated, he found it enduring and even attractive. He liked knowing he was the only one that could give you pleasure. He liked knowing that you needed him that desperately that you couldn't even bring yourself relief. He groaned as the tears began to run down your face. If he was there, he would run his tongue over your cheek to rid of them.

"Binnie, I-I can't. I can't make myself cum. I need you."

His baby needed him.

"Yes, you can, angel. I know you can," he cooed. "Move your hand off of your breast and play with your clit as you finger yourself. It'll help." "What will actually help is having you fingering me," you whimpered.

But you did as he said. Your hand leaving your breasts to occupy your clit. This time, your rubbed it in harsh circles. You could see the way that Changbin's breathing was harsh and quick, signaling he was close. Some of his curls were sticking to his forehead yet all his attention was on you.

You felt your pussy walls squeeze your fingers now from the extra stimulation. You head tilted back in relief, finally getting close to your orgasm. You quickly picked your head back to look at Changbin. The man looked like he was about to burst at any second. "Baby," you called out to him. "Please cum for me. I want to see you paint your stomach and thighs in your cum." "Now, sweet girl, you know I like to cum together." "But I think watching you could help me. Please. I want to see you cum so bad."

More tears fell from your eyes. How could he ever deny you?

His fist picked up the pace. He was groaning out your name as he felt his hard cock throbbing in his fist. His hands that cupped his balls squeezing hard, just enough to bring him to the edge. What got him through was thinking of you. He longed for your warm touch and kisses, he wanted you to be pressed up against him. He was eager to see you again, in person and not through a computer screen.

He loud out a loud moan, head tilting back as you watched him cum spurt out of your cock. His cock twitching as the cum covered his lower stomach and thighs. Changbin had tilted his head back against the back of the chair, his chest rising. Yet, his eyes never left yours.

You continued your own pace, chasing after your high. Your fingers were going at record speed while your other fingers of your opposite hand catered to your clit. Your pussy walls were beginning to spasm against your fingers, knowing you were close.

You cried out his name as you felt your orgasm hit. The knot coming undone in your abdomen, sending your back arching and legs trembling. It wasn't the greatest orgasm you had, but it was probably the best for now. Your best orgasms were always with Changbin. Your vision blurry from the tears. "So gorgeous," Changbin whispered. You didn't even notice that he began to clean himself up. You slowly moved your legs back in front of you. Your body felt exhausted, being that this was the first time you've cum in weeks.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" He asked. The silence again taking over. He had pulled up his sweatpants then leaned in close to the camera. He frowned, feeling guilty that he wasn't able to provide you appropriate self-care. To him, the after care was just as important as sex. Maybe even more.

You nodded your head, offering him a gentle smile. You tucked your legs underneath the comforter of the bed, leaning up to grab the laptop. You moved your computer to rest on the pillow, on the side where Changbin normally sleeps. You pulled the blanket then up to your chin as you sunk into your side, letting the blanket completely cover you. "I'm just tired, Binnie," you whispered. He nodded as he watched you get curled up. He wished he could do more for you in this moment. H wanted to play with your hair, to comfort you. He wanted to place tiny kisses all over your face, all over your body. You could sense that something was troubling him. You could always just tell with him. If you two had it your way, you'd be in person. But soon enough.

"Binnie?" He perked up hearing you call for him. "Can you sing to me?"

He smiled gently at your request. "For you? Anything." He moved his face closer to the computer, much to your delight. Your smiled as you took in the sight of his deep brown eyes, his nose, his smile. He was all yours. And you were all his.

He began to sing "Because" which caused you to smile even wider. Your head nestled into the pillow beneath you.

It was something small he could do for you, but he would do anything and everything for you. That was not up for compromise. You were his whole world.

[pixiesfz]

We’re going to get a part 5 right 😅

guys I didn't realize you would all be so invested and send in more ideas I loved them

a helping hand j.f

plot: after your injury you don't know a lot of people to help with daily tasks and that's when Jessie steps in p5 from the moving on series

warnings: angst, this was also supposed to have fluff and then I went no.

"Are you sure you have someone to help you whilst I'm gone?" Christine asked you over the phone and you hummed "promise, Laurens coming to help"

false.

Lauren was on a weekend holiday but you didn't want Christine coming home from her trip to see her family.

"I'll be fine okay, go have fun" you reassured the Canadian whom you heard sigh in contentment over the phone "All alright then, I can tell Jessie to come over and-" "No!" you interrupted her quickly "you have got to talk about it," Christine told you and you crossed your head.

"Bye Mousse" you quipped, a nickname you had created for her years ago "I hate that, and stop changing the subject" she grumbled "I know and no I'm not" you smirked "Bye Koala" she laughed, giving up on her efforts and hung up the phone.

Sighing you looked down at your foot that was bandaged, so much tape, and yet you could still see bruising throughout it. You grimaced at the thought of putting pressure on it.

You thought of anyone else who could help you but you hadn't really grown close with any of your teammates yet and all your other friends were in London.

You were in your teammates (Katrina Gorry) words fucked.

"I can do this".

You indeed could not do it.

You started with laundry, and you couldn't lean over and pick out your socks that were stuck to the bottom without putting pressure on your foot.

Then it was making dinner, you tried to make a simple pasta and almost fell on your ass when the sauce bubbled over and hot specks fell on your arm.

You've been getting uber eats ever since.

On the third day, you had a knock on your door, rolling your head back with a grown and grabbed your crutches and walked towards the door.

Maybe if you looked through the peephole you could've had the chance to pretend nobody was home.

Opening the door you didn't expect to see your ex-girlfriend but here she was, standing there with her hands playing with each other out of nerves.

"Jessie" you said out of shock and the girl looked up from her feet "uhm hey" she said back and you used your crutches to stable yourself, this took Jessie's attention as she looked down at herself.

"I did that?"" she asked, mostly to herself but you creased your eyebrows "uhm yeah you did" you said in confusion.

It went silent again as you both avoided eye contact.

"Why are you here Jessie?" You asked, slightly aggravated that she had come over but also butterflies were taking over your stomach.

"Christine sent me to check on you" she said, looking behind you "she also said Lauren was here but there's no cars" she said softly, hinting that she knew you were lying.

"She's grocery shopping," you said bluntly, wishing you could close the door but it would have been a slow process with your injury and not as cool as it is in the movies.

"Do you need any help?" Jessie asked as she took another look at your foot "We're just gonna yell at each other and then you're going to attack me with your lips again" you told her "Hey you kissed me back" Jessie defended herself "and then not speak to me for a week".

Jessie looked down at her feet for about the fifth time and you did too.

"I'm sorry" you said "I'm just angry and nobody's here-" "Nobody's here?" Jessie questioned and you nodded "Laurens with her family I just lied to make sure Christine saw her family"

"That's a thing you do"

Jessie grimaced at her own joke "Sorry too soon" and you nodded.

You knew you were struggling in your daily tasks, making sure you didn’t put any weight on your foot but you didn’t want Jessie helping you.

You didn’t know where it would go.

You loved Jessie and from what happened the week before you didn’t want her to become just another girl you slept with.

You weren’t sure what was worse, letting her in or pushing her out.

“I’m all good here so” you trailed off, obviously lying as you even struggled to close the door, giving Jessie time to run through quickly like a four-year-old “Jessie!” you called out to her.

“I promised Christine I’d make sure you were okay,” she said with a stern face as she looked around again “And by these Uber Eats bags not everything is okay” she observed.

“Oh well the next time I injure your foot out of emotions I’ll make sure to come over and judge your choices,” you said sarcastically, and the Canadian rolled her eyes “I said I was sorry”

“You said it in more ways than one” you whispered to yourself, thankfully the brunette didn’t hear.

“I’ll make you dinner” she offered as you sat down on your couch “Good luck finding ingredients” you mumbled, slightly getting used to her presence as this was the usual when you lived in London.

“Well then I’ll go to the store, it’s only a five-minute drive” she said, closing the fridge when she did indeed find no ingredients.

You didn’t know how to feel with Jessie in your house. The last time she was here she was tricked and spent the entirety of the time on a different side of the house than you.

You didn’t reply or turn around when you heard her pick up the keys and start walking out until you heard the front door close, and you saw the back of her hair swaying.

You figured the Fleming girl wasn’t going to back down (the fear of having Christine yelling at you would also make you do the same thing) so you figured it was time to have a shower. You hobbled over to your kitchen and grabbing a plastic bag you covered your foot.

You know you didn’t have to and could easily take off your tape but by the time Jessie came back she would have to help you retape and you weren’t sure if you were ready to be that close with her yet.

Or maybe you were, and you were just trying to convince yourself.

You turned on the shower, the water more on the hot side, hoping it would ease your tight muscles.

You took off your top with your hand resting on the bench, leaving you in your sports bra and the pajama shorts you had on, you were in your own home there was no reason to change.

It wasn’t until you saw the shower's reflection in the mirror you groaned “shit”.

You had forgotten to restock your shampoo and conditioner after running out and the only way to get some was through your cupboards.

You thought about waiting but you just felt useless at the thought of waiting for your ‘prince charming’ to grab fucking shampoo and conditioner so you decided to do it yourself.

But you regretted it immediately.

“Fuck!” you yelled out in pain as you slipped on your non-injured foot and landed on your injured, your foot already throbbing In pain as you laid down, the shampoo and conditioner in your sight practically teasing you.

“Y/n!”

Jessie had just walked in with groceries as she heard your yell, quickly dropping the bags and running towards the noise until she found your body on the floor, your hands clenched around your ankle which had a plastic bag around it and your eyes filled with tears.

“Y/n what did you do?” she asked and you rolled your head back “I tried to have a shower,” you said “That is too hard to do on your own,” Jessie said as she kneeled to be face to face with you.

You forgot about the hot water running as she wiped the tears of your face with her finger “I just wanted to be independent” you whispered and she crossed her head “you don’t need to be” she whispered back, now holding your hand.

There was silence as you sniffed and looked around.

You felt weak and vulnerable, you needed help, you needed Jessie’s help.

“Jessie?” you asked and she hummed, her eyes looking down

“Can you help me?”

[luveline]

JADEEEE I love roan so much can we please have a mother daughter day??? And Roan tells everything they did to Eddie as soon as they get home and he’s just so happy that you love roan so much !!!!!

thank you for your request! dad!eddie x (nearly step)mom!reader

"What is it called again?" Roan asks. 

You smile down at her little beatific grin, knowing that she knows and knowing that she wants you to say it again. "It's called a mother-daughter day. Where moms and their daughters spend the whole day doing mom and daughter stuff, like manicures and haircuts and coffee. Or, cake. No coffee for you, princess."

Eddie's blow dried Roan's hair so that almost all of her curls agave been straightened, and the dark length of it fans over her shoulders, soft as spun silk. He dropped you and Roan off in the centre of Hawkins town to spend a day with Wayne (that you called a father-son day, and he called chores day —Wayne's not taking me out for shopping and treats, sweetheart, he's gonna break my back in the yard).

The very first port of call, you decide, is hair. You take Roan into a quiet hair stylist's where you'd made two appointments, her smaller hand swinging in yours. The room is cool but inviting, and it doesn't take much convincing to get her into one of the chairs. 

"What do we want?" the hairdresser asks, bending down on Roan's left and meeting her eyes in the mirror. 

You do the same to her right. "We don't want much cut off, do we, Ro?" 

You'd already talked about it with her yesterday, wanting to make sure she doesn't have anything done that she doesn't want, or anything Eddie doesn’t approve of. 

"No, just the little bit," Roan says. 

"Can she have a wash and blow dry, too?" you ask. "She has the most beautiful curls when it's dry. We only did it like this today so she could see how much was being cut off." 

The hairdresser agrees with gusto. A second hairdresser comes along to do your hair, and it's a good thing you'd wanted Roan to have the full treatment, because you almost mess your own up constantly by turning in your chair to speak with Roan's hairdresser about what it is their doing. 

When you're finished, you're not shy about standing watch. The hairdresser is a sweetheart, fawning over Roan's pleased face as she rubs shampoo into her scalp over the sink. "Hey, Ro," you greet, "you look like you're enjoying yourself." 

"Hi, mom." 

"She's as good as gold," the hairdresser praises, "she's so polite." 

Roan shies away at the praise, worse when you agree. "She's my greatest love," you confess, "that's why I'm spoiling her today, because she deserves it for being so good all the time." 

Roan absolutely still tantrums. She misbehaves as every kid does, she hates vegetables, she makes those silly potions in the bathroom and she breaks things on purpose. But she's still a great kid. She deserves more than a special day. You'd treat her to this stuff all the time if you could. 

When Roan's hair has been dried and moussed with a diffuser, you pay your (unfortunately large) debts and compliment her all the way to the cafe. 

"Sweetheart, you look so beautiful, I wish I could show your dad right now, your curls haven't looked this bouncy and shiny in ages," you say, stroking a rogue one from her cheek. 

"I think you look beautiful, too," she says, almost walking into a woman coming from the cafe door. 

You pull her into your legs to avoid collisions and lead her through the door. "Thanks, baby," you say. If you were at home you'd grab her up, kiss her chubby cheeks, and maybe cry a little bit, but instead you take her to a nice table and buy her two different slices of over-expensive cake. One slice of triple chocolate fudge cake, and one slice of toffee cake with caramel buttercream. You tuck napkins into the collar of her nice dress and tie her hair back, fingertips sliding gently against her scalp as you pull it away from her face. She's extremely enthusiastic, spoon to her mouth before you've managed two loops of her scrunchie. 

"Eat up, princess," you say, stroking her shoulders clean of lint and stray hairs. "We have a super busy day still waiting for us." 

And the day is super, super long. It's night time by the time you and Roan get home via Hawkins lone taxi cab. Poor Eddie's literally waiting on the porch swing. 

"Holy crap, girls, I thought you were gonna call me," he says, rushing down the path to help with your shopping bags. 

"Dad, you're not supposed to see how much money mom spended," Roan declares, running around him on the path with a couple of bags in her clutches. "Don't worry, I'll hide them!" 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, waiting until you've thanked the driver and started up the path before asking, "I'm not supposed to see how much money you spent?" 

"That's a joke," you say. "You know, it happens on TV. I thought it was part of the mommy-daughter experience." 

"Oh, gotcha." He sidles in close to you as you take the few steps up to your door, not-so-subtly taking the shopping bags out of your left hand. "You look fucking beautiful, in case you don't know. Your hair is so pretty." 

"They barely did anything to my hair." You're not disparaging your stylist, she did exactly as you asked. It looks the same as always, but freshened up. 

"And yet." 

You step into the house and shut the door behind you. Eddie places your bags off to the side and turns to you for a hug rather than a kiss. He's maddeningly sweet like that. He hugs you so tightly that your back crunches. 

"Missed you… Thank you for taking her out today. I love how much you love her," he says against your cheek, punctuating with a quick kiss. "I thought you'd be home hours ago." 

"How was Wayne?" you ask through laughter. 

"Healthy enough to put me to work." 

You cup his cheek. "And how are you?" 

"Tired. Please tell me you bought me a present." 

"We bought you lots of presents," you say. "You might want to sit down." 

Eddie grins like a kid at Christmas, sweeping the bags into one arm and all but yanking your wrist from its socket as he pulls you to the living room with the other. You laugh as the two of you collapse into the couch, Eddie shouting, "Roan, come back, sweetheart! You don't have to hide anything you've got, just let me see your hair!" He rubs your arm. "She went off so fast I didn't see it. Have they scalped my girl?" 

Roan tramples back down the stairs like a stampede all by herself. She races around the couch and onto the armrest on Eddie's side, a struggle but one she manages with enthusiasm. 

"Okay, daddy, lookit. Mom told them to give me the sparkles and stuff," —she holds up her hands to showcase her painted nails— "aren't they the prettiest ever? Ever ever?" 

Her nails are small, and every inch has been decorated. Black polish at her own insistence encrusted with pink-white gems that sparkle when she wiggles them. Eddie likes her nails, but he loves her hair, combing her hair with two gentle hands at once. "Aw, sweetheart," he murmurs, "you look so pretty, they've given you your curls back." He looks at you. "How did they do that? I swear her curls don't bounce up like that even when I try my hardest anymore." 

You lift a bag into his lap. "I got some stuff on the hairdresser's recommendation. We can do it at home." 

He holds her little face carefully. "It's like when she was a baby." 

"Dad," Roan says severely, pulling his hands from her face, "we don't have time for crying. You haven't seen my new dresses." 

He pulls himself together with the help of your comforting hand on his thigh. "I'm not crying, you just look so pretty, Roro. And forget dresses, I want presents." 

"Y/N took me to Masy Daisy." 

Eddie looks at you out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe I don't want to know how much you spent after all." 

"It wasn't so bad, handsome," you say warmly, dropping your cheek into his shoulder. "They really were beautiful. Every one she tried on…" 

"How many did she try on?" he asks, like he’s scared of the answer.

"Just a couple… with matching shoes. And cardigans.”

Eddie sighs and leans back. “Best get the fashion show started, Roanie. Sounds like we’re gonna be here a while.”

[perkypeony]

𝔸 𝔽𝔸𝕋ℍ𝔼ℝ'𝕊 ℂ𝕆𝕄ℙ𝕃𝕀ℂ𝔸𝕋𝔼𝔻 𝕃𝕆𝕍𝔼 𝕀𝕀𝕀

Dad Gojo x daughter reader

Part 2

Utahime and Nanami were on their way to an important mission, but first, they had to drop off Y/N at her elementary school for the annual sports day. They walked her to the entrance, the little girl looking disappointed.

“I’m sorry I can’t be here to cheer for you. Do your best, okay?” Utahime softly spoke to the pouting girl, her heart aching.

“If you win, I'll treat you to dessert. How does that sound?” Nanami added, trying to lift her spirits.

“Promise?” Y/N asked, holding out her pinky finger. Nanami linked his pinky with hers, sealing the promise.

Y/N waved goodbye and headed toward the school field. She noticed a crowd of parents already seated in the bleachers. Her friend, Rin, ran over with her parents.

“Y/N! Did your dad come today?” Rin asked.

“No, he's busy,” she lied, a familiar sadness settling in. She knew her father wouldn't come. He didn’t show up last year either. She had long come to the conclusion that Satoru hated her.

“It’s okay, we’ll cheer for you too. Good luck!” Rin’s mom said enthusiastically.

Y/N gave a warm smile before going to the participants' area with Rin.

Meanwhile, in the car, Nanami couldn’t shake off the thought of Satoru's absence. “So it’s true that Gojo's an absent father, huh?”

“I guess so. I did tell him, and he said he’ll go if he feels like it,” Utahime sighed. “He said the same thing last year and didn’t come.”

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at an abandoned hospital to exorcise a special-grade curse. They worked quickly, hoping to make it back in time for Y/N’s race.

They were late, but they returned just in time to see Y/N on the podium, winning second place. Utahime waved frantically, catching Y/N’s eye. The girl ran over, her silver medal gleaming in the sun.

“Look at this! I won second place!” Y/N exclaimed, her face beaming with pride.

“Congratulations, sweetie,” Utahime said, patting her head.

“Yes, you did a great job. Now, who wants dessert?” Nanami asked, not forgetting his pinky promise.

At the café, Y/N ordered her favourite, a chocolate mousse. As she ate, Nanami noticed a bit of chocolate at the corner of her mouth and wiped it away with a tissue. The gesture triggered a bittersweet memory for Y/N.

Y/N was four, sitting at the kitchen table, eagerly devouring a chocolate mousse. Her face and hands were covered in chocolate. Satoru watched from a distance, feeling a mix of irritation and frustration.

“Daddy, it’s yummy!” Y/N giggled, looking up at him with pure joy.

Satoru sighed, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. “You’re making a mess,” he muttered, grabbing a tissue to clean her up.

Y/N continued to smile, unaware of the storm brewing inside her father. “Can we have more tomorrow?”

Satoru's patience was wearing thin. “Why do you always make everything difficult?” he snapped, wiping her face a bit too roughly. Y/N flinched, her smile fading as tears welled up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered, looking down at her now-clean hands.

Satoru’s heart clenched with guilt, but the anger and sadness over losing her mother were too overpowering. He turned away, unable to look at her. “Just... go play,” he said, his voice strained.

Y/N blinked back tears, but the warmth of Utahime and Nanami's presence grounded her in the present. She finished her mousse with a bittersweet smile.

“Thank you for today, Nanami-san!” Y/N exclaimed cheerfully as she waved, parting ways with him who was returning to Tokyo.

The following week, Satoru and Nanami arrived at Kyoto Jujutsu High to discuss the upcoming sister school event with Utahime. They arrived early and waited by the garden bench.

Utahime soon arrived with Y/N, who had just come back from school. Y/N's face lit up when she saw Nanami. “Nanami-san!”

Nanami smiled. “Hi, sweetheart. What did you learn at school today?”

“We made an awesome rainbow in a jar for a science experiment!”

Nanami seemed like he was naturally good at handling kids. “That sounds fun. You should show me how to do it next time.”

Satoru interjected, “Hey, where’s my hello?”

Y/N glanced at him, her joy fading. “You didn’t even care to come to my sports day. All my friends had their parents cheer for them.”

“You don't know how busy the strongest sorcerer can be,” he gave a snarky reply.

Sensing the tension, Utahime joined in, “Y/N, why don’t you go to the common room? Miwa and Momo are waiting for you.”

The little girl nodded before making her way to the common room. Once Y/N was out of earshot, Satoru, Nanami, and Utahime proceeded to the teachers’ lounge. About thirty minutes into the discussion, Miwa burst in, her face pale with worry. “Utahime-sensei, Gojo-sensei, it’s Y/N. She fainted.”

They rushed to the common room. Satoru immediately noticed her weakening cursed energy and felt a pang of guilt for not teaching her to control her Six Eyes.

Y/N was solving a Barbie puzzle, her eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. “Daddy, my eyes hurt.”

Satoru glanced at her from the living room, a glimpse of worry flashing through him. “You’ll be fine with a few eye drops,” he said dismissively, deep down knowing it was her Six Eyes causing the pain.

Y/N nodded, trusting his words, but Satoru felt the weight of his ignorance. He knew she needed proper guidance but couldn’t bring himself to face the responsibility.

“She’s fainted because of her Six Eyes,” Satoru explained, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. His eyes darted between Utahime and Nanami, seeking understanding but finding only disappointment.

Nanami placed a firm hand on Satoru’s shoulder. “You need to start helping her, Gojo, not hurt her more.”

Satoru’s eyes flashed with frustration. “It's not my fault I can't give her the love she needs!”

“But she's still your daughter,” Nanami pressed, his voice stern. “She deserves your attention and care.”

“You're not the one walking in my shoes!” Satoru snapped, his voice rising.

“Enough!” Utahime’s voice cut through the tension, but it was too late. Y/N stirred awake, her small body trembling as she struggled to sit up. Utahime quickly knelt beside her, offering a glass of water. “How do you feel, sweetie?”

Y/N took a few shaky sips, her voice barely a whisper. “My head and eyes hurt. What happened to me?”

“You fainted,” Utahime said softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s face. “Your Six Eyes are draining your energy.”

Y/N’s gaze shifted to her father, eyes filled with a mix of pain and accusation. “You never taught me how to control it.”

Satoru flinched, his heart clenching. “I... I didn't think you were ready.”

“You never asked me if I was ready!” Y/N’s voice cracked with emotion, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don't think you ever actually care about me!”

Satoru’s anger flared, masking his guilt. “You ungrateful—”

“Satoru, stop!” Utahime’s hand shot out, gripping his arm as his fingers dug into Y/N’s skin. The room fell silent, the air thick with tension.

Utahime took a deep breath, her voice steady but firm. “Satoru, why don't you bring Y/N to stay with you this weekend? You can teach her about her Six Eyes.”

Nanami nodded, his eyes locked onto Satoru’s. “It’s the best course of action. She needs you.”

Satoru’s shoulders sagged under the weight of their words. He looked at his daughter, her face a mirror of his own pain and confusion. “I’ll think about it,” he said weakly, his mind a whirlwind of guilt and regret.

That weekend, Satoru picked up Y/N and brought her to Tokyo Jujutsu High. Despite her reluctance and the lingering anger she felt toward him, she followed, her emotions a storm beneath her calm exterior.

As they walked through the school grounds, Satoru glanced at her, sensing her discontent. "Y/N, I know you're angry at me, and I understand. But I want to help you manage the strain of your Six Eyes. Please, give me a chance."

Y/N crossed her arms, her expression guarded. "Why should I trust you now?"

Satoru stopped and faced her, his usual playful demeanour replaced by sincerity. "Because I'm your father, and I care about you more than anything. I want to make things right between us."

She hesitated, searching his eyes for any sign of deception. Finally, she sighed and nodded. "Fine. But this doesn't mean I've forgiven you."

He handed her his blindfold. “This will help you manage the strain.”

He then enlisted the help of his first-year students. “Y/N, I want you to use your Six Eyes to describe Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara.”

Y/N hesitated but then nodded, focusing on each student. “Yuji has a bright, energetic aura. Megumi’s is more subdued but strong. Nobara’s is fierce and sharp.”

Satoru nodded, pride swelling in his chest. “Good job, Y/N. You did great.”

Y/N felt a small flicker of satisfaction at his praise but quickly suppressed it, reminding herself of the pain he had caused. She was determined to keep learning and mastering her cursed technique. Since she didn't inherit the Limitless curse technique, she was planning to learn how to wield a cursed tool and imbue her curse energy in it. But she would have to wait until she could properly control her Six Eyes.

Later that evening, they were at home. Y/N was practising with her blindfold, carefully feeling out the energy around her. She wandered into the living room and caught sight of a photo hanging on the wall—a photo of her father and a woman. She took off her blindfold to inspect it more closely, her eyes tracing the familiar yet distant features.

She wanted to say something but hesitated, knowing how much her father hated when she talked about her mother. Just as she was about to put the blindfold back on, she felt a presence behind her.

“Do you think your mom is beautiful?” Satoru’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. Y/N turned to see him standing there, his eyes gentle.

“She’s very beautiful,” Y/N replied, her voice barely audible.

Satoru knelt in front of her, his eyes filling with a mixture of sorrow and love. He studied her face, seeing the striking resemblance to her mom—the same delicate features, the same gentle smile. The only difference was the colour of her hair and eyes, which mirrored his own.

“You look so much like her,” Satoru said, his voice trembling. “Except you have my hair and my eyes.”

Y/N's eyes brimmed with tears. “I miss her.”

“I miss her too,” Satoru admitted, tears welling up in his eyes. “And I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve been a terrible father. Can you forgive me?”

Y/N looked at him, her tears spilling over. “I forgive you, dad.”

Satoru pulled her into a tight hug, tears streaming down his face. “I promise to be better. Do you want to stay with me longer?”

Y/N nodded, hugging him back tightly. “Yes, I do.”

In that moment, Satoru vowed to mend their fractured bonds, determined to be the father she deserved. Their journey of healing had just begun, and this time, he wouldn’t let her down.

@kalopsia-flaneur ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs ғᴏʀ ʟɪᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs sᴇʀɪᴇs(?) ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ sᴜʀᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ's ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ. ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ sᴀᴛɪsғɪᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪs ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ's ᴍɪssɪɴɢ. ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ.

[meowlod]

“Darling! Do you want anything to eat? I‘ll get your favourite desserts.“

Your hand grips the door handle before you open the door and leave for shopping, but a hand pulls you away from the door and furina pins you to the wall, red flush on her cheeks and sweat dripping down from her face. She‘s clearly a little too excited today.

“The only tasty food I want is right in front of me and tastes better than the Fontinalia mousses. Cmere.“

Furina touches your lower lips in a slow pace back and forth, looking at you with hungry heterochromia eyes, clearly desperate for the taste of your lips. She stares at you for a couple of seconds before putting a finger under your chin, leaning in to kiss you.

”…mhhp!..Furina.!.“

Gibberish words escape from you while you kiss her back, wrapping your arms around her neck to pull her close to you. During the kiss, you feel her kiss becoming more passionate, and before it could turn more into a make out session, you push her away playfully and chuckle softly, taking your bag from the kitchen table.

”Gorgeous, you know I need to go shopping for food. We can do that later, y‘know?“

She stares back at you with those puppy eyes and you couldn‘t stop the little giggles coming out from your mouth. Furina really looks pretty cute like this, you thought to yourself.

”Why not now, amour? You clearly know that you can just go shopping later. I need to taste you, right now. Please?“

You walk back to the door and open it, looking at her for the last time with a smile.

”It‘s important, baby. We have guests coming soon. Why don‘t you come with me shopping, hm?“

That‘s what she thought to herself too. Furina nods with a smile and quickly puts on her shoes before running up next to you and taking your cold hand into her warm hand, interlocking her fingers with yours.

“…I haven‘t thought of that.“ What a cute lie. ”Okay. Let‘s buy macaroni and desserts!“

“Not today, we already have a lot of macaroni and desserts. Lets buy ingredients and food for cooking first, then we can eat what you want. Okay?“

”….Okay. Anything for you.“

[scaredcrab]

Coffee Shop II (drabble)

Character: ☾ Macaque x Reader ☽

✐ Summary: You work at this café. Suddenly, there's a monkey there!

✐ Category: Cute. Romantic. Funny.

Since you guys loved the Wukong one, I thought the other monkey man also deserved his own coffee shop text. ★ ☆

Link to Wukong version: Here.

-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-

☆ That's how it all started: Sun no longer visible, everything covered with shadows, courtesy of the dark gray clouds that embraced the horizon with their humidity, a sky ready to cry.

☆ A ring it's heard coming from the front door, revealing him in a wet cloak. Macaque walks in his human form towards you, leaving a dripping trail as he approaches.

☆ "May I have a warm drink, please?"

You looked at him and waited,

And waited,

Waited until the warrior himself got annoyed and gave you an irritated look.

"Did you have an issue with me, you-…?" - You raise one finger to his mouth to shut him.

"Which warm drink? You need to be more specific than that."

☆ He slaps the finger from his mouth, and gritted his teeth, all of this while slamming one of his hands in the counter you were standing.

☆ A sigh followed by a roll of your eyes was all you had to him. Soon you turned your back to the simian, leaving the cashier area.

☆ "Wha... What about my drink?"

"Ask for something specific and I will get it. If you're here just for shelter from the rain, you can just stay, but I'm not going to guess your order."

☆ Oh, of course, he would be specific. He would be the most specific as possible, a special treatment just for you. As you got back, he had a giant grin in his face...

...

☆ Different from what he expected, you continued unbothered while writing a super complicated order.

"A large cup with half soy milk and half goat milk, a bit of decaf coffee, 6 pumps of vanilla, 6 pumps of classic syrup, and 69 pumps of sugar free caramel syrup. All with hot milk, warm decaf coffee, cinnamon sprinkled on top, whipped cream and purple sprinkles. May I offer something to eat alongside the drink?"

How did you even understand all of this when he said as fast as he could?

☆ The warrior felt challenged. It was the dumbest task he could ever accept, but he wanted said mission.

☆ Showing up at your workplace to try to annoy you with the craziest requests became routine for the monkey.

☆ You never seemed to mind (actually enjoying the daily share of laughs when the order ended up being a shit for all the originality of different ingredients combined), and had an amazing ability to always understand these orders.

☆ Even with you always getting the orders right, your never got his name right. It would always be spelled wrong in the cups, creating a new funny nickname with each visit.

"Here is your drink and your mango mousse, mister Mah-cake."

☆ He never got to earn a good reaction, no matter how insane his requests would be. It was always you laughing at him drinking a new special combination, never him getting the fun.

This until he learned a trick.

☆ "Here's your order." - It was quickly placed on the table, practically slapped there, you turned away, without caring who you were serving.

Instead of getting mad at this, Macaque just lazily teased you, "Are you nervous, sweetie?~ Want me to hold your hands in mine?"

☆ While you shifted in place to go away, he didn't catch the vision of your face fast enough, but he could hear what he has done to you.

A little squeak of surprise, so subtle that no mortal hearing would catch it, and the heartbeat accelerating. That changed the whole dynamic.

☆ From that day on he started to dedicate himself to saying things that made you blush instead of trying to exaggerate the requests.

☆ Shameless flirting, compliments on appearance, the occasional gentle touch on your hand as you slid the order across the table for him. Each gesture accompanied by the most velvety voice he could muster.

☆ "Uh... Could you repeat the order, please?" - A blush so strong filled your head to the point that even your ears turned red.

"Pardon me, what did you just say now?"

☆ Of course, the Six Eared Macaque heard what you said, but he wanted to hear again. You finally didn't understand an order, and it wasn't because of how hard it was to get it, it was for the fact that he managed to make you unable to concentrate.

☆ His eyes got wrapped in the satisfying view of you shaking lightly, with eyes that darted from the ground to his lips while weakly mumbling "I got distracted".

☆ As the days passed he felt more pleasure in seeing you like this, and with all that passing of time he felt more and more the desire to always see you. It was fact that he caught some feelings.

☆ Despite your insecurities, you started to flirt back, in your own way. His favorite table was always reserved for him, sometimes his order would come with extra desserts, and occasionally a napkin would appear in his stuff with a written question asking his favorites musics, the answer would define the soundtrack for the café on that day.

☆ "Look, I'm really liking all those special favors, but when are you going to make a move on me?"

The face hid behind a tray, pretending not to hear as you left, "H-Have a nice day!"

☆ One day a customer started bothering you. Your service wasn't fast enough in his opinion, and because of that he made sure to mistreat you in public.

☆ To avoid things from getting out of hand, you listened to all with your head down in hope that he would go away after saying everything he wanted to.

But he only left after throwing a cup in your direction, luckily he didn't hurt you much.

☆ Macaque couldn't control himself. Once the man got out of the place, the monkey dragged him to an alley and beat the shit out of him.

"Never bother them again, did you hear me?"

☆ He just didn't count on the fact that the back doors of the cafeteria led to that alley, that you would open the door to throw out the garbage and end up watching the whole fight without him noticing.

☆ "Well, I guess you saw all of that, huh? Are you scared of me now? Are you afraid of demons?" - Macaque pulled his theatrics to make his lil dramatic phrase.

"... Thank you for defending me, Macaque." - You quickly leave a peck at his cheek and run back to the café.

He is left with the sweet sensation of victory.

☆ Macaque's regular visits continue, and after gathering your courage, you finally call the demon to go out and soon after you two starts dating.