#neither for herb

[cartoonsarelife11]

Part 2 to my DWD refs (part 1 is here)

[thwispsings]

the idea came to me in a migraine induced dream but now im obsessed with the concept of a mu qingfang who knew the abuse bunhe was going through at the hands of og!shen qingqiu/shen jiu and did his best to treat the kid whenever he could (and bring his concerns to zhangmen shixiong, which were obviously very much ignored) and his constant worry over the situation means that when the qi deviation happens he is suspicious of shen qingqiu’s changes for all different reasons and very much protective of luo binghe -who is a sweet child and an earnest disciple who seems to always find the most incredible medicinal herbs to bring to his mu shishu as thanks for the care bestowed upon him- which means that when the whole shen qingqiu dying thing happens instead of bad mouthing luo binghe or fighting him at every chance he does his best to come over and keep an eye on things to try and help him and make sure luo binghe won’t kill himself trying to bring shen qingqiu back because he remembers that earnest kid and he’s witnessed luo binghe’s devotion to this shen qingqiu first hand and knows there is no way that the kid who cried when ning yingying found a bird with a broken wing and begged mu qingfang to fix it and the kid that would always borrow medical texts and try to find new herb combinations as if it was a game between him and qian cao disciples is actually doing anything nefarious to shen qingqiu’s corpse.

anyways in this essay i will-

[uncreative-cryptid]

This past weekend I learned "valerian" was the name of an herb while I was chilling with my coworkers... the same nerdy ones who I keep subscribed to the Rock Lickers' developments 🤣 One of them mentioned it in a cooking (? I think) context and I was like hang on I know that name!! (and of course I mentioned this to them and they were entertained 😆) Anyway I thought it was a fun "today I learned" moment because I'd never heard of it prior to knowing of Valerian as a character 😛

lol i love those little moments of "!!! i heard of that!!!" but hehe yeah the name was quite intentional >:3

however the only thing i really have to say about it was that the herb causes a similar response in cats that standard catnip does (though my cats prefer silvervine)

[whatreyabuyin]

"How many times are you gonna forget this blog exists," you may be askin' me. Well, I'll admit, stranger—I don't have much of a good reply. Instead, I'll answer with a question of my own;

"How much are you willin' to pay for me to come back each time?"

[bugwolfsstuff]

Whenever i see characters ask for forgiveness for something but get told no because the other character 'wont allow themselves to be hurt anymore' i get sad because while i know its the right thing to do i cant help but wonder if that time it would have worked out and they'd stay changed for the better if they just took that chance—

*thinks about my irl 'best friend' who has done so many bad things but i stayed because what if she changes*

Oh. Oh....OH FUCK ITS CUS I SEE MYSELF

[dapperfinch]

I didn't need a third sage plant because I already have two, big, beautiful plants that are about 4 years old now, BUT... my new one is purple, so it's different and I'm still a very responsible adult who makes sensible and logical purchases. I spend money good. Yup, yup yup.

[starlightsunrise]

why is it so hard to find goddam herb seeds in this sonofabitch town

[spooky-something]

To the people saying "I do it because they're/it's hot, but I'm also trans!", "I do it because they just have traits (they're 'feminine') that make me think that, but I'm also trans!", etc., you do realize you can still fetishize and push prejudice/negative stereotypes within the community? Do you know how many people have headcanoned men as trans because they're just a wee bit feminine and they too were trans men? I'm going to be honest, in my experience, it's been a vast majority. And that bothers me. It's become so normalized, people don't even care, even in their own community. Men can be feminine, trans or not. It's gross to pin the label of trans on a man solely because they don't fit the convention, as all you're doing is fueling the fire of this problem. I know we want more representation in media, but instead of half assing it, or really just creating sick caricatures of us based on what the cis-gender people have decided are the norm, maybe we should actually put effort into our headcanons, or even... Make our own representation instead of seeing someone like, I don't know, Armin from Attack on Titan, and because he has longer hair, a softer voice, a smaller frame, and isn't the stereotypical male, claiming "Oh, he's trans!". There are times it works; me personally, I headcanon Dipper Pines as transgender, not because he's feminine, but because I can understand his struggles with masculinity and what makes him who he is; of not fitting the agenda while still being a man; of being dysphoric and insecure, but also learning to accept who you are. Not to mention just reality, identical twins have to be born the same gender, and while it's possible they might not be identical, the creator of the series himself has actively supported the headcanon. That's an exception. That's different. To explore the character via a headcanon, that is one thing. To just stick it on them is another. If you want representation, either make your own characters for it, find/support media that have it, or actually attempt to reflect the transmasc experiences in a headcanon as accurately as possible (tied to making your own, accurate representation). Stop just placing labels on a male with long hair and a more androgenous voice and going: "Aw, he's trans! 🥺" Without anything more.

hey. hey you.

look at that character you’re headcanoning as a trans man.

are you headcanoning him that way because you think it’s interesting, or because he’s a twink and acts kind of feminine?

if you write about him, do you treat him the same way you do your other characters, or is he distinctly separated?

can he handle himself, or is he always the damsel in distress? do you have someone bigger and stronger than him always save him?

do you make him act more childish or confused? is he super innocent and needs someone wiser to guide him?

are you willing to explore what his transness means, or do you just think it makes him hotter?

did you make him trans because you wanted to write him as the bottom? is he trans because you wanted him pregnant without "technically" writing mpreg?

are you willing to headcanon big strong men as trans men? old men? not stereotypically attractive men? men of color? fat men? disabled men?

is his transness a part of him or do you just treat it is a prop?

on the other hand, is he more than just his transness, or is that all there is to him?

do you include other queer and trans people in your work? how do you treat them in your writing?

how do you treat actual trans men? trans men who dont pass? trans men who do? who dont feel comfortable being perceived as feminine? who present in a more feminine way? who identify as more than just a man? who arent just white twinkish silly feminine men? who are kids, meaning you can’t just sexualize them? who are more than just props to be used within a story to push the plot along?

are you willing to listen to trans men who speak out on their issues, or does that seperate them too far from the fantasy you’ve concocted about them?

how do you treat trans men?

[shroompette]

Maine Coon Cat!König living alone in his den, generally unbothered until Bunny!Reader shows up during a storm, seeking shelter under the overhang of his home. Wet, cold and with an injured leg, König takes pity on her and brings her inside.

MCCat!König who doesn't really have many veggies lying around, but he does have some fruit. He watches Bunny!Reader's cheeks grow chubby as she stuffs them with bananas and canned nectarines. Poor thing, she must have been starved. He gives her a can of strawberries as well, which she neatly tucks away in her raincoat. He does not question her about it.

MCCat!König who, after he feeds Bunny!Reader, carefully rolls up the fabric of her pants to inspect and disinfect the nasty cut on her calf, taking the opportunity to give a closer look to her as a whole. He finds himself enchanted with the long, fluffy ears that droop around the sides of her head. Even wet, they still look enticing, cotton-soft and he wants to brush them, rub his cheeks against them, kiss them, pull them, bite them-

MCCat!König who manages to make Bunny!Reader a little nest to sleep in out of spare pillows and blankets, the crackle of the flames dancing in the fireplace lulling her to sleep. He watches her for a while and nearly purrs with delight when she rolls over in her sleep and reveals the round little scut that he'd like to use as a stress ball.

MCCat!König whose big ears twitch as he hears the sound of his front door opening in the morning, knowing Bunny!Reader must have slipped out into the woods again and it makes his heart pang just a little before he resumes his everyday life.

MCCat!König who is absolutely flabbergasted when a week passes and there's a knock on his door behind which stands Bunny!Reader and her three little buns. Without a word, she ushers them inside before disappearing into the woods. He isn't sure what to do. He has half a mind to run after her, but he fears leaving the buns alone would give them an opportunity to cause mischief and he'd rather not come back and find his den on fire. He stays, letting them sit in his big lap and play with his tail that sometimes tickles them on their twitchy little noses, so similar to their mother's. They're very messy eaters too - they seem to love strawberries, little fingers and cheeks sticky with their juice.

MCCat!König who is equally relieved and enraged when Bunny!Reader finally shows up hours later with a satchel of herbs and veggies for her babies who are currently bundled up in the nest he reassembled. He is about to tell her off, inform her that he isn't a babysitter when she stands on her tiptoes and nuzzles his nose ever so gently, difusing his anger completely. He barely blinks before she's off to check on her buns, satisfied with the state she finds them in - alive, with full bellies and sleeping.

MCCat!König who slowly gets used to Bunny!Reader dropping off her kids at his doorstep and watching them for a day or two before she comes back and expresses her gratitude via soft gesture such as nuzzle or a cheek kiss.

MCCat!König who sometimes makes Bunny!Reader stay in the den with the buns to go on a veggie/herb hunt himself, just so she can spend some quality time with them. He can not pinpoint the exact moment he became so whipped for her.

MCCat!König who starts leaving the nest out permanently because he knows Bunny!Reader won't stop coming around and neither will her buns anytime soon (he'd miss them greatly if they did).

MCCat!König who lets Bunny!Reader sleep in the spare cot (that he built just for her) in his room until she decides one night that sleeping beside him would be more comfortable. He does not try to object this in the slightest, not when he can finally feel her fluffy ears against his face.

MCCat!König who regularly grooms the buns' hair and furry ears and Bunny!Reader's as well with his coarse tongue, thinking he's displaying dominance over her. He has no idea she thinks she is the one in charge by letting him groom her.

MCCat!König who's suddenly not alone anymore. The quiet days of his den are over as it's now filled with laughter and chattering of the three little buns who have began to call him "Papa". He never knew two simple syllables could bring him so much joy...and then there's Bunny!Reader, with her genius manipulative tactics that involve licks, kisses and adorable tiny stomps of her feet when she wants something done her way. He would not trade her for anything in the world.

MCCat!König who slowly starts thinking his den is too big for just the five of them...and that perhaps he and Bunny!Reader should start working on some kitten siblings for the buns.

masterlist • pt2

[deikshen]

Shen Yuan was a beta all his life so then, now, being the omega Shen Qingqiu who can no longer suppress his secondary gender by Without-a-cure, needs to learn to be an Omega.

The information in the books is damn unclear and it would not be right to go ask for help from disciples or brothels, so he just... Well, he knows that Shang Qinghua is a spy for the demons, and he knows that Mobei Jun is an Omega for his meta knowledge. So he decides to go and threaten Shang Qinghua's ass with exposing him with the other Peak Lords for treason unless he allows him to have private meetings with Mobei Jun.

(At some point, they both reveal themselves as transmigrants? Yes. But not at the beginning for more drama lol Shang Qinghua racking his brains over what the hell Shen Qingqiu the scum villain and HIS KING will talk about in private- )

So, in private meetings with Mobei Jun, Shen Qingqiu humiliates himself with a half-truth: he tells him that I had never experienced anything like omega (after all, the entire CQMS thinks Shen Qingqiu is a beta), and now with Without-a-cure he has stopped taking his suppressants because the damage they were doing to his health, so right now he doesn't know how to do omega basic things like nest, purr, scent, pack behavior...

Mobei Jun agrees to teach him all those omega things; in exchange, Shen Qingqiu will give him more information and those things that Shang Qinghua doesn't have access to, since Shen Qingqiu is, well, Peak Lord of the second most important peak. They make a half-hearted and reluctant agreement, but they are on the same page.

And Mobei Jun teaches him. He teaches him how to fix a nest and the different ways he can use it. How apply blankets properly for softness, or comfort, or space, depends on what suits him. Teaches him to scent with the necessary amount of pheromones on people, objects, pack gifts, puppy gifts- It is a different level for each situation, and it is very necessary that it be respected, because otherwise it could give the wrong message!!

It also teaches purring, different growls, the type of reactions these sounds would have in Alphas or other Omegas. Also what kind of fabrics or robes are more comfortable to wear closer to the heat, what herbs to avoid, what kinds of things might not help him, what types of foods to stock up on for those occasions.

There is a lot of monosyllabic talk, a lot of directions and teachings, and Mobei Jun is not really the type to talk a lot, but neither is Shen Qingqiu, so unless necessary, they won't say much that is not so very important. They drink tea (iced) and they always end their secret meetings by scenting their wrists. It's a habit. Mobei Jun's omega scent is clear like ginger-mint and somewhat spicy, but it doesn't smell demonic itself, then it can go unnoticed.

The change in Shen Qingqiu's Omega behavior is noticeable, not only among the now very spoiled puppy disciples, but among the Peak Lords. Mu Qingfang is glad that Shen Qingqiu is finally accepting being part of the pack, scenting them, giving them scented gifts for their own common spaces. Alphas and betas do not necessarily nest, but in their homes they often have things with the aromas of their packs, giving shape to their home.

There is only one notable difference. Mobei Jun, of course, has taught his omega knowledge biased by his demonic family teaching. So, Shen Qingqiu finds himself... biting.

He bites his disciples' cheeks, he bites their little hands when he comes to scent them. It is easier to give them little bites, so they will only laugh or blush.

He bites Liu Qingge's cheek, one day the Alpha gets really close to him sniffing the clear scent of Mobei Jun on him, asking who is. In defense of Shen Qingqiu, he became nervous!!! And Liu Qingge stepped away as if he had been set on fire, walking away like a penguin.

Randomly bites Mu Qingfang's hands when he is checking him out by Without-a-cure, little bites on his fingers, on his knuckles. Mu Qingfang blushes, steps back, and quickly notes down the reactions. Pff. As if it wasn't normal for Omegas to bite and lick their packs!! Now they will tell that Omegas should not court their Alphas by proving they can kill them in a fight only to decide not to! Of course Binghe's harem didn't work like that, but those were female Omegas! He was a male Omega, that would make the difference, wouldn't it?

So, just, Shen Qingqiu is there, gifting his packs with things with his scent, purring when some Alpha around him is stressed, biting hands, wrists, cheeks. He shamelessly sits close to anyone and drenches them with his scent. He's much more tactile with everyone. He makes comfortable public-nesting spaces in gardens where he invites his youngest disciples (and Binghe, because how could he deprive Binghe of those experiences?! The poor boy is always hungry for affection, hugs, pats and bites more than any other disciple) to snuggle with him while purring and playing some music, just as Mobei Jun had explained that Omegas did with their pups so they could relax after long days-

(The other Peak Lords don't know if Shen Qingqiu has gone mad or is trying to court them all. They also don't want to risk asking and ruining whatever's going on.)

(Amidst all this, and instinctively, both Mobei Jun and Shen Qingqiu begin to see and feel like a pack. They give each other scented blankets, their scents are in their respective nests. There are new jewels among Shen Qingqiu's hair accessories, and new necklaces hanging over Mobei Jun's open necklines. They are a pack. Family of some strange and accidentally acquired kind. Even Shen Qingqiu relaxes in Mobei Jun's nest once while waiting for him due to an urgency among the rebellious demons - which almost causes Shang Qinghua to almost have a qi deviation when he sees him, comfortable in his king's nest just reading.)

(At some point, Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu reveal themselves to be transmigrants- and Shang Qinghua is laughing his fucking shit off, because now he has the explanation of everything, and he's definitely not going to tell him that the normal omega mode of demons is the omega-courtship-family mode of humans. Nope. He'll let Cucumber-bro figure it out for himself.)

[arixella]

“This Doesn’t Mean I Like You”

╰┈➤ pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem! reader

a/n: if you have request feel free to send <3

summary: You and Law are forced to work together, despite barely tolerating each other — until a jungle pollen triggers overwhelming desire. Tension turns explosive as restraint shatters, and what starts as a chemical reaction quickly reveals something deeper. Even after the pollen fades, the heat between you doesn’t. Pride may still get in the way, but neither of you can pretend it didn’t mean something.

wc: 1.6k

contains: smut! (18+) semi-public but secluded vibes, aphrodisiac-induced lust, dom-ish Law, mutual hatred-turned-lust, enemies with benefits energy light manhandling, dirty talk, possessiveness, hate-fueled tension, creampie, overstimulation,

It started in the jungle.

You were paired up with him — Trafalgar Law, all cold glares and tighter-than-necessary pants, walking through overgrowth like he wasn’t a smug bastard.

“Why me?” you’d muttered to your crew earlier. “Why not Zoro? Or Robin? Hell, Brook?”

“We don’t trust Law alone,” they said. “And you’re the only one who won’t kill him on sight.”

Charming.

The two of you were scouting for herbs or intel — you didn’t care. You were too busy pretending not to notice the way his tattooed fingers looked around the hilt of Kikoku. Or the way he smelled like spice and smoke when he brushed past you.

You were fine.

Until the pollen hit.

A thick burst of glittering yellow puffed from a plant beside you — then another. You both stepped back, coughing, waving your hands. It didn’t seem dangerous. But then you noticed the heat blooming in your chest. The way your skin felt too tight. Your clothes, too rough.

And then Law made a noise. Low. Choked.

You looked over.

His pupils were blown wide. Jaw tense. His breath came in short, sharp exhales like he was holding something in.

“Something’s… wrong,” you said, your voice catching.

“No shit,” he bit out. “It’s an aphrodisiac. I’ve read about this. Temporary but… potent.”

You swallowed hard.

The way he was looking at you now? Like he could devour you and still be starving.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “We can just wait it out.”

He scoffed. “Sure. While our bodies beg us to tear each other apart.”

You hated how the image made your thighs clench.

“Then control yourself.”

“You first.”

Silence.

The heat between you was insane. Every glance felt like a touch. Every breath a challenge.

He paced. “We should separate. Keep distance.”

“Why?” you snapped. “Worried you’ll jump me?”

“I’m worried you’ll beg.”

That did it.

You stalked up to him, jabbing a finger in his chest. “I would never—”

But your body betrayed you.

You got too close. And he grabbed your wrist — hot, firm, desperate. His eyes met yours, wild.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he growled.

“Like what?”

“Like you want this.”

“…What if I do?”

It was over.

His mouth crashed into yours, teeth and tongue and tension finally snapping. His hands found your hips, yanking you against him, and holy hell he was already hard — thick and pulsing through his jeans.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers clawing at his shirt. “I still hate you.”

“Good,” he breathed against your neck. “Hate me harder.”

You tugged his hoodie up and over, nails raking down his chest. His tattoos rippled with every breath, every growl he buried in your throat.

When he turned you and pinned you to the tree, you gasped — but your body welcomed it. His hand slid under your pants, fingers brushing where you were soaked and throbbing.

“Already?” he rasped. “So fucking wet for someone you hate.”

“You’re full of yourself.”

“Not yet.”

He sank to his knees before you could fire back, mouth replacing his fingers — and suddenly, your back hit bark, head thrown back as Law ate like he was punishing you for every fight you’d ever had.

“Fuck, Law—!”

He pulled back, chin wet, eyes deadly. “Say it again.”

You glared down at him, panting. “Fuck. You.”

His grin was pure sin. “Exactly.”

He stood, grabbed your thigh, and lifted it up with one hand — the other already working his pants open, letting his cock spring free, flushed and leaking.

You barely had time to breathe before he was slamming into you — hard, perfect, deep.

The sound you made wasn’t human.

“Still mad?” he panted, thrusting into you like a man possessed.

“More than ever,” you gasped.

“Good,” he hissed, snapping his hips. “Then take it like you hate me.”

You did.

And when you came around him, screaming into his shoulder, he kept going — chasing his own high with a growl in your ear.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he snarled. “So you remember this next time you act like you’re better than me.”

You clawed at his back, biting his neck. “Then shut up and do it.”

He came with a low, wrecked sound, hips jerking as he spilled into you, pulse after pulse until you felt it drip down your thigh.

Neither of you moved for a long moment — just breathing, panting, twitching.

“…This doesn’t mean I like you,” you finally muttered, forehead against his.

He laughed, dark and ragged. “Good. I’d rather fuck you angry anyway.”

Your nails were digging into Law’s shoulders, your back flat against the jungle tree, and your thighs trembling from overstimulation.

“F-fuck, you’re so deep,” you gasped, head thrown back.

He grunted against your neck. “You’re tight—shit—I can’t stop.”

Neither of you could.

The pollen had made everything needier. You weren’t just touching each other — you were devouring. Kissing like you couldn’t breathe without it. Fucking like it was the only thing keeping your hearts beating.

But then something shifted.

Your breathing slowed.

Your mind cleared just a little.

You blinked.

“…Law?”

He stopped moving. Barely. Chest heaving against yours.

“Yeah,” he rasped.

“…Do you still feel it?”

He didn’t answer at first. His jaw clenched. “No. Not like before.”

You swallowed hard. Your body was still wrapped around him. His cock still twitching inside you.

“I think it’s wearing off,” you whispered.

“…Shit.”

You stayed like that — still joined, still pressed together — as the realization hit.

This wasn’t the pollen anymore.

You still wanted him.

Your thighs clenched. He felt it.

His eyes flicked up to yours — darker now, but not fogged. Not hazy.

Just hungry.

“You okay?” he murmured, brushing hair from your face.

“Do I look okay?” you panted. “You’re still inside me.”

He swallowed. Hard. “I know.”

You expected him to pull away.

He didn’t.

Instead, his hips rocked — slow, testing.

Your whole body lit up again.

“I thought… it was the pollen,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“It was,” he said. “It’s not anymore.”

He gripped your thigh and started moving again — this time slower, deeper. Like he wanted to feel everything.

“No excuses now,” he muttered, kissing your jaw. “You want this.”

You whimpered. “I do.”

His mouth brushed yours. “Good. Then I’m not stopping.”

You moaned louder this time — every thrust now deliberate, filled with clarity and want. Not chemical haze. Not magic. Just him. Just you.

The second time you came, you screamed his name with no shame.

When he followed, it was with a low groan in your ear, his hands gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

You were both shaking.

Afterward, he didn’t speak. Just held you, still joined, still breathing hard.

“…So,” you said eventually, voice raw. “Now what?”

Law looked at you. Really looked.

“I still hate you,” he muttered.

You smirked. “I hate you more.”

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[stylesispunk]

"The soldier in the armour" | part iii

marcus acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: The aftermath of Geta's action took a tool on you and Acacius. Some decisions are made and you are willing to end caracalla's and Geta reign.

w.c: 9k

warnings: angst, mentions of blood, miscarriage, mentions of poisoning, age gap, power imbalance.

a/n: hello, thank you so much for your patience and your feedback on this one. Firstly if you feel this one is rushed is because I lost half of the chapter the other day and I rewrote it. Secondly, this chapter is more acacius x reader centered and PLEASE pay attention to some signals I left for the future chapters since I already planned out the ending 👀 reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The faint light of dawn filtered into the room as your senses returned back to your now, foggy mind. You blinked, disoriented by the unfamiliar weight on your limbs. The healer was seated at the edge of the bed, with her hands massaging your legs, her touch gentle as always. You shifted slightly, your head pounding, and tried to piece together what had happened. 

"Acacius..." you murmured, your voice hoarse as if speaking hurt.

The healer glanced up at you, she smiled at you with pity dressed as sympathy. "He's been watching over you all these hours, my lady," she said softly. "But he stepped out for a moment to meet someone."

You furrowed your brow, trying to sit up, but the effort was too much. That’s when you noticed the fresh gown you were wearing, the faint scent of lavender and herbs clinging to you. Your mind raced as you realized you’d been cleaned and changed while unconscious.

"What happened to me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The healer hesitated, her hands stilling for a moment before she resumed her work. "My lady...you started bleeding heavily in the night. It was..." She trailed off, clearly struggling with the words.

Before you could press further, the door creaked open, and Acacius entered. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion as if hadn't been able to sleep in days. At the sight of you awake, made his eyes shone for a flicker second. Relief crossed his features, but it was short-lived, the sadness shadowed his glance.

"Acacius..." you called weakly.

He walked to your side, sinking to one knee. His hands enveloped yours, warm and firm, protecting you as always, but this time there was a heaviness in his gaze that unsettled you whole.

"You’re awake. " He said softly, his voice rough with fatigue.

"What happened?" you pressed, searching his face for an answer.

"You should rest more," he said eventually, his tone low.

“What happened?” you repeated, your tone sent shiver down Acacius’ spine.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away briefly, as if bracing himself, as if looking for a proper word to speak the truth. "You...lost a child," he said finally, his words cutting you half, "Our child."

The world tilted for a moment, the weight of his words crashing into you. A child? Yours? You hadn’t even known.

"I..” you chuckled, nervously, “I…I don’t understand," you stammered, tears welling in your eyes.

"You didn’t know," he said gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Neither did I. But the the healers confirmed it. Whatever Geta gave you..." His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. "It caused this.”

Your breath hitched, and your free hand instinctively moved to your abdomen, grief and confusion swirling within you.

Acacius leaned closer, his forehead pressing against your hand. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice raw. "I should have protected you. I should have known-"

"Stop," you interrupted, your own tears falling freely now. "This isn’t your fault, Acacius."

He shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening. "I failed you," he insisted, his guilt palpable.

You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek. "You didn’t fail me.” You didn’t know how to assure him of it. You didn’t know how to feel, grief for the child you had never known, anger at Emperor Geta or a hollow emptiness creeping it, and threatening to consume you. Your hand rested on your abdomen, an ache settling deep within your chest as you thought about what could have been.

Acacius lifted his head, his expression hardening "I’ll make sure he never touches you again," he vowed, his tone resolute. “This crossed a line with no return.”

You could only nod, unable to find the words to express the storm of emotions crashing down on you.

He gently cupped your face, his eyes locking onto yours. "You’ll get through this," he promised, his voice softer now. "You’re not alone in this, and I’ll stand by you, no matter what."

The tears continued to fall, but you leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his words. For a moment, the world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by love and shared pain he would carry too.

"I’m here," Acacius murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "And I won’t let anything happen to you again."

As the night wore on, Acacius had stayed beside you, his presence brought calm you didn’t know it if was going to able to exist anymore. Eventually, he stood and walked to the small table in the corner of the room, where a tray of herbs and remedies had been left by the healer earlier. He carefully mixed something into a bowl of warm broth.

Returning to you, he knelt down, his expression soft yet firm as he held the bowl out. "You need to eat," he said gently. "This will help with the symptoms. The doctor suggested it would ease the lingering effects of...whatever Geta gave you."

You hesitated, your stomach twisting at the thought of food. "I don’t want to," you murmured, your voice faint.

"Please," he insisted, his hand brushing lightly against yours. "Just a little. For me."

The quiet plea in his voice softened your resistance. Slowly, you nodded, allowing him to scoop a spoonful of the broth and bring it to your lips. The warmth of it was soothing, and though your body resisted at first, you managed to swallow.

"Good," he murmured, his tone encouraging as he prepared another spoonful.

He fed you slowly, his patience unwavering. With each sip, the nausea that had been gnawing at you began to ease, the pounding in your head lessening slightly. Acacius didn’t rush you, his eyes never leaving yours as he made sure you took in enough to strengthen you.

"Better?" he asked softly, setting the bowl aside once you had eaten enough.

You nodded, though your body still felt weak. "A little," you admitted.

His hand brushed against your cheek, his touch tender. "You’ll feel stronger soon," he promised.

"I'll let you rest," Acacius said softly, his thumb gently tracing your cheek one last time.

A pang of loneliness surged within you, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Aren't you staying with me?"

His eyes softened, a hint of regret flickering across his face. "I just have to arrange some things," he explained, his voice calm but firm. "But I promise, I’ll come back as soon as I’m ready."

You searched his gaze, finding sincerity there. Though the thought of him leaving, even for a short time, made your heart ache, you knew he wouldn’t go far.

"Promise me," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I promise," he assured you. "I’ll be back before you know it."

With that, he stood, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before turning to leave. As the door closed behind him, the room felt quieter leaving you alone with the grief of a loss you didn’t know how to navigate.

As soon as Acacius stepped out of your quarter, he faced Lucilla who was there waiting to see you. You could see the worry for you written all over her face, but she wasn’t strong enough to see you broken again. She felt her heart shattered for you, her precious daughter.

She looked up at Acacius, surprised by his sudden appearance outside the room.

"Did you know?" he demanded, his voice sharp and cutting. "About her carrying a child?"

Lucilla blinked, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "No," she replied steadily. "But I had my suspicions."

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. "And you didn’t think to tell me? To warn me?"

"I wasn’t sure," she said defensively. "And what would I have said, Acacius? I didn’t have any proof."

His frustration boiled over. "You should have told me!" he shouted but slow enough to prevent you from hearing from inside the room. "Ever since she and I got married, Geta’s obsession with her has only grown worse. Every decision I’ve made, every step I’ve taken, has led to nothing but her tears."

Lucilla’s expression hardened. "Don’t you dare put this all on me," she snapped. "I’ve tried to protect her in the only ways I knew how."

Acacius shook his head, his eyes filled with anguish. "I feel like marrying her was a mistake," he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "Not because I don’t love her, but because all its brought her is pain."

Lucilla's eyes narrowed; her voice sharp with reproach. "Do you think she would be better without you? Do you truly believe that?"

Acacius's shoulders sagged, the heavy words pressing down on him. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice breaking. "All I know is that since we’ve been together, she’s suffered more than she ever should have. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being the cause of her pain."

Lucilla stepped closer, her gaze softening slightly. "She loves you, Acacius. Can’t you see that? Despite everything, she chose you. She fights for you, just as you fight for her."

He looked away, guilt and self-doubt etched into his features. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough to protect her from all this," he whispered.

"Then you need to be," Lucilla replied firmly. "Because she needs you now more than ever. And walking away would only break her further."

Acacius's jaw clenched; the internal battle evident in his expression. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady. “I could send her away-“

“No!” Lucilla immediately refused to whatever his plan was. “I won’t allow you to take my daughter away from me.” She spoke, knowing too well, “You wouldn’t forgive yourself for that. The pain of not knowing where she would be will kill you.”

Acacius stared at Lucilla, her words cutting through his thoughts like a blade. He knew she was right. The idea of sending you away, of putting distance between you to keep you safe, felt like the only solution. Yet, the thought of losing you, even for your protection, was unbearable.

"I just want her to be safe," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I don’t know how else to ensure that."

Lucilla's gaze softened, and she stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We’ll find another way," she assured him. "Together, we can protect her. But she needs you here, by her side, not miles away, torn apart by fear and regret."

Acacius nodded slowly, the weight of his decision settling in. "You’re right," he admitted, his voice steadier now. "I can’t lose her. Not like this."

Lucilla gave a small, encouraging smile. "Then fight for her, Acacius. Stand by her."

With a final glance at Lucilla, Acacius turned back toward the room where you lay, his resolve hardening. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but for you he would fight a thousand of battles.

Acacius paused in the doorway, his heart aching at the sight of you standing weakly by the window, silhouetted against the faint light of the stars. Your fragile form looked even more delicate, and he could see the weight of grief and exhaustion pulling you down. His instinct was to urge you back to bed, to ensure you rested, but your voice broke the silence before he could speak.

"Do you think souls know you loved them," you asked softly, your gaze still fixed on the night sky, "even if you didn’t meet them?"

The question hung in the air, fragile and filled with sorrow. Acacius approached you slowly, his footsteps quiet on the floor. He stood beside you, his presence sent warm to the coldness you felt inside you.

"I believe they do," he said gently, his voice filled with conviction. "Love transcends the physical, the seen. It’s a bond that doesn’t need time or proximity to exist.”

Your lips trembled, and you looked down, tears streaming silently down your cheeks. "I didn’t even know..." you whispered, feeling the grief breaking your soul.

Acacius reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm before wrapping around you, pulling you into his embrace. "Your love is real, and it’s known," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "Our child felt it, and they’ll always carry that love with them."

As he held you close, his eyes drifted to your shoulder, where the faint imprint of a bite mark clung to your skin as cruel reminder of Geta’s actions. The wound stirred a deep, simmering anger within him, a fury that had been building with every injustice you had endured. His grip on you tightened slightly, protective, as the hatred he felt for the emperor grew more potent than never.

His patience with Geta and Caracalla had reached his limit, but it was the first of them his main target.

His jaw clenched, and his breathing deepened, struggling to keep his emotions inside. The thought of Geta’s audacity, his relentless obsession and the harm he had caused, ignited a burning need for retribution. Acacius pressed a tender kiss to your temple, a silent vow forming in his mind.

You felt the tension in his embrace, the barely contained rage that coursed through him. Looking up, you saw the storm in his eyes. You lifted yourself just a bit to reached his lips, but he knew what you were doing.  The sadness had clouded your mind completely, and you thought that after losing a child you could have another right away, to feel the hope again.

As your lips moved in syn together with fervor. He allowed himself to be led by you towards the bed, you were on charge but as soon as you sat on his lap, he pulled away from you, placing his hands on your shoulders and all he saw was two crystal eyes shining like the moon, watering.

“No," he whispered, his voice soft but determined by the consciousness of his actions. His gaze held yours, filled with love. "This isn’t what you need right now."

Tears welled in your eyes once more, spilling over as the weight of your grief pressed down on you. "I just... I need to feel something else." you choked out, your voice trembling.

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked your cheeks. "I know," he murmured, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I was going to be a mother…” your sob wracked through you.

Acacius arms wrapped around you firmly, yet tenderly, holding you as if you might break. His steady heartbeat beneath you was a grounding presence, a reminder that you were not alone in this overwhelming grief.

He held you close, his chin resting atop your head as his arms enveloped you in a cocoon of warmth and safety. "You will be," he whispered softly, his voice trembling with emotion. "Someday, you will be. And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way."

Your sobs shook your body as the reality of your loss washed over you. "I didn’t even know," you cried, clutching onto him as if letting go would mean losing yourself entirely. Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you couldn’t stop them. "How could I not have known?" you cried, the anguish in your voice cutting through the eerie quiet night. "I lost a child, Acacius... our child. And I didn’t even get the chance to-“

His fingertips stroked your back, his hands traced soothing patterns all along, up and down. "Let it out," he whispered, his voice soft and steady. "You don’t have to hold it all in."

You clung to him, the weight of all your emotions pouring out in waves soaking his tunic.  The loss and the fear met and you were terrified of losing even losing him “Everything feels so broken." You murmured.

He tightened his embrace, his lips pressing gently against your temple. "I’ll piece every single piece of you.”

You took a shuddering breath; the warmth of his words enveloped you. "I don’t know if I’m enough," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You are. " He said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were filled with love.

He tilted your chin up slightly, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that made your heart burst. "I see the light in you, even when you can’t see it yourself," he said softly. "And I’ll be here, always, to remind you of that light."

Tears continued to spill down your cheeks, but your heart felt a little bit lighter. His thumb gently wiped away a tear, his touch tender and full of love.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," he continued, his voice reassuring. "Lean on me, let me be your strength when you need it.”

His forehead rested against yours, the closeness hurt you. "You are everything to me," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "And I’ll do whatever it takes to bring you peace."

Acacius’s eyes softened, and a faint smile played on his lips as he cupped your face gently. "You were made for me," he whispered, his voice filled with reverence and love. "In every lifetime, in every universe, I would find you. You are my destiny."

The sincerity in his words sent a warmth through you, easing the ache in your heart. He brushed his thumb along your cheek, his touch light as a petal, as if afraid you might disappear in a second. "No matter what happens, you are my everything."

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to both of your wet cheeks. "We were meant to find each other," he continued, his voice a soothing balm. "And nothing, not even the gods themselves, can take that away from us."

His arms wrapped around you tighter, pulling you closer as if to shield you from the world. "I Will love you forever.”

The next day, Acacius stood by your side at the edge of the bed, his gaze softened as he watched you resting. The morning light filtered gently through the window, casting a warm glow over your face.

He had trusted your closest healer to stay and watch you over while he wasn’t here. She gave him a reassuring nod.

“She’s in good hands,” the healer said softly. “I’ll stay with her and ensure she has everything she needs, general.”

Acacius nodded, grateful for her words. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “Rest well, my love. I’ll be back soon.”

With a final glance, he turned and left, joining Lucilla outside who was waiting for him after having checking on you. Together, they made their way to the grand Colosseum, while the distant roar of the crowd growing louder as they arrived. The games brough chaos, the spectacle of gladiators battling for glory captivating the masses as they saw how people fought for their lives.

As they entered the imperial box, both greeted the emperors.

“General Acacius, Lucilla” Caracalla said, followed with a curt nod, his eyes sharp and assessing.

Emperor Geta, however, was quick to notice your absence besides your husband and your mother. His gaze narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features.

“General Acacius,” Geta called out, his voice carrying over the sound of the crowd. “Where is that beautiful wife of yours?”

Acacius met Geta’s gaze steadily, his expression unreadable trying it hard not to show how much he loathed him. “She’s unwell, Emperor,” he replied evenly. “The healer advised her to rest.”

Geta’s eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Unwell?” he echoed, skepticism lacing his tone. “I hope it’s nothing serious. She should not miss such a spectacle. Not when she knows the privileges she is granted.”

Lucilla interjected smoothly; her tone polite yet firm. “Her health is of major importance. She needs rest to recover.”

Geta’s gaze lingered on Lucilla, then with a sinister edge creeping into his smile he looked at Acacius. “I see. Still, it’s a pity she isn’t here. Perhaps her healing the wounds of that gladiator the other day…” he paused, looking how the general’s eyes widened at the information, “Oh you didn’t know.” He chuckled, “Your wife sneaked away the other day, healing the wounds of that new gladiator, you’ll see him again now.”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to maintain his composure. The revelation hit him like a blow, his mind racing with questions and fury. His eyes flickered briefly toward Lucilla, who maintained her calm demeanor, though he could sense her own tension beneath the surface.

Geta’s smirk widened, reveling in the unease he had stirred. “Ah, here he comes now,” he said, gesturing toward the arena as Hanno, well Lucius stepped into the ring. “Quite the fighter, isn’t he? Your wife seemed particularly taken by him.”

Acacius’s gaze snapped to the arena, his heart pounding as he watched the gladiator enter. His mind swirled with conflicting emotions. The was anger, confusion, and a protective instinct that burned brighter than ever.

Lucilla placed a gentle hand on Acacius’s arm, her grip firm yet reassuring. “Remember where we are,” she murmured softly, her eyes meeting his with a silent warning. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Acacius swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a steadying breath. He nodded slightly, acknowledging her words, though his fury simmered just beneath the surface. His focus returned to Geta, who was still watching him with a smug expression.

“I trust my wife’s intentions were noble,” Acacius said evenly, his voice betraying none of the storm raging within him. “She has a compassionate heart.”

Geta chuckled darkly. “Indeed, a heart too soft for a soldier’s wife, perhaps. But no matter. Let us enjoy the games. After all, they are in your honor.”

Acacius said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he returned his gaze to the arena. The gladiator’s movements remined him of Maximus and those brought taunted memories and traits that only added fuel to the fire of Acacius’s anger. As the crowd roared, Acacius’s thoughts remained fixed on one thing: you and the truth behind Geta’s words.

By the time Acacius and Lucilla arrived back at the village, a storm was raging inside Acacius. Geta’s words had found a way to go inside his head, taking root, growing into something that gnawed at him. He couldn’t shake the image of you, his wife, tending to that gladiator and the thought of your actions, no matter how noble, twisted his heart. The confusion and pain felt unbearable. He tried to suppress it, but anger surged through him.

When they finally reached your quarters, Lucilla moved swiftly, almost running to check on you. She could feel the weight of her concern lifting when she saw you sitting in your bed, smiling and laughing at something the healer had just told you. For a moment, she stood at the door, watching you with quiet relief, grateful to see you looking so much better than the last time she had seen you.

But Acacius couldn’t escape the thoughts that plagued him. He had to know. He needed answers, and he needed them now. The guilt over his emotions and the anger toward Geta swirled together, making him question everything about you and his relationship with you.

Lucilla noticed the change in Acacius immediately. Though he had managed to hold his composure earlier, now his expression darkened, the storm inside him clearly visible. She had seen him angry before, but this felt different fueled by personal matters. She approached you cautiously, giving Acacius a moment to process what he was feeling.

You looked up, noticing at your mother’s concerned expression. "What happened?" you asked, sensing the shift in the air. "Is everything alright?"

“Nothing to worry about, my darling” she made her best effort to smile sincerely at you, “How are you feeling?” she asked as he comb your hair just in the same way she did as when you were a child.

“A bit better, mother” you replied smiling at her. You lifted your eyes, looking briefly at her, then moving you glance to Acacius.  “Acacius,” you called softly, but his attention was fixed elsewhere.

Lucilla glanced at you and then at him, her gaze sharp with understanding. “Perhaps, my dear, it would be better if you let him have some time to himself.”

“No,” you replied firmly, your voice stronger than you felt. "I know something happened."

“Emperor Geta spoke to me,” he began, “He told me about the gladiator. The one you were seen tending to.”

Your heart sank, and you struggled to find your voice. “Acacius, I—”

He cut you off, his jaw tightening. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Acacius turned toward you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a storm of conflicting emotions. "You were healing him," he said, his voice quiet but laden with the weight of unspoken accusations. "Why?”

“It wasn’t like that,” you pleaded, sitting up. “I had to help him.”

“Why?” Acacius demanded, stepping closer. “Why risk everything for a gladiator?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but the words caught in your throat. How could you tell him the truth without revealing everything? The weight of your secret threatened to crush you. Your bother’s life was on edge.

“Answer me!” His voice rose, his frustration boiling over. “Why would you do something so reckless?”

“He was in pain. I couldn’t let him suffer,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

Acacius’s eyes narrowed, his anger giving way to a deeper hurt. “You trust him more than me? You trust a stranger over your own husband?”

“It’s not about that.” you said desperately.

Acacius’s fists clenched at his sides; his knuckles white. “You’ve been hiding things from me, lying to me. How can I protect you when you won’t even be honest with me?”

“That’s enough,” Lucilla stood out firmly, placing herself between the two of you. “This isn’t helping anyone.”

“Stay out of this, Lucilla,” Acacius snapped, but she didn’t back down.

“No, I won’t,” she said, her voice unwavering. Lucilla placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her voice firm yet comforting. "My daughter needs rest, Acacius. This isn't the time for this."

Acacius stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes still burning with anger. He hesitated, his jaw clenching as he seemed to wrestle with his emotions. Then, he spoke, his voice cold and cutting.

"Rest?" he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "How can she rest when she seems to have enough energy to heal every stray gladiator in Rome?"

The words hit you like a slap; it seems like there was cruelty in his tone slicing through you. You flinched, the sting of his accusation sharper than any physical pain you were inflicting. Your eyes filled with tears, but you refused to let them fall.

Lucilla's eyes flashed with anger. "Acacius, that's enough," she said sharply, standing to face him. “Leave.”

Acacius held her gaze for a moment, then exhaled sharply, turning away. "Fine. Your problem is that you're too naive". he muttered, his voice softer but no less bitter and with that, he strode out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Lucilla turned back to you, her expression softening as she took your hand in hers.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her eyes full of sympathy. "He didn't mean it. He's just hurt and confused."

You nodded faintly, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I know," you whispered back, though the pain in your chest didn’t lessen.

"Mother I swear is not what it seems like." you cried out as she held your hands trying to ground you.

She knew you were saying the truth, beyond your words; she knew you and she was aware of the pain you had endured during the last few hours. She had carried you inside her womb, she knew better.

"I know…I know,dear...but Acacius allowed those words to his head, he-“

"Didn't you recognize your own son?" You asked, looking directly at her. Those eyes that seemed to hold so much mercy, now seemed hurt and shocked.

"What?" She asked almost fearing the answer.

"Lucius?" You said his name, sounding almost foreign in your lips "I know he reminded you of someone, I knew you tried to piece that together the other day."

"I knew it." She gasped, standing up. She lifted her hand to her face as she paced around the quarters. "He looks exactly like..." but he paused, and you were met with silence.

"Looks like what?" you asked.

"Your father." She replied, without looking at you.

The words hung heavy in the air, like a suffocating weight pressing down on your chest. Your mind whirled, trying to process the shock of what Lucilla had just revealed. "My father?" you repeated, confused.

Lucilla stopped pacing, her back turned to you as she continued to stand with her hand against her forehead, her breath shallow. "Maximus.” She gasped, as she freed her truth, “Maximus was your father.”

The shock of Lucilla’s words crashed over you like a wave, pulling you under with its sheer force. Maximus. Your father. The name that had always been wrapped in mystery, the name that had haunted your thoughts for years, now had a new meaning. The weight of it settled in your chest, leaving you breathless.

"My father?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, as if saying the words out loud might shatter the fragile reality you had built for yourself. "Maximus was my father?"

Lucilla turned slowly to face you, her expression torn between regret and sorrow. "Yes," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "Maximus was your father.”

You stared at her, struggling to reconcile this new truth with everything you had known. Maximus, the legendary general, the man whose name had been spoken in reverence and fear. The same man who had fallen in the arena, and he had killed your uncle, leaving behind a legacy of honor and bloodshed. The man you had always wondered about, but never truly known. And now, you were learning that he was more than just a figure in your past, he was the father you never had.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" you asked, the question escaping before you could stop it. "Why keep this from me, mother?

Lucilla’s eyes filled with tears; her face contorted with guilt. "I didn’t know how to tell you, “She admitted, her voice breaking. "When Maximus died, so much was left unsaid. So much pain was buried.       You and Lucius...you were the result of a love that had to be hidden, kept in the shadows-Oh my god, my boy is alive” she cried, coming close to you “How-What did you say to him?”

“We spoke, mother I-I’m finding a way to free him” you assure her, “But please don’t say this to Acacius, I will.”

She nodded, not entirely sure but she still did it.

The villa was cloaked in silence as the night deepened, shadows stretching long and dark across the marble floors. You moved carefully, each step deliberate, your breath shallow as you avoided the guards and servants who patrolled the halls.

The words Acacius had told earlier were still ringing in your mind and making a way to shatter the pieces of your already broken heart that you feel the urging need to escape and see Lucius.

 Your heart pounded in your chest; fear creeped upon you. You couldn’t shake the need to see Lucius, to ensure he was safe, to discuss a plan to free him. The loss you had just endured weighed heavily on you, but it also fueled your resolve. You couldn’t bear to lose another person you cared about.

The cool night air greeted you as you slipped out of the villa, the stars above casting a faint light over the path ahead. You pulled your cloak tighter around you, the chill seeping into your bones as you made your way toward the gladiator barracks.

The path seemed familiar now, each twist and turn etched into your memory. You avoided the main roads, sticking to the shadows, your steps quick and silent. The barracks loomed ahead, its structure dark and foreboding under the moonlight.

You found the entrance, a small side door that you had used before. With a deep breath, you slipped inside, the scent of sweat and earth filling your senses. The faint murmur of voices echoed through the halls, but you pressed on, moving toward the cell where you knew Lucius was held.

As you approached, your heart tightened at the sight of him. He sat in the corner of the small cell, his head resting against the wall, eyes closed. His face was drawn, the lines of exhaustion and pain evident even in the dim light.

“Lucius,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, there was a flicker of surprise before it was replaced by something softer. He rose slowly, moving toward the bars. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I had to see you,” you said, your fingers gripping the cold metal bars. “I couldn’t stay away. We need to talk.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze intense. “What’s happened?” he asked, sensing the turmoil within you.

You hesitated, the weight of your recent loss pressing heavily on your chest. “I’ve lost something,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But I can’t lose you too. We need to find a way to get you out of here.”

Lucius’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. “You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice filled with empathy. “But you can’t put yourself in danger for me.”

“I lost a child” you confessed.

Lucius’s eyes softened, his expression shifting from concern to deep empathy. He stepped closer to the bars, his hand resting over yours, his touch warm and steady.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, his voice laced with sorrow. “I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling right now.”

Your grip on the cold metal tightened as tears welled in your eyes. “I didn’t even know,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat. “I didn’t have the chance to-” You broke off, unable to finish the thought, the grief too overwhelming.

Lucius squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders,” he said softly. “You’re stronger than you realize, but you don’t have to bear this alone.”

A sob escaped your lips, and you leaned against the bars, letting the weight of your emotions flow freely. Lucius stayed silent, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your grief.

Lucius’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. “You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice filled with empathy. “You can’t put yourself in danger for me anymore.”

“I’m not asking for your permission,” you said firmly, your resolve strengthening. “I’ll find a way, Lucius. I promise. I will free you.”

He reached through the bars, his hand brushing against yours. “You’ve always been stubborn,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You nodded, your heart swelling with happiness at the sight of your brother.

The ride back to the villa was met by silence, the weight of your encounter with Lucius heavy in your chest. The night air was cool, but it did little to soothe the turmoil within you. As you entered the villa, the quietness of the halls seemed oppressive, each step echoing in the vast space.

You barely made it to your chambers when the door burst open behind you. Acacius stood there, his expression was a mix of worry and anger.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice sharp, the worry in his eyes betraying his stern tone. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

You turned to face him, your own emotions boiling over. “I needed space,” you replied, your voice trembling with restrained anger. “I couldn’t breathe in here.”

“Space? You left in the middle of the night, without a word…” Acacius stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “After everything that’s happened, you just disappeared. In your condition.”

“I’m not a prisoner, Acacius.” you shot back, calm. “I needed to clear my head, to deal with everything. I don’t need you controlling me over.���

His eyes darkened, frustration and hurt flickered across his face. “I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to protect you. You’ve been through so much, and I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you.”

You took a step back, shaking your head. “I don’t need protection, Acacius. What I need is space to grieve, to process everything. And you-” your voice caught, the words barely above a whisper. “You can’t fix this.”

“I know I can’t fix this,” he said, his voice softening, the anger fading into sorrow. “But I can be here for you. I can protect you and I’m sorry for how I treated you before”

You met his gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. “Stop looking at me with pity”  

Acacius flinched at your words, his shoulders slumping slightly as if your harshness had struck a nerve. For a moment, he stood there, quiet, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“I didn’t mean to pity you,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with regret. “I just… I don’t know how to help you through all of this. I also lost that child and I don’t where to put that pain.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick with the weight of both loss and unspoken tension. You hadn’t expected him to say that, hadn’t expected him to acknowledge the pain of your shared grief. It was a rawness in his voice you hadn’t heard before, a vulnerability that both softened and shattered the walls you had built around yourself.

For a long moment, you stood there, the truth of what he had said settling heavily in your chest. You’d been so focused on your own pain, so wrapped in your sorrow, that you hadn’t stopped to think about how deeply the loss had affected him too. But now, hearing it in his voice, you understood—he wasn’t just someone who had watched you suffer. He had lost something precious, too.

"You…" You swallowed hard, the words threatening to choke you. "You lost him, too.”

Acacius nodded, his expression tightening with the grief he had kept hidden for so long. “When the healer told me about the baby I-I couldn’t help but thinking about us having a family and then it was all ripped away and Geta said those words…I lost it.”

You could feel the sorrow in his voice, the weight of everything he had been carrying in silence, and your heart ached for him, just as it ached for yourself. You hadn’t realized how deeply the loss had cut him, how the dream of a future you both had envisioned had been shattered in an instant.

“I didn’t think about it” you said.

Acacius’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the grief in his eyes mingling with something more vulnerable, something raw. “I didn’t want you to know,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t know how to say it, or if it even mattered. But the pain... it wasn’t just yours to carry. After all, I’m the one who must protect you.”

You stepped closer, feeling the need to be near him, to bridge the space that had grown between you. “It matters, Acacius. It always mattered.”

His hand moved to gently touch your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that felt both tender and tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into his touch, allowing him to comfort you in the way you had needed for so long.

“I wish I hadn’t said those things to you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly, “I was angry and hurt, but that wasn’t the way to show you how much I cared.”

“I wish we hadn’t let everything build up between us,” you replied, your voice steady now, though your heart still thudded painfully in your chest. “But I understand why we did. I understand why we kept everything hidden.”

There was a silence between you then, a shared understanding that neither of you had known how to express until now. The space that had once felt like a gulf now felt a little smaller, a little less impossible to cross.

“Can we…” You paused, trying to find the right words. “Can we try to heal this together? No more hiding. No more walls between us.”

Acacius’s eyes met yours, the depth of his grief still there, but something else, something warm and hopeful, flickered in them.

Acacius’s hand remained on your cheek, his thumb moving gently as though savoring the contact, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his touch. The space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second, and though the rawness of your shared grief still lingered, there was an undeniable pull between you both—one that had always been there, hidden beneath the tension, the sorrow, and the unspoken words.

He stepped closer, his breath mingling with yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. It was as if the world outside had faded into silence, leaving only the two of you standing there in the quiet of the room, in the quiet of this moment.

Without a word, Acacius leaned in, his gaze never leaving yours as if asking permission without speaking. His eyes held a vulnerability that you hadn’t seen before, something raw, something real—and it made your heart beat faster. You nodded almost imperceptibly, unable to put into words what you needed, what you wanted.

And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t passionate, not at first, but of something deeper, something that carried the weight of all that had come before, of loss, of pain, and of the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both heal. His lips were gentle on yours, as though he was testing the waters, waiting for any sign that you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you responded, your lips parting slightly as you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

Acacius’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, his hold steady and sure, and you melted into his embrace. His kiss deepened, and there was a tenderness in it that spoke volumes of the regret, the longing, and the understanding that had finally found its way to the surface.

For a long moment, the world around you ceased to exist. There was only the feeling of his kiss, the warmth of his hands, and the quiet comfort of knowing that, despite everything, you were no longer alone in this.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless, your forehead resting against his, your hearts beating in sync. He didn’t pull away, and neither did you. Instead, you stayed there, letting the silence between you speak for all the things that words could never fully express.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with emotion.

“And I’m here.” You replied.

The next morning, you awoke with a lingering warmth in your chest, the memory of last night’s kiss with Acacius was still fresh on your lips. It was strange, despite the pain and the heartache, there was something comforting in the way Acacius had held you, as if the weight of everything pressing down on you could be borne, if only together.

But just as the morning light began to fill the room, casting soft shadows on the walls, the harsh knock on your door interrupted the peace. You sighed softly.

One of the servants entered your quarters, announcing the presence of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla.

Before you could even respond, and both Emperor Caracalla and Emperor Geta stepped into the room. Their presence was commanding, each one wearing an expression that veiled their intentions. Caracalla's eyes scanned the room first, his gaze lingering briefly on you.

"Good morning, princess” Caracalla greeted; his tone formal but with an edge of curiosity. "I trust you slept well.”

Geta, ever the more mischievous presence, did not mask his interest so well. His gaze immediately flicked between you and his brother, noting the tension that hung thick in the air. "Ah, my lady” he remarked, his smile laced with hidden meaning. "I hope we aren't interrupting something more... private?"

You could feel Geta’s eyes on you, the weight of his gaze making you uneasy. His curiosity was sharp, and you could almost feel him waiting for any sign of weakness, any crack to exploit. You forced yourself to stand taller, lifting your chin in defiance of his probing stare.

Caracalla’s eyes softened for a moment as he observed the tension, and then, with a slow nod, he motioned toward the chairs by the table. "We did not come here to pry," he said, his voice quieter now, though still full of authority. "But we were concerned. Your absence was noted at yesterday’s games. I trust everything is well?"

Geta, however, did not seem as concerned. He leaned against the doorframe casually, his smirk never wavering. "Indeed," he chimed in. "Such a pity to miss the games, especially with the gladiator’s performance. But I’m sure you’re feeling better now.”

The air between the three of you grew heavy, filled with unsaid things, fears, suspicions, and lingering emotions. Caracalla watched you closely, his sharp gaze measuring your movements though his voice remained level.

"We wanted to ensure all is well. There are matters of the empire that demand our attention, but family is still... important," Caracalla added, though his eyes seemed to linger on you, a glimmer of something unreadable flashing behind them.

Geta stepped closer, a twisted smile curling his lips. "No prisoner has ever had such treatment," he said, gesturing around the luxurious room as if the walls and fine furnishings were a gift from him. "I have given you everything."

Your anger surged, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer. "Everything?" you spat, your voice shaking with fury. "You mean the punishment? The abuse of your power? Poisoning me? Making me lose a child?"

Geta froze, his eyes widening in shock at your words. He hadn’t expected you to confront him so directly, hadn’t anticipated the raw pain and anger that laced your voice. For a moment, he looked almost human, almost remorseful, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by a cold, calculating expression.

"I... didn’t know," he muttered, though his tone lacked genuine remorse. "That wasn’t my intention."

You took a step closer, your eyes blazing with defiance. "Your intentions don’t matter," you said, your voice low but cutting. "You have taken everything you could from me.”

Geta’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. Caracalla’s gaze flicked between you and his brother, a faint smirk playing on his lips as if he found the whole exchange amusing. The tension in the room was suffocating, each moment stretching into eternity.

Finally, Geta turned away, his expression dark and unreadable. "We’ll speak again soon," he said, coming close to you, reaching your ear for you to hear, his voice devoid of the usual warmth he tried to feign. "But remember, no matter how you feel, you are still mine."

After Geta left your quarters, Caracalla lingered for a moment longer, his gaze softened unexpectedly. His voice, usually sharp and cold, dropped to something almost gentle. "You would have made a wonderful mother," he said quietly, his words hanging in the air.

You stiffened at his remark, the unexpected sentiment cutting through the tension like a blade. Before you could respond, he turned and followed Geta out of the room, leaving you in stunned silence.

Acacius stepped inside the room and closed behind the two emperors. His eyes were filled with concern, his jaw tight as he crossed the room to you.

He reached for you, his hands settling on your shoulders. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, searching your face for any sign of how you were feeling.

You nodded slowly, though the weight of Caracalla's words lingered in your mind. "I’m... I’m fine," you whispered, though the crack in your voice betrayed the truth.

Acacius pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. "You don’t have to pretend," he murmured, his voice gentle. "I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. "It’s just too much," you whispered. "Everything... it’s too much."

He tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I know," he said softly. "But we’ll get through this."

Acacius held you close, his voice low but determined. "I’m taking you away from here," he said, his tone filled with resolve. "You’ve endured enough. I’ll defeat Geta and Caracalla, bring down their empire, and when it’s safe... I’ll come back for you."

You pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. "Acacius, that’s treason. it’s too dangerous. If they find out-"

"They won’t," he interrupted firmly, his hands tightening on your arms. "I have an army. Men who are loyal to me only. They’ll arrive in a 3 days and we’re bringing Rome to what it was, but I need you to out of here before that.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the weight of what he was proposing sinking in. "Acacius, you can’t be serious," you whispered, fear creeping into your voice. "This is madness. If they discover your plans, they’ll kill you. They’ll kill us."

His expression softened, but his resolve remained unshaken. "I’ve never been more serious," he said quietly. "I’ve watched this empire fall apart under their rule, seen too many suffer because of their greed and cruelty. I won’t let it continue. Not while I have the power to stop it."

You shook your head, heart pounding. "And what about me? You’re asking me to leave, to run while you stay and fight. I can’t do that, Acacius. I can’t leave you behind."

He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes intense but filled with a deep affection. "I need you safe," he insisted. "If you stay, they’ll use you against me. They’ll hurt you to get to me, and I can’t allow that."

Tears welled in your eyes again as the weight of his words pressed down on you. "I don’t want to lose you," you whispered, your voice breaking.

"You won’t," he promised, his thumb brushing away a tear that escaped down your cheek. "I’ll come back for you. I swear it."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "Then at least you’ll be safe," he said softly. "And you’ll know that I did everything I could to make things right."

"I can't leave my brother behind," you said, your voice trembling as you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face.

Acacius froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

"Lucius is alive," you confessed, the weight of the secret you’d been holding finally lifting from your chest. "The gladiator I healed... that's my brother.”

His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. "Your brother?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "Lucius... he's alive?"

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. "He survived all these years, but I couldn’t tell anyone. If Geta or Caracalla found out, they would kill him.”

Acacius ran a hand through his hair, taking a step back as he tried to process the revelation. "This... changes everything," he muttered, his mind racing. "Lucius is alive?”

You nodded.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. "We’ll have to get him out, too," he said, his voice resolute. "I won’t leave your brother behind. We’ll take him with us."

Acacius stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close once more. His embrace was firm yet gentle, a silent promise of solidarity and protection. You leaned into him, finding comfort in his warmth, the weight of your shared burden momentarily lifted.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The gravity of what lay ahead hung heavy in the air, but there was also an unspoken understanding between you, a mutual resolve to face the impending storm together.

Everything that hurt you, it hurt him. Every broken piece that fell out from your heart got stuck on your skin. Everything about the world he used to hate, he loved it now. You had made his life bearable because every time he opened his eyes and saw your lashes kissed your skin, how your chest inhale and exhale. He was glad he had survived thousands of battles just for his fate ending up being next to you.  He would choose this path again and he would vow his promise to Lucilla just to kiss your face all over again.

And just as his promised he would put your life under protection to end the reign that had taunted you for so many years.

“I’ll end this” Acacius murmured against your hair, his voice steady with determination. “I’ll save Lucius, and I’ll put an end to Geta and Caracalla’s reign, and you will be out, safe for now.”

You nodded against his chest, knowing damn well that your plan wasn’t the same as his, but both of them would meet the same fate.

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[charliemwrites]

Unfamiliar Nobody

You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.

Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship

You haven’t been the same since the ritual.

Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.

Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.

It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.

Not so.

That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…

The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.

You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.

You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.

Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.

Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.

And yours hasn’t been the same since.

You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.

You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.

Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.

As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.

The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.

It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.

You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.

Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.

(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)

You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)

The shop was never reorganized.

Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.

“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.

“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”

He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry. 

For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.

You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.

“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”

He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.

“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”

You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.

“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair. 

He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”

Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.

Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.

“Any storms?” you ask.

“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”

You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.

“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”

You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.

Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.

“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”

You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.

“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.

He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”

Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.

“Nikto!”

A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.

You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.

Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.

You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.

“Good evening,” you call.

“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.

While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)

Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.

“Have you need of something?” you ask.

Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.

“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.

You tilt your head. “Anna?”

She blinks. “How did you know?”

Because Nikto grumbled it just now.

“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”

You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.

“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.

She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.

“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”

You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.

“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”

“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.

“Mhmm!”

“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.

The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.

“Anything else?” you ask.

“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.

You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.

“Hold on,” you call, “here.”

You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.

“What is it?”

“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”

She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.

“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.

Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.

“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.

“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.

“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”

He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”

You hum in question, surprised.

“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”

You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”

He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.

“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”

“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”

“As many as you will let me breed into you.”

Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.

“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.

He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.

Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”

You’d thought so.

It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.

Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.

You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.

Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.

A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.

Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.

“Irina,” you greet.

She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.

“You’ve…”

You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.

“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”

She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.

“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”

Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.

You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.

“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”

You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.

It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.

“Would you help me?”

“I would.”

You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.

“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.

Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.

“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.

Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”

“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”

She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.

“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”

You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.

“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”

Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead. 

“What is it?”

“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”

You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.

“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.

“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”

Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.

“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”

You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.

“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”

“Alright. I understand.”

She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.

“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.

Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs. 

“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.

Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.

“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.

His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.

“Yes,” he hisses.

He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.

Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.

“Give me,” he demands, surging up.

Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.

“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.

“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”

His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold. 

“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.

You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.

“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”

He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.

The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.

“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.

“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.

“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.

Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.

Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.

“The button too,” you request.

Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.

“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.

You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”

You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.

“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.

“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.

“Your choice,” you reply simply.

When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.

“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”

It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.

Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.

In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.

When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.

“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”

You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.

It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.

He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.

“Nikto.”

“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.

You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.

“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”

He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”

“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.

He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.

Winter preparations are well under way.

A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.

Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.

Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.

You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.

Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.

Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.

Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.

Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.

Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.

Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.

The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.

The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.

The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.

You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.

At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.

Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.

Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.

You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.

There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.

Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.

When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.

You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.

The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.

You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.

Nasty creature.

“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.

Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.

You click your tongue, steps never faltering.

“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.

“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.

An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.

Always so messy.

You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.

Only then does the water darken around you.

Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.

Feast before the season’s famine.

You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.

He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.

Wait, no. Not lazy. 

Deliberate.

Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.

You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.

It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.

You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.

“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”

He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

You smile, indulgent.

“I belong to Nobody.”

There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.

[ts19009]

A Recipe for Us I Part 1 | KMG

pairing: kim mingyu x reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, smut, coworkers-to-lovers, mean!oc, soft!niceguy!gyu, chef's(oui oui) warnings: NO SMUT IN THIS PART!! explicit unprotected sex, sexual innuendos, oral sex (female receiving), etc. words: 22,426

summary: When Mingyu joins the kitchen staff at one of the city's most esteemed restaurants, he expects long hours, high expectations, and the thrill of doing what he loves. What he doesn't expect is Y/N L/N—sharp, efficient, and utterly uninterested in small talk. Where Mingyu is warm and expressive, Y/N is all business, focused solely on keeping everything running smoothly. Their personalities clash from the start, but as they navigate the pressures of the restaurant world, unexpected challenges force them to rely on each other in ways neither anticipated. Slowly, between late-night shifts and shared moments in the chaos of the kitchen, they begin to see each other differently. But with ambition, personal struggles, and unspoken fears standing in the way, will they learn to meet in the middle, or will their differences keep them apart?

The scent of seared butter and fresh herbs clung to the air, you could smell the delicious food from about a block away, but all Mingyu focused on was not messing up on his first day at his new job in a fancy New York restaurant. He had memorized the entire menu the night before, even down to the plating of each dish, but looking at the demo that one of his co-workers was doing for him, he couldn’t remember a single thing he prepared. 

“Do you have any questions?” his co-worker asked.

Mingyu glanced at his name tag, Joshua, before shaking his head. “No, I understand. Thanks Joshua.” 

Joshua nodded and stepped aside for him to take his spot in the kitchen. “Alright then, we open in a little under an hour. So if you want to start with some prep before the dinner rush, that's what the big boss advises,” 

Mingyu glanced at the clock. 4:15. The restaurant opens at five. Forty-five minutes to get his shit together.

Without wasting time, he grabbed a rag and started wiping down the counters he’d be using, then moved on to cleaning a few used pans he knew he’d need. He had just started organizing his station when the sound of heels clicking against the tile caught his attention.

"You're in my way."

The voice was sharp, cool, and to the point. Mingyu turned, wiping his hands on his apron as he came face to face with a woman who looked just as sharp as her tone—dark brown hair pulled back, eyes scanning him like he was already a problem.

Joshua, seemingly unfazed, smirked as he stepped past them. "Ah, right. Mingyu, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet Mingyu—our new chef."

Y/N didn’t acknowledge the introduction, her focus locked on Mingyu as she crossed her arms. "If you're done scrubbing, move. I need that counter."

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes as she set down the ingredients she had been carrying. Without hesitation, she got to work—peeling, chopping, and moving with practiced efficiency. Mingyu lingered for a moment, watching the way her hands moved swiftly, like she had done this a thousand times before.

"Are you going to stand there all night, or are you actually going to work?" she asked, not even looking up as she sliced through a carrot.

Mingyu snapped out of his daze, clearing his throat as he turned back to his station. Alright then. Game on.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, rolling back his shoulders before grabbing a knife. "Relax, I was just admiring the technique," he said, setting a cutting board in place. "Didn’t realize speed-chopping was a personality trait."

Y/N scoffed and reached over him to grab another carrot. "Not a personality trait, but the art of chopping is something you lose if you don’t practice."

Mingyu arched his brow but didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed a carrot from her pile and started slicing, matching her pace. The steady rhythm of their knives hitting the cutting boards filled the space between them—sharp, precise, and unspoken competition hanging in the air.

Y/N barely spared him a glance. "Try to keep up."

Mingyu smirked, the challenge lighting something in his chest. "I was about to say the same to you."

Y/N let out a small huff, but her hands didn’t falter, slicing through the vegetables with effortless precision. "Confidence is cute," she muttered, eyes focused on her cutting board, "but we’ll see if you can still keep up when the real rush starts."

As the rest of the hour flew by, the only sound between them was the rhythmic chopping of knives against wood, neither of them speaking a word. They were so focused on outdoing the other that when the restaurant finally opened to the public, neither of them had noticed.

"Shit," Y/N muttered, reaching for another carrot, only to realize they had sliced every last one. Her eyes darted up to the clock, and she cursed again. 5:10.Y/N grabbed her bowl of carrots without sparing another glance at Mingyu and briskly made her way to a different work station, the sharp click of her shoes echoing as she moved. Mingyu watched her go, feeling the sudden shift in the air, and for a moment, he stood there, alone. The kitchen buzzed with activity as the dinner rush kicked in, but Mingyu was left with his station and the pile of dishes he had yet to start.

He exhaled, shaking off the moment. "Guess it’s just me, then."

“How was your first day?” Wonwoo, Mingyu’s roommate, asked glancing over at Mingyu as they settled into the couch, the familiar opening credits of Breaking Bad starting to play. It was a tradition they had almost every night—something to unwind after a long day.

“Long,” Mingyu sighed, “very long. But I didn’t mess anything up so that’s good.” Wonwoo chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Did you make any friends at all? You’re pretty charismatic.” 

Mingyu nodded, “yeah. The guy who gave me the demo, Joshua, is pretty cool. We talked a bit after work,” He paused, the image of Y/N still fresh in his mind. He wondered if he should bring up his interaction with her, but something held him back.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing the hesitation. "And?"

Mingyu shrugged, “there is this one woman…. Y/N.” He hesitates again. “She’s pretty intense. Pushed me away from my workstation, can chop things at the speed of light, just gives off this standoffish energy. Doesn’t really give you the time of day unless you're doing something right.” 

“Sounds like she’s your match in the kitchen though,” Wonwoo pointed out, “you’ve always been the fastest in the kitchen.” 

“Yeah, but I’m not an asshole in the kitchen,” Mingyu paused, realizing how harsh that sounded. “Sorry. I think I’m just tired and worked up.” 

Wonwoo shrugged, used to Mingyu’s mood swings. “No problem, first day’s are always rough. You’ll figure it out,” he smiled, giving Mingyu another pat on the back. As the rest of the night went by, Mingyu tried to focus on the show, but he couldn’t help but feel bothered about what Wonwoo had said. 

It was true—Mingyu was a little intimidated by you. The way you moved in the kitchen, so confident and precise, made him feel like he was still figuring things out, even though he had years of experience. And if he was being honest with himself, he was upset that he wasn’t the best chef in the kitchen anymore. He’d always prided himself on his speed and skill, but today, it felt like someone else had taken that spot.

After the show ended, Wonwoo stretched and stood up, claiming he had to wake up early in the morning. But Mingyu knew better. He shot him a look, watching as Wonwoo grabbed his phone. "You're not fooling anyone," Mingyu teased.

Wonwoo flashed him a grin. "I’ll be up for a while. You know, video games and all."

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. "Goodnight, man."

With a sigh, he leaned back on the couch, his mind replaying the day’s events—mostly thoughts of you. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him to you, or why it bothered him so much that you didn’t seem to care about him at all, but he couldn’t help feeling like there was more to this rivalry than just speed in the kitchen.

Mingyu made his way to their kitchen and got out a knife, cutting board and a bag of carrots. 

“Alright, let’s see if I can keep up.” Mingyu muttered to himself as he grabbed his knife and started cutting. Carrots, potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes—almost every piece of produce they had in the kitchen found its way onto his cutting board. He chopped tirelessly, his focus narrowing down to just the rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board, the sound of the blade slicing through the vegetables, and the steady pace he forced himself to maintain.

For hours, he worked in silence, his hands moving automatically, each slice more precise than the last. He wasn’t satisfied with anything less than perfection, and if his performance faltered for even a second, he would stop, reset, and start again. There was no room for hesitation—only improvement.

The pile of chopped vegetables grew, his pace quickening with each repetition, and the sting in his shoulders from the constant motion started to fade as his body adjusted to the rhythm.

By the time he cut his last carrot, the kitchen was eerily quiet, and the only light left was the faint glow of the refrigerator. His hands ached, his eyes were heavy, and the exhaustion was starting to settle in like a weight he couldn’t shake. He glanced at the clock—2:57 AM.

A tired laugh escaped him as he leaned back against the counter, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He had spent hours cutting, trying to reach that elusive perfect rhythm, and now he was paying for it.

"Great. I’ve got, what, four hours of sleep before the next shift?"

His mind drifted to the job waiting for him at the bar, where he would have to juggle drinks, manage customers, and keep his energy up. He had always worked hard, but today felt different. He could still hear the steady chopping in his head, still see the focused look on Y/N’s face as she moved through the kitchen, and somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had something to prove.

With a grunt, Mingyu cleaned up, packing away the vegetables and wiping down the counter. He dragged his feet to the couch, collapsing into it. But as he closed his eyes, a small smile tugged at his lips. Despite the exhaustion, he had never felt more driven. 

He was going to make her like him—or, if not like him, then at least respect him.

His last thought before sleep claimed him was the idea of earning that respect—the kind of respect that could only come from someone who had no patience for mediocrity. He wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to do it, but he’d find a way.

“Can you do the beef wellington tonight?” Joshua asked Mingyu, rushing into the kitchen, still tying his apron around his waist. His usual calm demeanor was replaced by a slight panic.

“Yeah, is Jeonghan not here?” Mingyu asked, noticing Joshua’s flustered state and the way he quickly moved around the kitchen, trying to get organized.

“Yeah, he called in sick about twenty minutes ago. We’re gonna be a little short tonight.” Joshua’s voice was tight with urgency.

Mingyu took a deep breath, glancing at the clock. The dinner rush was about to hit, and now he had two dishes to manage. “Got it. I’ll take care of the Wellington.”

Y/N entered the kitchen just as Joshua rushed off, her expression unreadable but her eyes scanning the space. Mingyu was already moving to his station, pulling out the beef, puff pastry, and mushrooms, his mind shifting gears as he mentally prepared for the complexity of the dish. The fish and chips were straightforward, but the Wellington demanded his full attention.

“What’s going on?” Y/N’s voice was low, but there was a sharpness in it, like she was trying to figure out what chaos she was about to walk into.

Mingyu glanced at her, hands already moving. “Jeonghan called in sick. I’m taking over the Wellington.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking to the beef Wellington station, then back to him. “You sure you can handle both? The fish and chips and that?” Her tone wasn’t dismissive, but there was something almost like a challenge in it.

Mingyu smirked, a flicker of competition lighting up in his chest. “I can handle it. You got your hands full with your station?”

Y/N's lips quirked, but her expression remained cool. “I’m fine. Just don’t mess up the Wellington, Mingyu.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice, but also an edge of seriousness.

She moved to her station, but Mingyu could feel her eyes on him for a moment longer, studying his movements. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in his abilities—it was more like she was waiting for him to slip up, to show that he couldn’t juggle both tasks.

Mingyu tightened his grip on the knife, taking a deep breath. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

As the night went on, Y/N kept a close eye on Mingyu, her sharp gaze never straying too far from his station. But Mingyu, busy juggling both the fish and chips and the delicate beef Wellington, barely had a moment to even glance at her. He was on his feet the entire night, moving from one task to the next without pause, and by the time the dinner rush had come to an end, the adrenaline faded, and the weight of the shift hit him. He was sweaty, exhausted, and his apron was soaked through, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction of the work.

"Wow, Mingyu," Y/N said, walking over to him as she handed him a cloth to wipe off the sweat from his forehead. Her face was as neutral as ever, no smile, but the praise in her voice didn’t go unnoticed. "You did well tonight."

Mingyu let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping for the first time all night. He accepted the towel with a small smile, the weight of the night beginning to settle into his bones. "Thanks. Do I sound crazy if I say that I kind of love the rush?"

Y/N didn’t answer immediately, her gaze softening just slightly. She looked out across the kitchen for a moment, then met his eyes again. "No," she said, a small glimmer of something that might’ve been a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I love the rush too. It’s good to know someone else also loves the dinner rush instead of hiding out in the storage room."

Mingyu chuckled at that, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "I mean, I can see how hiding out might be tempting. But it feels like the heart of the kitchen, y’know?"

Y/N’s lips twitched, and for a brief second, Mingyu thought she might actually smile. But instead, she just nodded, her demeanor still calm and collected. "Exactly. We don’t get much time to breathe, but that’s what makes it worth it."

He was about to respond when Joshua popped in to check on the team, but as the night wound down and the kitchen started to clear, Mingyu realized that he was genuinely glad he had this moment with her. Not just for the work, but for the unspoken understanding between them.

There was still a lot to prove, but tonight, he felt like he might be on the right path.

Mingyu’s body was tired. Between working until ten at night in the kitchen, practicing his cooking on the side, and bartending during the day, he was walking a fine line. His mind buzzed with the constant juggling of responsibilities, and his muscles ached in ways he couldn’t ignore.

He had picked up his bartending job about a year ago, just when he was still searching for a restaurant job that would let him show what he was truly capable of. The bartending gig paid well enough to cover his rent and basic expenses, but it wasn’t where his heart was. It wasn’t what he loved.

The clink of glasses, the long hours of standing behind a bar, and the repetitive motions of pouring drinks didn’t compare to the thrill he felt when he was in the kitchen, crafting dishes, creating something with his hands. The passion he felt for food was undeniable.

He hadn’t quit his bartending job yet, though. There was a level of security it provided, and even though it wasn’t his dream, it kept him afloat while he tried to make a name for himself in the restaurant world. Still, with every shift that passed, his desire to leave it behind grew stronger. His dream was never meant to be behind a bar—it was in a kitchen, where he could cook the way he wanted to, push himself further, and truly focus on his craft.

But the reality of bills and rent loomed large. And though he kept telling himself that someday he’d take the plunge and quit, it felt like it might take longer than he’d like.

So the last thing Mingyu had expected was for Y/N to come and sit down in front of him at his bartending job.

“Y/N?” He asked, pausing his current task of cleaning glasses. His mind was still trying to wrap around the idea that Y/N, the woman who he had spent hours working with in the kitchen, was now sitting in front of him at the bar.

“A dirty martini, please,” Y/N said, her voice sounding a little more tired than usual as she sighed, throwing her purse onto the bar and wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Mingyu glanced around the bar, briefly checking to see if she was with anyone else, but it was just the two of you. His confusion deepened, and he looked back at her, still not sure why she was here.

“Hello? Mingyu?” She said again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Mingyu blinked, clearing his throat as he quickly moved to prepare the drink. “Sorry. Didn’t expect you to—uh—be here,” he stammered, grabbing a glass and starting the martini with practiced motions. He didn’t want to admit how strange it felt, seeing herhere, in this setting. The last place he expected to run into her was at a bar, especially after spending hours with her in the kitchen.

As he poured the gin and vermouth, he glanced up at her again, still trying to piece together why her, of all people, would end up here, at his bartending job of all places. “

“Are you alright?” Mingyu asked, placing the glass in front of her with a cautious glance. His brow furrowed as he studied her for a moment, trying to figure out what brought her to his bar, but also noticing something different in the way she was sitting. She didn’t seem like your usual confident, work-oriented self.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she picked up the glass and took a long, deliberate sip of her martini, the silence between the two of them growing heavier with each passing second.

Mingyu waited, his fingers drumming softly on the bar, as he tried to gauge her mood. He knew she was usually reserved, but tonight, she seemed... distant. Not the usual standoffish energy, but something else. Something more subdued.

He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Y/N? What’s going on?” He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to ask, but seeing you like this—quiet, contemplative, and not the usual sharp-witted version of yourself—stirred something in him.

She sighed, putting down her drink with a frustrated motion. "I just found out that Joshua got the promotion at the restaurant." You almost hissed the words, your irritation simmering just beneath the surface. "It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it, I just... I thought I was going to get it."

Mingyu winced, understanding exactly what she were feeling. He had been in her shoes before—putting in the hours, the effort, only to watch someone else get the recognition you felt you earned. He couldn’t help but offer her a little smile, even if he didn’t have the right words to make it better.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice sincere.

She scoffed, running a hand through her hair, clearly frustrated with herself. “I sound like a bitch,” she muttered, looking down at her drink as if it could provide some kind of answer.

Mingyu shook his head gently, leaning against the bar. “No, you don’t.” He paused for a second before continuing, his tone calm but firm. “You’re just frustrated. It’s normal to feel that way.”

There was a brief silence between the two of them, the kind that felt a little more comfortable than it should. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she was wrestling with her pride and the disappointment. He wasn’t sure why she was opening up to him of all people, but in a strange way, it felt right.

“In my defense, I didn’t know you worked here during the day,” she shrugged, “thanks for the drink.” She said, reaching into her bag for a bill. 

“It’s okay, it’s on the house,” Mingyu interrupted. 

“I don’t want you to pity me Mingyu,” she said, as Mingyu held up his hands in defense. 

“No pity here. Everyone deserves a free drink now and then,” he smiled as she sighed and nodded. Sliding off the seat and grabbing her purse. 

“Thank you,” she smiled for the first time, “see you tonight.” 

Mingyu watched as Y/N disappeared through the door, the faintest trace of her smile still lingering in his mind. He glanced down at the twenty-dollar bill in his tip jar and huffed out a quiet laugh. "Figures."

She was stubborn, that much was clear. But for the first time, he saw something past the sharp edges—just a glimpse.

Shaking his head, he tucked the bill away and got back to work, but the night suddenly felt a little less exhausting.

“So do you like her?” Wonwoo asked Mingyu as they both sat down to start their show. Mingyu sighed, but neither confirmed nor denied having feelings for you. Wonwoo gasped and hit Mingyu on the shoulder, “dude it’s been like a week!” 

Mingyu rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to profess my love for her on the side of the streets if that’s what you mean, but yeah, I like our banter.” 

Wonwoo chuckled and shrugged, “I mean, I get it.”

“You do?” Mingyu raised an eyebrow, glancing at his friend.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said, stretching his legs out on the couch. “She’s got that whole ‘mysterious, intimidating, secretly cool’ vibe going on. And you? You love a challenge.”

Mingyu scoffed, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I don’t love a challenge.”

Wonwoo shot him a knowing look.

Mingyu groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “When was the last time you were in an actual long-term relationship? Sophomore year of college with that girl, Lily?”

Mingyu nodded, exhaling through his nose. Lily had been in his fine arts program. They’d spent most of their freshman year taking the same classes, bonding over late-night study sessions and cheap takeout. They had only dated for their sophomore summer and about half of the next semester before Mingyu ended it. It had been easy, comfortable—but it wasn’t love, and he knew that. Still, it was the last official relationship he’d had since.

“That was, what, four years ago?” Wonwoo asked, raising an eyebrow. “Man, you’re overdue.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “I don’t need a relationship. I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, busy avoiding anything serious,” Wonwoo teased, tossing a pillow at him. “Come on, man. You’re all about work, and now there’s finally someone who can match you step for step in the kitchen. Tell me that doesn’t get to you.”

Mingyu scoffed, catching the pillow and tossing it aside. “It doesn’t.”

Wonwoo gave him a knowing look. “Right. That’s why you’ve been practicing your chopping like a madman and overanalyzing every single interaction you have with her. All I’m saying is that you’re different and that maybe you're ready for a relationship instead of the flings and hookups you're notorious for.” 

Mingyu opened his mouth to argue but hesitated. Because, as much as he hated to admit it… Wonwoo wasn’t wrong.

Mingyu arrived at the restaurant early, telling himself it was just to get a head start. It definitely wasn’t because he was hoping to see Y/N before the rush started.

To his surprise, she was already there, standing by the prep station, sleeves rolled up as she sliced through a pile of onions with effortless speed. The kitchen was quieter than usual, just the steady rhythm of her knife hitting the cutting board.

“You always get here this early?” Mingyu asked, setting his bag down.

“Someone has to make sure things are done right,” Y/N said without looking up. “And you? I figured you’d be getting your last few minutes of beauty sleep.”

Mingyu smirked. “Didn’t sleep much.”

At that, she finally glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “Thinking about me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I spent all night dreaming about your knife skills.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll learn something,” she said, smirking slightly before returning to her work.

Despite the banter, Mingyu could tell she was still tense. He wasn’t sure if it was about last night or if the promotion news was still weighing on her. Either way, she was working harder than usual, her movements precise but a little too forceful, like she was trying to take out her frustration on the vegetables.

Mingyu grabbed a knife and stepped beside her. “Want some help?”

“I don’t need help.”

“Never said you did.”

She hesitated for just a second before sighing and nudging a pile of carrots toward him. “Fine. Make yourself useful.”

They worked in silence for a while, their knives moving in sync. The tension in Y/N’s shoulders slowly eased, and Mingyu found himself watching her—just little things, like the way she chewed on her lip when she concentrated or the way she always wiped her hands on her apron twice before moving to the next task.

After a while, he finally spoke. “You know, you don’t have to pretend you’re over it.”

Y/N froze for just a fraction of a second before continuing. “Over what?”

“The promotion.”

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t have time to sulk about things I can’t change.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, she sighed. “Yeah. It does.”

Mingyu glanced at her, watching the way her fingers tensed around the knife handle. “You should’ve gotten it.”

Y/N looked up at him then, studying him like she was trying to figure out if he really meant it. After a beat, she exhaled. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And for the first time since he started working here, Mingyu felt like maybe—just maybe—he was starting to figure Y/N out.

The rest of the night passed in a quiet sort of tension. The dinner rush was relentless, and with Jeonghan still out sick, Mingyu had to keep up with both his stations. Yet, for the first time since he started, Y/N didn’t look at him like she was ready to snap. There was something different in her gaze—less guarded, maybe even a little approving. He couldn’t quite place it, but it was a shift he appreciated.

They didn’t speak much, both of them fully absorbed in their work, the rhythm of the kitchen humming around them. But every so often, their eyes would meet, and in those brief moments, there was a quiet understanding. No words needed.

As the end of the night came and all the customers had left it was just Joshua, Mingyu, and Y/N. 

“Hey Y/N?” Joshua asked, causing Mingyu to lift his head from his station. He wasn’t sure how this interaction was going to go, especially in your state. 

“I know that we were both up for the promotion and I just wanted to say that I’m glad that it was you. You really gave me a run for my money.” 

Y/N’s eyes flickered, her expression unreadable for a moment. It was a sentiment she hadn’t been expecting, especially not from him. After all, she had been the one who lost out.

“Thanks,” she said, her tone steady but with a hint of something Mingyu couldn’t quite place. As Joshua made his exit, giving them both a polite wave, the silence in the kitchen grew heavier. Y/N finished tidying up her station with mechanical precision, the hum of the restaurant's closing rituals surrounding them. Mingyu stood nearby, cleaning his own area, but his attention kept flickering toward her, unsure of whether to break the silence or not.

He wanted to say something—anything—but he wasn’t sure what would be appropriate. He had seen a side of Y/N that was rare, something raw and unfiltered, and it made him hesitate. He didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing, especially when it felt like she had just let her guard down.

After a long, quiet moment, Mingyu finally spoke up, keeping his voice light. “You know, you handled that pretty well,” he said, his words tentative. “Not everyone would be that gracious.”

Y/N glanced at him for a brief second, her face unreadable. She didn't respond right away, her hands moving with practiced ease as she wiped down the counters.

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat things,” she finally said, her voice a little softer. “I was pissed at first. But… I’m not gonna drag it out. I’m just trying to figure out how to move forward.”

Mingyu nodded, understanding that it wasn’t just about the promotion—it was about what came with it. The expectations, the disappointments, the constant push to be better.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he added, offering a small grin, “you’re still the fastest chopper I know.”

Y/N’s lips twitched at that, a hint of a smile forming before she quickly wiped it away. “Thanks, Mingyu,” she said quietly, the tension between them starting to dissolve, even if only for a moment.

The two of them continued cleaning in silence, but now, there was an unspoken understanding that lingered, one that felt like it could lead to something better.

As they finished up cleaning the last of the kitchen, Y/N hesitated for a moment, wiping down the counter slowly. She glanced at Mingyu, who was putting away his station. The lingering silence between them felt different now, less heavy.

"Hey, Mingyu," she said, her voice just a little uncertain. "You want to grab a drink or something? I know you’re probably exhausted, but I could use a drink after tonight. And maybe... I don’t know, just a break from all the chaos." She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the invitation casual but sincere.

Mingyu paused, surprised by the offer. He’d been expecting another quiet night, but something about the way she said it made him feel like this was more than just a casual invitation.

"Uh, sure," he replied, surprised at how easy it was to say yes. "I could use one too." He flashed her a small smile. "Let’s go."

Y/N nodded, her face softening as she grabbed her bag and slipped her apron off. "Alright, let's go," she said, leading the way out of the kitchen and toward the door. "It’s been one of those nights, right?"

Mingyu laughed softly as he followed her out, a feeling of unexpected relief settling over him. "You have no idea."

Mingyu glanced at her and smirked. “Cold?”

Y/N shot him a look, tugging her coat tighter around herself. “No, I always walk like I’m trying to survive a snowstorm.”

He chuckled, pushing open the door to the bar and letting her step in first. The warmth inside was immediate, the low hum of music and chatter making the space feel cozy.

“You pick the spot,” Mingyu said, nodding toward the booths near the back.

Y/N scanned the room before leading the way. “Since when are you so agreeable?”

Mingyu grinned as he followed. “Since I somehow managed to get you to willingly spend more time with me.

”She let out a small scoff, tugging her coat tighter around herself to hide the slight blush creeping up her cheeks. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words.

As they reached the far end of the bar, Mingyu leaned against the counter and flagged down the bartender, a playful glint in his eyes. “Two surprise drinks, please,” he said confidently, flashing a grin in Y/N’s direction. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest, curiosity flickering across her face as she settled onto a stool.

“Are you trying to poison me to take my spot in Mingyu?” Mingyu chuckled, and rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“How did you figure it out?” He joked back. Mingyu’s eyes softened as he met her gaze, the playful tension between the two hanging in the air. He wasn’t much taller than her, but enough for her to tilt her head back slightly to meet his gaze. For a moment, the two of them stood there, words unsaid, the atmosphere between them was a mix of amusement and something else she couldn’t quite place.

The bartender interrupted the quiet pause, sliding two drinks across the counter. “On the house,” they said, flashing a quick smile.

She glanced at the drink, then back up at Mingyu. “If this is terrible, I’m blaming you.”

Mingyu raised his glass with a grin. “Fair enough. Cheers?”

“Cheers.” She said, as they both took a sip of the drink. It was a sweet raspberry drink, but the vodka was still prominent. “Wow,” you coughed, “did you give me raspberry battery acid?” 

Mingyu smiled, but didn’t cough. “No, it’s just a vodka cranberry.” 

She raised her eyebrows in surprise but took another sip of her drink. A comfortable silence settled between them as they sipped their drinks, the low hum of conversation fading into the background. Onstage, a jazz band began setting up, the soft tuning of instruments signaling the start of their performance.

Y/N swirled the last sip of her drink in her glass, tapping her fingers lightly against the counter as the band settled into their first song.

Mingyu’s gaze flickered between the band and Y/N’s fingers tapping lightly against the counter, occasionally drifting up to her face. It was almost unsettling to see her this at ease—so different from the sharp, focused version of her he was used to at work.

“Something on my face?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Mingyu shook his head with a small smile. “No, just not used to seeing you this relaxed.”

Y/N shrugged, idly running her finger along the rim of her glass. “Guess there’s nothing to prove here. I can just… exist.”

Mingyu understood, but it struck him how different that was from his own experience. The kitchen was where he felt most like himself, where everything made sense. He nodded but kept that thought to himself.

Before he could say anything else his phone started ringing in his pocket. 

It was Wonwoo. 

He turned away from the band to answer the call, “Hello? Wonwoo? What’s up?” 

“Are you coming home at all tonight? We left our show off on a cliffhanger?” Wonwoo said through the phone as Mingyu scoffed. 

“You had to phone me to ask that question?” 

"Yes, because you weren't answering my texts," Wonwoo shot back. "And I need to know if I should wait for you or not."

Mingyu rolled his eyes, glancing at Y/N, who was now watching him with mild amusement as she sipped her drink. “I’ll be home later,” he said. “Don’t watch without me.”

“No promises,” Wonwoo teased before hanging up.

Mingyu sighed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Roommate problems,” he explained, shaking his head.

Y/N smirked. “You guys sound like an old married couple.”

Mingyu chuckled and nodded, turning back to her, “we’ve been best friends since the beginning of high school. Ten years of friendship can do that to you.” 

Y/N hummed in understanding, swirling the last bit of her drink in her glass. “That’s impressive. Not everyone keeps their high school friends that long.”

Mingyu shrugged. “Yeah, but Wonwoo’s basically family at this point. We’ve been through a lot together.”

She tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “You’re loyal.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at the comment. “Is that surprising?”

Y/N smirked slightly. “A little. You don’t really strike me as the sentimental type.”

Mingyu arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. Had she really been thinking about him?

“Oh yeah? And what do I seem like to you?”

Y/N set her drink down on the bar and straightened up, locking eyes with him. “You look like the guy who had a million friends in high school but couldn’t remember half of their names. You look like the type who’d talk to anyone, but never let anyone get too close.”

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, the corner of his lips quirking up. She wasn’t exactly wrong, but it wasn’t entirely right either. He wasn’t one to keep people at arm’s length, not really. There was more to him than the surface she saw.

Mingyu let out a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on her. “I can see where you’re coming from,” he admitted, “but I’m not exactly the ‘million friends, no real connections’ type.” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, “I’m more of the ‘few close ones’ kind of guy.”

He studied her expression, wondering if she was getting what he meant. There was a kind of comfort in that, he thought—the idea of keeping a tight-knit circle, knowing the people around you well. Maybe that’s what made their banter so easy, even when they weren’t on the same page.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “So, you’re telling me you’ve got some deep, meaningful friendships hidden beneath that whole ‘cool guy’ facade?” she teased.

Mingyu smiled, his eyes softening slightly. "Maybe." He glanced at her, noticing the skepticism still in her expression.

"I guess I’ll have to prove it to you then," he added with a playful challenge.

With Jeonghan finally back from his week-long sick leave, Mingyu felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he returned to his usual rhythm at work. While fish and chips weren’t exactly the most exciting dishes to prepare day after day, they were comforting, and Mingyu had grown to enjoy the simplicity and routine of making them.

In the past week, Joshua had asked Mingyu to take on a few appetizers, adding more variety to his tasks and giving him something a little more dynamic to focus on. It wasn’t much, but it was a change, and Mingyu was glad for the extra responsibility.

As he moved between stations, his mind wandered back to the conversation he’d had with Y/N the other night—her words, her teasing, and the unexpected softness in her gaze. Mingyu tried to shake it off, but the thought lingered as he chopped vegetables and prepped the next order.

Mingyu was wiping down the counter when Y/N walked by, glancing over at him with a smirk. "You know," she said, "for someone who's always so confident in the kitchen, you sure do take your time with those potatoes."

Mingyu grinned, not missing a beat. "Quality takes time. You should try it sometime."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. "If I wanted to waste time, I'd let you chop for me."

Mingyu chuckled, but before he could respond, Chan burst into the kitchen, his eyes wide with surprise. “Chwe Vernon is here!” he exclaimed, causing everyone to freeze and look at him in stunned silence.

“Who is Chwe Vernon?” Mingyu asked. 

"Only one of the most well-known food critics in New York City," Joshua said, his face full of panic. "I didn’t expect him to show up tonight when we're short-staffed."

"It’s fine,"she replied confidently. "We didn’t get to be one of the best by chance."

Joshua nodded, taking a deep breath. "Alright, let’s get back to it and give it our all!” 

While everyone worked, the atmosphere was charged with tension, yet underscored by a strong sense of determination and confidence. 

But, of course, Chwe Vernon had to order the fish and chips—the one dish Mingyu was in charge of.

“Shit,” Mingyu muttered under his breath as he glanced at the order. The entire kitchen was already on edge, and now, with the future of the restaurant seemingly riding on the “new guy,” he could feel the weight of the pressure.

“Do you need help?” Y/N’s voice cut through his daze, snapping him back to the present.

“Uh, no.” He said, moving around, “thanks though.” 

Y/N nodded, but kept a close eye on Mingyu to make sure that if he was looking overwhelmed she could at least step in to take over the other dishes he was cooking. Mingyu moved swiftly around the kitchen, his movements precise but hurried, as if he could feel every second ticking away. His hands were steady, but his mind raced with the weight of the situation. He knew the fish and chips were his to handle, but the pressure of Vernon’s presence made him feel like he had to do everything perfectly.

Y/N kept her gaze on him, noticing the slight tension in his shoulders. She didn’t say anything, just continued working at her station, but kept an ear open for any sign that he might need help. She had worked with Mingyu long enough to know when he was approaching his limit, and she wasn’t about to let him sink under the pressure alone.

The sound of sizzling oil and clattering plates filled the air as the kitchen buzzed with energy, but beneath it all, there was a shared understanding: everyone was pulling their weight, and they weren’t about to let a critic ruin their night.

Mingyu glanced over at Y/N for a brief moment, catching her watching him, but the brief exchange of glances was enough to remind him he wasn’t alone. He exhaled and focused, moving faster, but with more purpose.

By the time the dish was ready, his nerves had settled slightly, the rhythm of the kitchen grounding him. “All set,” he said, plating the fish with a flourish. Y/N gave him a small nod, signaling her approval, and Mingyu took the dish to the pass, ready to serve.

As Chan took the fish and chips out, the kitchen paused for a moment, the usual clattering of pans and sizzling oil giving way to a brief, expectant silence. The dish was perfect—crispy golden fish paired with golden fries that looked like they came straight from a Michelin-star restaurant.

“Nice work, Mingyu,” Jihoon said, slapping him lightly on the back.

Jeonghan, ever the calm presence, gave him a satisfied nod. “You handled that like a pro.”

Joshua, still a bit jittery, couldn’t hide his relief. “Seriously, you saved us tonight.”

Mingyu smiled, though it was a little more exhausted than usual. "Just doing my part," he said, wiping his hands on his apron.

But Y/N's approval was what made him feel the most at ease. She gave him a quick, approving glance as she resumed her work. She didn’t need to say anything—her silence was enough.

As the evening continued, the energy in the kitchen remained high. The rest of the team kept their focus, but the tension had started to ease. Mingyu, now confident that he had proved himself in front of Vernon, let the compliment settle in his chest.

“So you basically could have caused the whole place to go belly up?” Wonwoo asked, as Mingyu chuckled and nodded, handing him the beer and a bag of gummy worms. 

“Yep, but thankfully he wrote a really good review on it. Securing our spot as the best restaurant in New York city.” 

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, popping a gummy worm into his mouth. "Well, damn. Good thing you pulled it off then." He took a sip of his beer and leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. "So, what's next? Are you going to try to outdo yourself next time he shows up?"

Mingyu shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe. But for now, I think I'll just enjoy the fact that we survived this one." He tossed a gummy worm into his mouth, savoring the sweet, tangy taste. "I'm not sure I want that kind of pressure again anytime soon."

Wonwoo laughed, clinking his bottle against Mingyu’s. "You say that now, but we both know you thrive in the chaos."

Mingyu leaned back against the couch, absentmindedly watching the show, but his mind kept drifting back to that moment in the kitchen. Y/N’s nod of approval, the way her eyes softened when she noticed he was managing the pressure. It had caught him off guard, in the best way.

He ran a hand through his hair, not realizing how much it had meant until now. He was used to working alone, used to being the one who had to prove himself, but when she looked at him like that, it felt different—like maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

"Focus, Mingyu," he muttered to himself, shaking his head and trying to return to the show. But every time he saw an empty space on the couch, or when the music swelled in a particularly tense scene, his thoughts would inevitably go back to her. He couldn’t remember the last time something—someone—had distracted him so much.

The episode continued, but his mind was far from the plot unfolding in front of him.

“Can you just make sure that this sauce doesn’t burn while I run out just for two minutes?” Y/N asked Mingyu as he nodded, but didn’t look up from his stove. She thanked him and ran out of the kitchen into the dining room, a big smile plastered on her face. 

Mingyu finally looked up and out the kitchen window to see her approaching a man and giving him a big hug. He furrowed his brows, his hands still moving on autopilot as he stirred the sauce in front of him. He wasn’t sure why he even cared, but there was something about the way Y/N lit up when she saw the guy that caught his attention. She wasn’t usually the warm and affectionate type—not at work, at least.

He turned his focus back to the stove, but curiosity got the best of him, and he stole another glance through the window. The man was tall, well-dressed, and clearly familiar with Y/N. They exchanged a few words before she laughed, her smile not fading for even a second.

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at himself. Get a grip, he thought, forcing his attention back to his station.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder—who was he?

A few minutes later when she came back into the kitchen, with a big smile on her face, Mingyu turned away from her, but gave her a smile when she thanked him and continued stirring the sauce. 

Something inside of him didn’t like seeing her with the guy. 

Mingyu didn’t know why it bothered him. It wasn’t like Y/N owed him an explanation, and it definitely wasn’t his business who she hugged in the dining room. But something about the way she had smiled at that guy—so effortlessly, so brightly—nagged at him.

Mingyu hummed, keeping his eyes on the sauce. “Who was that?” he asked, aiming for casual, though the question sat heavier in his chest than he wanted to admit.

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly as she reached for a cutting board. “Just someone I know,” she said, her tone even but noticeably more reserved.

Mingyu nodded, pretending to accept the answer, but the way she brushed past the question only made his curiosity—and that unfamiliar, nagging feeling—grow stronger.

“Can you take on one of my dishes tonight?” Y/N asked, glancing toward the dining room before quickly looking back at Mingyu. “I just need a little time to catch up with someone.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. “Yeah, I got it,” he said, adjusting his grip on the pan.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, before slipping out of the kitchen again.

Mingyu watched her go, the uneasy feeling settling in his chest once more.His grip tightened around the spatula as he watched Y/N disappear into the dining room. His jaw clenched, irritation bubbling in his chest before he could push it down.

Of course, she wanted him to take over her dish. Of course, she needed a little extra time—for him.

He stirred the sauce a little too aggressively, barely registering the heat against his arm. It wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong, but the sight of her smiling like that, the way she’d dropped everything to rush out and greet the guy—it made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably.

It shouldn’t bother him. But it did.

Mingyu forced himself to focus on the dish in front of him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N and the guy in the dining room. The way she’d smiled—soft, genuine—was different from the usual work-focused expression she wore in the kitchen. He had seen her smile before, sure, but not like that. Not at him.

He exhaled sharply, tossing a handful of herbs into the pan with a little too much force. It wasn’t like they were anything more than coworkers. It wasn’t like she owed him an explanation.

Still, when she finally walked back in, her expression more neutral than before, Mingyu kept his gaze locked on the stove, stirring just to keep his hands busy. The irritation hadn’t fully settled, but he wasn’t about to let it show. Not when he wasn’t even sure why he felt this way in the first place.

"Who pissed in your cereal?" Dino asked, grabbing the dish Mingyu had just finished preparing. He’d been watching him for a while and had noticed the shift in his mood—tense, brooding, more clipped than usual.

"Nothing," Mingyu shot back, barely looking up. "Just busy."

Dino rolled his eyes but didn’t push it, taking the dish out to the dining room without another word.

Across the kitchen, Jeonghan leaned against his station, arms crossed. "Is this about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but knowing. It was one of the first times they'd really spoken, but Jeonghan had clearly been paying attention.

Mingyu's jaw tightened as he kept his focus on the pan in front of him, the sizzle of oil filling the silence between them.

"Why would it be about Y/N?" he muttered, flicking his wrist to turn the fish, his movements a little sharper than necessary.

Jeonghan smirked, unbothered. "I don't know. Maybe because you've been scowling ever since she ran off to see her friend?" He dragged out the last word just enough to make his point clear.

Mingyu didn’t respond right away, just exhaled through his nose. "I don’t care what she does," he finally said, though even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

"Right," Jeonghan hummed, clearly not buying it. "You should tell your face that, then."

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head as he plated the dish in front of him. "Drop it, Jeonghan."

Jeonghan only chuckled, leaning against his station as he lazily chopped herbs. "Look, I get it," he said, his voice just low enough that no one else could hear. "You two have been getting along more lately, and now she's smiling like that at some other guy. Stings a little, doesn't it?"

Mingyu gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the pan handle. "I said drop it."

Jeonghan shrugged, unfazed. "Fine, fine. Just don’t overcook the fish while you’re brooding."

Mingyu shot him a glare, but Jeonghan was already turning back to his own work, smirking to himself.

Still, the words stuck with him.

Because no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter, that she didn’t matter—he couldn’t shake the image of her smile, the way she’d rushed out without a second thought, like there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

And for some stupid reason, that bothered him way more than it should.

The kitchen had finally quieted down, the last orders sent out and the rush of service fading into the usual end-of-shift routine. Mingyu scrubbed down his station with more force than necessary, trying to work off the frustration still lingering in his chest.

He could hear Y/N laughing with Joshua near the back, their voices light and easy. He didn’t even have to look to know she was still in a good mood from earlier.

He should just go home. Clock out, grab his stuff, and pretend today never happened.

But instead, he found himself lingering, waiting for a reason to speak to her—or maybe just for her to acknowledge him first.

“Thanks for covering for me today,” Y/N called from across the kitchen.

Mingyu sighed before turning to face her, forcing a small smile.

 “No problem,” he muttered.

Y/N exhaled, clearly picking up on his frustration.

 “I know you’ve been wondering who he is.”

Mingyu froze for a moment. She wasn’t wrong—he did want to know.

Mingyu leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he stared at her. "I wasn’t exactly curious," he replied, his tone barely masking the irritation. "Just... surprised."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You sure about that?" She stepped closer, studying his expression with a knowing look.

Mingyu sighed, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I don’t like feeling out of the loop." He tried to brush it off with a casual shrug. "It’s not a big deal."

She tilted her head, looking at him more closely. "You sure it’s not?"

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting back to his station as he refocused on his work. But there was a lingering tension in the air. "It’s just weird," he muttered. "You don’t usually bring people in like that."

Y/N stayed silent for a moment, clearly thinking through her response. Then she finally spoke, softer than before. "It’s complicated."

Mingyu glanced over at her, curiosity tugging at him despite himself. "Complicated how?" he asked, before quickly adding, "Never mind. It’s not my business."

She studied him for a moment, the weight of her silence speaking volumes. Then she nodded slowly. "Yeah. It’s better left at that."

There was a slight awkwardness between them, but neither pushed further. Mingyu returned to his work, his thoughts swirling, while Y/N lingered for a beat longer before heading back to her station. The conversation had ended, but the questions remained.

As Mingyu walked home, the cool night air did little to clear his head. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his chest—the guilt of pushing into Y/N’s business when he had no right to. He had let his own feelings get the better of him, and now he wondered if he had overstepped.

She hadn’t seemed angry, but the way she had shut down at the end of their conversation stuck with him. Maybe he should’ve just let it go instead of prying. Maybe it wasn’t about him at all.

With a sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking, hoping that by the time he got home, the guilt would settle. But he had a feeling it wouldn’t.

As Y/N walked home, the night air felt heavier than usual. She wrapped her arms around herself, not from the cold, but from the lingering weight of her conversation with Mingyu.

She knew he had wanted to know who her friend was. She had seen the tension in his jaw, the way he barely met her eyes when he muttered, No problem. And yet, part of her had held back—not because she wanted to keep secrets, but because she wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him.

Did he think she owed him an explanation? Or was it something else?

Her thoughts twisted in circles, frustration creeping in. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but for some reason, guilt still tugged at her. Maybe it was because, despite everything, a part of her had wanted to reassure him. To tell him outright that there was nothing for him to be upset about.

But she hadn’t. Instead, she had let the silence stretch between them, unsure of what it meant.

She had felt guilty—though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she had done anything wrong. She had every right to step away for a few minutes, to see an old friend, to ask for a little help. But the way Mingyu had reacted, the stiffness in his voice, the way he barely looked at her—it unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Maybe it was because she had seen the flicker of something in his expression before he turned away. Disappointment? Annoyance? Jealousy? She didn’t know, and that uncertainty sat heavy in her chest.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she walked. If he had just asked, she wouldn’t have minded telling him. But he didn’t—he just pulled away, leaving an awkward tension lingering between them. Now, instead of settling whatever was left unsaid, they were both stuck in this uncomfortable silence, neither willing to be the first to break it.

It was another chaotic evening, and the kitchen buzzed with energy. Orders were flying in faster than they could be prepared, and the atmosphere was tense. Mingyu worked quickly, flipping the fish just right, his mind focused on the task at hand. He didn’t expect the night to be this busy, but he could feel the heat in the air as the orders kept coming in.

Just as he thought he had a handle on things, he saw Y/N near the counter, trying to juggle multiple orders at once. She looked at him with a quiet intensity, a subtle but unmistakable look of frustration in her eyes. Mingyu knew she hated showing that side of herself, especially during a rush, but it was clear she was feeling the pressure.

The air was thick with the sounds of sizzling pans, the clinking of plates, and the hurried chatter of the kitchen staff, but Mingyu’s attention was fixed on Y/N. For a split second, their eyes locked, and in that brief moment, something shifted. Without a word, she moved toward him.

“Can you cover the scallops for me while I take care of this?” Y/N’s voice was calm, but there was a hint of urgency underneath. She wasn’t asking, she was telling.

Mingyu didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” he said, his voice steady as he grabbed a pan to sear the delicate scallops. He gently placed them in the hot pan, the sizzle filling the air as the scallops started to brown on the outside.

Y/N didn’t need to explain further. She was already moving, her focus laser-sharp as she worked to keep up with the rest of the orders. Mingyu’s eyes followed her for a moment before he turned back to the stove. He carefully spooned the rich lemon herb butter sauce over the perfectly seared scallops and plated the dish with finesse. The mashed potatoes were smooth and creamy with a subtle hint of truffle, and the asparagus, delicately sautéed with almonds, added a perfect crunch.

As the orders came in, they found a rhythm together, an unspoken understanding between them. When Y/N needed him to grab a plate or set aside an ingredient, he did so without thinking. When Mingyu needed a hand with the finishing touches on the plate, Y/N was there, seamlessly working alongside him without a word of complaint.

For a brief moment, there was no tension between them. It was just the two of them, working together in the heat of the kitchen, and for the first time in days, Mingyu felt a flicker of something familiar—a connection. They had done this before, back when they were still learning the ropes together. But now, it was different. There was something in the way their movements aligned, in the way they read each other’s actions without needing to speak.

The orders slowed down, and the kitchen staff began to relax, each person taking a deep breath as the chaos began to settle. Mingyu wiped his brow, looking up to find Y/N already glancing in his direction. Her lips twitched in a small, appreciative smile.

“You did good,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Thanks for covering me.”

Mingyu nodded, feeling the weight of the night lift off his shoulders. “Of course,” he replied, though something in his chest tightened at the sincerity in her words. There was no tension, no hesitation. It was just teamwork. And for the first time in a while, he realized that working with her didn’t just feel like a task—it felt like they were in sync.

As the kitchen settled down the usual clattering of utensils and sizzling pans had a softer edge to it, almost as if the energy in the room had settled. Mingyu was trying to keep himself busy, getting ready for the end of the day, but his mind kept drifting back to the conversation he had with Y/N yesterday. The tension between them had been so palpable, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that lingered after he’d let his jealousy slip through. He didn’t want to mess things up, especially not now.

He glanced over to her, and as if on cue, Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his for the first time that morning. There was a brief moment of silence, before she wiped her hands on a towel and walked over.

“I, uh, I wanted to talk about yesterday,” she began, her voice uncharacteristically cautious. She looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction, and Mingyu immediately felt the weight of her gaze.

Mingyu set down the knife he had been using to chop vegetables, his expression softening. He could feel the heaviness between them too. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. I didn’t mean to... make you feel like I was crossing a line.”

Y/N paused, glancing down at the counter. “It’s not that. I just…” She trailed off for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I guess I didn’t like how I made you feel. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

Mingyu frowned, his hands instinctively clenching around the edge of the counter. “I know you didn’t,” he said quietly. “But I... I didn’t like the way I acted either. I shouldn’t have said what I did. You’re allowed to have your friends here, and I should have respected that.” He took a deep breath, his eyes briefly flickering to the side. “I guess I was just jealous. But that’s not an excuse for being a jerk.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I get that. It’s just... I don't really know how to balance everything sometimes.” She lifted her hands as if to emphasize her words. “You know? Work, friends, everything else. Sometimes I put all of that above what’s actually important to me.”

Mingyu’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to explain. I get it more than you think.”

Y/N glanced at him, a little surprised by his response. She gave a small, reluctant smile. “You do, don’t you?”

Mingyu smiled back, though it was a little more hesitant than usual. “Yeah. I do.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And... I’m sorry for pushing. I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

There was a small silence between them as the words settled. Y/N took a deep breath, pushing back the tension that had been building over the last day. “I appreciate that,” she said softly. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have let it get to that point.”

Mingyu gave a nod, a sense of relief washing over him. It wasn’t fixed yet, but it felt like they were on the right track. “So... friends?” he asked, his voice light, trying to ease the air.

Mingyu nodded, his smile a little tighter than usual, though he was glad to see the tension easing between them. “Yeah. Friends,” he echoed, but as the words left his mouth, something in him clenched.

It wasn’t that he was unhappy to be friends with Y/N. No, he appreciated their dynamic. She was smart, capable, and had a way of seeing things that made him respect her more than anyone else in the kitchen. But the way she said it, so casually, as if there was no possibility of anything more... It made something stir in him, a flicker of frustration he hadn’t realized was there until now.

As she turned away to handle something on the counter, Mingyu’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than he intended. He tried to shake it off, focusing back on the work in front of him, but it wasn’t that easy. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted something else—something more than just this platonic, professional relationship.

He’d spent enough time with her to know that she was someone he could trust, someone who didn’t make him feel like he had to put on a front. But as much as he wanted to be close to her, something about the way she spoke about them being “friends” made him feel like maybe he’d just been placed in a box he didn’t know how to escape from.

Mingyu was tired of being just the guy she shared a laugh with in the kitchen or the guy who covered for her when she needed a break. He wanted to be someone she could rely on, yes—but more than that. He wanted to be the one who made her smile in a way that wasn’t just professional. The one she’d call outside of work, the one she’d want to spend time with after a busy shift.

But for now, he was stuck. Stuck in the friend zone.

As much as he tried to push the thought away, it lingered, a gnawing feeling in his chest. He could deal with being just friends... for now. But he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending he didn’t want more.

“Is that the guy that you’ve been talking about?” Y/N’s best friend Yuna asked, shoving her phone into Y/N’s face as she blinked, trying to adjust her eyes, before looking at the picture of Mingyu in his chef clothes. 

“Yeah, that’s Mingyu.” 

“Bitch, why didn’t you tell me he was hot!” Yuna exclaimed, as Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’ve been working with him! How have you not jumped him yet?” 

“Yuna!” Y/N gasped, gasped, snatching the phone from her friend’s hand. “It’s not like that.”

Yuna raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, come on. You’ve been talking about him nonstop for weeks. And now that I know he looks like that” she gestured wildly at the screen, “—I refuse to believe you’re not at least a little into him.”

Y/N sighed, setting the phone down. “He’s… complicated.”

Yuna scoffed. “Oh, please. Men are not that deep.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s not just him, it’s me too. We got off on the wrong foot, and things have been weird ever since. We work well together, but I don’t know if I’d ever go there with him.”

Yuna hummed, unconvinced. “And does he know that? Because if he’s got even half a brain, I bet he’s already thinking about it.”

Y/N wanted to argue, but the memory of Mingyu’s expression from the other day, when she’d called them friends—flashed in her mind. She had thought she was smoothing things over, making their dynamic easier, but had she actually done the opposite?

“Whatever,” she muttered, brushing off the thought. “It’s not happening.”

Yuna grinned, leaning back against the couch. “We’ll see.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Y/N asked, standing up from the couch and made her way to the kitchen. 

“No, you never have any boy drama and the one time you do, you don’t want to talk to me about it! That’s what best friends are for!” Yuna sighed, dramatically throwing herself against the couch. 

Y/N opened the fridge, pretending to be way more interested in its contents than she actually was. “It’s not boy drama,” she insisted, grabbing a bottle of water.

Yuna scoffed. “You’re avoiding talking about him. That means it’s absolutely boy drama.”

Y/N twisted the cap off and took a long sip, stalling. “It’s work drama.”

“Oh my God,” Yuna groaned. “You are so bad at this. Just admit that you like him a little bit.”

Y/N turned around, leaning against the counter. “I don’t like him like that.”

Yuna gave her a knowing look. “But you want to.”

That made Y/N pause. She frowned, gripping the bottle a little tighter. Did she?

She’d spent so much time keeping Mingyu at a distance, keeping things strictly professional (well, as professional as they could be). But now that the tension between them had finally eased, now that they were in a good place—did she really want more?

“I just… don’t want to mess things up,” Y/N admitted, looking down at the bottle in her hands.

Yuna softened, sitting up. “Then don’t.”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe it is,” Yuna said. “Maybe you’re just overthinking it.”

Y/N let out a short laugh. “You think I’m overthinking? Shocking.”

Yuna grinned. “I’m just saying, if you ever decide you want to stop overthinking and do something about it, I fully support you jumping his bones.”

Y/N groaned, tossing a dish towel at her. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Yuna just laughed.

The kitchen had grown quieter as the night wore on. The usual rush of orders had tapered off, leaving the staff to clean up the last of the dishes and prep for the next day. Y/N was lingering by the sink, wiping down the counter, but her mind wasn’t entirely focused on the task at hand.

She kept glancing at Mingyu, who was busy organizing a few things by the stove. There was something about him tonight—something that felt different. The usual distance between them had lessened, and the casual, almost playful banter they’d shared earlier was still hanging in the air.

But Y/N felt a twinge of something else, something deeper than she was used to feeling. Maybe it was the way he’d made her laugh so easily or how he had looked at her when she’d brought up the appraiser’s visit. It made her realize, with a little surprise, that she wanted to spend more time with him. Outside of work. Away from the chaos of the kitchen.

Her hand froze for a second as she wiped down the counter. The idea had been forming in her mind for a while, but now that it was out there, it felt a little more real—and a lot more daunting. Still, she took a deep breath, straightened up, and approached him.

“Mingyu,” she said, her voice cutting through the stillness in the kitchen.

He looked up from his task, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. She was used to keeping her work and personal life separate, and this—asking him out—felt like a big step. But she wasn’t going to chicken out now.

“I was thinking,” she started, her tone light but with a hint of uncertainty, “maybe we could, uh, grab dinner sometime. You know, outside of work.”

Mingyu’s brow furrowed for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. He set down the towel he had been holding and turned fully to face her. “Dinner?”

Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the growing flutter of nerves in her stomach. “Yeah, like… just the two of us. No work talk, no kitchen chaos. I thought it might be nice, you know? A chance to, um, actually talk and not just shout over orders.”

She managed a half-smile, hoping her words didn’t sound as awkward as they felt.

Mingyu seemed to be processing it, his gaze never leaving hers. There was something in his eyes—surprise, curiosity, maybe even a hint of excitement. After a beat, he broke into a small grin.

“You want to get dinner with me?” he asked, his voice teasing but with a soft edge that made her heart skip.

Y/N nodded again, her smile widening. “Yeah. I mean, unless you don’t want to. It’s fine if—”

“No,” Mingyu interrupted, a little too quickly. “I’d like that. A lot, actually.” His smile deepened as he added, “I think it sounds like a good idea.”

The moment of uncertainty between them seemed to dissolve, and Y/N could feel herself relax a little. The weight of the tension from earlier was starting to lift, replaced with a new kind of anticipation. She tried not to overthink it, not to read too much into the fact that he’d responded so eagerly.

“Great,” Y/N said, her voice a little more confident now. “How about Friday night, after work? We could just go to a place nearby, nothing fancy.”

Mingyu thought for a second, looking up as if mentally scanning his calendar. “Friday sounds perfect. I’ll be there,” he said with a wink, his tone easy and comfortable.

Y/N grinned, relieved and excited all at once. “Alright, Friday it is. See you then.”

As she turned to walk away, she felt a rush of excitement, though she kept her cool. She had no idea what to expect, but there was something about the prospect of spending time with Mingyu outside the kitchen that felt both exciting and a little terrifying.

Mingyu watched her walk toward the door, a faint smile on his lips. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, and then he turned back to the counter, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

Maybe this dinner thing would be exactly what they both needed—a chance to break down some walls, to see each other as more than just coworkers. Mingyu couldn’t quite put his finger on why the idea of spending time with her outside of work felt so important, but he wasn’t about to question it. He just hoped that when Friday came, they could both enjoy it for what it was—something new, something that felt right.

Friday evening arrived, and as Y/N entered the small, cozy restaurant she had picked out for the evening, she couldn’t help but feel a nervous flutter in her chest. She had been to this place a few times before—charming, low-key, and not at all flashy—but tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it was where she was meeting Mingyu, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a casual meal.

The soft hum of background chatter filled the air as she approached the hostess stand, where a friendly woman greeted her with a warm smile. After confirming her reservation, Y/N was led to a corner booth near the back, bathed in soft, amber lighting. The booth was intimate but not too small, the kind of spot where you could have a conversation without feeling overheard. The dim lighting added to the relaxed atmosphere, giving the space a warm, welcoming vibe.

Y/N took a seat, smoothing the front of her jacket, still uncertain about the evening ahead. Her eyes wandered to the front door, where she expected Mingyu to walk through any moment now. She had barely processed the fact that they were here, about to have dinner together, until she found herself fidgeting with her glass of water.

The minutes seemed to stretch, and before she could start second-guessing herself, the sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up, her breath catching a little as Mingyu walked in. He was dressed in a dark, casual jacket and a simple shirt underneath, looking effortlessly stylish, though she knew his presence was what had her heart racing more than anything.

As soon as their eyes met, he smiled, that familiar, easy grin that always made her feel like everything was going to be alright. Y/N felt her shoulders relax as he made his way over, and she stood up, offering him a small but genuine smile. Mingyu greeted her with a warm “Hey,” before taking a seat across from her, settling in comfortably.

“So,” Mingyu began, leaning back slightly in his seat as the waitress handed them menus, “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Outside of work, I mean.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Yeah, it’s a little strange, isn’t it? Not having orders to fill or a kitchen to run."

She folded her menu in half and set it down on the table, now feeling more at ease. Mingyu was right. This was a different kind of conversation—a different kind of atmosphere. No pressures, no distractions. Just the two of them, sitting across from one another for the first time, with no agenda but to enjoy the evening.

Mingyu studied her for a moment, that usual playfulness in his eyes, but there was a softness there too. “Well, we don’t have to worry about burning anything tonight, right?” he teased, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

“No kitchen disasters,” she agreed, her voice light with amusement. She paused, the laughter dying down, and added, “I’m glad you could make it. I’ve been wanting to talk to you more—outside of work.”

The words were out before she could stop them, and she felt a faint blush creep up her neck. Mingyu raised an eyebrow, as if surprised, but the corners of his mouth curled upward.

“Me too,” he admitted, the sincerity in his tone not lost on her. “There’s... a lot I’ve been thinking about.”

Y/N’s heart beat a little faster as she leaned forward, intrigued. “Oh?” she asked, her voice dipping into curiosity.

“Yeah.” Mingyu’s expression softened, and his eyes held hers with an unexpected intensity. “You’re more than just the girl who works the line, you know.”

Her breath caught for a split second as she met his gaze, a flutter in her chest that she couldn’t quite explain. There was something in his words, something in the way he looked at her that made her wonder just where this night would lead.

As they both settled into their seats, the quiet hum of the restaurant around them, it became clear that this wasn’t just another dinner—it was the start of something new, something unexpected, and maybe something neither of them were prepared for.

“So, what made you decide to invite me here tonight?” Mingyu asked, his voice gentle, a teasing smile dancing on his lips.

Y/N paused, unsure how to answer at first. The question lingered in the air, a small but meaningful moment between them. She could feel his gaze on her, curious but kind, as though he was genuinely interested in what she had to say.

“I don’t know,” she replied slowly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot lately about… well, everything.” Her voice trailed off, but Mingyu waited patiently, not rushing her to elaborate. “About work, about us, and I realized we’ve never really just… talked, y'know? Outside of the chaos of the kitchen. I wanted to change that.”

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, his eyes softening. “I get that,” he said quietly, tapping his fingers on the table lightly. “It’s been all business, hasn’t it? Always so focused on the next dish, the next order. But I’ve been thinking about it too, about how we never seem to have a moment to just… stop.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating his understanding. It felt like he wasn’t just hearing her words but truly listening. The tension between them had already begun to shift, replaced with something softer, more genuine. The conversation felt natural, even comfortable.

“There’s a lot we’ve missed,” she continued, her eyes meeting his. “I think we both deserve a little more than just the rushed hellos and goodbyes in the kitchen.”

Mingyu’s smile widened, but this time, it wasn’t teasing. It was warm, sincere. “I agree. I’m glad you thought of this.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “I’ve wanted to get to know you more, Y/N. But I wasn’t sure if that was something you’d want too.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. His honesty was disarming, and for the first time, she realized how much she’d been trying to hide behind her own walls—how much she’d been holding back.

“I—" She started, then stopped herself. "I think... I think I’ve been holding back too. It’s easy to keep things surface-level when you're afraid of what might happen if you let someone in.”

There was a quiet pause as Mingyu studied her, as though trying to read between the lines. His eyes softened further. “I don’t want to push you into anything. But I’m glad we’re here. And I want you to know… I’m not going anywhere.”

The words hit her more than she expected. She’d been so caught up in her own reservations, in the fear of opening up to someone, but hearing him say that made everything feel just a little bit easier. Maybe she wasn’t alone in this after all.

“I’m not sure where this will go,” she admitted, her voice steady now, “but I’m willing to find out.”

Mingyu’s smile was gentle, understanding. “Me too.”

The waiter arrived just then, and they both shifted slightly as the conversation momentarily paused. The timing was perfect, offering them both a moment to breathe. But as their eyes met again, there was a quiet understanding between them, a shared recognition of something beginning to change.

After they both had ordered and the wine was served, a comfortable silence had fallen between them. Mingyu swirled his glass absentmindedly, watching the deep red liquid catch the light before glancing up at Y/N.

“So,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone, “are we finally going to talk about the elephant in the room, or should we just pretend this is a totally normal coworkers-having-dinner situation?”

Y/N raised a brow, tilting her head slightly. “And what exactly is the elephant in the room?”

Mingyu smirked, leaning forward just a bit. “You tell me.”

“Alright,” Y/N said, taking a sip of her drink, gathering her thoughts. “When you first started at the restaurant, I found you… a little overwhelming. You were confident but never arrogant, sharp but never unkind. You had this easy charm, like you belonged anywhere you walked into.” She exhaled softly, setting her glass down. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, you were different. Most of the men I’ve worked with made me prove myself before they treated me as an equal—but with you, that respect was just there from the start. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Mingyu was shocked at her words, he realized that she was complimenting him, but he couldn’t help but feel sad at what she was saying at the same time. 

“I’m sorry you’ve always been treated that way,” he said, looking into her eyes. 

Y/N offered a small, almost shy smile, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. “It’s just how it’s always been,” she admitted. “You get used to it, I guess.”

Mingyu frowned. “That doesn’t mean you should have to.”

She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe not. But I learned to stop expecting anything different.” She glanced up at him then, something unreadable in her gaze. “That’s why you threw me off so much.”

Mingyu tilted his head. “Because I wasn’t an asshole?”

Y/N huffed a laugh. “Because you were kind,” she corrected. “And not in a way that felt fake or calculated. You weren’t trying to prove anything—you just were.”

Mingyu hadn’t been sure what to expect when he first met Y/N. She was sharp, focused, and had an air of confidence that made it clear she didn’t tolerate nonsense. He respected that. But at the same time, there was something about her that made him want to push her buttons just to see if she’d let herself crack a little.

At first, he had assumed she was just another work-driven chef who saw emotions as distractions. She was direct, efficient, and kept to herself—someone who measured worth by skill and experience rather than charm. And honestly? He hadn’t been sure she even liked him.

But over time, as he paid attention, he noticed the subtleties. The way her eyes softened when she was teaching a younger cook. The way she covered for others without making a big deal about it. How she’d quietly adjust a station if someone was struggling, never saying a word but always making things easier.

He had admired her long before he realized it.

And now, sitting across from her, listening to her say that he was different, that he had surprised her—Mingyu felt something tighten in his chest.

Because the truth was, she had surprised him too. And the more he learned about her, the more he realized that admiration wasn’t all he felt.

“I’m really glad we’re here tonight,” he said softly.

“So am I,” she said softly, meeting his gaze for just a moment. There was something unspoken between them—an understanding, a shift in the air that neither of them was quite ready to acknowledge.

Before she could say anything else, the waiter arrived, carefully placing their meals in front of them. The moment broke, and they both leaned back slightly as the rich aroma of their dishes filled the space between them.

Mingyu picked up his fork, glancing at her with a small smile. “Well, let’s see if this place lives up to the hype.”

Y/N chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “You better not critique the chef too hard.”

He grinned. “No promises.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted, but the weight of what had just been said lingered in the background—waiting.

Mingyu could tell that something had shifted after his dinner with Y/N on Friday. The tension that once lingered between them had eased, replaced by a newfound sense of comfort. Even in the high-pressure environment of the restaurant, where stress was unavoidable, their interactions felt smoother—more natural.

“Do you need a hand with the sauce?” He asked her during a particular busy time during the dinner rush. 

“Please!” She sighed, wiping some of the sweat off her forehead and handed him the pot. 

Mingyu took over seamlessly, stirring with practiced ease as he adjusted the heat. The kitchen was a flurry of movement—chefs calling orders, the sizzle of pans, and the sharp clatter of knives against cutting boards. But in the midst of the chaos, there was something steady about working alongside Y/N.

“Salt?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Pinch more,” she responded, barely looking up as she plated a dish.

Mingyu did as she instructed, tasting the sauce before nodding in approval. “Perfect.”

Y/N shot him a quick, grateful smile, and for a brief moment, amidst the rush, they weren’t just colleagues—they were a team.

“Wow, you two are working together?” Jeonghan asked, stepping away from his station to witness the rare event that was Y/N accepting help. 

“Just this once,” Y/N said, not giving Jeonghan a smile, but instead, giving Mingyu a playful one. 

Mingyu felt a flicker of satisfaction at her expression—reserved but amused, a far cry from the guarded looks she used to give him.

"Just this once, huh?" he teased, stirring the sauce one last time before setting the pot down. "Guess I'll have to make it count."

Jeonghan smirked, clearly entertained by the shift in dynamic. "I'll believe it when I see it again."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she focused back on her station, her movements a little less tense than before.

Mingyu didn’t push, but he couldn’t ignore the way his chest felt a little lighter. Maybe things really were changing between them.

After the last of the plates were cleared and the kitchen had finally quieted down, only Mingyu and Y/N remained, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the now-empty restaurant. As they stepped out into the crisp night air, Mingyu turned to her with a gentle smile, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“I could walk you home, if you’d like,” he said, his voice warm, almost tentative.

Y/N paused, her gaze meeting his. A slight smile tugged at her lips, though there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. “That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to. I’m sure you’re tired too.”

Mingyu shrugged nonchalantly, though the glimmer in his eyes suggested a different sentiment. “It’s no trouble,” he insisted, his smile softening. “I’d prefer the company. Besides, I owe you one for all the help today.”

Y/N considered him for a moment before nodding, her smile widening just a fraction. “Alright then.”

Her apartment was just a short walk away—at most ten minutes—but with Mingyu by her side, it felt like the kind of walk that could stretch on forever. The summer was slipping away, its warmth receding into the past, and with it came the bite of early fall. Y/N tugged her coat a little tighter around her as the evening chill crept in, but she couldn't ignore the small shiver that ran down her spine when Mingyu, noticing, pulled his gloves from his pockets and extended them toward her.

“You sure?” she asked, glancing at his outstretched hands, unsure if she wanted to accept.

“Yeah,” Mingyu said with a soft chuckle, his voice warm despite the cool air. “I’m not going to need them. Plus, I wouldn’t want you freezing on me.”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before accepting the gloves, feeling the warmth of them instantly as she slid her hands into them. She glanced up at him, a small smile on her lips, thankful for his thoughtfulness.

“Thanks,” she murmured, the silence between them comfortable for the first time all evening.

As they continued walking, their footsteps syncing, Y/N felt a sudden tug in her chest. Without thinking, she reached out and brushed her fingers against his, and just as quickly, he responded, his fingers lacing with hers. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the gloves.

As they both approached Y/N’s apartment, she slowly pulled her hand away, the warmth of his touch still lingering on her skin. She turned to face him as they stopped in front of the building, a nervous tension hanging in the air between them.

“Thanks for walking me home,” Y/N said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she met his gaze. “I really appreciate it.”

Mingyu smiled, a little sheepish but genuine, his eyes lingering on her for just a moment longer than usual. "Of course, I’m glad I could do it. And I meant it—don’t hesitate to ask if you ever need anything."

Y/N looked up at him, her heart fluttering. "I’ll keep that in mind," she said softly, the words hanging in the air between them like an unspoken promise. 

The atmosphere felt different now, charged in a way it hadn’t been before, and she wasn’t sure if it was just her or if he felt it too. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, but there was a flicker of uncertainty there, too, as if he was holding back something he wanted to say. 

“Goodnight, Mingyu,” she added with a smile, trying to keep the moment light, even as her heart raced.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Mingyu replied, his tone soft but carrying an unspoken weight behind it. As she turned to walk inside, he lingered for a moment longer, watching her until she disappeared through the door. And for the first time in a while, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more between them than just a simple friendship.

“Yes!” He whispered under his breath, pumping his fist in the air in victory, a quiet but triumphant gesture. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he turned to head toward the bus station. The weight that had been hovering over him for days—weeks, even—felt lighter, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt like things were falling into place.

He was still riding the high from their walk together, from the small but meaningful connection that had bloomed between them. He couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something different now. Maybe it was the way their fingers had brushed together, or the soft look in her eyes when she’d smiled at him. Whatever it was, it had left him feeling like the future was full of possibilities.

As he made his way to the bus stop, his mind kept replaying the moment, over and over again. He had been holding his breath the entire time, unsure if she felt the same way—if she even thought of him the way he thought of her. But that little spark in her eyes had said more than words could.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, quickly reading the message from Jeonghan: “Don’t overthink it, man. You got this.”

Mingyu smiled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. Maybe he wasn’t overthinking it after all. Maybe this was just the beginning.

“Seriously, you’re telling me she just held your hand?” Wonwoo asked, sitting up from his lounging position on the living room couch, his voice laced with disbelief as he stared at Mingyu. He was trying to process what he was hearing.

Mingyu shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a small, smug grin playing at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. I offered her my gloves ‘cause it was cold, and she just grabbed my hand instead.”

Wonwoo blinked a couple of times, leaning back against the cushions in stunned silence. His mind was struggling to comprehend the sheer casualness with which Mingyu was telling the story. He knew Mingyu had his charm, but this was another level.

“You really know how to work your magic, huh?” Wonwoo said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I honestly don’t even know how you do it. You just... walk up to a girl and suddenly, you’re holding hands?”

Mingyu leaned back in his seat, his grin widening. “Well, it wasn’t like I planned it. It just kind of... happened. But yeah, she held my hand and, honestly, it felt pretty natural.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Natural? Dude, that sounds like a big deal. Are you sure you’re not reading too much into it?”

Mingyu sighed, his smile faltering slightly as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know, man. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It just felt different with her, you know? Like, I’m not sure how to explain it... but it felt like a step forward. But also, I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into it, either.”

Wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his expression softening. “It’s not bad to feel like something’s different. But just don’t go overthinking every little thing, okay? Trust your gut. You two have been good friends, so maybe it’s just a matter of it slowly becoming something more. Just don’t rush it.”

Mingyu considered his words, his eyes drifting to the window. “Yeah... maybe. It’s just, with her, everything feels like it could be more. But, like I said, I don’t want to make things weird between us.”

Wonwoo gave him a reassuring grin. “Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t find these kinds of connections every day. Just take it easy. If she’s interested in you, it’ll show. And if she’s not, at least you know you tried.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, the weight of the conversation settling in. “Yeah. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Exactly,” Wonwoo said, leaning back again. “Now, how about we take a break from all this emotional drama and order some food? You look like you could use it.”

Mingyu chuckled softly, appreciative of Wonwoo’s ability to effortlessly break the tension. "You know," he said, leaning back into the couch, "you might be onto something there. A break from all this… emotional turmoil wouldn’t hurt."

Wonwoo gave him a knowing look, his lips curling into a sly grin. “Exactly. You’re overthinking it, as usual. Sometimes the simplest solution is to stuff your face and clear your head.”

Mingyu shook his head in amusement but pulled out his phone. “I guess you’re right. I need to step back and let things breathe for a bit. I’ll get us some dinner—something comforting.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, teasing, “Just make sure it's a feast. I can feel your brain overheating from all that pondering.”

A soft laugh escaped Mingyu as he selected their usual takeout. “I’ll make sure it's worth the calories. But for now, we forget about everything else, yeah?"

“Deal.” Wonwoo stretched out lazily, sinking back into the couch. “A little food and mindless conversation—just what the doctor ordered.”

As summer gradually surrendered to the crisp embrace of fall, a subtle shift occurred in the relationship between Y/N and Mingyu. What had once been a cordial camaraderie deepened into something undeniably more affectionate. The air around them, once filled with the usual banter of coworkers, now hummed with a quiet tension, a recognition of the feelings that had begun to unfurl like the autumn leaves surrounding them.

Their glances lingered longer than they used to—words exchanged now held an unspoken weight between them. After long shifts in the kitchen, Mingyu often found himself walking beside Y/N, their footsteps in sync as they navigated the bustling streets. And each time their hands brushed, the contact lingered just a beat too long, enough to send a wave of warmth through both of them.

As the evening air grew cooler, they walked side by side, the hum of the city around them almost forgotten. Mingyu stole a glance at Y/N, his thoughts racing, but he couldn’t quite find the right words. He cleared his throat, hesitating for a moment before speaking.

“You know,” he began, his voice casual but laced with something deeper, “I really enjoy these walks with you. More than I expected, honestly.”

Y/N looked over at him, her lips curling into a soft smile. She slowed her pace just slightly, letting the silence settle between them before replying.

“Yeah, me too,” she said quietly, her breath forming tiny clouds in the cool evening air. “It’s nice to unwind after a long shift, having someone to talk to.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, but the weight behind them was unmistakable. Mingyu glanced down at their hands, which had been brushing together with every other step. He swallowed, the connection between them so simple yet so significant.

“You ever think about how we’ve gone from barely talking to—this?” Mingyu asked, a playful edge in his voice, though his heart beat faster than he wanted to admit.

Y/N chuckled softly, her eyes meeting his. “Yeah,” she said, her voice quiet but warm, “it’s funny how things just kind of... shift, without either of us realizing it.”

Their hands brushed again, and this time neither of them pulled away. Y/N didn’t even seem to notice it at first, but when she did, she looked at Mingyu, her heart suddenly feeling like it might burst.

“Are we still just walking home?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, and Mingyu felt a flush creep up his neck.

“Guess so,” he said, his words hanging in the air between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities.

And for a long moment, they walked together, the cool breeze brushing against them as the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of their footsteps and the quiet certainty that something had shifted—for the better

"Are you wearing new makeup?" Yuna asked, walking over and lightly tracing her finger over the glossy nude stain on Y/N's lips.

Y/N jumped slightly, swatting her hand away. "No," she lied, quickly glancing in the mirror to make sure the gloss wasn’t smudged.

Yuna leaned in, narrowing her eyes. "You are! I can tell. Why are you wearing new makeup? You don't usually go for this look... I mean, it looks good on you, but I’m kind of confused."

Y/N sighed, giving up the charade as she dug through her purse. She pulled out a larger makeup bag, opening it to reveal the fresh products she'd just picked up earlier that week. "Okay, fine. Yes, it’s new makeup. I don’t know... I just thought it was time for a change. Something different, you know?"

Yuna's eyebrows shot up as she took the bag from Y/N and started rifling through it, clearly intrigued. "A change? Girl, you’re over here talking about change, but look at all this! You went all out! These brands are way fancier than the usual stuff you get."

Y/N shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. "I just wanted to try something new. Maybe freshen up my routine a bit."

Yuna chuckled, pulling out a highlighter. "Freshen up your routine? You went straight for the big leagues. I see you got the good stuff—look at this highlighter! You didn’t even tell me you were planning to glow like this."

"Yuna, stop," Y/N said, her cheeks flushing slightly as she took the highlighter from her and tucked it back into the bag. "It’s not that serious."

"Oh, it’s serious," Yuna teased, shaking her head. "The question is—who’s the lucky guy that’s got you changing up your look? You’ve never been one to put this much effort into your makeup before."

Y/N’s eyes widened as she quickly fumbled for an excuse, her voice quieter than usual. "I’m just trying something new. It’s nothing like that."

Yuna gave her a knowing look, but didn’t push further. Instead, she grabbed a lipstick and held it up to Y/N’s lips. "Well, whether it's for someone or just for you, it’s looking good. I’m just saying, you’ve got that glow now."

Y/N gave her a half-smile, still feeling a bit embarrassed but also somewhat pleased by the compliment. "Thanks, Yuna."

Yuna smirked. "Well, if you won’t tell me who it’s for, at least let me play makeup artist with your new stuff. Come on, let’s see how much more fabulous I can make you."

Y/N shook her head, trying to hold back a laugh. "You’re impossible."

"But you love me," Yuna said, winking as she started applying the lipstick to her friend's lips. "Now spill—it’s either a guy or a new level of self-care. Which one is it?"

Y/N just rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. "You’re never gonna let this go, huh?"

"Not a chance," Yuna grinned, already planning her next line of questioning. "Is it Mingyu?" Yuna asked, her voice teasing as she raised an eyebrow, noticing the silence that followed.

Y/N froze for a second, her mind racing. She hadn't intended for this to come up. The blush on her cheeks betrayed her, though, as it spread across her face like wildfire.

Yuna grinned, her smirk widening. "Oh my god, it is him, isn't it?"

Y/N quickly looked away, hoping the flush would subside, but her heart was already pounding in her chest. "I—it's not like that," she stammered, still avoiding Yuna's gaze.

Yuna's laughter filled the room, and she playfully nudged Y/N's shoulder. "Come on, don't try to hide it. I saw the way you were with him the other night, and now you’re changing up your look? He’s definitely got you thinking about him, huh?"

Y/N sighed, her hands instinctively reaching for the makeup bag to distract herself. "It's... complicated," she admitted quietly, biting her lower lip.

Yuna raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Complicated? In what way?"

Y/N took a deep breath, her mind spinning as she tried to figure out how to explain without giving too much away. "I don't know... we’ve been getting closer. It’s just... different now."

Yuna leaned in closer, her expression softening slightly. "Closer? That sounds like a good thing, Y/N. Maybe it’s time to see where this goes." She paused, a teasing gleam still in her eye. "I mean, he’s a good guy. Plus, you did just get all this new makeup for him, didn’t you?"

Y/N's blush deepened, but she gave a small smile. "Can we not talk about the makeup for him?" she muttered, feeling both flustered and oddly comforted by her friend’s teasing.

Yuna grinned wider, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Alright, alright, but I’m just saying, if you ever need someone to talk to about Mingyu—or about anything else—you know I’m here."

"Thanks, Yuna," Y/N said softly, her heart feeling a little lighter as she finally looked back at her friend.

Yuna winked. "Anytime. Just don’t take too long to figure out what's between you two. You deserve someone who makes you smile, and from what I can see, he might just be the one."

Thanks, Yuna,” Y/N said, meeting her friend’s gaze. “It means a lot to have someone to talk to about all this.”

Yuna grinned, giving her a playful shove. “Anytime. Now, let’s talk about your makeup again, because that’s the real mystery here.”

Y/N was slightly embarrassed that her friend had read her so easily, but a part of her was relieved. It felt good to finally share her thoughts with someone who understood without judgment. She had always been so private, especially when it came to matters of the heart, but Yuna’s lighthearted teasing made it seem less intimidating.

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes, but her heart felt lighter as she finally relaxed. She could do this. She just had to take things one step at a time.

The dinner rush hit like a storm, the clattering of plates and the ringing of the ticket printer blending into a cacophony of pressure. In the back, the kitchen was a frenzy of heat and noise. The team was already feeling the strain, and it was only getting worse.

Mingyu stood at the stove, his hand moving skillfully over the hot pan as he worked on the scallops. But in his haste to keep up with orders, he misjudged the timing. The scallops, delicate and prone to overcooking, began to blacken along the edges. His heart dropped when he realized his mistake.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the scallops off the heat just in time to stop them from becoming completely ruined. But the damage was done. The scallops had lost their delicate texture and now looked less than appetizing.

Over at the sauce station, Y/N was juggling multiple pans, keeping an eye on each one to ensure nothing burned. But then, as if on cue, the beurre blanc she had been carefully preparing suddenly started bubbling over, splattering across the stove and dripping onto the floor in a disastrous mess.

“Crap!” Y/N cursed, scrambling to grab a towel to stem the flow, but it was too late. The sauce had already scorched the burner and spilled across the kitchen. She wiped her hands frantically on her apron as she tried to contain the damage. “Not now,” she muttered to herself, panic rising in her chest. This wasn’t the time for things to go wrong.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan, who was in charge of the risotto, was experiencing his own crisis. The rice, which was meant to be creamy and tender, had somehow become a mushy, overcooked mess. He was stirring furiously, trying to salvage it, but each stir seemed to make it worse. The dish was supposed to be a signature item for the evening, and now it was quickly turning into a nightmare.

“Dammit!” Jeonghan hissed, shaking his head in frustration. “This is not how tonight was supposed to go.”

Dino, who was assigned to roast vegetables, had just pulled a tray of brussels sprouts out of the oven only to find they were charred black on one side. He quickly shoved them back in, hoping to salvage the other side, but there was no saving that batch. The oven had been on too high, and everything had cooked unevenly.

“Are you kidding me?” Dino groaned. The kitchen was a disaster, and it was clear to everyone that they were losing control.

As the pressure mounted, the kitchen was filled with a symphony of frustration—knives chopping, pans sizzling, and everyone speaking over one another. The orders were piling up, and each mistake felt like a snowball gaining momentum. Mingyu cursed under his breath as he pulled the ruined scallops aside, and Y/N wiped her brow, trying to steady herself as she assessed the damage to her sauce.

But it was when Jeonghan’s risotto began to burn that the atmosphere truly shifted. The heat, the noise, and the sheer chaos of it all seemed to consume the kitchen.

“Guys!” Y/N called over the commotion, her voice louder than it had been all night. “We need to pull it together. NOW.”

She moved quickly to Mingyu’s side, assessing the scallops. "You didn’t burn them completely, just give them a second to rest," she said calmly, despite her own rising panic. "I’ll take over the sauce, you focus on those."

Mingyu nodded, frustration still etched on his face. “I didn’t mean to mess up,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving the burnt edges of the scallops.

“I know, we’ve all had a moment,” she replied, her tone steady. “Let’s fix it. I’ll do the sauce. You do the scallops. We’ve got this.”

She turned to Jeonghan, who was standing frozen in front of the pot of ruined risotto. “Jeonghan, we need more stock. Stir slowly, and don’t panic. It’ll come together.”

Jeonghan met her eyes, nodding gratefully before returning to the pan. The calm in her voice was like a lifeline, and it was enough to snap him out of his daze.

Dino was already back to the vegetables, moving quickly this time, pulling a fresh tray of brussels sprouts from the oven and tossing them back in the oven at a slightly lower temperature. “These are going to be perfect,” he muttered under his breath, determined not to let his earlier mistake define the night.

As the team pulled together, Y/N felt a rush of adrenaline. The clock was ticking, and the orders kept coming in, but her mind had shifted into autopilot. She moved fluidly between stations, taking charge where necessary, offering reassurance where she could.

But just as it seemed they were getting a handle on the chaos, the pressure cooker that was the kitchen had one last surprise in store. The walk-in fridge door, which had been opened and closed multiple times in the midst of the frantic rush, was now jammed. Inside, they had the ingredients they needed to finish off several orders. But no one could get the door to budge.

“Of course,” Y/N muttered under her breath, banging her fist lightly against the door. “Why not?”

“We’ve got no choice,” Mingyu said, his tone resigned. “We’ll have to move fast and get what we need from the front cooler.”

Y/N nodded. “We’ll make it work.”

With Mingyu leading the way, they quickly gathered the necessary ingredients from the front. The frantic energy that had pervaded the kitchen turned into a united determination. They were in this together, and failure wasn’t an option.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the orders were out. Plates of perfectly seared scallops, velvety risotto, and roasted vegetables, all beautifully arranged and delivered. Everyone was covered in sweat, their clothes stained with sauce and oil, but the relief was palpable. The nightmare was over.

Y/N looked around at the team, catching Mingyu’s gaze for a split second. “We did it,” she said, the exhaustion and pride clear in her voice.

Mingyu, his expression tired but satisfied, nodded. “We did.”

Jeonghan, still breathing heavily, leaned against the counter. “That was a disaster,” he chuckled. “But it was a disaster we survived.”

Dino grinned, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, and now it’s time for a drink.”

The tension in the kitchen melted away, replaced by a shared sense of accomplishment. They had survived the storm, stronger as a team than they had ever been before.

In the chaos of the night, they had not only saved the dinner service, but they had learned to lean on one another. They had learned to trust, to adapt, and to push through even the toughest of moments. And as they stood together, catching their breath and sharing small smiles, Y/N knew that this disaster had only made them stronger. 

As the night came to a wrap and Y/N and Mingyu started their walk back to Y/N’s place, the air between them felt different—charged, almost electric. The chill of the evening clung to the air, but neither of them seemed to mind. Their steps were slow, unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

“You really took charge back there,” Mingyu said, shoving his hands into his pockets, glancing at her with something close to admiration. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Jeonghan actually listen to someone in a crisis.”

Y/N huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t give me too much credit. I was just trying to keep us all from setting the place on fire.”

Mingyu chuckled, but he didn’t say anything else right away. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, comfortable but weighted. The city lights flickered against the pavement, casting long shadows as they walked side by side.

At some point, their hands brushed, the contact fleeting but enough to make Y/N’s breath hitch. She didn’t move away, and neither did he. Instead, Mingyu took a slow breath, gathering the courage that had been bubbling inside him all night.

“You’re something else, you know that?” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful.

Y/N turned to look at him, her steps faltering just slightly. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu stopped walking then, and Y/N, caught in the moment, did too. They stood there, just a few steps away from her apartment, the night wrapped around them like a secret.

“I mean,” Mingyu said, lifting a hand as if he was about to reach for her but hesitating at the last second. “You make me nervous, and that doesn’t happen often.” His lips curled into a soft smile, but there was something undeniably sincere in his eyes, something that made Y/N’s heart race in her chest.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, the warmth of his presence pulling her in. “You don’t seem nervous,” she whispered.

Mingyu huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I am,” he admitted. And then, before she could respond, he took the last step that closed the space between them.

Y/N’s breath caught as Mingyu lifted a hand, his fingertips brushing the side of her face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was featherlight, hesitant, like he was giving her a chance to step away—but she didn’t.

Instead, she tilted her head just slightly, her gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. Mingyu swallowed, his pulse hammering as he leaned in, so close now that she could feel his breath ghosting over her skin.

For a moment, time seemed to slow, the sounds of the city fading into the background. It was just them, standing in the dim glow of the streetlamp, hearts racing, breaths mingling, the weight of something unspoken hanging between them—waiting.

As their lips finally met, the world seemed to stop. The cool night air faded into the background, and for a moment, it was just the two of them—Y/N and Mingyu. The space between them that had once felt like an ocean now felt like nothing at all.

Mingyu’s hand found its way to her waist, pulling her slightly closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. Y/N’s breath hitched as she melted into the kiss, unsure where the nervous tension from earlier had gone. She felt the rush of warmth that surged through her, the flicker of something she couldn’t fully describe yet.

Her fingers brushed lightly against his chest, unsure of where to place them, and Mingyu’s other hand found the back of her neck, holding her gently, as though she might disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened, slow and searching, as if they were both savoring the newfound closeness.

When they finally broke apart, their faces were so close that their breath mingled in the space between them. Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest, unsure if she had just dreamt the entire moment. Her hand rested on his chest, feeling the quick rhythm of his heart as well.

Mingyu let out a quiet laugh, but his voice was hushed, almost reverent. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

Y/N smiled, trying to find her words, but she couldn’t quite get them out. She just let out a soft laugh, meeting his eyes. “Me too.”

And just as she thought the moment might slip away, she leaned in again, brushing her lips softly against his, as if asking for more. The kiss was gentle this time, but it carried with it the promise of something deeper, something neither of them were quite ready to define just yet.

It was a simple moment, but it felt like everything.

Mingyu reluctantly pulled away at a particularly harsh breeze and wrapped his arms around Y/N’s frame, “as much as I would like to continue, I can only imagine how cold you must be if I’m shivering.” 

Y/N chuckled and wrapped her arms around his waist as nodded against him. Her place was in eyesight, if they got there soon, maybe they could continue the night and their previous activities. 

Mingyu smiled softly, still holding her close, as if savoring the last bit of warmth from the kiss before reality crept back in. The chill in the air was undeniable, and he could feel the sharp wind cut through their clothes, but having Y/N in his arms made it almost bearable.

"I guess you're right," Y/N said, her voice quiet but warm, her breath mixing with his in the cold air. "We should probably get inside."

Reluctantly, Mingyu pulled back, his hands lingering on her arms for a moment longer, as if he didn’t want to let go just yet. Their eyes met, and for a split second, the weight of the unspoken words hung between them.

Y/N smiled softly, a small but knowing smile, before taking a step back and motioning toward the building. "Come on, we’re almost there."

They walked in comfortable silence, side by side, the occasional brush of their hands reminding them of the kiss they had just shared, still lingering like a sweet aftertaste.

When they reached her apartment, Y/N turned to face him, her fingers tracing the edges of his jacket. "Thanks for walking me home," she said, voice a little softer now, as if the night had shifted something between them.

Mingyu nodded, his thumb gently brushing her hand as it rested against his chest. "Anytime." His words came out more like a promise than anything else, as if he would walk her home every night if it meant he could stay close to her.

There was a pause, a moment of silence where everything felt suspended in time. Y/N glanced up at him, a glimmer of something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite read, but the closeness between them felt electric.

"Well..." she began, trailing off, her gaze shifting between his eyes and his lips.

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, his heart racing. "Well..." he repeated softly, his voice steady despite the rush of emotions he could feel building inside him.

And then, as if the distance between them could no longer be tolerated, Y/N leaned in again, this time with more intent, her lips brushing against his once more. The kiss was soft, but it carried the weight of everything they hadn’t said out loud. The world faded away again, leaving just the two of them—here, in this moment, with nothing but each other.

As their lips met again, Mingyu’s heart seemed to stop for just a moment, and everything else around him blurred. He could feel the warmth of her against him, her breath mingling with his, and he never wanted to let go. Every time their lips met, it felt like something shifted inside him, something he didn’t know he could feel until this moment.

His hand naturally moved to the back of her neck, holding her there, as if trying to pull her closer, as if he could keep her this close forever. The way her lips fit against his felt so right, and he couldn’t quite grasp why he felt so desperate to stay there, to not let the moment slip away. He had never felt this kind of pull before, like everything about him was tethered to her and every inch of space between them seemed unbearable.

It felt too good, too natural—this connection that was quickly becoming something he couldn’t easily walk away from. The cold air seemed irrelevant now, just a distant background to the warmth building between them. Mingyu could feel his pulse racing in his chest, and even though the air bit at his skin, he was lost in the warmth of her touch, the softness of her lips.

He didn’t want to pull away. He didn’t want this moment to end. But at the same time, there was this hesitation, this fear in the back of his mind—what if this was too much too soon? What if they were both walking too fast, leaning into something they weren’t ready for? Yet, every time he thought about pulling away, his heart screamed at him to stay, to keep feeling this, to keep tasting her lips, just a little longer.

But the world outside—the chilly night, the noise of the city just a few blocks away—eventually crept in. He reluctantly pulled back, not wanting to, but knowing it was probably for the best. The need to breathe, to take a step back, seemed so small in comparison to the overwhelming desire to remain in her arms.

And yet, even as he pulled away, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she made him feel. How easy it was to lose himself in her presence. Mingyu wasn’t sure what this all meant yet, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt too important, too real to just be a fleeting moment.

He just hoped she felt the same way.

“I don’t work tomorrow, but I can still come and walk you home?” He offered, watching her cheeks flush pink. 

“No, that’s okay,” Y/N said with a small smile. “We’ve been pretty attached at the hip lately.”

Mingyu chuckled, tilting his head playfully. “Oh? You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “I didn’t say that.”

He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “So, you like having me around?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up her neck. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, chef. I just meant… a little space isn’t the worst thing.”

Mingyu grinned, stepping back dramatically. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you your space… for now.”

Y/N shook her head, but she couldn’t help but laugh. Somehow, even when he teased, he had a way of making her heart race.

“See you later, Chef Y/N,” Mingyu teased, his voice laced with affection. Before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Y/N felt her breath hitch, her cheeks instantly warming as he pulled away with that signature smirk of his. “Get inside before you freeze,” he murmured, his hand brushing hers for just a second longer than necessary before he finally stepped back.

She stood there, still caught in the moment, watching him walk away with a giddy feeling blooming in her chest.

“Shut up! You guys kissed?” Yuna shrieked, her voice loud enough to turn a few heads on the street.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she quickly reached out, smacking Yuna’s shoulder in warning. “Can you not announce it to the entire city?” she hissed, glancing around before sighing and nodding. “Yeah… twice.”

“Oh my god!” Yuna clutched her chest dramatically. “Twice? And you’re just telling me this now? When were you planning to share this life-altering information?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile creeping onto her lips. “I don’t know, maybe when you weren’t screaming about it in public?”

Yuna held up a hand, effectively silencing Y/N mid-ramble. "No, no, no—you're not about to brush past this like it's nothing," she said, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Was it like… fireworks? A slow burn? Did he cup your face? Oh my god, did he do the thing where he leans in all intense and makes you forget how to breathe?"

Y/N groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Yuna, I don’t know. It was—good. Really good. We were both still on edge from the kitchen disaster, emotions were high, and then suddenly… it just happened."

Yuna gasped. "So it was a heat-of-the-moment kiss? Passionate? Unexpected? Please tell me he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world before it happened."

Y/N's face warmed as she crossed her arms. "...Maybe."

Yuna let out a delighted squeal, bouncing on her heels. "Oh, you're doomed. Completely, hopelessly doomed."

Y/n sighed, but didn't say anything else not wanting to draw any more attention.

Yuna, however, was far from done. She grinned, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “So? Are you guys, like… a thing now?”

Y/N sighed, glancing around at the lingering stares from Yuna’s earlier outburst. “Can we not do this here?” she mumbled, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

Yuna smirked but relented, lowering her voice. “Fine, fine. But you owe me details. And don’t think I didn’t notice that dreamy little sigh you just did.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Maybe she was doomed.

Mingyu was stressed. He had been tasked with creating three new dishes for the restaurant—no easy feat. Fish and chips were a classic, but Joshua had insisted on something more refined, pushing him to craft three completely diverse plates: Lobster Bisque, Seared Scallops with Garlic Mashed Potatoes, and Lamb Loin with Smoked Eggplant and Squash Purée.

The kitchen was alive with movement, sizzling pans, and the rhythmic chop of knives against cutting boards. Mingyu moved between stirring a delicate sauce and carefully searing slices of eggplant, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Who started the fire?” Y/N called from across the kitchen, her voice cutting through the controlled chaos.

“Joshua.” Mingyu scoffed, flipping the eggplant with a little more force than necessary. “Decides to throw me into the deep end with no warning.”

Y/N smirked as she walked over, glancing at the plated scallops. “So, how does it feel being a fully initiated chef now?”

Mingyu let out a dry laugh. “Like I’m being hazed. You’d think after months of proving myself, I wouldn’t have to fight for my life every night.”

Y/N leaned against the counter, watching him drizzle sauce over the lamb loin. “It’s a test. He wouldn’t have given you this if he didn’t think you could handle it.”

Mingyu exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I’d like to have a conversation with past me about why I thought this career was a good idea.”

Y/N chuckled. “Because you love it. Even when you’re pissed off and running on fumes, you wouldn’t trade this for anything else.”

Mingyu stilled for a moment before sighing. “Damn it. You’re right.” He glanced at the bisque, giving it one last stir. “I hate when you do that.”

“I know,” Y/N said smugly. “Now, hurry up. Joshua’s coming, and if that bisque isn’t perfect, you’ll be redoing it in your sleep.”

Mingyu chuckled but nodded, focusing back on his work. A comfortable silence settled between them, the only sounds being the soft bubbling of sauces and the rhythmic sizzle from the pan.

After a few moments, Mingyu glanced up, stealing a quick look at Y/N before speaking.

“Why do you love cooking?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

Y/N hesitated for a second, eyes flickering toward the lamb he was carefully plating. “I don’t want to mess up your focus.”

Mingyu smirked, stirring the bisque without missing a beat. “I’m still going. I can multitask.”

“Okay, fine,” Y/N chuckled, shifting her weight slightly as she thought. “I guess... it feels like control. No matter how chaotic things get, if you follow the right steps, you get something good in the end.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, setting down his spoon. “So it’s about control for you?”

She shrugged. “Partly. But it’s also about creating something people actually enjoy. You can put effort into a lot of things in life and never see the payoff, but with food? You know right away if it’s good.”

Mingyu tilted his head, considering her words. “Huh.”

“What?”

He shook his head with a small smile. “Just didn’t expect you to sum it up so perfectly.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “What, you think I don’t think deeply about food?”

Mingyu chuckled. “No, I just remember mentioning how much I love the kitchen rush a while back, and you didn’t really say anything. I figured that was your way of saying you weren’t that into it.”

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Oh. No, that was just me being standoffish.”

Mingyu nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “I see. Well, I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to open up to me now.”

Y/N let out a soft chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah… I guess you kind of grew on me.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow playfully. “So, I wasn’t instantly charming?”

She smirked. “Not exactly. You were kind of annoying at first.”

Mingyu gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Annoying? I prefer the term ‘irresistibly charismatic.’”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her gaze gave her away. “Call it what you want. But yeah… I do feel more comfortable with you now.”

Mingyu’s expression softened, the teasing fading into something more genuine. “Good. I like this—us just talking like this.”

Y/N nodded, feeling the same unspoken ease settle between them.

“Are you guys flirting?” Jeonghan called out from his station, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Because if so, can you at least do it a little quieter? Some of us are actually working here.”

Laughter rippled through the kitchen, a few chefs throwing knowing glances their way. Y/N rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her.

Mingyu, unfazed, grinned as he tossed a towel over his shoulder. “Jeonghan, if you spent half as much time cooking as you do eavesdropping, maybe you’d finally impress Chef Lee.”

The laughter only grew louder, Jeonghan scoffing as he turned back to his work. The playful banter didn’t break the energy of the kitchen—it only made it feel lighter, more alive.

And maybe, just maybe, Mingyu and Y/N weren’t the only ones who felt the shift between them.

“How’s the extra dishes coming along?” Joshua asked, clapping Mingyu on the shoulder and snapping him out of his little daze.

Mingyu blinked, clearing his throat as he hastily turned back to the stove. “Good. Just, uh—getting down the garlic mashed potatoes,” he replied, stirring a little too intently.

Joshua chuckled, clearly not buying it. “Right. And were you planning to season them with longing stares, or...?”

Mingyu groaned, his cheeks tinged with a telltale blush. “Shut up, hyung,” he muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the pot, as if that would somehow erase the fact that he’d just been caught staring at Y/N—again.

Joshua only smirked, giving Mingyu another pat on the back before walking off. “Just don’t burn anything while you’re busy pinning.”

Mingyu’s head snapped toward Y/N, panic flashing in his eyes as he checked to see if she had heard Joshua’s teasing remark. To his relief, she was too focused on her own station to notice. Still, the mortification settled deep in his chest—if Joshua had caught on, who else had?

“Hyung, don’t say that out loud!” Mingyu hissed under his breath, glaring at Joshua.

Joshua only chuckled, unfazed. “Relax, Romeo. Your secret’s safe with me.” He shot Mingyu a playful wink before casually strolling back to his station.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned back to his mashed potatoes. Get it together, man. But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at his lips.

A/N: Wow guys! that's the first part! I'm ngl, I'm not done writing this, life has been busy, so it may be a little bit before it's done! But I won' drag it out to multiple parts. I hope everyone likes it ♥

taglist: @fancypeacepersona @lolawlolawlol @syluslittlecrows @alyssa19123456 @christinewithluv

[transbee]

can't find the post but don't hmu im gonna be listening to albums. yeah it's gonna be all day.

[klausysworld]

Hiii I absolutely love your oneshots. Can you please do one with Elijah mikaelson. Similar to your klaus one shot about the reader having a lack in height.. Elijah is OBSESSED. Reader could be like (4’10 to 5’1?)

Uncontrollable Love

It shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did.

Just looking at her made him stir. 

It had gotten to the point where even Niklaus was teasing him about it all.

Whenever Y/N would leave the room Elijah’s eyes would follow and someone would snicker. 

He hadn’t realised quite how tiny she was the first couple times, Y/N always seemed to be sitting the first few encounters so when he had been too focused on sorting out his cufflinks and bumped into her, he didn’t realise who it was.

Not until she spun back around and called out his name with a smile on her face.

“Oh..” He breathed, Elijah hadn’t remembered the last time he’d been at such a loss for words but looking down at her he was. Y/N barely reached his chest, let alone being at eyeline. Her head was tilted all the way back, looking up at him with such a sweetness that it made his dead heart thump quickly. His head shook a little, trying to urge his thoughts back. “Y/N.” He nodded, “Forgive me, I wasn’t looking.” His throat cleared, he felt like he sounded funny. Did he sound different? Was his voice too high? Too deep?

He wasn’t so sure and he could feel the bead of sweat on his forehead.

“That’s okay, neither was I.” She smiled, holding up her phone as if to show him what she had been looking at. Her expression shifted, a slight frown and it made him worry more. “Oh did I mess up your tie? I’m sorry, I must've knocked it somehow.” Y/N reached up as she said so, her arms stretched up to straighten his tie. 

Her fingers were so close to him, almost touching him. Usually he was very possessive of his belongings, especially his extensive tie collection but he couldn’t help but want her to stroke every inch of fabric he owned.

He couldn’t take it, just watching her. It was straining him.

Without a word he had left the room, leaving her confused but she simply shrugged it off and went on her way.

From that day he couldn’t help but imagine her with him all the time.

Wondered how she’d look snuggled up against him, gods he’d be able to wrap his body all the way around her. 

He’d imagine her sitting on his lap, straddling him. Her thighs stretched open as she looked up at him with her big eyes. It made him throb.

Every morning he had to reach over her, grab the cereal and pass it down to her and every time he couldn’t help but let himself press against the back of her. 

At lunch he’d get too nervous that she might slip and slice her finger off when she cut her sandwich in half so he’d hastily make his way down the stairs and grab the knife before she could. She’d laugh, such a bubbly laugh that would make his heart clench and she’d tell him that she wasn’t a small child but he could always see the level of comfort and enjoyment she took when he sliced her sandwich into two triangles and shifted them onto a plate for her. 

Once dinner rolled around he’d be all over her in the kitchen. He’d lift her onto the counter, watching her legs swing back and forth as he slid the herbs across to her when she asked for them. 

She’d talk so much to him then, and he would always listen of course. It was impossible not to pay attention to her, her voice was addictive. But he also couldn’t stop himself from admiring her. He just wanted to hold her, feel her, know that she was his.

Pure and utter joy would fill him when his brother announced another event they were throwing.

It meant Y/N would be held against his chest, letting him lift her off the ground and dance her all around the room like she was just a petal in the wind. In addition to that, at the end of those events, Elijah was almost guaranteed a kiss from her. 

He’d walk her back up the stairs, her dainty hands clutching his bicep as she spoke to him about how lovely the evening had been. Once they got to her bedroom he’d clear his throat, a faint smile creeping on his lips but he needed to keep it back.

Y/N would tuck her hair behind her ear, a nervous habit Elijah had discovered, and look up at him through her lashes. 

“Thank you for being with me all night.” She’d whisper, her foot sliding in and out of her heel, another habit, before she’d reach up to wrap her fingers around his tie. Elijah would always have to hold his breath so he wouldn’t let out a groan.

She’d tug him down and he’d eagerly lean so that their lips could meet. 

Always soft and innocent but would linger slightly too long for it to mean something casual. 

His hand would hold her waist, he felt as though he could fit her in one hand. 

“Goodnight Elijah.” Her voice would utter before she disappeared into the confines of her room.

Elijah would have to sit as quietly as he could in his reading chair, his hair damp as he stroked himself like a desperate animal. His hips would jump as though somehow he’d lost the control over himself that he had trained himself to have over centuries. 

It took him an embarrassingly long time to finally cave to his feelings and bring her to his bed. But once he had her, he knew she’d never be able to leave him. 

Elijah was in a state when her legs wrapped around him, his hands traced the short length of her body over and over and she knew how much he loved her size. Especially once her fingers were trying to wrap around his cock, the contrased made his hips just. Watching her pretty pink lips stretch around the head made his hands tangle in her hair, he just couldn’t believe what was happening.

Even once he was deep inside her, he couldn’t help but watch as his cock disappear inside her over and over, he could feel her pussy stretching around him. He looked so big between her legs.

Y/N moaned and whined like a needy whore and it made him crazy.

“Just desperate to be split in two by my big cock, aren’t you baby?” he would taunt against her ear, relishing in the way she would clench around him. 

Once she finished around him, he would pump her full of his cum, not once tearing his gaze away from how it all spilled out of her.

Elijah was a carer, that much was evident just with his siblings but with Y/N he was even more so.

He never wanted her walking, holding her tight instead, needing her legs around his waist all the time and arms over his neck. He needed her to need him, to cling to him like his soul would cling to hers.