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seospicybin · 2 days ago

Text

TASTE.

CHAPTER IV: DECADENT.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

TASTE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen. (21,5k words)

Author's note: Congratulations on surviving the week. Pls enjoy the new chapter and don’t forget to share what you think of it ♡

Decadent /ˈde-kə-dənt/ (adj) characterized by or appealing to self-indulgence.

We've all heard the phrase: "You are what you eat." Have you ever considered, however, that what you eat might also affect how you feel? Certain foods are filled with compounds that have the potential to make you happy, for example, dark chocolate. You always start your mornings with a cup of coffee and you never forget to drop in a chunk of dark chocolate. It’s your little treat to yourself, a tiny boost of serotonin that makes even the busiest mornings a bit sweeter. Today is no exception, but as you finish your coffee in a hurry, there’s a lightness in your chest that has nothing to do with the chocolate.

It’s going to be a good day. You grab your bag and step out of your apartment, locking the door behind you. Just as you turn around, you see Minho stepping out of his apartment. Your heart skips a beat, the sight of him adding another unexplainable surge of serotonin to your morning.

You lift your hand to wave, but before you can, Minho strides toward the elevator, his pace hurried. He reaches it just in time, stopping the doors from closing, and slips inside without even glancing your way. You pout, your hand dropping back to your side. He didn’t see me…

But then, just as the doors are about to close completely, his head pops out. “Why are you just standing there?”

A grin spreads across your face. Without a second thought, you jog to the elevator, slipping inside to stand beside him.

The space is small, quiet, but the silence doesn’t feel awkward. It feels charged, alive with unspoken words and a giddiness you can’t seem to shake. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, your smile returning before you can stop it. The memory of last night rushes back, unbidden but vivid. The warmth of his touch, the sound of his laughter, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

You feel the heat creeping up your neck and quickly look away, trying to steady your thoughts. But when you glance at him again, you notice something—a tiny imperfection in his otherwise perfect look. Without thinking, you reach for him, your fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, straightening it for him.

Minho tilts his head slightly, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “If you keep doing things like this in the kitchen, people are going to figure it out,” he says, his tone teasing.

You blink up at him, feigning innocence. “Figure what out?”

His lips twitch, and he looks away for a moment, as if to keep from laughing. “It’s written all over your face,” he replies, his voice lower, softer.

You shake your head in denial, but the smile pulling at your lips betrays you. Minho’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, and then he smirks. “Stop being so obvious,” he says, his voice playfully scolding.

You lower your head, trying to stifle your laughter. “Yes, Chef,” you reply formally, biting back your grin.

The silence that follows barely lasts a second before you both break into smiles again, the sound of your laughter filling the elevator. Minho lets out a playful groan and gently shoves your shoulder. “I’m serious. Stop.”

You scoot closer to him, your smile turning mischievous. “Make me,” you tease, linking your arm with his.

Minho shakes his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners, reaching to untangle your arm from his. But instead of letting go, he lets his hand slide down to yours, his fingers lacing with yours in an easy, natural motion.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the soft hum of the elevator. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, but you don’t let go. Neither does he. And just like that, the day feels even brighter.

Lunch service is in full swing, the kitchen alive with clattering pans, sizzling oils, and the hum of orders being called out. Minho stands at his chef’s table, his eyes sweeping across the room like a hawk, watching every station for mistakes or signs of slacking off. His expression is calm, composed, the perfect picture of control. But no matter how hard he tries, his gaze keeps drifting your way.

It’s distracting, this magnetic pull toward you, as if his eyes are betraying his better judgment. He stiffens when you approach his table, balancing two plates of aglio e olio in your hands. The precision in your movements catches his attention, but it’s your face he’s scanning for remnants of last night—some telltale blush, a lingering glance, anything. But you’re calm. Too calm.

“Chef?” you ask, your voice low enough that only he can hear over the chaos of the kitchen. “Is there a problem?”

Minho blinks, caught off guard. You look at him with innocent eyes, and for a moment, he’s annoyed—not at you, but at himself for expecting something different. You’re good at hiding your feelings, he realizes, far better than he is.

“No,” he mutters, grabbing a cloth and wiping the edge of the plate with unnecessary care. He keeps his eyes on you as you turn and head back to your station, his chest tightening with a strange, inexplicable pull.

Even with the entire kitchen between you, Minho feels drawn to you, like a magnet he can’t resist. He tells himself he’s just observing your cooking—making sure your technique is flawless—but the truth is harder to admit.

Before he knows it, he’s walking toward your station, aiming to stand behind you. But just as he gets close, you step away, heading toward the freezer without sparing him a glance. Minho halts awkwardly mid-step, cursing himself for his obviousness.

Quick to recover, he veers toward Felix, glancing over the risotto Felix is stirring. “Too much thyme,” Minho comments curtly, masking his unease. Felix frowns, his lips twitching as if to argue, but Minho doesn’t give him the chance.

“Yes, Chef,” Felix quickly responds to avoid being scolded.

Returning to his chef’s table, Minho’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, his heart skipping when he sees your name on the screen.

He glances up, and there you are, emerging from the freezer, carrying a container of grated Parmesan. So that’s why you went there, he thinks, a smirk tugging at his lips. He opens the text and reads it quickly: Don’t make it obvious.

Minho scoffs, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Too late, he thinks, though he’d never admit it. You’ve gotten under his skin more than he cares to acknowledge, and it’s showing. It’s time to remind himself—and you—that he’s still in charge.

“You!” he calls out loudly, his voice cutting through the kitchen like a whip. Heads turn as you straighten up at your station. “Table 18 and 21, you take them all. Now. And if you can’t get them out in time, I’ll hang you upside down like a bat.”

You put on a feigned look of horror, widening your eyes and pouting slightly. “Yes, Chef!” you reply, your tone both dutiful and teasing.

Minho’s lips twitch, but he keeps his expression sharp. From the corner of his eye, he sees Felix glaring at him, his brows furrowed in silent question.

“Why is Chef being so harsh with us?” Felix whispers to you when he gets the chance.

You shrug, offering him a coy smile. “I have no idea,” you say lightly, but there’s a glint in your eyes, one that only Minho can decipher.

He watches you with a faint smirk, his irritation dissipating as quickly as it had come. You’re playing your part perfectly, and even though he started this game, he knows you’ll always find a way to win.

The idea of meeting Minho outside work feels thrilling, like a secret only the two of you share. You take off your jacket and step out of the restaurant during idle time, excitement bubbling inside you. You shove your hands into your jacket pockets, walking casually down the street, your mind already imagining his expression when you see him.

Out of nowhere, Chris appears beside you, matching your stride. "Where are you off to?" he asks, his tone light but curious.

Startled, you quickly pull yourself together. You hadn’t expected anyone to catch you leaving. Thinking fast, you point down the street and mumble, "Oh, just heading that way. What about you?"

Chris grins, his dimples deepening. "Same direction, actually."

You nod, trying to mask your unease as the two of you continue walking side by side. But as you near the convenience store, your chest tightens. Panic creeps in—how are you going to explain this to Minho?

Slowing your steps, you turn to Chris and say, "You can go ahead. I’ll catch up."

Chris chuckles, bumping your shoulder playfully. "What’s the rush? I like walking with you."

You force a laugh, your nerves showing. "Are you sure you’re not following me?"

He scoffs, amused by your accusation. "Don’t flatter yourself."

You pick up your pace, hoping to lose him, but Chris keeps up effortlessly. To your dismay, he follows you right into the convenience store.

Minho is already there, sitting on a stool and leaning casually against a counter, his sharp gaze softening slightly when he spots you—until he notices Chris trailing behind. His expression shifts to one of barely concealed annoyance.

You shrug sheepishly, pretending to be surprised. "Oh, Chef! What a coincidence," you say, your voice overly cheerful.

Chris walks past you, oblivious to the tension, heading straight for the freezer section. Minho’s glare sharpens, and he jerks his head slightly, gesturing for you to sit on the stool next to him.

As you do, he discreetly slides a chocolate bar under the table. You catch it and quickly tuck it into your jacket pocket, mouthing a grateful "thank you" as a small smile tugs at your lips.

Chris returns, holding three ice creams. He places one in front of each of you before sitting down next to you.

The three of you unwrap your ice creams in silence, the sound of crinkling wrappers the only noise. You take a bite, the cold sweetness melting on your tongue.

After a while, Chris is the first to break the quiet. "It’s payday. Shouldn’t you be treating me to something?"

You chuckle, nodding your head. "Sure, I’ll pay for the ice creams."

Minho slightly swivels his stool and cuts in. "Why should she be the one paying?"

Chris smirks, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Then why don’t you pay for it, Chef?"

Minho sighs, leaning back and gazing out the window. "You are indeed an interesting person," he mutters. "You own a fine dining restaurant but come all the way here for ice cream."

Chris turns to you with his signature dimpled smile and playfully bumps your shoulder. "But it's good, right?"

You nod, grinning. "It’s good."

Minho’s glare swings to you. "Is it good?" he asks, his tone pointed.

You meet his eyes and smile sweetly. "It’s good, Chef."

Minho exhales sharply but doesn’t say more. The three of you finish your ice creams in relative quiet, the tension between Minho and Chris oddly amusing. Despite the unexpected company and how far the situation strayed from your plan, you find yourself enjoying it. Minho’s sharp wit, Chris’s warm charm—they’re such opposites, yet somehow the dynamic works. For now, you savor the moment, the sweetness of the ice cream and the peculiar balance of the company around you.

Minho steps into his office, his jaw tightening as he recalls how his intended rendezvous with you had been derailed by Chris’s untimely appearance. The faint annoyance gnaws at him as he tosses his coat over the chair and heads for the small coffee station in the corner of the room.

Making coffee has always had a strange way of soothing him. He finds a rhythm in the grind of the beans, the steady hum of the machine, and the rich aroma filling the space. It’s methodical, like cooking, but without the chaos of the kitchen. Once the cup is brewed, he brings it to his desk, its warmth radiating through the ceramic against his palms.

Settling into his chair, Minho takes a slow sip, savoring the bitterness. The smell alone brings him comfort, but today, it also stirs memories of the previous night. Just you and him. No distractions. No interruptions. He closes his eyes briefly, replaying the way your laugh had sounded, how you’d looked at him with that softness in your eyes that made his chest tighten.

Minho leans back, letting the moment linger longer than he should. He knows better than to dwell, yet the thought of being alone with you again is too tempting to ignore. He’s drawn out of his reverie when Taesoo enters the office and strikes him like a lightning in the middle of the day.

“I saw you kiss her in the kitchen last night.”

He stares at Taesoo, who stands before him looking like he regrets every word he’s just spoken. But there is no taking it back. The damage is done.

Minho straightens, his voice low and controlled. “Does anyone else know?”

Taesoo shakes his head quickly, his hands rising in defense. “No, no one. I swear.”

Minho’s jaw tightens as he steps closer, his shadow falling over Taesoo. “Then make sure it stays that way.”

The younger one nods, his face pale. “I didn’t mean—”

“Go back to the kitchen,” Minho interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Taesoo hesitates for only a moment before bowing and hurrying out of the office, leaving Minho alone once again with his thoughts that swirling in his head like a raging storm.

By the time dinner service begins, the weight of Taesoo’s insinuation hangs heavy on Minho’s mind. He works with precision, shouting orders and keeping a close eye on the line, determined not to let it show.

Amid the controlled chaos, a service staff approaches, momentarily breaking his focus. “Chef, a customer wants to personally thank the chef for the meal.”

Minho adjusts his apron, preparing to meet the guest, but the staff quickly adds, “Actually, they asked to see Sous Chef Seojun. He made the dish.”

Minho nods curtly, signaling for Seojun to handle it. He watches as the sous chef heads to the front, a mix of pride and frustration swirling within him. Normally, he’d take satisfaction in seeing his team praised, but tonight, his thoughts are elsewhere.

Just as Minho turns back to the station, Sara appears beside him, her voice low but firm. “We need to talk later,” she says, her tone serious.

Minho glances at her, his brow furrowing. She doesn’t elaborate, simply giving him a meaningful look before stepping away.

His grip on the edge of the counter tightens as the night presses on, the burden of unspoken words, secrets, and mounting suspicion weighing heavily on him. Minho pushes through service, but the once-controlled rhythm of his work feels off-kilter, his mind plagued by everything he’s trying to keep hidden.

Minho finishes changing into his casual clothes, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt when a knock echoes on his office door. Without needing to ask, he knows who it is. "Come in," he calls out, his voice steady but laced with curiosity.

The door opens, and Sara steps in, her usual composed demeanor intact as she casually takes a seat on the single sofa in his office. Minho raises an eyebrow at her boldness, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. "You look a little too comfortable in my office," he remarks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Sara doesn’t flinch. Instead, she smirks, tilting her head. "You should get used to it."

Minho narrows his eyes but gestures for her to get to the point. "So, what is it you want to talk to me about?"

She reclines slightly, crossing her legs as she starts. "It’s about Sous Chef Seojun."

Minho’s brows furrow. "What about him?"

Sara doesn’t miss a beat. "He might be leaving the kitchen soon."

Minho's eyebrow raised at that and he straightens as the weight of her words settling in.

"The customer who asked for him earlier—he’s opening a new Italian restaurant. I’m willing to bet Seojun’s been offered the head chef position," she explains, her tone calm but with a hint of gravity. "And if that happens, he’ll probably take his people with him."

Minho takes in her words, the implications running through his mind. He knows Sara’s right; it’s not just a possibility—it’s a likelihood. The thought of losing key members of his team, of having to rebuild the kitchen dynamics, gnaws at him.

Minho steps out of the back entrance into the cool night air, his eyes scanning the parking lot. Seojun’s car is still in its spot and he sees Seojun sitting inside with Seungwan and Hyunwoo. The three of them are animated, their laughter spilling into the quiet night. Minho doesn’t need to hear the conversation to guess what it’s about—they’re probably already dreaming of leaving his kitchen behind.

Minho’s mood sours further as he heads home. By the time he steps into his apartment, the weight of everything—Taesoo’s suspicions, Sara’s warning, Seojun’s likely departure—feels unbearable. The suffocating stillness of his apartment does nothing to help. On a whim, he grabs his phone and sends you a text, telling you to come out.

A moment later, your apartment door creaks open, and there you are, smiling the moment you see him. That smile—it’s enough to ease the tension in his chest, even if only slightly.

"Were you sleeping?" Minho asks, his voice softer than usual.

You shake your head. "No, not yet. Why?"

He hesitates, the temptation to spill everything clawing at him. He wants to tell you about Taesoo, about Seojun, about how everything seems to be crumbling around him. But he stops himself. That’s not why he’s here.

Instead, he smirks, his tone shifting to something lighter. "Have you eaten the chocolate I gave you?"

You giggle, shaking your head again. "Not yet."

Minho stares at you, feigning disbelief. "Why not?"

You grin, teasing him. "Because it’s from you. I don’t want to eat it."

Minho hisses through his teeth, pretending to be annoyed. "Eat it," he orders, though there’s no real bite in his tone.

You respond with a playful, formal tone, "Yes, Chef."

Minho steps closer, leaning in until his lips are near your ear. His voice drops to a whisper. "And don’t share it with anyone else."

Your cheeks flush as you nod, a smile tugging at your lips. Before pulling back, Minho brushes his lips against your cheek, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

"Go back inside and sleep," he murmurs.

You look up at him, your smile warm and soft. "Goodnight, Chef."

Minho watches as you retreat into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you. He turns and walks back to his own apartment, the warmth of your smile and the memory of your laughter lingering in his chest, making the weight of the night just a little easier to bear.

The locker room is quiet when you enter, the faint scent of metal and detergent lingering in the air. You open your locker, placing your things inside methodically, your mind half on the day ahead and half on the memory of Minho at your door last night. His touch, his words, the subtle vulnerability in his eyes—it all lingers, warm and heavy in your chest. But you can’t also deny that you noticed something in his eyes, something troubling that he refused to share with you.

The sound of footsteps echoes in the room, pulling you from your thoughts. Voices follow, familiar and distinct. Seungwan and Hyunwoo, you realize, accompanied by Sous Chef Seojun. They always arrive together, carpooling to work.

Your locker is on the opposite side of the room, and they won't know you're there unless you make a noise, their conversation carries clearly in the space.

"Did you guys get your resumes ready?" Seojun’s voice cuts through.

"Yeah, I emailed mine last night," Seungwan replies, his tone light with excitement.

"Same," Hyunwoo adds, chuckling. "I can’t wait to work in a real kitchen, where we can actually create something."

Seojun hums approvingly. "Good. The owner’s expecting them today. This is going to be big for us."

You pause, your heart sinking. Their words start piecing together a puzzle you hadn’t even realized existed. Something that bothers Minho’s mind—this must be it. His team is planning to leave him.

Minho may act like it doesn't bother him but you can see it, especially during the lunch service. The kitchen is at its usual chaos, orders are flooding in and the rhythm is relentless. Sara’s triple-flavored pasta is still the crowd favorite and the demand is testing her limits.

Next to you, Sara wipes her brow, exhaling sharply. "This is insane," she mutters, glancing at you as you plate the last vongole for your station.

"Is that your last one?" she asks, her voice tinged with urgency.

"Yes, Chef," you reply, your tone calm and steady as always.

"Can you take three of my orders?" she asks, her gaze sharp but pleading.

You nod, placing the vongole on Minho’s chef table before moving to Sara’s station. She’s already started another order, her hands working swiftly as she talks you through the steps. You follow her lead, watching every motion, memorizing each detail.

When the first dish is ready, you bring it to her for approval. Sara takes a bite, her expression thoughtful as she chews. Then, a smile breaks across her face.

"The dough, the sauce, temperature and tenderness... it's all good," she says, nodding in approval.

Relief washes over you, and you smile back. "Thank you, Chef."

Sara laughs, a rare lightness in her tone. "I better watch my back. You’re going to catch up to me soon."

You laugh softly, returning your focus to the task at hand. The kitchen fades around you as you concentrate on perfecting the dish, tuning out the chaos that swirls like a storm. It isn’t until Minho slams his hands on his chef’s table and his voice booms across the room that you snap out of your focus.

"Sous Chef!" he barks, his tone sharp enough to cut through the noise. "How could you spaced out in the middle of cooking! Can't you hear your meat crying out to you? Can't you tell what to do from the color and the smell? You should know by now."

You glance over, catching sight of the sous chef scrambling to salvage the charred meat with his thong.

"And you! What good is this meat if you treat it like third class meat?" Minho continues, turning to Hyunwoo. "Top grade meat does not need anything but salt to melt in your mouth. It does not need any chef to cook it well."

Minho taps Hyunwoo’s pan with a wooden spatula as his voice raises louder as he continues talking. "A true chef is the one who can make low class meat taste like the top grade. But even with a top grade meat, I don't know what you've been thinking but you've made the meat go tough. You are ruining the food!"

He turns at Seungwan next as he prepares a salad on his plate. Minho grabs his container of cilantro, showing him how they're wilting against the temperature in the kitchen.

"Didn’t I tell you to give them some water and cover them with a wet cloth. I told you so many times but you just wouldn't listen to me."

Seeing the defiance in them seem to only anger Minho, he inhales air but it doesn’t help him anymore. "Do you think at a restaurant where there is a luxurious dining hall, and a grand kitchen would make you a top chef? Is that it, huh?"

Minho’s fury is palpable, his frustration spilling over. The entrée line is a mess, their movements sluggish and half-hearted. It’s clear their minds are elsewhere—already dreaming of the new kitchen Seojun promised them.

"GET YOUR BRAINS BACK TO YOUR HEADS!"

The tension in the kitchen mounts, heavy and suffocating. You steal a glance at Minho, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing as he tries to regain control. Despite everything, he doesn’t falter. He keeps shouting orders, his voice commanding as he refuses to let the kitchen crumble under his watch.

But you can see the strain in him, the weight of it all bearing down on his shoulders. And it makes your chest ache, knowing just how much he’s carrying.

The kitchen is eerily quiet after the lunch service ends, the usual clatter of pans and voices replaced by the hum of the exhaust fans. One by one, the cooks file out, muttering farewells or simply disappearing without a word. All except Seojun.

Minho stays rooted at his chef table, arms crossed, his sharp gaze trained on the sous chef still standing at his station. Seojun doesn’t move, his posture stiff, as though he’s bracing himself.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. The silence hangs heavy, charged with unspoken words and simmering tension. Their eyes lock, an unyielding standoff.

Finally, Seojun breaks the silence. "You said first class chef can make the third class food to top class," he begins, his voice low but steady, "According to your theory, if you're a top class chef, shouldn't you also be able to make us into first class chef as well?"

Minho tilts his head slightly, his expression calm but sharp as a blade. "Are you saying it’s my fault that you’re third-class chefs?"

Seojun’s jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffening. "So, is it because we are third class cooks that you don't want to cook with us?"

Minho lets out a soft exhale, leaning slightly against the table. His voice is measured, deliberate. "You think I’m just sitting here, doing nothing? You’re like third-rate meat, full of fat and sinews. It needs to be pounded, poked, and tenderized to become top-grade. If you resent being called third-class, then try harder. Endure the process. If I slap your left cheek, offer me the other so that you can learn. This is how I cook in my kitchen."

Seojun clenches his fists, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth. "You think that’s all it takes?" he says, his voice rising. "You think burning us down and grinding us up will make us better?"

Without breaking eye contact, Seojun grabs a nearby bottle of wine, yanking it open. He strides to the grill, tipping the bottle and splashing a stream of wine onto the hot surface. Flames roar to life, licking the air in a brilliant burst of heat and light.

Seojun turns back to Minho, the fire reflecting in his eyes. "No matter how good the meat is, it’ll burn if you keep cooking it on high heat," he says, his tone biting.

The flames die down, leaving only the faint scent of charred wine in the air. Seojun sets the bottle down with a sharp thud. "Stop setting everything on fire," he says, his voice quieter now but no less forceful.

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Minho standing alone in the silence.

Minho remains still, his expression unreadable as he watches Seojun’s retreating back. Resistance isn’t new to him—cooks have come and gone, each one thinking they could challenge him, break him. But there’s something about Seojun’s words that lingers, digging beneath the surface like an itch he can’t scratch.

The day at the restaurant is long and grueling, but it ends like it always does—everyone pulling through to close out another service. Minho is heading back to the kitchen when he spots Seojun walking toward him from the opposite direction.

Their eyes lock, the unspoken tension between them thick in the air. Minho knows he can’t leave it as it is—not with the quiet defiance in Seojun’s gaze. He stops him by standing in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest, his stance commanding.

Seojun halts, his posture stiffening slightly.

"I’m not good at beating around the bush, so I’ll just say it," Minho begins, his tone blunt. "If you want to leave this kitchen, then leave after I fire you. Or leave after you beat me."

He steps closer, leaning in until there’s barely any space between them. His eyes narrow, his voice lowering to a near-growl. "Leave after you surpass me. Got it?"

The air between them is heavy with challenge, neither of them moving, neither willing to back down. Finally, Minho straightens, his expression unreadable, and strides past Seojun without another word.

When Minho enters the kitchen, he isn’t surprised to find you there. You’re bent over the counter, carefully squeezing the filling onto flat sheets of pasta dough, your movements deliberate and precise.

He leans against his chef table, watching you in silence. There’s something calming about the way you work, even in the quiet hum of the now-empty kitchen.

After a moment, he approaches, stopping just close enough for you to notice. "Are you busy?" he asks, his voice casual.

Without looking up, you nod. "Yes. Chef Sara asked me to make 100 ravioli tonight."

Minho hums in response, staying where he is and watching as you cut the dough into perfect circles. But he isn’t one to let things go easily. He straightens and moves closer again, his voice soft but teasing. "Come play with me."

You glance at him briefly before turning back to your task. "Can you see I’m busy?" you reply evenly.

Minho tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Come, play with me. You can work later."

You shake your head, your tone light but firm. "I can’t. You’re too scary."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You don’t look scared of me," he counters smoothly.

"I have to finish these ravioli first," you remind him, keeping your focus on your work.

Minho nods slowly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes doesn’t fade. "You’re right—you have to do it to learn. But you also have to learn with me."

Before you can argue, he grabs your bag and jacket from the chef table, holding them out to you. "Let’s go," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You open your mouth to protest, but Minho is already heading for the door, your bag slung over his shoulder. With no other choice, you sigh and follow him, your heart racing as you step out of the restaurant together.

The silence in the elevator is broken only by the soft hum of its movement. You trail slightly behind Minho, who stands calm and unreadable, his finger having pressed the button for the 14th floor. You glance at him, curiosity getting the better of you, and playfully nudge his side with your elbow.

“If you told me you were taking me on a date, I’d have come without a second thought,” you whisper with a grin.

Minho turns his sharp gaze to you, narrowing his eyes. “It’s not a date,” he states firmly. “I told you I want you to learn something tonight.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, dramatically pouting. Minho doesn’t spare you another glance, stepping out as the elevator doors slide open.

He leads you to a restaurant on the hotel balcony, the cool night air mingling with the soft glow of city lights. Despite the late hour, the kitchen is still open. The waiter, seemingly assuming you’re a couple, seats you at a table with the best view.

Minho orders right away, his confidence making it clear he’s familiar with the menu. When the server brings over a tray of bread, you light up, hunger gnawing at your stomach since you haven’t eaten anything all day.

But just as you’re about to grab a piece, Minho’s voice cuts through your excitement. “Don’t eat the bread,” he warns.

You freeze, confused. “Why not? I’m starving.”

He crosses his arms, his tone firm. “You’ll ruin your appetite. You’ll fill up on bread and won’t appreciate the main dishes. Unless it’s to soak up the leftover sauce, don’t touch it.”

Reluctantly, you sigh and set the bread back down, earning a brief approving nod from him.

Moments later, the server returns with your first course—a shrimp and avocado salad. You and Minho share the plate, each picking up your forks. Minho takes one bite before setting his fork down, his expression immediately souring.

“How does it taste to you?” he asks, his tone sharp.

You hesitate before answering honestly, “It’s not that bad.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “Not that bad? The shrimp is overcooked—it’s a pink sponge that smells like shrimp. If you cooked like this in my kitchen, I’d make sure you grew horns on your head, like a shrimp.”

You sigh again, reluctantly putting your fork down as Minho insists you stop eating.

Soon, the main course arrives: crab meat ravioli in a tomato basil sauce. You’re thrilled, digging in right away, but before you can enjoy your first bite, Minho stops you.

“Hold it,” he commands, gesturing with his knife toward the ravioli on your plate. One has burst open in the back, spilling its filling.

“What’s the purpose of making ravioli?” he asks rhetorically. “To keep the filling intact. This ravioli has lost its purpose in life.”

You roll your eyes, setting your utensils down again. “Why didn’t you just ask them to recook it then?” you challenge.

Minho scoffs. “That’s the last thing I want to hear as a chef, and I won’t say it to another chef.”

“Then just eat it,” you reply, exasperated.

“I don’t want to,” he retorts stubbornly.

You groan, leaning back in your seat. Minho continues to mutter, lamenting the quality of the dish and feeling pity for the customers paying for this food.

“I should call the chef out and shove this plate down his throat,” he mutters darkly.

Shaking your head, you sigh. “You know, I’m just grateful anytime someone else cooks for me. I hate having to cook for myself at home.”

Minho leans forward, fixing you with an intense stare. “Are you saying that if you lived with someone, you wouldn’t cook for them? That you’d let your partner starve in the morning or fall asleep without making dinner?”

You smirk, propping your chin on your hand. “My partner can cook for me.”

Minho scoffs, smirking back. “What man in his right mind would cook for a partner who’s a chef?”

You flash him a sly smile. “Then I’ll just marry a chef.”

Minho gasps dramatically, his disbelief exaggerated but amused. He leans back in his chair, his eyes studying you with a mix of delight and curiosity.

Suddenly, he shouts for a server nearby, clearly intending to complain about the food. You sink lower into your chair, already feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Minho's complaints echo in your mind as you sit stiffly in the car beside him. The memory of him criticizing the food so openly to the server makes your cheeks burn. You glance out the window, trying to shake off the embarrassment, but it lingers.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you turn to him. “Why did you do that?” you ask, your tone sharper than you intended.

Minho keeps his eyes on the road, his expression unbothered. “Because if I didn’t, it’s like telling those chefs to never improve. To just stay stuck in the same place their entire lives.”

You sigh, glaring at him, though he doesn’t look your way. He still seems to feel it, though, because he spares you a quick glance.

“What now?” he asks, clearly exasperated.

“I’m hungry!” you whine, your tone full of complaint.

“Then why didn’t you eat earlier?”

That does it. You snap, your voice rising. “Because you told me not to!”

Minho pauses, processing your words before letting out a long breath. “Fine,” he mutters, turning the car sharply.

Before you know it, you’re at his place. Minho ushers you inside, moving straight to the kitchen.

As Minho places the plate of grilled cheese in front of you, the aroma hits you like a warm embrace: toasted bread, melted cheese, and a hint of nuttiness. Your mouth waters at the sight, and your stomach growls in anticipation. One bite and you know—it’s not just a grilled cheese. It’s a masterpiece.

Minutes later, you set the empty plate down on the coffee table, leaning back with a contented sigh. Then reality hits, and you groan. “Ugh, I still have to finish the ravioli tomorrow morning.”

Minho, lounging beside you, raises an eyebrow. “So?”

You turn to him, giving him your best pleading look. “Help me with it?”

His response is instant and firm. “No.”

You pout, but he doesn’t budge. “Why would I waste my energy making ravioli for Sara?” he adds, sounding almost offended.

Your shoulders slump in disappointment. “Mean,” you mutter under your breath.

Minho leans back further, running a hand through his hair as he lets out a low sigh. “And why should I waste my energy on people who want to leave me anyway?”

The words hang in the air, and your ears perk up. Something in his tone—calm but heavy—gives you pause. It hits you then: he indeed knows about Souschef Seojun.

You turn to him sharply. “So, you knew about it?”

His gaze shifts to yours, and his eyes are piercing. “And you didn't tell me about it.”

You hesitate, feeling cornered. “I like Souschef,” you admit. “I want to keep working with him, but… I also think he should take this opportunity for himself.”

Minho clicks his tongue, his expression darkening. “You’re a professional two-timer,” he says with a scoff.

The jab stings, but before you can respond, he stares at the ceiling, his voice quieter now. “It’s the hardest thing... moving up to chef from sous chef. Most don’t make it.”

You study his face, the frustration he tries so hard to mask. He’s bothered, even though he won’t outright say it. The fact that Minho thinks about it means he actually cares more than he let on.

A question forms in your head and in a softer tone, you dare yourself to ask but keeping your tone soft, “Why do you push away the people who like you and push even harder the ones who don’t? Who’s going to stay by your side if you keep doing that?”

Minho turns his head, his eyes locking with yours. A smirk tugs at his lips as he answers, “I have you.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, your heart skipping a beat. Without thinking, you slip your arm around his, holding it close to your chest.

“That’s true,” you whisper, smiling softly. “I’ll always stick by your side.”

Deep down, you hope he believes you and that it's not some words you said to please him. You hope he knows you’ll stay by his side, no matter what.

The next day, Minho strides purposefully through the restaurant, his mind already racing with the tasks of the day. His feet carry him toward Chris's office, but he pauses as he notices Seojun approaching from the opposite hallway.

Their eyes meet, and they exchange a brief, puzzled look. Neither says a word, but the shared confusion is clear: why are they both heading to the same place?

When they reach the door, Seojun glances at Minho and knocks. Chris’s voice calls out, “Come in,” and they step inside together.

Chris is seated at his desk, scribbling his signature onto a stack of papers. He doesn’t look up immediately, merely gestures for them to sit. Minho and Seojun take the seats across from each other, the silence stretching as they wait for Chris to finish.

Finally, Chris sets his pen down and moves to the small sofa in the corner of the office, gesturing for them to stay where they are. He leans forward, hands clasped, his face serious but unreadable.

“A customer has requested the restaurant’s service after business hours,” Chris begins, his tone measured. “They want to hold an event at midnight tonight.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, glancing at Seojun, who looks just as perplexed. “What could they possibly want to eat at midnight?” Minho asks, skepticism laced in his voice.

Seojun leans forward slightly, echoing Minho’s confusion. “Did the customer ask for me specifically?”

Chris nods, addressing both of their concerns. “I don’t know why the event is at midnight, but yes, they specifically asked for you, Souschef.”

Seojun’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Minho narrows his eyes, trying to piece together the puzzle.

Chris continues, “I need both of you to oversee this request. You’ll also need to pick an assistant to help you with the prep and execution.”

Minho leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. He studies Chris’s expression, searching for clues, but his boss remains as inscrutable as ever.

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the request sinking in. Midnight. A private event. A specific request for Seojun.

As they stand to leave, Minho’s thoughts churn. What kind of event requires such secrecy and precision at this hour? And why does it feel like tonight is going to change everything?

When Minho tells you to stay after dinner service tonight, you don’t expect to find yourself assisting in what feels like a culinary duel. He and Seojun go head-to-head, cooking the same dish—grilled lobster bisque—for a special customer order. As you move between them, handing over ingredients, wiping surfaces, and following their instructions, you can’t help but notice how starkly different their approaches are.

Minho works with practiced precision, each movement calculated and efficient, while Seojun experiments, adjusting on the fly. At one point, Minho catches your eye and smirks, his expression practically saying, This is child’s play for me. You bite back an eye roll, handing him a cloth to wipe the edge of his plate.

When they finish plating, Minho and Seojun each carry their dishes to the dining hall. You trail behind, quietly observing as they serve the customer. The man sits alone at the large table, his demeanor calm but unreadable. As Minho and Seojun approach, you catch the brief flicker of surprise on Seojun’s face. It’s then you realize—this must be the man trying to recruit him for the new restaurant.

The customer greets them with a polite smile and sets a napkin on his lap. Before he can say anything, Minho asks the question lingering in everyone’s mind. “Why did you order the same dish this late at night?”

The customer smiles dismissively. “Shouldn’t that remain the concern of the guest?”

Minho keeps his face neutral, though you can sense his annoyance bubbling beneath the surface.

The customer tastes Minho’s dish first, nodding slightly but offering no comment. He then moves on to Seojun’s, taking a single bite before pausing. “Why didn’t you use higher-quality extra virgin olive oil? Was it the cost?”

Seojun hesitates, clearly caught off guard. He stammers out a response, but Minho cuts in smoothly. “It’s not about the cost. Extra virgin olive oil burns too quickly on the grill. It’s a matter of technique, not expense.”

The customer arches a brow. “But I still prefer the expensive oil.”

You see the muscle in Minho’s jaw twitch, though his smile remains intact.

The customer takes another bite, then comments on the sauce. “The flavor is quite good. Did you use the lobster shell?”

You blink, recalling the cooking process. Seojun didn’t use lobster shells. Without thinking, you blurt out, “It’s shrimp, not lobster.”

The room goes silent. Your stomach sinks as you realize you’ve spoken out of turn. Quickly, you lower your gaze and stammer an apology.

The customer turns to Seojun. “Why would you use shrimp shells when lobster shells were available?”

Before Seojun can respond, Minho steps in again. “It’s not about cost-cutting. Shrimp shells retain a better flavor profile than lobster shells.”

The customer dips his fork into the sauce and frowns. “The sauce... It’s too salty.”

Seojun forces a sheepish smile. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Minho, clearly at the end of his patience, interjects, “The sauce is meant to be eaten with the lobster and salad. It’s balanced when combined.”

The customer raises an eyebrow. “Should I?”

Minho’s smile strains further. “Yes, you should.”

As soon as he excuses himself to leave, Minho storms off, heading for the stairs. You scramble to catch up, struggling to match his furious pace. He reaches the top of the steps, then stops abruptly, spinning around to march back down. You quickly dart in front of him, blocking his path.

“That pompous idiot!” he hisses, his voice rising. “Acting like he knows everything when he knows nothing!”

“Chef,” you whisper urgently, glancing nervously toward the dining hall. “He’ll hear you!”

“I don’t care if he hears me!” Minho snaps, his voice growing louder.

Panicking, you grab his arm, pulling him back. “You can’t go back down there!”

His eyes blaze as he glares at you, his chest heaving with frustration. “That kind of person is the one I hate the most!”

You tighten your grip on his arm and press your forehead against his shoulder, desperate to calm him down. “Chef, please. Just let it go.”

He lets out a harsh sigh, running a hand through his hair. After a tense pause, he finally turns and continues climbing the stairs, muttering under his breath. You follow closely, silently praying he doesn’t change his mind and storm back down.

In the car ride home, Minho grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. His jaw is clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he navigates through the dimly lit streets. His anger still simmers, radiating off him in waves.

“Shake it off already,” you say gently, hoping to lighten the mood.

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh but doesn’t glance at you. “I’m going to be even harsher on them from now on so they won't leave,” he declares firmly.

“Why are you so sure they won’t just leave?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Minho finally responds, his tone steady but loaded with conviction. “Chefs need to know how to negotiate with the owners. Our souschef might look tough, but he’s a softie inside. He doesn’t have the backbone to stand firm. If he stays obedient, he’s going to get eaten alive by someone like that.”

He pauses, his grip tightening slightly. “Owners always push the blame back onto the chef. Even if you follow their orders to the letter, they won’t take care of you when things fall apart. That guy tonight—requesting some bizarre, last-minute order at midnight? He’s exactly that type. It’s not about the food with him; it’s about control.”

Minho’s voice lowers, but the intensity remains. “The real power struggle in a restaurant should be with the customer’s taste buds—not with the owner of the restaurant. Do you get it?”

You sit quietly, absorbing his words. Tonight suddenly makes so much more sense. This wasn’t just about the grilled lobster bisque; it was a test. The customer wanted to see what kind of chefs Minho and Seojun are. While Minho stood firm in his principles, Seojun seemed eager to comply without pushing back.

For a moment, you admire him in silence, impressed by his confidence and determination. But as the awe settles in, you can’t resist teasing him. “Still, I have to say… I like our owner’s taste.”

Minho’s head snaps toward you, his brows furrowing. “What?” he shrieks.

“I like Chris,” you say, a sly grin spreading across your face. “The more I see him managing the restaurant, the more I like him. He’s great.”

Minho slows the car as the light ahead turns red. He turns to you, his expression unreadable. “Come closer,” he says softly, his tone suddenly sweet.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just come closer,” he coaxes, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

With a small, mischievous smirk of your own, you lean in, wondering what he’s up to. The second you’re close enough, he flicks your forehead with his finger—hard.

“Ow!” you yelp, jerking back as you cradle your forehead. “What was that for?”

Minho’s expression is deadpan, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Shut your mouth,” he says bluntly, then shifts his focus back to the road as the light turns green.

You rub your forehead, pouting as you whine, “That hurts, chef.”

Minho doesn’t respond, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward, betraying the faintest of smirks.

The kitchen hums with the usual midday chaos, everyone focused on getting the last few lunch orders out. Pans sizzle, knives clatter against cutting boards, and the air is thick with the aroma of sauces and seared meats. You keep your head down at your station, working quickly to finish plating.

A service staff member steps in, calling out, “A customer wants to see the sous chef.”

Minho doesn’t even lift his head. He knows exactly who it is. His sharp gaze cuts across the kitchen, landing on Seojun, who hesitates for a moment. They share a silent exchange, and Minho gives a small, almost dismissive nod, granting permission.

From your station, you notice Seungwan and Hyunwoo exchanging a look, their smiles widening with excitement. They’re already celebrating in their heads, assuming Seojun is about to confirm their move to the new kitchen.

After service slows, you and Felix retreat to the locker room, escaping the heat and noise of the kitchen. You sit together on the small sofa—Felix lost in a game on his phone, headphones in, while you scroll through your own phone.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you start researching the new Italian restaurant that Seojun has been eyeing. It doesn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place—the owner of this restaurant also owns the hotel restaurant Minho took you to the other night. Everything suddenly makes sense.

You don’t say anything, though. The room starts filling with people—familiar voices drifting in as Seungwan and Hyunwoo enter, their excitement still palpable.

“They probably have state-of-the-art equipment,” Hyunwoo says, his tone brimming with enthusiasm.

“And a bigger kitchen,” Seungwan adds, practically glowing at the thought.

Taesoo chimes in, skeptical. “Are you two really thinking about leaving this kitchen?”

Felix finally glances up from his game, pulling out one earbud. “What are they talking about?” he whispers.

You hurriedly cover Felix’s mouth with your hand to stop him from talking. “Shh...”

The door opens again, and Seojun walks in. Seungwan and Hyunwoo practically pounce on him, bombarding him with questions about their supposed future kitchen.

Seojun clears his throat, his expression a mix of discomfort and apology. “The owner said... I’m not ready to be a head chef yet.”

The air shifts as Seungwan and Hyunwoo’s excitement fizzles into confusion.

“What?!” Seungwan blurts out. “Why would you make us think this was happening if it’s not?”

Hyunwoo crosses his arms, frowning. “Yeah, what was the point of all this?”

Seojun’s shoulders slump slightly, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, looking genuinely guilty. “I really thought it was going to happen. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”

You watch the scene unfold in silence, piecing everything together. Minho was right. Seojun may act tough, but inside, he’s soft and earnest—a far cry from the steely ambition that fuels most chefs. And yet, it’s that softness, that genuineness, that sets him apart.

Minho leans back against his desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, enjoying the rare moment of peace in his office. The faint hum of the kitchen filters through the closed door, but it’s a comforting background noise, a reminder of the controlled chaos he thrives in.

The knock on his door pulls him out of his thoughts. He isn’t expecting anyone, but he calls out, “Come in,” assuming it’s Felix, likely here to pester him with some nonsensical question or pointless chatter.

But when the door opens, it’s not who he expected—it’s Seojun.

Minho straightens slightly, surprised. Seojun steps inside, his hands clasped in front of him, his demeanor uncharacteristically hesitant. Minho studies him for a moment, noting the look in his eyes, the way he’s clearly turning something over in his head.

“What is it?” Minho asks, setting his coffee down on the desk. “Just say whatever’s on your mind.”

Seojun offers a soft smile before speaking. “Chef, what gave you the biggest push to become a head chef?”

Ah. So that’s where this is going. Minho smirks, recognizing the underlying intention. Seojun isn’t asking out of idle curiosity—he’s looking for direction, for some kind of encouragement.

Minho crosses his arms, his smirk deepening. “I had a nasty chef when I was a sous chef. Absolute piece of work. Thought he knew everything, never let anyone else have an opinion.”

Seojun looks at him with interest, clearly not expecting such a blunt answer.

“I endured it all,” Minho continues, his voice calm but firm, “because I wanted to be better than him. To prove to myself—and to him—that I could do it my way and do it better.”

He glances at Seojun, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

Seojun smiles sheepishly, shaking his head just enough to be noticed. “I should get back to work,” he says, his tone polite and respectful, but there’s a quiet determination in it.

Minho watches him leave, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t need Seojun to say it outright—it’s clear he’s decided to stay. Minho knew Seojun wasn’t the type to jump ship easily.

As the door closes, Minho leans back against his desk again, his smirk softening into something almost thoughtful. If Seojun is going to stay, Minho will make sure he gets that push he’s looking for, whether he knows it or not.

But now, with the matter of the cooks settled, Minho’s thoughts shift to something else, something that’s been nagging at him. It’s time to deal with another issue that’s been bothering him—and this one isn’t work-related.

Minho strides confidently ahead, carrying a couple of bags over his shoulder while leaving you with the bulk of the load. The stairs creak under your feet as you haul the bags of food he made you carry, your arms aching with the weight.

"Where are we going?" you finally ask, trying not to sound as annoyed as you feel. It’s late, the air is cold, and you’re in a neighborhood you don’t recognize.

Minho glances over his shoulder, his face annoyingly nonchalant. "Just keep going," he says dismissively.

That’s it. You stop abruptly, dropping the bags onto the steps with a huff. "I’m tired," you whine, crossing your arms over your chest. "I’m not moving until you tell me where we’re going."

Minho sighs audibly and turns back, walking down a couple of steps to stand in front of you. "We’re taking care of someone," he says cryptically, his tone flat and unreadable.

Your eyes widen in horror, your mind immediately jumping to the worst conclusions. With Minho, it’s impossible to tell when he’s joking or being serious. "Taking care of someone?" you repeat, your voice an octave higher.

Minho doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks at you with an expression that’s halfway between amused and deadpan. Then, out of nowhere, he says, "Taesoo knows."

You blink at him, utterly confused. "Knows what?"

"About us," Minho replies, his voice low but calm. "About the kiss. In the kitchen."

Your stomach drops. You feel faint all of a sudden, your knees wobbling under you. "Why didn’t you tell me earlier?" you ask, your voice trembling as your panic rises.

Minho tilts his head slightly, his gaze sharp as he studies your reaction. "Are you scared?" he asks simply.

You nod meekly, unable to form words as your fear takes over. "What should we do? We got caught too fast..."

Minho smirks, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Don’t be scared," he says, stepping closer. "If the other cooks find out, we’ll just leave the earth together. But first—"

"First?" you echo nervously.

"We’ll sew Taesoo’s lips shut so he can’t tell anyone," Minho says matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most logical solution. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "You can be the thread, and I’ll be the needle. Together, we’ll make sure he stays quiet."

You stare at him, unsure if you should laugh, cry, or run for your life. His words do nothing to ease your anxiety, and the amused look on his face only makes you more uneasy.

"Chef…" you start hesitantly, but the words die in your throat.

He steps back, his smirk widening as he gestures for you to pick up the bags. "Come on," he says, as if he didn’t just suggest something completely unhinged. "We’re almost there."

Still uneasy, you grab the bags reluctantly, your mind racing with questions. Whatever Minho has planned, you’re not sure you’re ready for it.

The rooftop feels colder than you anticipated, the crisp night air wrapping around you like a thin sheet of frost. The lights in Taesoo’s apartment are out, and after knocking on the door a few times to no response, you and Minho are left to wait. You sit together on a weathered wooden bench outside, the city sprawling below you. The view is breathtaking, the glow of city lights mimicking the stars above, both twinkling in their own rhythm.

You scoot closer to Minho, partly for warmth, partly because the moment feels intimate in a way you can't quite put into words. Your shoulder brushes against his, and the contact grounds you. The silence stretches on, comfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. You decide to break it.

“Chef,” you start softly, your breath forming faint clouds in the cold air. “Working in your kitchen, I’m more afraid of disappointing you as a cook than anyone finding out about… us.”

Minho’s gaze shifts to you, his sharp eyes softening slightly in the dim light. Encouraged, you continue, “I can take the scoldings, the whispering, all of it. But I don’t want to lean on you when I’m not good enough. I don’t want to be the weak link in your kitchen.”

You look down at your hands, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you’ve made yourself. But then you glance up at him and press on. “I like you and I want to lean on you, but I also want to stand on my own. It’s just… so hard to stand on my own sometimes.”

He smirks, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that infuriating, teasing way of his. “If it’s that hard, should we just give up?”

You know he’s joking, but you still pout at his words. “We haven’t even done anything yet!” you protest.

Minho raises an eyebrow, amused. “What haven’t we done?”

Instead of answering, you throw the question back at him. “What have we done?”

He clicks his tongue, leaning back against the bench. “What is it you want to do, then?”

“Everything,” you reply without hesitation.

“Everything, huh?” he repeats, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you. “You sure about that?”

“Everything,” you confirm, crossing your arms stubbornly.

Minho chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Fine, let’s do everything. But we’re going to be pretty busy sneaking around the kitchen.”

You burst out laughing, the sound ringing out into the quiet night. Without thinking, you playfully punch his chest, and Minho counters by wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. His voice drops to a low murmur, teasing, “Doing it in the freezer is that what you’re saying?”

The bubble of your shared laughter is suddenly burst when Taesoo appears, his voice cutting through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he says dramatically as he plops himself down between you and Minho, forcing you apart.

Minho glares at him, his irritation evident. “Where the hell have you been? Do you know how long we’ve been waiting?”

But Taesoo cups his hands around his mouth and shouts loudly enough for the whole city to hear, “Chef Lee is dating in the kitchen!”

Minho claps his hands mockingly, clearly unimpressed. “Louder. Let the entire neighborhood know.”

Taesoo grins and obliges, shouting even louder, “CHEF LEE IS DATING IN THE KITCHEN!”

Minho leans back, shaking his head in mock exasperation before casually wrapping an arm around Taesoo’s neck. “Now that the world knows, you have to keep it to yourself in the kitchen.”

When Taesoo doesn’t respond immediately, Minho tightens his arm around his neck in a playful headlock. “Got it?”

“Y-yes, Chef!” Taesoo splutters, tapping out in defeat.

Taesoo settles down between you and Minho, a mischievous grin plastered on his face after his dramatic outburst. Minho loosens his grip around Taesoo’s neck and lets out a mock sigh. “You’re lucky I don’t kick you off this rooftop right now.”

Taesoo laughs, rubbing his neck theatrically. “Relax, Chef. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, is it? After you just announced it like that?”

Taesoo grins wider but then glances at you, his playful demeanor softening just a touch. “I wouldn’t actually tell anyone, you know.”

Minho crosses his arms skeptically, but you lean in, curious. “Why not?” you ask gently.

Taesoo shrugs, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Because you’re the nicest to me in the kitchen. You’re the only one who treats me like I’m more than just a kitchen assistant. You talk to me like I matter, and... I’d feel bad if I went around blabbing about your business.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you blink at him for a moment before smiling warmly. “Taesoo... thank you. That really means a lot.”

Minho looks between the two of you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Well,” he says after a beat, his tone still teasing but less sharp, “I guess you’ve got one redeeming quality after all.”

“Only one?” Taesoo shoots back, grinning again.

You laugh, pulling out the food you brought and setting it on the bench between you. “Alright, enough with the compliments or Taesoo’s head won’t fit through the door. Let’s eat before everything gets cold.”

The three of you dig into the impromptu feast, the atmosphere light and comfortable. You feel relieved to know that only the three of you know about this secret, oh and maybe the billion of stars blinking at the night sky tonight. But you can count on them to keep it safe for you too.

The faint light of dawn paints the horizon in soft golds and pinks, bathing the streets in a tranquil glow. Minho grips the steering wheel loosely as he drives home, feeling uncharacteristically light. Tonight had been... cathartic, in a way he hadn’t expected, and now, as the city slowly stirs to life, he feels at peace for the first time in weeks.

He doesn’t need to glance to his right to know you’ve fallen asleep in the passenger seat. The steady rise and fall of your breathing fills the quiet car, a soothing rhythm that matches the calm of the morning. Minho allows himself a rare smile, pleased to see you resting after such a long day.

When he pulls into his parking spot, he cuts the engine and sits there for a moment, glancing over at you. Strands of hair have fallen across your face, and without thinking, Minho leans over, brushing them aside with a featherlight touch. Your face is serene, lost in some peaceful dream, and for a brief moment, he’s tempted to let you stay like this. But he knows it’s not good for you to sleep in the car too long.

“Wake up,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We're here.”

Your forehead creases as your eyes flutter open, a sleepy haze still clouding your gaze. Minho watches as you try to orient yourself, finding it strangely endearing. Gently, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“What time is it?” you mumble, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Early,” Minho replies simply, his lips quirking upward at the corners.

You blink a few times, then, in your drowsy state, ask, “What do you usually do at this hour?”

He chuckles lightly. “Wash up, hit the gym, sometimes I have breakfast... sometimes I don't.”

That earns a small laugh from you. “Same,” you say with a little grin, as though you’ve uncovered some shared secret.

Minho shakes his head, amused. “It doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?”

You roll your eyes but smile back, the kind of smile that lingers. “I just think it’s nice we have something in common.”

“Well, if it makes you this happy,” Minho teases, “should we have breakfast today?”

The offer takes you by surprise, and you tilt your head at him, curiosity glinting in your eyes. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” he replies coolly, leaning back in his seat. “Come over later. We’ll have breakfast together.”

You hesitate, your brows knitting together slightly as though unsure if he means it.

“Come on,” Minho coaxes, his tone playful now. “Make breakfast with me. I want to see if you can cook something other than pasta.”

Your lips twitch into a sassy smile as you shoot him a side-eye glance. “I can cook plenty of things besides pasta, thank you very much.”

“Good.” He smirks, satisfied. “Then come over and prove it. We’ll head to work together after.”

Your hesitation melts away, replaced by a shy but bright smile that warms something in Minho’s chest. “Okay,” you agree softly.

Minho plays it cool, gesturing toward the door. “Alright, get out of my car. You’re drooling on the upholstery.”

You laugh and swat at him lightly before stepping out, still smiling as you close the door behind you. Minho watches as you walk away, unable to help the small smile that lingers on his own face.

There’s no time to waste once you step into your apartment. Dropping your bag onto your bed, you head straight to the bathroom, craving the refreshing wake-up of a quick shower. The water washes away the weariness of the long night, and when you emerge, you feel lighter and more alert.

Stepping out, you spot Sara already dressed, her appearance neat and polished despite the early hour. She glances up and smiles faintly at you.

“Good morning,” she greets softly.

You return her smile, wrapping your towel tighter around you. “Morning. You’re up early.”

She hesitates, then says, “Can I have a word with you?”

Something about her tone makes you pause, but seeing no harm in it, you nod. “Sure. Let me just—”

“Here,” she interrupts, pouring coffee into a mug and offering it to you.

You accept it with a quiet “Thanks” and follow her to the living room. The air feels heavier than it should for such an ordinary start to the day.

Sara settles into the couch, taking a slow sip of her coffee. You mirror her, letting the warmth seep into your hands as you wait. She doesn’t speak immediately, and you realize she’s stalling. Her smile is polite but thin, her eyes flitting between you and the coffee in her hands.

Finally, she breaks the silence. “Where were you and Minho coming back from?”

Her question catches you off guard. Your heart skips as you realize she must have seen you together—either in the parking lot or in the car.

“Taesoo’s place. We had some food together,” you answer simply, careful to spare her the details.

Sara nods, her gaze briefly dropping to her mug. She takes another sip, prompting you to do the same.

“I think you already know,” she starts slowly, her voice laced with hesitation, “that Minho and I didn’t just study together in Italy.”

You say nothing, sensing she isn’t looking for a response.

“We were... deeply in love,” she continues, her words steady now, as if she’s rehearsed them. “We were in a relationship. Rivals, yes, but also partners. We had dreams of becoming chefs in Italy together.”

She pauses, her eyes scanning your face. You remain quiet, cradling the mug in both hands as if its warmth could shield you from the vulnerability of the moment.

“But I made a mistake,” she admits, her voice softer. “I was greedy, and I lost him.”

Her gaze hardens slightly as she leans forward. “But Minho... he’s the only man I’ve ever wanted to be accepted by. As a chef. And as a woman.”

You feel your chest tighten as her words sink in. She’s not just baring her past—she’s staking her claim.

“And earlier,” Sara adds, her voice sharper now, “I saw the same look on your face.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and she presses on.

“I wanted to ask sooner,” she confesses, “but I was cautious. We work together. Live together. But now, I have to ask—do you like Minho?”

Her gaze pierces through you. “Is that how you feel, or am I mistaken?”

Your heart races, but you force yourself to stay composed and hold her gaze firmly as you answer, “No. You’re not mistaken at all.”

The confidence in your voice surprises even you. You’ve suspected for a while now that Sara’s return wasn’t just about proving herself as a chef but also about rekindling something with Minho. And while you don’t owe her an explanation, it feels like she’s doing this on purpose—To mess with your head.

Sara blinks, her expression faltering for a split second before she nods slowly. “Ah, I see,”

She opens her mouth to say something else—probably to cut you down—but you don’t give her the chance.

“I'm sorry but I need to get ready for work,” you say briskly, standing up. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Without waiting for a response, you head to your bedroom, closing the door firmly behind you but it seems like Sara is already succeed on messing with your head.

Minho leans against the counter in his apartment, staring at the now-cold plates of food he had meticulously prepared. The aroma of the breakfast he’d been looking forward to had faded hours ago, replaced by an unsettling quiet that seemed to echo his disappointment. He had waited long enough, but you never showed.

Sitting alone, Minho ate in silence, each bite more hollow than the last. Your absence lingered in his mind, nagging at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Did something go wrong? Did he misread the situation? His chest tightened at the thought that something might have happened to you.

Now at the restaurant, Minho stands in the hall, his arms crossed as he keeps an ear out for the sound of footsteps. When he finally hears them, his heart skips—but it’s only Taesoo. The younger man approaches, his usual meek demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic confidence. They exchange a knowing glance, and Taesoo silently zips his mouth shut with a gesture. Minho nods in acknowledgment, watching as Taesoo disappears into the locker room without another word.

Still, Minho stays where he is, debating whether to call you. Then, finally, he hears more footsteps coming up the stairs. His heart leaps, and he straightens up as you appear at the top. But something’s different.

The brightness he’s grown used to seeing in your face is gone, replaced by a faint scowl that unsettles him. Your shoulders are tense, and your expression is clouded, as though a storm is brewing behind your eyes.

Minho’s heart sinks further when you don’t even glance his way, heading straight for the locker room as if he doesn’t exist.

“Hey, you!” He calls, his voice steady despite the unease creeping into his chest.

You stop but don’t turn to face him until his fingers gesture for you to come closer. Reluctantly, you obey, stepping forward without meeting his eyes.

Lowering his voice, Minho asks, “Why didn’t you come over for breakfast?”

You stare at him, your silence louder than any words could be. There’s something raw in your eyes—something that makes his stomach twist.

“What’s wrong?” he presses, his tone softer now. “Did something happen? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

Your voice is quiet but sharp as you reply, “Yes. Someone did hurt me.”

Minho straightens, alarm flashing across his face. “Who?” he demands, his voice firm. “Who hurt you?”

You look at him, your gaze cutting like a blade. “You did.”

The words hit him like a slap. His eyes widen in disbelief.

“Me?” he shrieks, his voice higher than intended. “When did I—what are you talking about?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you mutter something under your breath—too low for him to catch—then clamp your mouth shut, as though the words are too dangerous to say aloud.

Before Minho can ask again, you punch him square in the chest. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to startle him.

“What the—” Minho stares at you, flabbergasted.

“You deserved that,” you say, your voice trembling with something he can’t place—anger, hurt, or maybe both.

Before he can recover, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing there in stunned silence.

Minho watches you go, his chest still stinging—not from the punch, but from the sharp, cutting weight of your words. He stands frozen, replaying everything in his mind and if something wrong happened in between this morning and now.

Minho stands at the chef’s table, surveying the bustling kitchen as the lunch service begins. The usual energy fills the air, but his eyes are drawn to you. Your glum expression hasn’t changed since you walked into the restaurant this morning, and it’s unsettling.

Pushing personal concerns aside, Minho claps his hands to gather the kitchen’s attention. “Listen up! It’s graduation and admission season, which means family gatherings are in full swing. People want separate pasta dishes rather than full-course meals, so expect an overload of pasta orders today.”

The staff murmurs their acknowledgment, and Minho continues. “Pasta line will handle all the orders without help from entrée chefs unless absolutely necessary. It won’t be easy, but I trust you’ll manage.”

The kitchen erupts into motion as the first few orders come through. Minho shouts them out, and the organized chaos begins. As predicted, pasta orders flood in, pushing the pasta line to their limit.

You approach Minho’s chef’s table, placing two plates in front of him. “How many more?” he asks, inspecting the dishes.

“I still have four more after this, Chef,” you reply, your tone distracted.

Sara steps up, placing her plates on the table. “I’m done with my orders,” she announces, glancing at Minho. “Give me orders!”

Minho nods and redirects some of your orders to Sara, sending you back to your station. But as he observes you, it’s clear that something is off. Your movements are out of rhythm, uncharacteristically sloppy. Clams slosh out of your pan and onto the floor.

“You!” Minho snaps, his voice cutting through the clamor. “Did the clams come all the way here just to dive onto the kitchen floor?”

“I’m sorry, chef” you mumble, quickly picking up the pace.

But it doesn’t get better. Your cooking remains erratic, and Minho’s patience wears thin. He strides over to you and extends his hand. “Give it to me,” he orders, eyeing the pan.

You shake your head, gripping the handle tightly. “I’ll do it, Chef. I'll do it myself.”

Minho stares at you, his frustration mounting. “Do it right, then,” he mutters, stepping back to watch.

When you finally place the dish on his table, Minho takes one look and frowns. The pasta glistens with an unappetizing sheen, and the clams sit lifelessly atop it. He picks up a fork, poking at the dish before placing it down with a sharp clink.

“What’s the matter with you?” he demands, his voice rising. “The pasta and oil aren’t emulsified. Your hands and your mind aren’t working together—just like this dish. Now, what’s wrong with you?”

The kitchen falls silent. All eyes are on you as you stand there, head bowed. Minho’s stomach twists, guilt creeping in despite his annoyance.

“I’m sorry, chef” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I’ll do it again.”

“No,” Minho says firmly. He turns to Sara. “Take over the rest of her orders. Total of six, go!”

You nod, defeated, and return to your station. Minho watches as you scrape the failed dish into the trash, the weight of his scolding visible in the slump of your shoulders.

He sighs and calls you back to the chef’s table. You approach hesitantly, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Do you know why we stir these clam shells in the frying pan when we can't even eat them? You think we put in those shells that are ten times their size so we can eat the tiny bit of clam in them?” Minho begins, keeping his tone steady. “It is to keep the clam juice inside the shell. As it opens up, it should release fresh clam juice. For that reason, you have to stir at the same speed with the same strength so that all clams get cooked and opens up simultaneously. That is the key to make vongole.”

You nod but don’t meet his gaze.

“Aren't you going to answer me?” Minho presses.

“Yes, chef,” you reply softly, still avoiding his eyes.

The meekness in your voice is jarring, so unlike your usual spirited self. Minho waves you back to your station, but the sight of your retreating figure only deepens his confusion. What in the world is going on with you?

Minho’s head is already swimming with frustration as he walks toward Chris’s office after the dinner service. The last thing he wants is another conversation with the restaurant’s manager, but the summons was clear. He drags his feet, feeling the weight of the long day pulling at his shoulders.

Reaching the door, Minho knocks half-heartedly and waits until Chris’s voice grants him permission to enter. He steps in to find Chris tidying up his desk, moving stacks of papers into neat piles.

“Please, have a seat,” Chris says, gesturing to the sofa across the room as he joins Minho there.

Minho sits, his patience thin, and looks at Chris expectantly.

Chris wastes no time. The second he's seated on the sofa across from him, he asks, “How do you feel about sharing the chef’s office with Sara starting tomorrow?”

Minho’s brow furrows, the question catching him off guard. “Is that an order?” he asks flatly.

Chris leans forward, clasping his hands together. “Sara’s a chef, just like you. I don’t think it’s right for her to share a room full of guys who clearly don’t make her feel welcome. It’s only fair she has a better environment to work in.”

Minho doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t want to.”

Chris blinks, surprised by the blunt rejection. “It’ll help you two work better together. Sharing the space will make communication easier and—”

“I don’t want to,” Minho interrupts firmly, his voice low but resolute.

Chris leans back, exhaling in exasperation. “Sara deserves the same respect and facilities as any other chef. She has every right to use that office. Am I the one not making sense here?”

Minho leans forward, his eyes sharp as he looks around Chris’s spacious office. “Your office is nice and big,” he remarks, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Why don’t you bring Sara here instead? Let her share this space with you. Or is this really about what’s best for her? Maybe it’s more about what’s best for you.”

Chris’s face tightens, but he doesn’t respond immediately. Minho stands, brushing off invisible lint from his jacket.

“You can start by being honest about that,” Minho says coldly, heading toward the door.

“Chef,” Chris calls out, his tone final. “You’ll be sharing the room with Sara starting tomorrow.”

Minho doesn’t stop walking, his hand gripping the door handle. Without looking back, he steps out of the office and into the hallway.

Chris can insist all he wants, but Minho isn’t going to give in easily.

The parking lot is quiet, with only the faint hum of distant cars breaking the silence. Minho walks briskly toward his car, his thoughts scattered. He tries to focus on the day ahead tomorrow, but his mind drifts back to you—your distant expression, your unsteady hands, your reluctance to meet his gaze. He shakes his head, frustrated with himself for letting it bother him so much.

Just as he turns a corner, he spots you. Sitting on the steps leading to the dining hall, you’re hunched forward, your shoulders slightly slumped as if the weight of the day is pressing down on you.

Minho’s steps slow instinctively. Before he knows it, he’s approaching you. He stops three steps away and clears his throat to make his presence known.

Your head snaps back, startled, and then you quickly bow slightly. “Thank you for your hard work today, Chef,” you say, your tone polite but distant.

Minho clicks his tongue softly. He’s used to this—your tendency to put up a professional front when there’s something deeper bothering you. He sits on the steps, his posture relaxed, but his gaze fixed on you.

“Are you upset because I scolded you earlier?” he asks, his voice steady but probing. “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve been yelled at.”

You sigh, your gaze dropping to your hands. “It’s not just that,” you admit quietly. “Getting scolded... hurts my pride now.”

Minho tilts his head slightly, clicking his tongue again. “That’s a good thing,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

You glance at him, frowning slightly, but you continue. “It feels even worse now because... it felt like I was being compared to Chef Sara. Like I’ll never measure up.”

Understanding dawns on Minho, and he nods subtly. He remembers those days—when he was the one being compared, his pride crushed over and over until he thought he’d break.

He leans forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “Getting your pride hurt is how you get better,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “If you just think your seniors are naturally better than you, you’ll never improve. Not in a million years.”

You look at him, your lips slowly curling into a faint smile.

“Being compared to someone better than you is what pushes you to catch up,” Minho continues. “And trust me, you will catch up. But you’ll only get there if you let that comparison push you, not break you.”

Your smile widens a little, and Minho feels a small sense of satisfaction. “From tomorrow on,” he warns with a smirk, “I’m going to compare you to Sara even more. I’m going to crush your pride even worse.”

Despite his words, your smile grows wider, your eyes softening as you look at him. “Yes, Chef,” you say softly, the words carrying a warmth that lingers in the air.

Minho moves down the steps, sitting next to you now. His voice lowers, the usual sharpness replaced by something more intimate. “Just because I like you doesn’t mean anything changes,” he says quietly. “You’ll still have to swallow your pride. More than ever.”

Your gaze flicks to him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yes, Chef,” you repeat, and Minho chuckles softly at the words he’s grown to love hearing from you.

Silence falls between you, but it’s the comfortable kind. The night air is cool, and the world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you in this moment.

After a while, you break the silence, your voice soft. “Having your pride wounded... is that really a good thing?”

Minho glances at you, his smirk returning. “Yes,” he says simply. “When you’re in trouble or your pride’s hurt, don’t get sad. Get even. Stand up tall and be jealous—it’s better than wilting like a dead plant.”

You chuckle softly, the sound light and genuine. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “What did I tell you to be?”

“To be jealous,” you reply, your smile growing.

“That’s right,” Minho says, his signature smirk deepening.

Silence falls again, but this time, it feels even more intimate. The tension between you is almost palpable, and when you turn to him again, your eyes meet his.

“I’m going to become a chef you can be proud of,” you say, your voice filled with quiet determination.

Minho’s chest tightens at your words, a wave of affection crashing over him. The sincerity in your eyes, the way you want to make him proud—it’s endearing, almost too much to bear.

If you weren’t here, at the restaurant, he’d kiss you right here, right now. Instead, he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around your writst.

“It's cold. Let’s go home, mmh?” he says softly, standing and pulling you to your feet. You follow without hesitation, your hand still in his as Minho takes you home.

The moment the door to Minho’s apartment clicks shut behind you, the air between you shifts, charged with tension that had been simmering for weeks. You barely have time to glance around his apartment before Minho steps closer, his dark eyes fixed on yours.

“Finally,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with impatience.

Before you can respond, his hands cup your face, and his lips crash onto yours with a fiery intensity. The kiss is urgent, almost desperate, as if he’s been holding himself back for too long. Your hands instinctively clutch at his shirt, gripping the fabric as his lips move against yours, soft yet insistent.

Minho’s fingers slide down to your waist, tugging you closer until there’s no space left between you. His touch is firm but gentle, his hands warm as they settle on your hips. He pulls back for a fraction of a second, his breath mingling with yours as he stares at you, his pupils blown wide.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been holding back,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper.

Before you can reply, he bends slightly and scoops you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. You gasp softly, your arms wrapping around his neck for balance as he carries you to the sofa.

Minho lowers you onto the cushions with care but doesn’t waste a second before leaning over you, his hands framing your face as he captures your lips again. This time, the kiss is deeper, hungrier, and you respond with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The heat between you is palpable, every touch and kiss filled with emotions he’s kept bottled up—desire, affection, frustration, and something deeper he hasn’t yet put into words. His lips trail down your jawline, leaving a scorching path as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

Your breaths come faster, your heart pounding as his hands roam, his touch leaving sparks in its wake. Minho pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze intense and filled with an emotion that makes your stomach flip.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice barely above a growl.

You shake your head, breathless, and he leans in again, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that’s softer this time but no less consuming. His hands find yours, intertwining your fingers as he presses you deeper into the sofa.

Every kiss, every touch feels like a confession, a way for Minho to pour out all the feelings he’s been holding back. And as you kiss him back, just as fervently, you let him know without words that you feel the same.

Minho hovers over you, his eyes roaming your face, drinking in every detail. Your flushed cheeks, the slight parting of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls rapidly—it’s enough to drive him mad. Slowly, deliberately, his hands move to your shirt, fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it over your head and tosses it aside.

His breath hitches as he takes in the sight of you, his lips curving into a faint smirk. His hands move with purpose, tracing over your shoulders and down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his fingers find the clasp of your bra, he pauses, his gaze flickering to yours for permission. The soft nod you give him is all he needs. With practiced ease, he unhooks it, sliding the straps down your arms and discarding it.

Once the bra is out of the way, Minho glides his hands up to your ribcage and moves them to the side to cup your soft mound, fingers lightly rubbing the hardening buds, but his eyes... they remain locked with yours. They're dark and wide, filled with lust.

You mirror his movements, your fingers fumbling slightly as you unbutton his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to reveal the taut muscles of his chest. Your touch is hesitant at first, but as your hands run over his warm skin, Minho lets out a low hum, his eyes darkening with desire.

Piece by piece, the barrier of clothing between you disappears. Minho watches you with a mix of admiration and hunger, his hands grazing your bare skin, memorizing every curve, every dip.

He leans in, his lips pressing softly against your collarbone. From there, he works his way down, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin, each one lingering longer than the last. When his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, you gasp, your fingers tightening on his shoulders.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice possessive as he leaves a mark there, a reminder of this moment.

Minho doesn’t stop there. His lips travel lower, over your chest, your stomach, your hips, your thighs... each kiss filled with reverence and passion. Every mark he leaves feels like a promise, a declaration of everything he can’t put into words.

“Mine, mine, mine,” that's all Minho can mutter with his lips pressed to your skin.

When he returns to your lips, his kisses are slower, deeper, as if he wants to savor every second. His hands cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he whispers your name.

“You are mine,” he says, his voice raw with emotion, before pressing his forehead to yours.

The next thing you know, your back resting on his chest, your legs parting open and Minho’s hand relentlessly touching, teasing your bundle of nerves. You're squirming against him, moans spilling out of your mouth and Minho tries his best to contain it by kissing you.

As you spill your release on his hand, you turn your head to the side and he immediately captures your lips in a hard, deep kiss that steals your breath away.

Swiftly, he turns you over, having you lying on your side next to him. His hand curves around your thigh before lifting your leg over his, allowing him the access to penetrate you from the back. His fingers have no problem finding your clit, applying gentle pressures on it as he pushes his length inside you. Your moans are low and sultry, the kind that he won’t get tired of hearing over and over again, spilling out from your mouth until he's fully sheathed inside you. He then pulls you close until your body molds into his, becoming one.

With gentle but deliberate movements, Minho guides you into a rhythm, his touch and kisses all-consuming. Every movement feels like an unspoken conversation, his body communicating what words can’t: desire, care, devotion.

In the quiet intimacy of his apartment, with only the sound of your breaths and the occasional murmured name, Minho makes love to you, pouring everything he feels into every kiss, every touch, every whispered word.

Minho pulls a blanket from the side of the sofa, unfolding it with careful hands. The fabric is soft and worn, a perfect cocoon for the two of you. He drapes it over your bodies, tucking it around your shoulders before settling back against the cushions. There isn’t much space on the sofa, but that’s what he likes about it. No gaps between you, no room for anything but closeness. Every small movement has your skin brushing against his, your warmth sinking into him.

As your chest rises and falls with each breath, Minho unconsciously syncs his breathing with yours. The rhythm is soothing, intimate, as though your bodies are speaking their own language. Your head rests on his chest, one hand folded beneath your chin, and he can feel the softness of your eyelashes grazing his skin whenever you shift slightly.

“Hey,” he calls softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilt your head up, your eyes locking with his almost immediately. For a moment, he forgets what he was going to say, caught in the quiet brilliance of your gaze. His hand lifts to brush his hair back, steadying himself before he continues.

“From now on,” he begins, his tone even and measured, “I’m going to scold you non-stop in the kitchen.”

You blink at him, waiting for more.

“That way,” he adds, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “no one will get suspicious about us.”

A smile blooms on your face, and you nod. “Yes, Chef.”

Minho chuckles softly. “When I scream at you, just remind yourself—it’s my way of showing affection, okay?”

You nod again, that playful glint in your eye as you reply, “Yes, Chef.” But then, after a pause, you tilt your head, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “So… the more you scream, the stronger your affection?”

Minho’s smirk deepens, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Exactly.”

You giggle, the sound light and infectious, and he can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at how easily he can amuse you. Your hand reaches up, fingers gently curling under his chin as you hold his face still.

“What about when you’re being nice?” you ask, your tone soft but teasing. “Does that mean you don’t like me then?”

“No,” Minho shakes his head, his gaze steady. “It means I like you too,” he answers simply.

You giggle again, your face lighting up as you lean closer. “So basically, you’re going to show me affection all day long.”

A smile breaks across his face, warm and genuine. “That’s right,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “I’m going to shower you with so much affection, you won’t even have time to complain. And if all that love and affection doesn’t make you better, then you’re in serious trouble.”

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch. “Got it?”

Your lips curve into a smile as you answer in that soft, melodic tone he’s come to adore. “Yes, Chef.”

The way you say it melts something in him, because to him, it's not just an expression of obedience but also devotion, and before he can stop himself, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is soft, tender at first, but he pulls away for only a second before diving back in, capturing your lips in a long, lingering kiss.

When he finally breaks away, it’s only to pull you closer, tucking you firmly against him. The two of you stay like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, until sleep gently claims you both.

You step out of the bedroom, still stretching the remnants of sleep from your limbs, and head toward the kitchen. The comforting hum of the coffee machine fills the quiet apartment as you prepare to make your morning coffee.

The front door creaks open, and Sara walks in, looking flushed and energized, like she’s just finished a workout. You offer her a polite smile and a soft, “Good morning.”

She returns the smile, her expression kind but guarded. “Good morning.”

“Coffee?” you ask, gesturing toward the machine.

Sara shakes her head. “No, thanks.” She moves to the other side of the counter, grabbing herself a glass of water.

For a moment, the kitchen is quiet, the only sound the faint gurgling of the coffee machine. Sara breaks the silence, her voice measured but clear. “I thought about what I said to you yesterday—whether it was wrong to tell you.” She pauses, taking a sip of water. “But now that I’ve said it, I think it was the right thing to do.”

You slowly turn to face her, leaning back against the counter as you meet her gaze. The warmth of the brewing coffee lingers in the air, grounding you.

“Thank you,” you say, your tone calm but sincere. “For being honest with me. For telling me the truth.”

Sara’s lips curve into a faint smile, and she takes a step closer, though she’s careful to maintain a respectful distance.

“I think the only way to do this is for us to do things our way,” she says, her voice steady and confident. “And because I promised Minho when I came to Farfalle that I’d be fair, I’ll only play fair and be honest—in everything. Including in getting him back.”

Her words are bold, but there’s no malice in her tone. It’s a simple declaration, as straightforward as a chef presenting a dish: no frills, no pretenses.

You tilt your head slightly, listening intently. There’s something admirable in her directness, her willingness to lay everything bare without disguising her intentions.

“If not,” she continues, her gaze unwavering, “then this victory wouldn’t mean anything to me.” She takes another sip of her water, her expression unreadable. “What do you think?”

You can see it now, the unspoken challenge in her words—a duel not fought with knives and flames in the kitchen, but with hearts and intentions.

You allow a small smile to form, meeting her eyes with a steady gaze. “Okay.”

Your single-word response hangs in the air, an agreement, an acceptance of the unspoken competition between you. Sara nods slightly, her expression firm but not hostile.

And as the coffee machine beeps, signaling your cup is ready, you can’t help but feel a quiet determination settling in your chest. Sara might be better in the kitchen than you but you’re competing for a whole different thing now and you're ready for it.

Minho’s good mood evaporates the moment he steps into his office and finds two members of the service staff maneuvering a desk through the doorway. His eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of them positioning it into the corner of the already cramped space.

“What are you doing?” Minho snaps, his voice sharp enough to make the workers pause mid-action.

“The manager told us to move this in here,” one of them answers hesitantly, gesturing toward the desk.

Minho clenches his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening. He distinctly remembers telling Chris he didn’t want to share his office, but it seems like Chris doesn’t care about what he wants.

Storming out of the room, Minho makes a beeline for Chris’s office, his steps quick and deliberate. Before he gets there, though, he spots Chris in the dining hall, clipboard in hand, inspecting the setup.

Minho stops in front of him, crossing his arms. “I told you I don’t want to share the office,” he says, his tone low but laced with irritation.

Chris looks up, meeting Minho’s intense gaze without flinching. “And I told you this was going to happen.” His voice is calm, almost infuriatingly so.

Chris doesn’t back down, holding Minho’s stare with equal intensity. “Why are you being so narrow-minded?”

Minho’s jaw tightens further. “Why are you narrowing my space?”

The two engage in a fiery standoff, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. Minho feels his patience wearing thin, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface. If this goes on any longer, he knows he’ll explode.

Without another word, Minho turns on his heel and storms away, opting for a different tactic. If Chris won’t listen, maybe Sara will.

He heads to the kitchen and spots her near the stock station, carefully stirring a pot of broth. Minho stops in his tracks, his frustration momentarily replaced by a flicker of professional instinct. The kitchen has been having issues with the stock lately, and he knows it needs to be addressed.

Deciding to step back, Minho retreats to his office and pulls out his phone. He fires off a quick text to Felix, asking him to meet in the office to discuss it.

A few minutes later, Felix strides into the office, his usual laid-back demeanor intact. He stands in front of Minho, hands in his pockets, waiting for him to speak.

Minho leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “We need to make a decision about this stock problem. Either we give in to Sara’s way, or she gives in to ours.”

Felix doesn’t hesitate, his answer immediate. “It's only right if she gives in. That was the only possible conclusion from the start.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at the certainty in Felix’s voice.

Felix shrugs. “If I thought I was going to give in, I wouldn’t have left the kitchen in the first place. I stand by what I said.”

Minho takes that in, nodding slightly. “Do you like the taste?”

Felix pulls a face, cringing dramatically. “It’s not that good, and I didn’t like it at all. Honestly, she’s just trying to win the power struggle.”

Minho nods again, this time slower, as if processing Felix’s words. “Alright,” he says, dismissing Felix with a slight wave of his hand.

Felix leaves without another word, and Minho leans back in his chair, staring at the desk that now occupies the corner of his office. He needs space—not just physically, but mentally—to figure out how to deal with both the office and the stock problem. But regardless of that, Minho has a feeling that Sara will still win, one way or another.

You finish tying the knot on your apron as you step out of the locker room, ready to start your shift. The sound of hurried footsteps behind you is your only warning before Felix grabs your arm, practically dragging you toward the kitchen.

"Felix, what—" you begin, stumbling slightly to keep up, but he interrupts you, speaking in a hushed tone.

"Chef asked me about Sara’s stock earlier," he says, his voice urgent. "And I, uh, might have told him I tasted it."

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes widening in horror. "What?! You lied about tasting it?"

Felix pulls you forward again, muttering, "It’s not lying if I already know what chicken stock tastes like."

"Felix!" you hiss, your voice rising slightly in panic. "That’s a fatal mistake! You know how thorough Chef is—how could you mess that up?"

"I panicked, okay?" Felix defends himself as the two of you step into the kitchen. "And it’s not like I’m completely wrong. Chicken stock is chicken stock."

You let out a frustrated groan, heading straight for the stove where Sara’s pot of stock still sits. Grabbing a ladle, you pour some into a small bowl, taking a spoonful to taste. The flavor hits your palate, and your stomach drops.

"This… this isn’t chicken stock," you say, turning to Felix with wide eyes.

Felix leans closer, frowning. "What do you mean? It tastes like it."

"It’s not," you insist, setting the bowl down. "Come on, we need to test this properly."

The two of you set to work, comparing Sara’s stock with the vegetable stock the kitchen has been using. You each cook three pastas, pairing them with white, red, and cream-based sauces. Once everything is plated, you spread them across Minho’s chef’s table, ready to taste and compare.

First, you both try the white sauce pasta. You twirl a forkful around and take a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "It’s not bad," you admit, "but the wine in the sauce stands out more than the stock. It doesn’t blend as well."

Felix nods, echoing your observation. "Yeah, it’s… okay. But not groundbreaking."

Next, you move to the cream sauce. Felix takes a bite first, his expression neutral. "The cream’s so rich, it overpowers everything else," he says.

You taste it for yourself and nod in agreement. "Yeah, there’s barely a difference."

Finally, you both dig into the red sauce pasta. The moment the flavor hits your tongue, you and Felix exchange wide-eyed looks.

"Wow," you breathe, genuinely impressed.

Felix lets out a low whistle. "She was right. The stock brings out the tomatoes’ savoriness, and the aroma—it’s so much better."

He runs a hand through his bleached blonde hair, ruining his already messy bun, and groans. "We should’ve tasted this before deciding anything."

You immediately snap your head toward him. "We? You’re the one in trouble here, Felix. Don’t drag me into your mess again."

Felix pales, realization dawning on him. He grumbles, "If Chef finds out we objected without even tasting it first, he’s going to make us take our uniforms off."

You let out a long sigh, tasting more of the red sauce pasta as Felix spirals. "Let me correct you again—you’re the one who’s in trouble, not us and definitely not me."

Felix continues to grumble under his breath, but you’re too focused on the food in front of you. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re impressed with Sara. Despite everyone being against her, she didn’t back down—and she proved herself. You take another bite, silently marveling at how bold and unwavering she was. Whether you like it or not, she’s earned a little respect.

The lunch service begins with the usual chaos brewing in the air, the kind that buzzes with both adrenaline and tension. Sara strides confidently to her station, placing a container of her stock front and center as if it were her crown jewel. Felix lets out an audible scoff beside you, muttering under his breath, "We don’t even have space for that."

You can’t tell if he intended for Sara to hear, but she does. Her lips curl into a smirk as she turns her head slightly, saying with calm confidence, "Why don’t we just unify it into one stock? Though for now," she adds, "I’ll only be using it for my triple-flavored pasta."

Caught between them, you feel the tension simmering, and a nagging thought creeps in—Felix's truth, or rather his lie, is bound to come back and bite him at some point.

Minho’s commanding voice pulls everyone’s attention to the chef’s table. "It’s graduation day," he announces, his presence radiating authority. "There'll be a flood for pasta orders. I want you to move your pans so fast that they're just a blur to me. Are we ready?"

"Yes, Chef!" the kitchen replies in unison, and the hum of anticipation turns into a full-blown symphony as the first tickets begin to roll in. The energy shifts instantly as the kitchen comes alive, the sound of sizzling pans and clattering utensils filling the space.

As you juggle pans in both hands, Minho appears at your station, his sharp gaze locked on your movements. He watches silently for a moment before stepping closer, reaching out to hold your wrists. His hands guide yours as he says, "Keep the rhythm fast but steady."

It’s impossible to keep your heartbeat calm with his touch commanding so much of your focus, especially when it’s in full view of the bustling kitchen. You glance at him, your lips twitching into a sly smile.

"Yes, Chef," you manage to say, hoping your voice sounds steadier than you feel.

He nods, releasing your hands, but not before reminding you, "Use your wrist for balance," before moving to Felix’s station.

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho’s sharp instincts kick in the second he watches Felix work. "Add more sauce," Minho orders, his tone direct. Felix, flustered, grabs a ladle from the container but accidentally knocks the entire thing over. The vegetable stock spills onto the stove and cascades onto the floor in a steaming mess.

The room freezes for a split second before Minho’s voice cuts through the chaos like a whip. "What are you doing? Don't you know how busy we are right now?"

Felix stammers out an apology, scrambling to clean up, but Minho is already turning to Taesoo. "Taesoo, why are you just standing there? Get him more stock!"

Taesoo hesitates, his brows furrowing. "Chef… that was the last of the vegetable stock. I was planning to make more after lunch... during prep time."

Minho’s eyes flick to Sara’s pot of stock, then back to Taesoo. "What is that then?"

"That’s Chef Sara’s stock," Taesoo meekly answers.

Minho’s jaw tightens, conflicted. "Change the stock now!"

Taesoo stutters as he asks Minho for confirmation. "To Chef Sara’s stock?"

"Then are you going to cook the pasta without stock?" Minho snaps, his patience running thin.

Taesoo complies, placing the container in front of Felix, whose face pales as though he’s staring at a loaded gun. He glances at you, muttering something you can’t catch.

You glare at him and through your gritted teeth, you say, "Don’t look at me. You dug this hole. You deal with it."

Felix grimaces as he reluctantly dips the ladle into Sara’s stock and pours it into his pan. Minho, ever perceptive, notices the brief exchange between you two. Without hesitation, he steps in between, dipping his wooden spatula into Felix’s pan to taste.

His expression falters for a moment, and he immediately tastes the stock on its own. The room feels heavy with silence as Minho’s piercing gaze lands on Felix, daggers practically shooting from his eyes. You exhale quietly, grateful beyond words that it’s not you standing in Felix’s shoes right now.

The rooftop air bites with cold, sharp gusts of wind cutting through the stillness, but Minho’s anger burns hotter than the chill. Felix and Taesoo stand before him, Felix’s defiance cracking at the edges, while Taesoo’s confusion is written all over his face.

What pisses Minho off the most about this isn’t just about Felix lying about Sara’s stock, it's because Felix lied about something he asked for his genuine opinion on and Felix let his petty hatred for Sara cloud his judgment like that. Minho takes a deliberate, unrelenting step toward him. His voice is low but sharp, like the edge of a knife as he asks, “You lied about the taste and you call yourself a chef?”

Felix flinches, his jaw tightening, but says nothing. Minho presses on, his voice rising. “While Sara spent hours, days, perfecting her recipe—while she was working, what were you doing? Criticizing? Lying? Wasting my time?” His arms fold tightly across his chest. “Do you honestly think you deserve to make pasta if this is how you act?”

Felix opens his mouth to defend himself, but Taesoo suddenly raises his hand hesitantly, like a schoolboy caught off guard. “Chef, I don’t mean to interrupt, but… why am I here?”

Minho shoots him a glare that could freeze fire. “You’re here because you didn’t make enough stock in the first place! What kind of kitchen runs out of stock during lunch service, huh? You’re supposed to anticipate these things!”

Taesoo shrinks under the weight of the scolding, muttering, “Yes, Chef.”

Minho’s voice drops to an icy tone. “Both of you—take your uniforms off.”

Felix’s eyes widen, his face going pale. “Chef, are you firing me?” he asks, panic creeping into his voice. “I know I was wrong, but— I left everything and came back from Italy when you asked me for help. How could you fire me like this?”

“Who said I was firing you?” Minho cuts him off, his tone as sharp as a blade. “I said take off your uniforms. Now.”

Taesoo blinks, his confusion deepening. “But, Chef… it’s cold.”

“I don’t care if it’s freezing,” Minho snaps. “Take it off! NOW!!!”

Reluctantly, Felix starts undoing his necktie, while Taesoo removes his chef hat. Slowly, they unbutton their chef coats, the icy wind biting at their exposed skin. Minho watches them without flinching, his expression unyielding.

The rooftop door creaks open, and you step out, pausing to take in the bizarre scene. Felix and Taesoo are shivering, with nothing covering their upper half bodies, while Minho stands before them like a judge handing down a sentence. He doesn’t acknowledge your arrival.

“How does it feel to take your uniforms off? Do you like it?” Minho asks, his tone dripping with disdain.

“No, Chef,” they reply in unison, their voices shaky as they hug themselves.

“Do you want to keep them off and stop cooking?”

“No, Chef.”

Minho steps closer, his gaze piercing. “If I catch either of you pulling something like this again, I’ll make sure you’ll never put those uniforms back on. Understood?”

“Yes, Chef,” they answer, trembling in the cold.

After letting the silence hang for a moment, Minho delivers the final blow. “Each of you owes me 100 push-ups. Start now.”

Felix groans under his breath, but neither dares to protest. They drop to the ground, their voices echoing across the rooftop as they start counting their push-ups.

Minho finally turns to you, sitting on the bench. You wordlessly hand him a lollipop, which he takes with a small, amused smirk. For a while, the two of you sit there, savoring your lollipops as Felix and Taesoo struggle through their punishment.

You glance at Minho. “What are you going to do now, chef?”

He withdraw his lollipop out of his mouth and raises a brow at you. “What?”

You pull your lollipop out of your mouth, twirling it between your fingers. “You’re going to have to acknowledge Chef Sara’s stock now that the sauces tasted better with it.”

Minho narrows his eyes, though there’s a faint conflict in them. Before you can press further, he turns his attention back to Felix and Taesoo. “Count louder! I can’t hear you!”

Their voices rise, and Minho leans back, savoring the sweet taste of his lollipop that masks the bitterness on having to accept his defeat to Sara.

Minho’s fingers drum rhythmically against the empty desk in his office, the sound filling the silence. The restaurant had another successful day, but exhaustion hangs heavy over him, though his thoughts weigh even more. Your question keeps looping in his mind, gnawing at him. What are you going to do now?

He sighs, staring at the desk like it might provide an answer. It doesn’t. His finger tapping grows sharper, almost impatient, as he wrestles with his thoughts. He hates it—admitting someone else is right. But Sara was right about her stock, and as much as it grates him, Chris’s words echo too. She deserves the same respect as a chef.

After another moment of frustration, Minho lets out a resigned huff and pulls out his phone. He types a short text to Sara, his fingers moving quickly: "Meet me in my office."

It doesn’t take long before there’s a knock at the door. Minho straightens, pushing himself off the desk. “Come in,” he calls out.

Sara steps in, the faint smile on her lips betraying none of the exhaustion he feels. She approaches confidently, her posture relaxed yet professional, her eyes meeting his.

Minho leans back against the desk, crossing his arms. “Your stock is good,” he says simply, his tone steady but measured.

Her smile widens slightly, though she keeps her response modest. “Thank you, Chef. I just finished perfecting it yesterday.”

He nods. “How long did it take you to get it right?”

“A very long time,” Sara admits with a soft laugh, her voice lighter than he expects. “But I pushed through because…” She hesitates for a moment, then continues, “...because I had you beside me. It motivated me to do better.”

Minho stiffens slightly, the personal undertone in her words prickling at him. His gaze sharpens as he leans forward, making sure there’s no room for misinterpretation. “This has nothing to do with our personal lives,” he says firmly. “I hope all you want from me is to be accepted as a chef, and you deserve that. So let’s share it—the kitchen and the office. Let's do it together.”

To emphasize his point, Minho extends a hand toward her. “Chef Choi Sara,” he addresses her with deliberate formality.

Sara takes his hand without hesitation, her grip firm and her expression warm. “Thank you, Chef Lee Minho,” she replies just as professionally.

Their handshake is brief but significant, a silent agreement between them. Minho watches her closely, his jaw tight but his expression softening just slightly. He hopes she understands what this means—nothing more, nothing less. Just professionalism, for the sake of the kitchen.

He releases her hand and straightens his posture. “That’s all. You can go now.”

Sara nods, offering him one last small smile before turning to leave. As the door closes behind her, Minho exhales deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

He looks at the desk again, then shakes his head. This is the right decision, he tells himself. But as he moves to gather his things, a flicker of uncertainty lingers in the back of his mind.

The next morning, Minho steps into his office, pausing when he notices the subtle changes to the space. Sara’s desk, which was bare just yesterday, is now decorated. A small potted plant sits in one corner, a neatly arranged stack of books in another. The sight makes him purse his lips, though his attention is quickly drawn to the pile of books.

Curiosity wins out, and he picks the one on top, flipping it open. It’s Sara’s recipe book. The pages are filled with detailed sketches of dishes, annotations, and scribbled ideas in the margins. Despite himself, he’s impressed by the level of detail.

The door opens, and Minho looks up to see Sara stepping inside. Her gaze lands on him holding her book, and she tilts her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Planning to steal my ideas, Chef?”

He snaps the book shut and hands it back to her without hesitation. “Do whatever you want with it,” he says curtly, turning toward his desk.

Sara takes the book, setting it back on her pile. “Actually, I was thinking of sharing it with the cooks here.”

“Like I said,” Minho replies without looking at her, “do as you wish.”

Settling into her chair, Sara glances at him. “You should share your recipe book too, Chef.”

Minho lets out a dry scoff, shaking his head. “So you can copy my recipes? No thanks.”

Sara laughs lightly, unbothered by his sarcasm. “Well, I can’t say no to that offer.”

Minho shoots her a flat look. “I’m not sharing it.”

She shrugs, adjusting her chair and continues organizing her desk. “It might not be easy sharing an office at first, but we’ll get used to it.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at her, skepticism written all over his face. “I don’t see how it can be better than using the office by myself.”

Sara leans back, watching him with a faint smile. “Are you bothered by me, Chef?”

To be honest, yes, but Minho isn’t about to admit that. Thankfully, a knock on the door spares him from responding. “Come in,” he says.

The door creaks open, and Hyunwoo hesitantly steps inside, his expression uncertain. “May I… come in?”

Minho gestures for him to enter. “Sure. What is it, Hyunwoo?”

Hyunwoo shifts nervously but eventually speaks. “I wanted to ask if I could work in the pasta line.”

Minho exchanges a brief glance with Sara before focusing back on Hyunwoo. “What’s the reason?”

Hyunwoo looks down as he musters up the courage to honestly answer to the question. “I don’t know if I can become a chef with my background, but in the future, I dream of opening a small Italian restaurant to support my family.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “So you don’t want to make pasta because you love it, but because it’s a way to earn a living?”

Hyunwoo defends himself quickly. “Chef, being a chef is a profession. It’s not unreasonable to think that way. And pasta is one of the most popular dishes in Italian restaurants. I need experience if I want to succeed. But I noticed you only put your people in the important positions.”

Minho’s jaw tightens as he crosses his arms, offended by Hyunwoo’s words. “People who make good pasta get to make pasta. People who are good at grilling get to grill. That’s how it works.”

Hyunwoo avoid Minho’s gaze but his voice grows more determined. “All I’m asking for is a fair chance, Chef.”

Minho looks at Sara, who meets his gaze evenly. Finally, Minho turns back to Hyunwoo. “You may go.”

Hyunwoo bows slightly and leaves the office, closing the door behind him.

Once he’s gone, Sara lets out a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t like switching people around on the pasta line. It’s just now starting to run smoothly.”

Minho nods, considering her point. “Keeping people in their current roles could be a little selfish on our part, though.”

Sara tilts her head, studying him. “True. We should think about it and decide what’s best for the team.”

Minho leans back against his desk, arms crossed. His gaze lingers on Sara for a moment. This isn’t just about Hyunwoo, he realizes. It’s also a test of how well he and Sara can work together. And though he won’t say it out loud, that thought weighs heavier on him than he’d like to admit.

As everyone else is having lunch, you slip out of the restaurant to a café a few blocks down from the restaurant. This time, you glance around as you walk, making sure no one from the restaurant followed you this time. The memory of your last close call still makes you cringe to this day.

The café is quiet, a comforting hum of soft chatter and the occasional clink of cups filling the air. You sit at a small table tucked into the corner, the bag containing your surprise securely nestled in your lap.

The door chimes, and your heart skips when you see Minho step inside. Dressed impeccably as always, his sharp eyes scan the room. You raise your hand, catching his attention.

“Over here!” You shout, excitingly waving your hand in the air.

He spots you, and you notice the way his lips twitch, almost betraying a smile before he reins it in. It makes your heart warm—he’s always trying so hard to maintain his composed front.

As he approaches, you offer, “Do you want to order coffee, Chef?”

“I already had coffee,” he replies nonchalantly, pulling out a chair and sitting across from you.

Since he's already here, you pull the bag onto your lap and take out the small box. Without saying a word, you place it on the table, sliding it toward him.

Minho looks at it, and this time, he doesn’t fight the smile. It tugs at his lips as he glances at you.

“Chocolates? Are we kids?” he teases, but there’s no malice in his tone.

You tilt your head coyly. “What’s wrong with it? I’ve always wanted to do this on Valentine’s Day.”

Minho lifts an eyebrow but says nothing, his fingers brushing over the box. You point at the small card you tucked on top of the package. “Read it,” you urge.

He smirks, shaking his head. “You read it.”

You shake your head back. “Nope. You have to read it yourself.”

Minho leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing playfully. “What did you write?”

“Just take it and read it when you’re alone,” you insist, suddenly shy.

He tilts his head, studying you. “Did you write it from the heart?”

You giggle, nodding. “Of course.”

Something flickers in his eyes, softening his expression. He takes the card and tucks it into the inner pocket of his jacket, then focuses back on the box. You catch a fleeting look on his face, something you’ve never seen before—wonder, almost awe.

“No one’s ever given me something like this,” he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual.

The admission surprises you, and your heart swells knowing that you get to be the first for him, you can't help but feeling special.

Minho opens the box, and a genuine laugh bursts out of him. The sound is rich and warm, the kind of laugh that you rarely hear from him.

You grin, unable to contain your own laughter as he looks at the chocolates inside—the assortment of truffles arranged around the word “Chef” written in chocolate, flanked by little heart-shaped pieces.

“Don’t just stare at them,” you say, chuckling. “Try one!”

He picks up a piece, pops it into his mouth, and chews slowly, his eyes locked on you. His expression is unreadable at first, but then he nods, swallowing. “This must be why people fall in love.”

The words take you by surprise, and you feel your cheeks heat. You reach for one of the chocolates, but he swats your hand away, pulling the box closer to him.

“They’re mine,” he says, his tone mock-serious. “You can’t have any.”

You pout, feigning an unamused expression and then lean back in your chair. “Ugh! Fine.”

As you watch him, your eyes linger on his face. You’ve admired Minho before—his sharp jawline, his perfectly shaped lips, the way his eyes seem to catch the light just right—but sitting here, facing each other in this quiet moment, you feel like you’re seeing him in a new light. The usual sternness in his expression is gone, replaced by a softer, more relaxed version of him.

It strikes you how beautiful he looks when he lets his guard down. His smile, rare as it is, transforms him completely.

“What?” he asks, catching you staring.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, looking away. But deep down, you know that this moment, with the two of you sitting together and sharing something simple yet special, will stay with you for a long time.

The chilly air brushes against Minho’s face as the two of you walk side by side, the world around you quiet save for the faint sound of your footsteps. Moments like this, stolen and fleeting, remind him how much he cherishes your presence. He glances your way, and when you catch him looking, you smile—a bright, unguarded expression that makes his chest tighten.

Minho shoves one hand deep into his coat pocket, clenching his fingers into a fist to resist the urge to reach for your hand. Touching you, kissing you—it’s all he wants to do, but even walking next to you like this feels like a rare treasure.

In his other hand, he carries the box of chocolates you gave him, and every time he looks at it, he feels an inexplicable elation. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? How something so small, so simple, could make him feel like this? His mind drifts to the card tucked inside his jacket. Curiosity simmers beneath his composed exterior, but he tells himself to wait. He’ll read it once he’s back in the safety of his office, away from prying eyes.

But the warmth in his chest is shattered in an instant.

The restaurant’s main entrance swings open with a loud clang, and Taesoo bursts through the door. His face is a twisted mix of panic and horror, his chef hat crumpled in his trembling hands. He stops dead in his tracks, eyes darting between Minho, you, and the restaurant behind him.

Minho’s brows furrow as he straightens up. “What’s wrong?”

Taesoo’s gaze flickers nervously, his breaths uneven. His mouth opens, but no words come out at first. Minho’s patience snaps.

“What’s wrong?” he accidentally raises his voice at him out of impatience.

Taesoo finally blurts it out, his voice rising in a mix of alarm and disbelief. “What have you two been doing?”

Your eyes widen, and Minho feels the tension radiate from you as you stammer, “What are you talking about? What’s happening?”

Taesoo’s voice breaks as he takes a step closer. “You’ve been caught!”

The words hang heavy in the air, freezing both you and Minho in place.

“Caught?” Minho repeats, his voice dangerously low, though his heart is pounding in his chest.

Taesoo nods frantically. “Everyone in the kitchen knows now about... you two!”

You gasp audibly, your hand flying to your mouth in a dramatic gesture. “Everyone?”

Taesoo nods again, his expression a mix of disbelief and regret, as if he wished he could have been the bearer of better news.

Minho exchanges a wide-eyed look with you, his mind racing. He can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the precarious balance of secrecy teetering on the edge of collapse.

“What do you mean everyone knows?” Minho asks, his tone cold and unyielding, though his voice falters ever so slightly.

But Taesoo doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps back toward the door, leaving you both standing in stunned silence.

You turn to Minho, panic clear in your eyes. “What are we going to do?”

Sadly, Minho doesn’t have an answer for that but he feels as though the ground beneath him has crumbled, and all he can do is brace himself for the inevitable fallout.

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seungfl0wer · 1 day ago

Text

*𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕*

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Super Fluffy Smut

Warnings: Oral (M), Unprotected sex, Creampie, Riding, lots of sweet words. I think that’s really it. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings.

This was request. Using prompts from my first list 36 “I got this for you” and 58 “Can I sit here?”

-🖤

Hyunjin has been working his ass off. With comeback, promotions and just everyday life of an idol. He still in all the chaos finds time to make you feel loved and appreciated.

You wanted to do something special for him something to show him how well he’s been doing. How much you appreciated everything and all his efforts. So you ordered a pretty lingerie set. It was lacy, with little flowers on it and to top it all off it was his favorite color. You set the mood in the room setting the lights and some soft music. You heard him coming in putting on one of his zip up hoodies on so he couldn’t see at first.

When he walked into the bedroom he smiled letting out a sigh of happiness to be home finally. He kissed you lovingly wrapping his arms around you to hug you tightly. “How’s my beautiful wifie doing today” he said the sweet nickname always making you smile.

“Good, happy to have you home” you said smiling wildly at him. “Come sit” you said leading him to relax on the bed. “I got this for you” you said that wide smile reappearing as you dropped the hoodie to the floor. His mouth dropped staring at you in awe.

“Wow” is all he could get out.

“No touching yeah? Let me take care of you” you said moving your way on the bed. You hooked your fingers through his belt loops ridding him of his pants and boxers. “Can you take your shirt off for me handsome?” You asked.

He nodded quickly taking his shirt off for you. As he did you quickly kissed along his body, kissing over his abdomen and hips. You let smile little nibbles knowing all his sensitive spots. Your hands coming up to slowly stroke his hardening cock. He let out a soft moan gripping the sheets. He wanted to touch you so badly, to run his hands through your hair.

You kissed down his body more kissing his thighs over to the other side before kissing the tip of his cock. His body arched at your touch low whimpers leaving his lips. “Hyune you’ve been doing so well you know that?” You said sweetly looking up at him. “I’m so proud of you”

Before he could respond to your sweet words you slowly took his cock into your mouth. You moved slowly, tongue twirling around his head the whole way down his shaft. Your hands roamed his thighs rubbing them soothingly. His eyes fluttered open and shut, moaning softly as you moved. You moved a bit faster hand coming up to play with his balls massaging them gently.

“Fuck angel- feels s’good” he groaned.

“You deserve it, working so so hard and still making me feel so loved.” You said eyes staring up at him with such love. You moved your body up kissing up his body before softly kissing his lips. Straddling him as you looked down at him with a sweet smile “can I sit here?” You asked.

“Can- fuck yes- can I touch you though?” He asked almost begging.

“Anything for you hyune” you said back.

You moved your hips against him, his cock nestled between your folds as you moved. “Fuck angel- please need you- fuck I need you so badly” he whined hands finally roaming your beautiful body. “You look so pretty, my beautiful wifie.”

You wanted to keep going, teasing him a little more, But you wanted him just as badly. You slowly slipped him into you the lingerie having an opening in the crotch for easy access. Both of you let out loud moans feeling each other so snuggly. His hands flew to your hips holding you there for a second “god- how did I get so lucky- fuck you’re so damn beautiful- so so fucking beautiful” he stammered out.

Your head felt floaty from his compliments and the pleasure. You rocked your hips back and forth before finally moving more. Your hips coming up and down as his cock kissed your cervix with every entry. “Hyune I love you” you spoke breathily.

“Ah- y/n- my- my beautiful angel. I love you. I love you so much. You’re my everything- fuck I couldn’t do this with out you.” He rambled.

His grip on your hips tightened as he matched your pace moving his hips up to meet yours. “Come here, let me kiss those soft lips of yours” he said his voice sounding like honey. You leaned down kissing him passionately. Your legs started to get tired but hyunjin didn’t mind. He took over fucking up into you needly. One of his hands left your hips coming down to play with your clit. He knew all the ways of your body, knowing every little thing that drove you crazy.

His fingers let little circles around your clit as his cock bullied itself against your most sensitive spots. “Angel- I’m close- fuck you drive me so crazy I feel like I’m going insane” he admitted. His words only fueling your desire to please him. Your legs hurt sure but you wanted to drive him over the edge. You quickly moved yourself back before bouncing your hips up and down.

Hyunjin choked on his moans head falling back at the new movements. “Cum for me hyune- please”

“Angel- fuck where?” He asked knowing he was close.

“Inside- cum inside me” you moaned out his fingers still working their magic on your clit.

“Inside? Really? You sure?” He asked.

“Yes- please hyune- I want to- want you to fill me” you babbled out.

His head was spinning at this point. This was the first time you had wanted him to. It drove him over the edge quickly his hand on your hips gripping as he moved his hips up faster. He held you still as he fucked up into you like a mad man. Your words circling his head ‘fill me’ he felt like he was going crazy. “Y/n I love you- my gorgeous angel- I’m- fuck so lucky to have you- I’m- fuck- ah I’m cumming!” He almost screamed out.

His hips snapped up once more before you felt him twitch inside you. The new feeling sending a wave of unfamiliar warmth through your body making you cum hard around his cock. Both of your body’s shook in pleasure you now laying against him. He wrapped his arms around you tightly peppering you with soft kisses.

“You did so well beautiful, thank you for the surprise. I love you so much” he said repeating sweet words as he kissed any inch of your body he could.

“You deserve it hyune. I love you too! So so much” you said looking up at him before kissing him lovingly.

“How about we take a nice warm bath? I’ll light those candles you like and we can just relax?” He offered.

“Sounds perfect”

“Not as perfect as you are Angel” he said smiling brushing some hair from your face.

He lit your favorite candles, running a nice warm bath in the big tub you had. He put some relaxing bath bombs in helping you into the water. He took his place behind you wrapping his arms around you as you both let the warm water sooth your bodies.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

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queshaji · 2 days ago

Text

I kid you not the way my face got all red

THIS WAS SO GOOOOODDDD

필릭스 ─── hands on me

[ ⟡ ] ── NSFW, MDNI! ✁ tattoo artist!felix x afab!reader , sliiight buildup , oral (f. rec) , unprotected p in v (don't be silly) this was a request ♡ i hope you like it ! ♡ masterlist

smut below the cut - minors gtfo.

it wasn't your first tattoo, but it was your first time going to this shop.

what made it nerve-wracking was the fact that your tattoo artist, felix, was absolutely stunning. you had heard about him through a friend, and now, seeing him in person, it was impossible not to feel a little flustered.

felix was everything you imagined—and then some. his black hair, slightly tousled, framed a face that could've been carved by a master sculptor. the tattoos that covered his arms, neck, and chest were intricate and bold, each one telling a story.

he also had a variety of piercings—small hoops and studs that caught the light in a way that was somehow both edgy and captivating. his warm eyes, though, were what really threw you off guard. despite his tough exterior, there was something soft, inviting, almost comforting about them.

but it wasn’t just his eyes that drew you in. you couldn’t help but focus on his lips, which were perfectly shaped—plump and naturally a little shiny, likely from the chapstick he kept applying. you found yourself getting lost in the way he spoke, your eyes lingering on his lips as he explained the tattoo process, trying not to blush every time he glanced your way.

he looked so damn good. and that only made your nerves skyrocket.

the tattoo itself wasn’t huge, but the idea of being alone with him, vulnerable as he worked on your skin, had you second-guessing everything. you had no idea how long you could stay still, especially with his hands so close to you.

after you filled out the paperwork, felix returned shortly, holding a few sketches he’d worked on. you had opted for a bite mark design on your inner thigh—something subtle but realistic, something that would look almost like a real imprint. you’d spent hours online researching, and now it was time to make it real. you looked at the options, your hand shaking slightly as you reached out to point at the one you liked the most.

“this one’s perfect,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. your gaze lifted to meet his, feeling heat creep up your neck. you tried to push the nerves down, but it was hard when he was standing so close, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst ways.

felix chuckled softly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he noticed your discomfort. his expression softened just a little, and he leaned in slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the spot you had pointed to. “don’t worry,” he said, his voice low and calm, almost teasing. “we’ll take it slow. you’ll be fine.”

you nodded, trying to calm the storm of butterflies in your stomach. felix’s confidence was reassuring, but you couldn’t shake the mix of excitement and nerves swirling within you.

felix slipped on his black gloves, the latex stretching over his fingers with a soft snap. he looked up at you, his gaze shifting between the paperwork on the counter and the spot you had indicated for your tattoo. "so, where did you say you wanted it again? your inner thigh?" his voice was steady, but there was a slight curiosity in his tone, maybe even a hint of hesitation.

you nodded, setting your bag down on the table next to the tattoo chair, your hands slightly trembling from both nerves and anticipation. "yeah, the inner thigh."

felix seemed to hesitate, his eyes flicking to your leggings. you could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to phrase his question just right. "um... are those rollable?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward your leggings.

your stomach sank, realization hitting you. you had completely forgotten to bring a pair of safety shorts, the kind that would make this whole process a lot easier for both of you. you felt a knot tighten in your chest. "uh... no. they're not," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you avoided his gaze, suddenly very aware of your clothing.

felix's eyes softened, and he nodded slowly, clearly understanding the situation. he seemed to be weighing his words, a slight furrow of uncertainty crossing his brow before he spoke again. "are you comfortable with... taking them off?" his voice was gentle, yet there was a note of hesitation there, as if unsure how you might react. "if not, it's okay. we can always reschedule, do it another day."

you felt the pressure of the moment, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. you knew you had to get this done—work was about to pick up, and you didn’t have much time to spare. you couldn’t afford to reschedule. after a brief moment of internal conflict, you sighed softly and gave a small, reassuring shake of your head. "i can take them off. it's fine," you said, your voice a little more steady now. you offered a smile, though it felt slightly forced.

felix's expression seemed to relax at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing. he gave you a small, reassuring smile in return, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "okay," he said gently. "i'll give you some privacy, then."

with that, he turned and made his way toward the door. his footsteps were quiet, almost deliberate, and before leaving, he glanced back at you once more. "let me know when you're ready," he said softly before closing the door behind him, leaving you in the room alone.

you stood there for a moment, a mix of emotions swirling through you. you knew it was just part of the process, but it felt more intimate than you anticipated. still, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what came next.

you called out softly, "i'm ready," your voice steady despite the storm of nerves coursing through you. moments later, the door creaked open, and felix stepped back in, his gaze carefully neutral as he approached.

"alright," he said warmly, his tone professional yet kind. he kept his focus on your face as he moved to his workstation, ensuring you didn’t feel self-conscious under his gaze. "let me just get everything set up."

you nodded, clutching the edge of the chair lightly, your palms damp. the air felt cooler against your exposed skin, heightening your awareness of the situation. you reminded yourself that this was just part of the process—felix was a professional, and you were in good hands.

felix busied himself organizing his tools, laying out the stencil, and double-checking the placement. when he turned back toward you, he knelt slightly to meet your eye level, his tone gentle. "alright, i’m going to place the stencil now. let me know if it feels off, okay?"

you swallowed hard and nodded again, your throat feeling tight. "okay," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix moved closer, his gloved hands brushing lightly against your skin as he positioned the stencil on your inner thigh. his touch was firm yet delicate, and the closeness of it all made your heart race even faster. you forced yourself to stay still, focusing on your breathing.

"how does that look?" felix asked, pulling back slightly to give you space to examine the placement. his eyes met yours, soft and reassuring, as if sensing your nervousness.

you glanced down, grateful for the chance to break eye contact. the stencil looked perfect—exactly where you’d envisioned it. "it’s great," you said, trying to sound more confident. "right where i wanted it."

"good," felix replied, smiling slightly as he stood up. he moved to adjust his machine, the hum of it filling the room a moment later. "you ready to get started? i’ll go slow at first, so you can get used to the feeling."

you nodded, gripping the armrests of the chair a little tighter. "yeah, i’m ready."

felix leaned in again, his presence calming despite the anxiety bubbling within you. his voice was gentle as he spoke. "just let me know if you need a break, okay? you’re doing great so far."

the first touch of the needle against your skin was sharp, but it was the kind of pain you could endure. you tried to focus on the steady hum of the machine and felix’s soft, calming instructions. still, his closeness made it hard to relax—his body angled toward you, his breath occasionally fanning over your skin, and the subtle brush of his hand near your inner thigh sent your heart racing.

felix worked with a laser focus, his movements precise and practiced as he outlined the stencil. his professionalism was clear, but the proximity made it impossible for you not to notice every little thing—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hands through the gloves, and the way his dark eyes stayed intently on his work.

lost in his task, felix leaned in further, his breath ghosting over your exposed skin. his knuckles brushed the outside of your underwear, a touch so light it could have been accidental, but it sent a jolt through you. the sensations from the needle—the sharpness, the vibrations—only seemed to amplify the growing heat in your core. you pressed your lips together, willing yourself to stay still, but the ache was becoming impossible to ignore.

as felix adjusted his position, his hand grazed just slightly closer, his knuckles brushing against your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. the contact was brief but electric, and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it. the sound was barely audible over the hum of the tattoo machine, but felix froze instantly, his head snapping up.

his dark eyes locked onto yours, a mix of concern and something unspoken flashing across his face. “you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine care as he set the machine down on the tray beside him. his gaze flicked over your face, searching for any sign of distress.

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. the weight of the situation hit you all at once—the intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability of being in this position with someone like felix, and the fact that he had noticed your reaction. you nodded quickly, your face burning as you tried to steady your breathing. "yeah, i’m fine," you said, your voice a little higher than usual, betraying your flustered state.

felix’s brows knitted together briefly, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. he tilted his head slightly, his tone softening even further. "you sure? we can take a break if you need."

you swallowed hard, shaking your head more firmly this time. "no, really, i’m okay. just... sensitive, i guess." you gave a nervous laugh, hoping to brush it off.

felix’s lips curved into a small, understanding smile, though there was still something unreadable lingering in his expression. "alright," he said gently. "but if anything feels uncomfortable, you let me know, okay?"

you nodded again, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment as he returned to his work. his focus shifted back to the tattoo, but the tension in the air felt heavier now, charged with an energy neither of you acknowledged. you closed your eyes, willing yourself to stay composed, though the sensation of his hands and the steady vibrations made it a challenge you weren’t sure you’d win.

throughout the duration of the tattoo session, you tried your best to maintain a calm composure, hiding the telltale signs of your arousal as you and felix talked about random things. but felix could see and smell it all too clearly. the scent of your desire wafted through the air, filling his senses and causing an immediate reaction in his jeans. his member began to thicken and strain against the fabric, already tight on its own.

though he knew he needed to remain professional, the sight and smell of your arousal was impossible to resist. he couldn't help but lean in closer, selfishly inhaling more of your intoxicating scent as he worked deftly on your skin. as his breath brushed against your core, a shiver ran down your spine.

but then he caught a glimpse of your slick glistening through your panties, and he almost let out an audible groan. it was clear that you were completely turned on by him and his touch, and he couldn't resist pushing the boundaries just a little further.

you squirmed slightly, the movement catching his attention. "still doing okay?" felix asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. the words were laced with a subtle edge, a hint of something more.

"y-yeah," you stammered, your voice unsteady. your face felt hot, and you avoided his gaze, knowing that if you looked at him now, you might lose whatever shred of composure you had left.

felix's lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he refocused on the tattoo. he told himself to stop, to keep this professional, but the temptation was maddening. his hand brushed against your thigh again, his knuckles grazing higher this time, and he swore he felt you shiver.

he glanced up, his dark eyes locking with yours. the room felt unbearably small, the air thick with tension. felix hesitated, his professionalism warring with the primal desire that had been building since the session began.

he leaned back slightly, setting the tattoo machine down. his gloves flexed as he adjusted them, his voice soft but firm when he finally spoke. "you’re... really sensitive here," he said, his words carrying more weight than their innocent meaning should have.

you swallowed hard, your breath quickening. "yeah, i guess so," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix leaned in again, his face so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "if this gets too much for you... or if you need anything, just say the word," he said, his tone almost daring you to admit what he already knew.

the tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with unspoken desire. felix's hand had just brushed your slick panties again, his breath hot against your inner thigh, when you jolted slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips. your body was trembling, the sensations overwhelming as your arousal built to a point where you could barely think straight.

"felix," you breathed, your voice unsteady as you placed a hand on his wrist, stopping his movements. "i... i need a second."

he froze immediately, his dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, filled with concern. his hand withdrew gently, and he sat back slightly, giving you space. "are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with worry.

you nodded quickly, swallowing hard as you tried to steady your breathing. "yeah, i’m just... it’s a lot," you admitted, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. you couldn’t meet his gaze, but when you glanced down, you caught sight of the prominent bulge in his jeans, straining against the fabric. your breath hitched at the realization, and your eyes darted back up to his.

felix followed your gaze and cursed under his breath, running a gloved hand through his dark hair. "i’m sorry," he murmured, his voice rougher now. he shifted slightly, as if trying to relieve some of the pressure, but it was no use.

your heart raced at his words, a mix of embarrassment and intrigue flooding through you. "felix..." you started, your voice trembling.

he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours, his expression equal parts hesitant and desperate. "if this is too much, we can stop," he said, his tone sincere. "but... if you want, i can help you." his words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

your lips parted, your mind spinning at the offer. "help me?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "you know what i mean." he said, his voice dropping an octave, "i can take care of it. only if you want me to." his gloved hand rested lightly on your thigh, his touch both comforting and suggestive, and his eyes were pleading.

you hesitated, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you considered his words. the ache between your legs was unbearable, and the thought of his skilled hands—or more—bringing you relief was almost too tempting to resist. but the intensity of the moment, the sheer intimacy of what he was offering, made you pause.

"only if you’re sure," felix added, his voice softer now. "i don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with."

you gave him a nod, your voice wavering. “words, y/n.” he said, setting the tool down and taking his gloves off. “i-i’m sure,” you said nervously.

that was all felix needed. he yanked off his gloves, tossing them aside in a hurry. a growl rumbled low in his chest as he leaned in, his hand sliding higher along your thigh, skimming the edge of your panties. his lips were tantalizingly close to your skin, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties, a teasing, feather-light touch that made you gasp softly. felix smirked, his eyes darkening as he saw the effect he had on you. "so wet," he murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against your clit through the fabric, drawing a whimper from your lips. "is this all for me?"

you nodded, your body arching into his touch as a soft moan escaped you. felix groaned, leaning down to press his lips against your thigh, his kisses slow and deliberate.

he tugged your panties aside, exposing you fully to his gaze. your pretty lips were glistening, sopping wet with your essence. his eyes drank you in, and he licked his lips before looking up at you. "i want to make you feel good," he said, his voice husky with need. "will you let me?"

"please," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

felix didn’t hesitate. he dropped to his knees in front of the chair, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulled you closer to the edge.

his touch was gentle and careful as he moved your thighs apart, mindful not to disturb your freshly inked skin. with one hand holding your panties to the side and the other spreading your lips open, he marveled at the sight between your legs. "fuck, you're so wet," he murmured before leaning in for a taste.

the sensation of his tongue piercing against your sensitive flesh caught you by surprise, but it was a welcomed one. a wave of satisfaction rippled through you as he flicked his tongue against your clit with skilled precision. your hand found its way to his head, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging occasionally in pleasure. he looked up at you, a hand running along the inside of your thigh as he lavished attention on your bud.

a deep growl rumbled from his chest as he buried his face deeper into your cunt, sucking and licking with fervent desire. you couldn't hold back the loud moan that escaped your lips or the way your body arched towards him. "just like that," you praised him through heavy breaths, hips bucking against his face desperately.

it was too much. the sight of felix between your legs, his nose buried in your mound and the wet, sloppy noises of him eating you out sent a sharp pang to your core. with a few more sucks from his mouth, you came undone - stars exploding behind closed eyes and pleasure coursing through every inch of your body. felix eagerly lapped up every drop of you, not pulling away until you gently guided his head off of you.

he stood up in front of you, smiling down with pride and lust in his eyes. "feeling better?" he asked playfully. you could only nod, cheeks flushed darkly from the intense encounter that had just occurred. your gaze drifted down to the prominent bulge in his jeans, knowing that he needed release too. "let me help you," you muttered, eagerly reaching for him.

felix’s grin faltered for a moment as your words sank in. his dark eyes widened slightly, and then his smirk returned, this time tinged with a hint of surprise and desire. "you don’t have to do that," he said softly, though the way his voice betrayed just how much he wanted you to.

you swallowed hard, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, but your gaze remained fixed on the straining bulge in his jeans. the thought of him, thick and hard, made your core clench again. you shook your head, your voice steadier now. "i want to."

felix’s jaw tightened, and he let out a low groan, as though he was fighting every instinct he had. "are you sure?" he asked, his hands flexing at his sides. "this wasn’t supposed to go this far. i... i don’t want you to feel pressured."

you stood slowly from the chair, your knees still a little shaky, but your determination unwavering. your hands reached for his belt, and when you looked up at him, your eyes were full of intent. "i’m sure, felix," you said softly, your fingers working the buckle open.

he let out a sharp breath, his restraint snapping as he nodded. "fuck," he muttered, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "i’m not going to hold back, then."

with that, felix helped guide you as you undid his jeans, his cock springing free, the sight making your breath catch. he was surprisingly thick, the head flushed and already leaking precum, and the sheer size of him only made your arousal spark anew. felix leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your ass as he pulled you flush against him.

“bend over that counter for me.” he instructed you, patting your barely clothed ass. you did just that, bending over the counter and arching your back for him slightly. he yanked your panties to the side again, getting behind you hurriedly. he rubbed his fat tip against your wet lips, coating himself with a groan. he pushed himself inside you slowly, as if savoring every inch being swallowed by your cunt. each second of his cock filling you was pure bliss; he felt divine.

he buried himself to the hilt, a low, throaty groan leaving his lips. he ran his hands up your back, catching your shoulder to pull you back against him. “oh, you feel so good,” he grunted, slowly pistoning his cock in and out of your cunt. he lifted your leg carefully, helping you rest it on the counter so he could fuck you better.

his hands roamed your body as he fucked into you, one of them resting in the crevice of your thighs and your hip, squeezing into your flesh. he sped up quickly, rutting into you with low growls and curses. his thick tip massaged your g-spot so deliciously, making a pit form deep in your stomach. you whined loudly, crying out in bliss as he stretched you fully.

felix abruptly halted when he heard a sharp knock at his door, and he cursed under his breath. "i'm with a client," he hollered, his hands still kneading your flesh while he paused inside you. the sound of footsteps retreating from outside his door made him exhale heavily with relief. he quickly returned to thrusting into you with renewed vigor, the thrill of almost getting caught fueling his actions.

as he continued to fuck you senseless, you whimpered in excitement, knowing that any minute someone could walk in on you both. "you almost got us caught," felix growled, increasing his pace to an unrelenting one as he whispered dirty words in your ear. the possibility of being caught only heightened the intense pleasure pulsating through your body, and you couldn't help but moan louder with each powerful thrust.

felix moaned loudly as your pussy tightened around him, fluttering and milking him with every delicious movement. "f-fucking...shit, you're gonna make me cum already," he choked out hoarsely. his fingers dug into your skin now and his hips were moving quickly and urgently as he chased his release.

your ass slapped against his waist, the loud clapping sounds echoing in the room. "cum in me," you whimpered, glancing back at him over your shoulder with pleading eyes. he didn't need to be told twice and obliged, your words sending him over the edge in no time. with a deep growl, he threw his head back and bit his lip as he emptied himself inside of you. he pumped you full with his load, his cock twitching with each spurt of cum.

you whined in pleasure, your eyes fluttering closed as he continued to thrust slowly in and out of you, mixing his release with your own essence. his gaze never left where your bodies were connected, as if he was in a trance from how thoroughly fucked out he was.

he finally pulled out wetly, helping you stand back upright. “are you okay?” he asked, tucking himself away quickly and helping you fix your panties. you nodded, still dazed from the thorough fucking he gave you. “yeah, th-thanks for helping me,” you looked up at him, a dark blush on your face.

he grinned and zipped his pants back up. “don’t mention it,” he nodded toward the chair. “should we continue?”

needless to say, you continued. and you definitely would be coming back.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

#skz smut #skz x reader #skz hard thoughts #skz imagines #kpop x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids felix #lee felix #skz felix #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz felix smut #stray kids scenarios

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4linos · 14 hours ago

Text

ghosts of the past

hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

synopsis/request: the more hyunjin compares you to his ex, the more you begin to lose yourself in the relationship. after an emotional confrontation, hyunjin is left to reflect on his past and his feelings for you.

wc: 2273

The tension between you and Hyunjin had been building for weeks, making it difficult to ignore. It was hard to understand at first. Just small changes; he was more easily distracted, distant when you tried talking to him, and his smile didn't reach his eyes like it once did. What stung the most were his silent remarks. Every now and then, he'd casually mention his ex-girlfriend, Nabi, and you'd brush it off, thinking yourself it was just a harmless slip of the tongue, a hint of nostalgia that wasn't supposed to hurt.

You knew about Nabi. You'd met her once before things between you and Hyunjin became serious. She was sweet and smart, and it seemed that they had parted ways peacefully. There was no animosity. They had been friends for a long time before they started dating, and even after their breakup, they had maintained a respectful, even friendly relationship. You can understand that friendships from previous relationships weren't forgotten quickly. But it wasn't only her presence in the background that bothered you. It was the constant, unintentional comparisons Hyunjin made, as if everything he said or did was subconsciously weighed against what Nabi had done in the past.

The first few times it happened, you convinced yourself it was only a throwaway comment, a moment of exasperation that didn't mean much. But as the weeks passed, you saw a pattern: anytime Hyunjin was upset with whatever you did, whether it was how long you took to get dressed or how you handled a situation, he'd always make a remark about how "Nabi never did that" or "Nabi would've understood."

And it stung. Every time it gnawed at your insides, you stayed quiet. You didn't want to seem insecure or petty. Maybe he didn't really mean it. Maybe it was all in your head.

But today, as you stood in front of the mirror, checking your reflection before heading out to your friend’s birthday dinner, something inside you snapped. You had tried to shake off the feeling of being second place, tried to brush it aside as just your own insecurity. But today? Today, you were done pretending you didn’t feel like you were suffocating under the weight of his words.

You could hear him from the other room, pacing in frustration. “I don’t know why it takes you so long to get ready. Nabi never took this long. It’s just a dinner. Seriously, we’re gonna be late.”

His voice floated through the open door, and even though you tried to focus on your outfit, trying to keep calm, the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at your reflection, trying to control the emotions rising in your chest, but they refused to be contained any longer.

With a sharp inhale, you turned around and walked toward the living room, your heart beating loudly in your chest. Hyunjin didn’t see you at first, his back turned as he stared at his phone. But you didn’t need to be subtle anymore. This needed to be said, once and for all.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Your voice was low, almost too calm. It felt unnatural, like you were forcing the words to come out.

Hyunjin turned around, surprise flashing across his face. He hadn’t expected you to confront him. He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could say anything.

"Every time, Hyunjin. Every time we argue, you bring up Nabi. And I get it. You two are close. I'm fine with that. But what am I supposed to do with the way you talk about her as if she were a gold standard?" Your voice was trembling now, despite your attempts to keep it firm.

He grimaced, obviously not understanding where you were coming from. "What are you talking about? I'm just frustrated by how long you take. That’s all. I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't mean to?" You scoffed and shook your head. "Hyunjin, how many times? How many times have you compared me to her without even thinking about it? Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”

He looked taken aback now, guilt creeping into his expression. He took a step toward you, but you held your ground. You couldn’t let him think it was just a misunderstanding anymore.

“You keep comparing me to Nabi. And I’m just supposed to sit here, pretend it’s fine, like I’m not constantly feeling like I’m falling short? Like I’m not constantly second best?” Your voice cracked, and you couldn’t hold back the emotion that spilled out. “You can’t even admit it, can you? That maybe… maybe you still have feelings for her. That maybe you’re just holding onto me because it’s easier than letting go. Because you still have her in your heart.”

The silence that followed was overwhelming. Hyunjin stood still, frozen. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came. There was a strong sense of guilt between you. You could see it on his face, his eyes wide, as if everything you said had suddenly broken through a barrier he hadn't even knew existed.

"Well?" you urged, barely maintaining your composure. "If you still have feelings for Nabi, go back to her. If you still miss her, I won't stand in your way. But I'm not going to keep pretending that this us is enough for you when it's obvious that it isn't."

Hyunjin flinched like you’d slapped him, his expression full of regret and confusion. “No, I—I don’t want that. I never meant to make you feel that way. It’s just... I don’t know why I’ve been doing this.”

“You don’t know?” you repeated bitterly, your voice trembling. “You’ve been doing it for weeks, Hyunjin. And I’ve just been letting it slide, because I thought I could handle it. But I can’t. I’m not gonna sit here and watch you live in some fantasy where I’m just a replacement for someone who was ‘better.’”

His face softened, the apology in his eyes so clear, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hear it. Not right now. Not after everything that had been building up between you two, all the things you’d buried deep down to protect the relationship.

“Don’t follow me,” you said quietly, your throat tight. You turned away from him, grabbing your jacket and bag, the weight of your emotions suddenly too heavy to bear. “I’m going to the dinner. I’m going alone. I need to be alone.”

You didn't wait for him to respond. The words were out now, and you could feel the distance between you two growing with each second. You couldn't pretend anymore. You couldn't keep shrinking into his shadow, wondering where you stood in his heart.

You approached the door, the cold evening air welcoming you as you opened it. You didn't look back. Not this time.

"Don't follow me," you repeated one more time, your voice quiet but assertive. "I need to be alone."

As the door closed behind you, the weight of the unspoken things, the things you had held in for so long, hung in the air, and you walked away, uncertain of what the future held but certain that you couldn’t stay where you were anymore.

After you went, the night was uncomfortably quiet. Hyunjin felt each minute last longer than the last, the silence in the apartment bearing down on him, making him feel smaller and more helpless by the second. He was mindful of your need for space. You'd made it obvious, and he didn't want to do what he usually did: jump in to fix things right away.

He felt that the pain couldn't be soothed by words alone. But damn, he hated the sense of knowing he was to blame, as well as the thought that you were most likely out there alone, bearing all of that weight.

He spent most of the evening sitting on the couch, restless, repeating everything in his mind. The way your voice cracked as you approached him. That look in your eyes as you told him you weren't enough. He felt stupid; how could he have been so blind? How could he have allowed his frustration to manifest itself in such an unfair way toward you?

By the time you returned, it was obvious that the night hadn't been kind to you either. You went through the door, exhaustion on your shoulders, but the moment you stepped inside, Hyunjin couldn't stop looking at you. His stare followed you around the apartment as you removed your jewelry and makeup. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, but he couldn't stop watching you either, his heart heavy with regret.

You didn’t look at him when you spoke. Your voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it. “If you have something to say, Hyunjin, just say it. Stop staring at me like that. You’re making this worse.”

He flinched at the words, the sharpness cutting through the air between you both. His heart tightened, guilt sinking deeper. He knew he needed to say something. He knew he had to make it right, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Finally, he said, his voice raspy with guilt. "I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I had no idea what I was doing. I never thought I was comparing you. It was not like that. "I'm really sorry." You shook your head, letting a bitter laugh escape your lips.

"Hyunjin, how did you not know?" How did you not realize you were making me feel like I was second best? That every tiny remark was about her? You turned to face him, eyes piercing and raw. "Did you still think of her? Do you still want her? Because that could be everything you've been looking for, and I've only been a placeholder."

His eyes widened at the accusation. “No. No, that’s not it,” he said, rushing to explain. “I—I never wanted her back. I’m not in love with her anymore. I love you. I love you so much, and I swear I never meant for any of that to make you feel less than what you are to me. I’ve been an idiot, and I regret it. Please, just—please let me show you how much I love you.”

Your heart twisted at his words, but you couldn't suppress the anger and hurt that still lingered. “Then why did you keep comparing me to her, Hyunjin? Why does she even come up in every fight we have?”

He took a step forward, his voice desperate now. "I'm not even sure why it came out like that. I don't want to be the one to hurt you, and I know I've made mistakes, but I promise you that I love you. I'll do whatever to get you to forgive me. I don't care how long it takes. Please don't leave me thinking I've lost you because of my stupid mistakes."

You caught his eyes, looking for anything that would make you believe this was worth fighting for. His eyes were filled with despair and anxiety. Fear of losing you because, at that moment, he recognized how close he was to doing so.

But even with all the pain you felt, you could see that he was genuine. He wasn’t making excuses, wasn’t deflecting or gaslighting you. He was laying himself bare before you, acknowledging the hurt he’d caused, the mistakes he had made.

You took a deep breath, letting the tension of the argument slowly drain from your body. It wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t going to be fixed in one conversation. But maybe just maybe there was hope.

“I’m not going to lie and say everything is fine right now,” you said quietly, your voice raw, “But I’m willing to try, Hyunjin. I need time to process all of this, but… I can’t do this if you keep making me feel like I’m competing with her.”

He nodded, his expression sincere. “I won’t. I promise. I’ll never compare you to her again. You’re the one I love. You. And I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise.”

You looked at him for a long moment, the weight of the argument still lingering, but slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. You didn’t know what the future held for the two of you, but you were willing to let him show you that he could learn from this. That he could really see you.

“Just… be better,” you whispered, the words thick with emotion. “For both of us.”

Hyunjin nodded quickly, relieved, but the air between you stayed fragile. He knew he had to prove himself to you, and he was determined to do whatever it took to make sure you never felt this way again. "I will. I swear that I will do better. I just...” “I just want you to be happy, and I'll fight for that," he replied, his voice thick with sincerity.

You didn't say anything else right away, instead letting the silence fill the gap between you. You both knew it wasn't over just yet, but it was a start. A step toward repairing what had been broken, an opportunity to find your way back together. The silence wasn’t comfortable, but it was at least a little less heavy than before.

You took a deep breath and finally let yourself relax for the first time that night, the exhaustion from the argument slowly sinking in. It was going to take time, but you hoped just hoped that this time, things would be different.

masterlist.

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hanibalistic · 3 days ago

Text

THE SOUND MONSTER | STRAY KIDS.

genre | magic au, action au

synopsis | your client shows up in the middle of your bounty mission with answers you've been searching for and without the million dollars he promised you.

word count | 10.5k+

warning | mention of violence, killing, blood, injuries / reader wears a skirt (necessary due to character)

note | lousy writing at the end because i got bored

If you had one million dollars each time you were asked to kill a homeostatic curse within a specific area in a forest that covered most of the city limit, you would have one million and fifty thousand dollars.

The first client who contracted you to kill a curse in this area paid you only fifty thousand dollars. Your current, suspiciously generous client offered you one million.

This should be the area. You thought as you scanned your surroundings through squinted eyes, then back to your phone, where a screenshot of a location was shown.

The picture was taken from a fan website, one of the first things you stumbled into during your research into the Warp Curse.

Since there has never been a sighting of what artifact the curse resided in, all you've got to begin looking for it was a bunch of historical texts and posts written by curse fanatics loitering in online forums.

So far, you knew two things about the Warp Curse: (a) it has been killing random hikers that step foot inside the forest, and (b) it was speculated, using the locations of all its murders, that its artifact should be somewhere near the forest’s edge.

Closing your phone and dropping it in your pocket, you scoffed in frustration. The picture was taken straight from the album provided by the internet's map, and most of the photos uploaded there were captured by the satellite.

There was no way to compare and contrast the picture to what you could see in front of your eyes. Everywhere were greens and trees, short trails, and grass beds.

Much like your last mission in the forest, you needed to take a wild guess and hope you get lucky with your search. At least you knew you had to keep to the edge this time.

You roamed with your head in the clouds. There wasn't anything else to do besides daydreaming or thinking with a purpose. Whichever one came to you easier at the moment—the latter, obviously. You've got a lot to think about.

First, it will be easier and faster if the Warp Curse decides to suck you underground and bring you directly to itself.

The curse's power spanned across the forest from what you learned, most of them being speculations, but you were willing to take what was presented. It was no wonder so many hikers died on a leisurely day. The curse has an impressive reach. It would pull you underground and warp you to where its artifact is located, and then it would kill you for energy.

Second, what would you do with a million dollars?

Abandoning hunting may be the first step since you were only doing this job to get by. The grand sum of money wasn't all that great when you were constantly blowing through it for medical expenses.

Your ruination curse heals at the pace of a snail strolling through a park, not considering your livelihood relied on having a functional body. Functional arms and legs, at least.

If the family curse wasn't so greedy about hosting your body alone, you would have tried to sign a contract with a curse that has a faster healing process.

You could use the money to find the remainder of your family. Specifically, the person who abandoned you near a police station when you were three years old.

These three years of searching for clues have been less hectic than you desired, which was a reflection of your lack of progress in finding a blood relative. If you were close to your goal, you reckoned things might pick up the pace.

But, all the ruination curse was willing to tell you was that it was a family curse, and all the police could provide you were three things: you were found at a park near the station, most of your family went missing years ago, and your uncle was sent to a mental institution by reason of insanity after killing most of your family members on Christmas night.

Oh, you would love to visit somewhere fun too, like an amusement park or an aquarium. Traveling the world sounded like a chore, so you might put that off for another year or two once you got the payment.

You could go to college or try your hand at paying your way into a prestigious university. However, pursuing an education wasn’t appealing when you’ve got a million dollars to rationally spend. It wasn’t appealing now when you have empty pockets.

You should prioritize buying a house, actually, but that was unlikely to happen with today's market. An apartment was good enough. The thought of having a roof over your head instead of hopping through motels was desirable.

The more you mapped out what to do with one million dollars, the giddier you became. If your client turned out to be a fraud, thus tearing your FastPass to an imaginary happy life, you might kill them along with the Warp Curse.

The trees bustled around you as the wind suddenly picked up. Winter was steadily approaching, albeit much slower than the previous years. Feeling a short breeze or two, out in the forest nonetheless, was common. But your instincts—your monster-hunting psychic eye—spiked a joint of weariness in you.

Your body tensed at the sound of the rustling leaves, fingers hardening, and toes curling into the bottom of your old and dusty shoes. As you carefully scanned your surroundings, you could not figure out the source of the rustling noise. It didn’t come from the leaves above you.

“Well, what have we here?”

A voice! But was it a person or a curse?

You whipped around to face where it came from, your feet cautiously taking two steps backward. The messy heaps of branches, all growing from the lower side of multiple trees planted in close quarters of each other, shifted. The leaves that adorned the wood swung like an elegant fan before they revealed the voice's owner.

A man, wearing a coat unsuitable for the current weather and wearing black gloves, showing no skin besides what was above his collarbones, stepped out of the branches after his black derby cane stomped on the ground as an official entrance.

You tilted your head with squinted eyes. Someone’s missing a top hat, but that wasn’t the issue. You should be the only person in the forest. After multiple cases of the not-so-mysterious killing, law enforcement sealed off all forest entrances and forbade civilians from visiting.

You had to sneak past the security guards (which was easy) and the cameras (which was also easy, but researching their blindspots was time-consuming) to get inside.

“Okay, here we go.” The man swung his cane off to the side in a pit of defeat after seeing the disdainful look on your face. To him, it couldn’t have been the cause of stranger danger. It must have been something about his attire today, which was just his daily attire.

“Is there something on my face? Or is it my height? Is it because I’m short? You think I can’t pull off an overcoat because I’m too short?”

When he saw your eyes travel down to his knees and back up to his face, he realized he read you wrong. His panicky questions about his appearance were what made you focus on them. It was not the first time he’d made this mistake, but he thought he kept repeating it to fulfill his inner comedian.

You furrowed your brows and sneered at him because you thought him embarrassing for being so anxious on your first encounter. You weren’t judging his attire or his height, at least not maliciously and not based on any fashionable knowledge. Who asks four questions in a row only a second into meeting a stranger?

“Actually, don’t answer those questions. I fear you will hurt my feelings.” He waved a hand with a bashful smile that surprisingly still fit a man his age.

Looking down at his feet as if taking a short moment to make himself a mockery, he returned his eyes to you. He toned down his bright disposition when he saw that you remained cautious of him. “My apologies. This is all spiraling out of control. I need to stop improvising so much and stick to the plan I was given–“

His sentence was abruptly cut short by a claw or a hook. The event happened so suddenly that your reflexes didn’t register it fast enough to tell you to close your eyes when fresh blood splattered onto your face.

Your lashes caught the droplets instead of your widened eyes, and as you could not avert your gaze from the man, you finally saw that it was a giant hook. A big upside-down fish hook. It pierced through the man’s head, the pointed end going through the top of his head and out the bottom of his chin as if making him the bait for a fishing activity.

Blood dried along the black, gooey surface of the hook. You’ve seen that texture before multiple times to be the skin of a typical monster. This monster was likely manifested by the Warp Curse to protect its homeostatic body.

The knowledge didn’t ease your mind at all. While you have seen many a monsters, you’ve never seen a dead person, let alone watch one get killed. It was an aftermath of you choosing to work independently.

Rigidly, you turned your head over to look at the killer.

With a hook of that size, it was no surprise that the monster was almost as tall as the trees in the forest. It looked like multiple rotten tree branches haphazardly stuck together into a worm-like body. Its head, protruding like stacked tree branches, shifted like fat pounds of flesh, with sharp teeth sticking out at random spots. Its hands and horns were curled into a hook-like structure.

You suspected it could shift its mass at will, though, as you would have caught sight of it the second you snuck inside the forest if it was always this huge.

That didn’t matter. It could be in the shape of a kitchen knife, a clothing hanger, or a fly swatter. If it could kill you, you have to either leave the premises or end it before it could get you.

Your hand reached for the handle of your sword, strapped to the belt around your skirt, which you wore so your legs had ample space to explode when needed. At the same time, or at a pace much quicker than yours, the monster raised its other hook high and brought it down the direction of your head.

A cane stuck out at the speed of light. It went through the hoop of the claw and trapped it in the air, only a few inches away from your tiny head. It took you a few seconds to snap away from nearly being stabbed. When you finally recognized the familiar cane, your eyes gradually pulled into a confused frown.

Only one person here owned one: the stranger you just met. You looked toward him and a bold gasp left your lips when you saw him already looking back at you, one arm stretched out with his cane to block the attack for you.

“Hey,” he greeted, blood still squirting from his injuries. “I’m surprised you still flinch at these things!”

You looked visibly appalled, which he understood. He definitely wouldn’t say he cared much the first time he saw a mutilated body. But, if there was anything he learned growing up, it was that some people were simply more mentally endurable than others!

Besides that, he knew you must be confused, which he also understood. He definitely wouldn’t say he’d still question the impact of biology at this day and age when curses make binding contracts with humans like gamblers at a casino. But, if there was anything he learned growing up, it was that some people were simply smarter than others!

“Oh, where are my manners? Let me introduce myself,” he said over the monster’s growls.

Turning his cane sideways so the handle laid horizontally, he pushed his arm down to tip the cane upward, knocking the hook away from your head. Throwing his cane into the air for a quick moment and catching the middle of the shaft, the man closed one eye to aim for the body of the claw before throwing his cane straight at it.

The pierce of the cane flew at a velocity strong enough to knock the claw back into a nearby tree, and it was strong enough to keep it nailed to a spot.

“I’m Chan, host of the Immortal Curse,” he introduced before his eyes rolled up. “I’m gonna need help pulling my head out of this claw. Do you mind?”

You minded. Of course, you minded! You wanted nothing to do with that bloody pulp of a man hanging on a monster claw like a rag doll. Witnessing him talk under that circumstance was disturbing even after knowing he was bound to the Immortal Curse. The pain should at least paralyze him for a while, yet he was up and chatting.

Unsheathing your sword anyway, you nudged your head at the monster standing tall to indicate to Chan that you’ve got a bigger problem than his head stuck in a claw.

“Don’t worry about the monster. My partner will handle it!” Chan exclaimed after huffing out a dissatisfied laugh that you didn’t heed his request immediately.

The monster shifted about in multiple attempts to pull its claw away from his needle-like derby cane. It was a miracle his head wasn’t sliding about the curve of the hook like a wooden bead maze.

He pointed at his head, his eyes maniacally wide. “I’m getting old. Pain is starting to bother me! Also, I’m sure I look ridiculous, so come here and help me!”

You relaxed your stance, but your expression remained frigid without trust and clear information of the now. You looked at him, then around him at the monster.

Chan noticed your hesitation and attributed it to needing proof that the monster would be taken care of. He smiled, his voice cracking defeatedly in the process; he couldn’t blame you for being cautious on a curse-hunting job. It was something he would do as well.

“Kim Seungmin! Get your ass over here and help us!”

“Don’t use my government name.”

A voice as clear as crystal, seemingly sounding directly from the chest into an open throat, traveled through the wind blowing behind you. The bushes rustled once again before another stranger entered.

He sauntered to you with his hands in his pockets and promptly stopped by your side. For someone with such purposefully lazy eyes, his posture was pointedly straight.

He leveled Chan with nonchalance as if he’d seen the same bloody sight more than enough to get used to it. Then he sighed in annoyance because, despite being used to it, Chan would never stop being a pest, and helping him was always a chore.

“He is always like this,” Seungmin said once he pulled a hand out of his pocket. He planted his palm on your shoulder, squeezed to keep you in place, and waited for it to light up a green-black color.

Before you could retaliate against his touch, he spoke, “Sorry to borrow yours, I haven’t pissed enough people off today. Don’t worry, though. It’s better that I take them off your hands.”

You shook your head at him, confused. Putting two and two together, Seungmin realized that Chan hadn’t gotten to explain anything or introduce anybody to you. He let his jaw drop in acknowledgment before letting his hand slip off your shoulder.

He rolled up one sleeve to reveal his forearm, which was painted with bulging black veins. You could see the blood traveling through the vessels to his fingertips, gathering to completely darken his nails beyond recognition.

It was as much of a rare sight for you as it was for Seungmin.

He’d never collected this much karma from a single individual, so much almost his entire arm was blackened with it. The closest he has gotten to this effect was when he took from Chan, but considering that man’s personality, it may be hard not to accumulate so much karma.

Even he gets pissed at that boisterous fraud multiple times a day, so frequently he couldn’t remember why he was annoyed in the first place.

Closing his fist to feel the energy, Seungmin figured all of this may come from your curse rather than yourself.

“Seungmin. Karmic Curse,” he informed without looking at you. “Can you go over and hold him in place? I'm going to blast the claw out of his head. It's much faster."

You furrowed your brows and pulled a grimace. It was a question unasked when you debated if you wanted to help Chan or deal with the monster—how would you get the claw out of his brain?

Sliding him out of it sounded painful and slow. Aggravating the beast so it swings its claw enough that he slips out of it would make a mess. Pushing the claw out of his head garnered an even worse painful illusion than sliding him out of it.

The conclusion was that this situation was terrible no matter how you viewed it.

"Hey, I got it from here," Seungmin said, returning you to reality. He was surprised you felt hesitant in causing pain, considering how you afforded to work as a hunter. "Go help Chan before he decides you’ve stalled enough time for him to rant about being abandoned for the next few hours. And trust me, he will complain.”

He put a surprising lot of emphasis on ��will,' as if he believed Chan wouldn't make his whiny tendencies known within five minutes of meeting someone, purposefully or not.

You blinked at Seungmin for a good second before you sheathed your sword. He felt more trustworthy, and you got that from the mere fact that he wasn't incessantly cheerful when he saw you.

"Oh, good! What made you decide I'm finally worthy of attention, hm?" Chan asked in a quick slur before he shouted, "Clearly not my bleeding head!”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, which wasn’t hard considering you were about to get another massive round of blood powdered onto your face, you reached around his waist and held him down on the ground.

Looking afar at Seungmin, who had taken a few steps backward to avoid the whiplash of close-quarter shooting, angled his arm upward so his fingertip leveled with the curve of the hook-like claw. When he fired the karma, it blasted across the air like a gunshot and tore the claw off the side of Chan’s face.

When his torso went limp, you let go and dropped him to the ground. Without any time to react to the splatter of blood on your face, barley seeping through your eyes and mouth, the monster behind you screeched, unsure from pain or annoyance.

Still, the intensity of its noise broke you away from the allurement of glimpsing at the bloody aftermath on the floor.

Snapping your neck to access your surroundings, you immediately unsheathed your sword again. You jumped to catch the end of its swinging hook, letting it take you into the air. A grimace surfaced at the gooey skin and how you could feel your hand submerge in its wetness. Despite its disgusting texture, you crawled with the help of its sticky skin before hoisting yourself on top of its claw.

Your legs curled around the curve to keep from falling, and you wasted no time raising your sword and stabbing it through. Once you deemed it deep enough, a clanking noise sounded from your sword while something in your backpack exploded. The claw you sat on followed after, bursting open and leaving you in the air with no support.

With one of the monster’s arm stuck to a tree and another gone, Seungmin took the chance to power up his makeshift gun. He waited for you to drop to the ground; he would catch you, but there were bigger things to worry about than you fracturing an ankle from the fall.

Once you landed, with a loud thud, he pointed his index finger at the eyes of the monster and made another shot. You took cover by curling into a ball as the shot blazed past you. Once the shot entered the creature’s mouth, Seungmin waved his hand to create an explosion from within, leaving nothing to remain but a downpour of its fluids.

Everything remained still for a little after. That went by quicker than usual. Typically, as you often try not to resort to using your curse unless necessary, killing a monster would take much longer than one second of a shoot. No complaints about the process being quick, though. At least you didn’t have to do all the work.

Considering the size of the monster, if Seungmin wasn’t here, you’d probably have to break a leg or two.

You pushed yourself off the floor by using your sword as an anchor, and then you sheathed it slowly so you could spend your attention on finding Chan’s body. You saw Seungmin standing over it with a cane, and you approached him.

Noticing your presence, he barely turned his head to glance at you, then back at Chan on the floor. He used all the karma he took from you to kill the monster. Sleeve rolled down to his wrist, his arm no longer felt heavy.

Much as he expected, the amount and intensity of the sins your curse brewed were more than enough to end the monster with a straightforward attack. The Ruination Curse and its atrocities—he’s heard all about it from Chan in the short pursuit for you. Finally seeing you in person, you were underwhelming.

“Welcome back,” he greeted when Chan began to stir.

The previous numbness remained vivid, but so far, it had gone away from the side of his face torn open when the claw was forced out the side of his head. It has got to be one of the more painful events he’s experienced these years, but he did die the moment it happened, so, to be fair, he barely went through any pain.

Touching his jaw, Chan casually cracked his neck as he stood up, and then he was beaming for the return of his durable cane.

“I’m certain there were other ways to get me out of the hook, but you chose the most painful one,” Chan said. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a handkerchief.

“I could have kept you there and let your flesh heal into the claw,” Seungmin retorted as he shoved his hands back in his pockets.

“Never a peaceful moment with you,” Chan mused, dusting his coat before haphazardly shoving the handkerchief back where it came from. He turned to you and sighed in mock annoyance. “He’s always like this.”

You eyed Seungmin once before you shrugged. If you have to choose, you will pick Seungmin’s aloof temperament over Chan’s overwhelmingly sunny disposition that bordered as suspicious. Besides, how a stranger treats you was never within your realms of worry. You would never see them again, and you almost always have bigger things to deal with, such as the Warp Curse.

Considering the monster attacked you here, it should mean the cursed artifact was near. You’ve wasted enough time chatting; you should get going before the night arrives.

Giving the two a nod, you brought your hand into a faint wave before turning around, prepared to continue your expedition.

Seeing your ready departure, Chan raised his brows in dramatic panic. He threw his cane up to catch it by the end and shot the handle out toward you. It hooked onto the back of your shirt, but you didn't notice it until you were abruptly stopped in your tracks by the restriction it placed upon you.

You jerked around with an irritated glare, your eyes hardened with a furrow so intense you almost created yourself an extra eyelid. Chan rested the tip of his cane back on the floor. He didn't seem to believe he'd done anything unusual, which wasn't surprising.

You opened your mouth only to suck in a huge breath, all the words you wanted to say swallowed by your inability to voice them. Coming to terms with that, you squeezed your eyes shut and turned away, honing into the silence of your mind.

A pointed smirk was evident on Chan’s face. “Yeah. The Sound Monster is a bitch, isn’t it?”

You opened your eyes slowly into a squint. Chan was correct. Your voice was taken by the Sound Monster when you were very young. It was abrupt. You were praying to God to be reunited with your family, a mother and an uncle you could barely remember, and others you’ve never met.

Then, suddenly, your voice vanished. Your foster parents dug around to find a reason behind the disappearance, but you were medically cleared. They eventually concluded that the Sound Monster had taken it. You haven’t been able to speak since.

Back then, you didn’t understand why you were chosen to be stolen from. Now that you’ve grown up, the criteria wasn’t any less confusing despite you scouring the internet for information and stories.

It seemed the Sound Monster picked at random, and you were just unlucky. But that shouldn’t be something Chan knew. It wasn’t uncommon for someone without a voice to be a victim of the Sound Monster, but it also wasn’t common for one to be.

The ratio between being born mute, becoming mute from an accident, and having your voice taken by a monster was balanced. Chan was weird for assuming the latter unless he already knew who you were.

Seungmin rubbed the bridge of his nose when he saw the pointed look you gave Chan. This wasn’t exactly the plan. Sure, they were supposed to find you and introduce themselves. Surprisingly, none of them factored in how monsters lurked around a forbidden forest and would increase tension.

Alas, there was a monster, and on top of that, Chan was the least subtle man on Earth. One thing on top of another, it wasn’t the best idea to spring onto you the fact that they’ve been stalking you for a while.

“Maybe I should do the talking,” Seungmin suggested after he leaned toward Chan.

“But you’re terrible at talking,” Chan responded at the same volume of a whisper.

“You’re bad at making people want to listen to you.”

“That insult doesn’t hold the value you think it does,” Chan mused with a dismissive wave too close to Seungmin’s face. He returned to you, his smile more polite than friendly, but there was an element of natural mockery he may not be giving off on purpose. “Let’s chat.”

You faintly shook your head, a movement to accompany your features morphing into the manifestation of incredulousness. The smile on Chan’s face deterred for a thoughtful second before he closed his eyes in realization.

One finger pointed skyward, he sent you a dramatic nod—one single nod—and began reaching into his coat pocket to fumble out a notebook and pen. He limped toward you unnecessarily; you knew he could walk fine.

“My apologies, once again. How callous of me! You don’t have a voice.” He grabbed your hands and forcefully placed the notebook and pen in them. “Thankfully, I’m prepared. You can write with these.”

You held onto the items with one hand, clearly uninterested in using them. While unfazed by the proven assumption that these two strangers knew who you were, you had no intention of chatting with them.

They could be rival hunters looking to kill the same curse. In that case, you’d want nothing to do with them. They could be random stalkers, to which you would respond with neither fear nor intrigue. All you wanted was to complete the mission, receive your end of the contract, and go home.

“I’d much rather be left alone,” you signed.

“Oh, we don’t do that. We don’t understand sign language because, obviously, we can talk,” Chan immediately responded. He pointed at the pen and paper in your hand. “This is accomodation. Please utilize the resources at your disposal.”

Seungmin pursed his lips to prevent a defeated smile. That felt moderately problematic, but Chan’s confidence and nonchalance in executing rudeness made it less targeted. He wasn’t sure if he should make a point for Chan to stop acting like this, not that verbally accosting him has ever changed his ways.

When you two accidentally shared a glance, Seungmin grimaced, but he wasn’t apologetic.

“Leave me alone,” you wrote hastily instead.

“Well! If only we all got what we wanted! I wouldn’t be holding this cane if that’s the case!” Chan laughed, but his eyes shifted to an unexplained glare as if you’ve taken something from him. People like him always thought the world owed them something. It wasn’t uncommon. “How about I offer a proposal instead of accepting your request?”

You rolled your tongue toward your inner cheek. You would always take advantage of an opportunity to earn more money. “I’m in the middle of a job.”

“For the Warp Curse, I know,” Chan said. “I am your client.”

“Great. So you’re a stalker. Through and through.” You shoved the notebook to his face, to which he backed off to avoid it. A thought flashed through your head, and you quickly flipped a page to write at an intensity so strong you could scratch a hole through the paper. “Do you even have a million dollars?”

You could see it. You could see your daydream vanishing before your eyes.

The apartment you’d own, a regular college life, finally reuniting with some of your family—your promised million dollars was the center of a fraudulent contract. It was all too hasty. You should have checked before signing onto something too good to be true.

Glaring up at Chan, you wondered if you wanted to kill him until you realized he has the Immortal Curse, and you weren’t breaking an arm just to watch him get back up again.

“Stalker is a bad word for a description of me, but I don’t mind being praised once in a while,” Chan responded, then cleared his throat.

“And no, I don’t have a million dollars. But hold on, little sphinx–“ he reached out to pull you back from taking a prompted leave again–“I’ve got something better than a million dollars that I reckon you’d be interested in.”

You swatted his hand away and fixed your shirt, soothing it down at the bottom and dusting off the fabric on your chest. You scoffed by blowing air out of your mouth, which made it similar to huffing, but those with the proper context would know what you were trying to do. Not sure if they would take into consideration your annoyance, though.

Scribbling on the notebook again, you turned it around and raised a brow at Chan.

“WHAT?”

“I love the full capitalization. It’s like you’re shouting at me,” he joked as he stomped the cane on the ground for attention already on him. He sucked in a breath, preparing for the grand reveal, then asked, “How much would you like to help us kill the Sound Monster?”

“You can’t kill the Sound Monster.”

It was the first response you gave them. You wrote it down without hesitation.

The Sound Monster wasn’t ordinary. Unlike the creature you just faced, it wasn't bred by a homeostatic curse. It wasn’t a product of species reproduction, which monsters have learned to do over the centuries as their sign of evolution. It wasn’t—technically—man-made. A person with a specific curse did not mold the Sound Monster into existence, and the ministry ruled out the creation of monsters through curses a long time ago for obvious reasons.

It was created by people, but it was done unintentionally.

Besides its uniqueness, the Sound Monster has a lasting impact on its victims and those adjacent to them.

Taking one person's voice inconveniences the individual, and those around them, and the Sound Monster has taken a lot of voices. Hence its disreputable size and dreadful appearance. Only a handful of people have seen it up close. After realizing the amount of people out for its life, it closed itself off to a remote area.

But, those who have seen the Sound Monster described it as a fleshy pulp. Its body was twisted together through thousands of esophagi, making throaty noises as it stomped, and it spoke with all the voices it stole: there shall be no hope, there shall be no prayers.

“It will be like killing a God.”

Seungmin raised a brow at your statement. He didn’t necessarily disagree. The Sound Monster was speculated to be the aftermath of the Miracle Goddess descending into madness after receiving too much hatred from unanswered prayers, hence its mantra about hopes and prayers. He thought that speculation best suited the Sound Monster’s existence.

However, ultimately, there was no guarantee. It may be a regular monster with immeasurable power because taking voices was the easiest thing to do.

Besides, a monster would never be anything other than its name, regardless of where it came from. Seeing it as the Miracle Goddess, not the Sound Monster, was your mistake.

“It won’t be like killing a God,” Seungmin disagreed nonchalantly. “In fact, it’ll just be like killing a monster.”

"However, even if it meant killing a God–" Chan chimed in enthusiastically. He was now relying more on his leg to walk. He saw that you noticed, but to avoid the current, far more prioritized topic, he didn't mention anything about it. "That is where you come in, dungeon crawler!"

"You and your whatever–ruins curse, rumination curse, ruffian curse–" he blew a messy raspberry–"your ability is going to be vital to our operation to kill–"

“Ruination.” You shoved the notebook at Chan’s face in emphasis.

You underlined it three times, which he thought was unnecessary.

It was the only word on the page, so there was no way he wouldn't see it. You detestably interrupted him with your lack of attention and lousy scribbling to correct an insignificant mistake. Although, to him, all errors made by his hands shall be minor.

Alas, a man with a mission would be humble to those he required. He moved his head out of the square frame to deadpan at you before he sucked in a deep breath, brows raised with a calming mind.

“My apologies–your Ruination Curse,” he corrected before waving a hand at your notebook and pen.

“I advise you to stop interrupting me. I talk much faster than you can write, and by the time you finish correcting me, I’ve moved on. Then you’d look terrible having to make me backtrack. Seriously. It’s more embarrassing for you than it is for me.”

“I don’t think it’s embarrassing.” Seungmin shrugged from the side.

"Your curse has you getting on people's nerves for a living," Chan sneered. "If I had skin as thick as yours, I'd find nothing embarrassing, too!"

You rolled your eyes. The irony was hot on the tongue.

“Never the matter, my point is–“ Chan raised his cane to point at your heart–“your curse’s ability to cause the destruction of anything if its host so desires is the key to killing the Sound Monster.”

“That’s refutable.”

“It’s not,” Seungmin disagreed with a shake of his head.

You narrowed your brows, your eyes gleaming with a dissatisfied sneer he couldn’t care less about. Looking down at the notebook, you quickly jotted something down and held it up. “What do you know about my curse?”

"Enough. Once we established we needed your help to defeat the Sound Monster, we researched you. Hence, we were able to track you down and offer you a curse-killing job," he replied.

Chan leaned his torso forward not a beat later, popping from behind Seungmin’s shoulder with a grin. “We also know what happened to your family, by the way.”

Your hands dropped to your side, but your fingers itched to move the pen.

You already knew you were well-known among the hunting field because of your curse, but you’ve never personally met any of your clients and you’ve always used a fake identity for communication. No one ever knew they were talking to the person with the Ruination curse.

The fact that these two found you meant they weren't lying about looking into you. It was uncomfortable, but disregarding the confessed stalker behavior, your desire to know more about what happened to your family besides everyone's sudden disappearance was overwhelming.

What could they possibly know that law enforcement couldn't find out?

“I was holding off on that,” Seungmin pointed out with a sigh. Considering the severity of your history and the current location, he thought it best not to mention something that would require a lot of time to explain and muster a lot of unnecessary emotions.

“Why? They should know what happened.” Chan shrugged.

“Are you sure it’s transparency you care about?” Seungmin turned to Chan. “Or do you want them to accept your favor in exchange for something they should already know anyway?”

"No one is entitled to information. If you want to know something so bad, you should have looked harder for it. Alas, I have something they want to know, so they'll have to work for that. No answers for free," Chan replied with a gentleman bow done out of, as usual, mockery.

He straightened himself and exclaimed, "But of course, I care about getting what I want! If I can help them along the way, that'd be fantastic! Besides, information on your family is not my only leverage."

You saw him wait for you to respond, silently gathering details of your subtle reactions to see if you cared enough about your family to not need him to enact his backup plans to rope you into this operation. He didn’t need to. You were already leaning toward joining it.

Besides your family's history, having your voice back would be convenient. You just wanted to hear what he had to say. As obnoxious as he was, Chan has an outrageous amount of valuable intel for you that you failed to seek.

“Which is?”

“You can have your voice back.”

“Okay.” You wrote something more. “And?”

Chan smiled at your notebook.

“Killing the Sound Monster means you can also kill the Ruination Curse.”

“I have to say I’m not a big fan of the cave,” Chan complained, for however many times now. “Actually, I’m not a big fan of any cave.”

Seungmin’s steps faltered. His shoulders slumped as he huffed, and his eyes rolled to the side to barely spare the whiny man a glance. “Yeah, you’ve made that clear.”

“You whine about everything,” Chan said. “Sooner or later, you’ll find out you are just like me.”

The corner of your lips stretched downward as you watched Seungmin’s eyes roll to the beat of his exhausted sigh. You haven’t known him for long, but being stranded together with someone as insufferable as Chan developed a bubble of solidarity between you both.

He might have felt the connection, too, as he immediately searched for your eyes to share another silent glance with you, a knowing smirk on his lips. Pausing your feet, you waited for him to catch up with your pace before walking.

“He must have a lot of karma in him?” You showed Seungmin what you wrote, a finger jabbing at Chan, who walked ahead of you.

He held back a brief chuckle. It wasn’t a flawed assumption, and it wasn’t wrong either. He just found it funny you thought that, and you were right. Chan has more karma stored in him than anyone on the team.

Since karma was considered any evil deeds done by a person without counting the reaction of said deeds, it was easy for anyone to accumulate a level of karma in them, even if the act could garner only a small amount. Everyone litters or says the wrong thing once in a while. It was unavoidable.

Nonetheless, Seungmin was always digging deeper into understanding his curse’s criteria because the fact that Chan has enough to act as a karma reservoir could either mean Seungmin’s curse worked in ways beyond his knowledge or that Chan has more secrets than he let on.

Chan says and does many uncomfortable things, but verbal jabs and a whack of his cane don’t count for great karma. Seungmin didn’t think Chan had done nearly enough per day to garner so much karmic power, either. Something happened in his past that made him this way, just like your Ruination Curse made you.

“He does, but not as much as your curse,” Seungmin whispered.

Your hand dropped slowly to your side when you realized you understood the pattern of his moving hands. Surprised eyes shaking between his fingers and finally up at his face, the excitement blossomed across your lips into a grin.

You’ve had to accommodate others for so long, which hasn’t been a great hassle or anything. Still, encountering someone who didn’t have to wait more than five seconds for you to properly jot down a reply was pleasant.

Clutching the notebook with only two fingers to spare the others, you fumbled about where to put the pencil, gave up, clapped once, and signed back to him.

“You know sign language?”

“I’m still learning,” he said. “When we decided to recruit you, my best friend thought it was only fair that he learned how to communicate with you. He dragged me to take lessons with him.”

You pursed your lips. “You didn’t think to do it yourself?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t interested in learning something new. But this has been relatively easy to pick up. I made more progress than him.”

“I can understand you fine, that’s for sure.” You huffed just as your lips stretched into a smile, giving an illusion of a laugh. After a short moment, you continued, “What’s your reason to kill the Sound Monster?”

“Do I need one?” he signed, then, with a frown, he spoke, “Monsters are monsters. It’s always beneficial to purge them.”

Chalking it to a deed for the greater good was always the easiest answer. It was understandable and clear. No sob story, no personal grievances, just out of sheer goodwill. People with those answers were often lying—you’ve never known anyone who does things out of mere goodness of the heart.

But Seungmin didn’t seem deceitful. He wasn’t set on the betterment of the world, that’s for sure, but he thought eliminating the Sound Monster could make the world more convenient, so there wasn’t a reason not to kill it.

You nodded. Whatever his reason was, it wouldn’t bother you so long as it didn’t negatively impact you.

The cave began to dim as you three moved away from the entrance. You realized you haven’t been paying attention to your surroundings, but didn't think you’ve missed the Warp Curse yet.

There were no special skills or a keen eye when looking for a homeostatic curse; it could be the resident of anything, from rocks to trees, paintings to instruments. Sometimes even a dead body, but you’ve only heard of those instances and never seen them.

The key element was that they had to be inanimate. Anyone bound to a curse would have an easier time figuring out where a homeostatic curse was simply because curses could recognize each other.

It usually manifested in the forms of anxiety symptoms, an unnatural unease, and bodily reactions that went against logic, such as sweating in a cool area.

In the same breath, detecting and destroying a curse with multiple hosts is more challenging.

Chan poked a piece of debris on the floor, not quite examining it because he didn’t think looking for the Warp Curse was his job. Then he stood up from the crouching position and swung his cane backward to swiftly turn to face you and Seungmin, who were both lagging behind, engrossed in a chatter.

He sighed—this was dragging out longer than he wanted. He should have suggested canceling the commission.

“How long is this going to take?” Chan asked once you both were within earshot.

“Somebody is bored,” Seungmin mused with a roll of his eye.

You took out the notebook and pen and jotted two things down: you could sense the curse nearby and that he should occupy his time explaining why killing the Ruination Curse would benefit you.

You tapped his shoulder and shoved the notebook to his face. Chan snatched it away to read your handwriting better before returning it, a frown hanging on his lips. He handed the notebook back to you and clicked his tongue in preparation.

“Considering your family’s history with the curse, I’m not sure you want to keep it alive in your body,” Chan said. “I am coming at this from an emotional standpoint.”

The Ruination Curse was a family curse, which you already knew. It worked because every generation would pick an offspring as its new host. It wasn’t noted why the curse wanted to reside in younger bodies, but the assumption that it desired them was eliminated when the members of your family started having children, which forced the curse to reside in adults well into their forties.

But, in every generation, there was only one member of the family that could utilize the Ruination Curse. The previous host of the curse, just before you, was your uncle.

“Does he have a name?” you signed to Seungmin.

He shrugged. “I’m sure he has a name, but it’s scratched off every record for some reason. Not even the mental institution he was sent to figured out why his name was crossed off all the records a day after he escaped.”

“He escaped?” you signed frantically. “Why was he sent to a mental institution?”

“He–“ Seungmin licked his lower lip and looked at Chan. “He escaped, or maybe he vanished into thin air. Nobody knows where he is. We didn’t find him either."

“Leaving the big news to me,” Chan mused with a smirk. He paused from walking and twirled his cane on the spot. “You are the last member of your immediate family, [Name]–“ he corrected himself–“you and your murderous uncle, actually.”

Your uncle had no intention of letting go of the Ruination Curse, but since he knew its parting wasn’t a choice he could make, he contrived a scenario where the curse would have no other host to jump to except him.

On one Christmas gathering, back when your mother's pregnancy wasn't visible, and she had set to announce the good news at the party, your uncle used the Ruination Curse to cause a mass miscarriage. All the pregnant wives, which weren't many, within your family lost their baby, except for your mother. He didn't know of your existence yet.

Only killing those unborn was a form of mercy. When he was challenged for his action, he took it as an attack on his morals and agency and decided to end the lives of those who stood up to him the same night.

Your biological father was one of those people, and your mother—a smart woman stunned into faux calmness, sought empathy from her brother, which she obtained. After that night, those who were alive went their separate ways, and nobody spoke of the tragedy until your birth.

"It came to me." You signed, slowing down and looking to Seungmin for confirmation. "The curse came to me automatically after I was born, and my mother…"

"She had cut contact with your uncle and fled to live somewhere far away. She left you with an old friend from college when she realized you inherited the curse. She might have wanted to pretend she wasn't the one who had a child, and maybe she was convincing, but he killed her anyway," Seungmin said. "Some of what I said are speculations, but mostly it's true."

You looked at the floor. That was all you needed to know, and it took that much for you to realize you never had any reason to look for the truth. It didn’t answer any questions because you had no questions, and neither did it give you feelings of closure. You just felt lost and wasted, like your journey has come to a unfulfilling end.

“Your mother’s old friend, the man she left you with. His name is Seo Changbin.” Chan twirled his cane and hummed. “He was the one who abandoned you at the police station.”

“Abandon–“

“I am not wrong,” Chan cut Seungmin off calmly. “It sounds bad because it is bad. Despite any nuance of the situation, I am right. I always am.”

“Is he alive?”

“Why? Did you think he left you to keep you safe?” Chan mused. “Like what your mother did?”

The ground suddenly gave away from beneath you all.

You reacted quickly, unsheathing your sword and throwing yourself toward the wall, stabbing its pointed edge inside it. You jumped to stand on the grip, only searching for your two new companions when you've stabilized yourself.

Chan resorted to a similar method with his cane, except he dangled on it as if using a pull-up bar, groaning as he tried to pull himself over his thin cane. He looked up and immediately squeezed his eyes shut, a disgusted scream louder than the rumbling of the ground pushed out of his mouth.

"My goodness! I suggest biker shorts!"

You grimaced. You grimaced. For everything he knew about you, one would have thought he'd understand your decision to keep your attire to a minimum. Besides, you were already wearing safety shorts, albeit very short ones. He was looking for things to complain about.

Ignoring him, you waved away the dust for a clearer sight. Across you was Seungmin, his entire forearm covered in goo that stuck itself to the wall. You raised your brows; you didn't know karma has other functions, too.

Seungmin had begun the box breathing method to ease the beating in his ears, but he wasn't so much anxious as he was exhausted. The goo around his arm needed to support his entire weight, so it was tightening on him for dear life, practically cutting off the blood circulation. It would take longer for any irreversible damage, but the fatigue and numbness arrived within seconds, making him sweat.

“There’s all the missing hikers,” Seungmin muttered as he accessed the sight.

Below the collapsed ground was a formation of blood vessels. Each of them was linked to a sharp edge protruding from the ground like a nail, and they were stacked with dead hikers still in their hiking gear.

The blood painted onto the nails was what made the vessels red, and staring dead at you in the middle was an ember-colored hole. That was where the blood gathered, and they must all flow toward—

The curse is here. You thought as you hopped off your sword and plucked it off the wall.

Chan squirmed away from you when you fell from a great height. You dodged the nails when you landed and covered your nose with your hand upon the decaying smell of bodies around you. Carefully, you made your way to the ember in the middle. You looked at it, then up at the curse, which was just an ordinary sapling growing out of a place it shouldn't.

You rolled your eyes and raised your sword. Before you could hit it, Chan’s boisterous holler stopped you. You lowered your sword and spun around, staring at him with wide eyes that screamed annoyance and confusion.

He fixed himself atop his cane and huffed. "Hey! Are you sure this is a great idea?" he asked. "You don't even know what that is. What if it just gets angry and retaliates?"

He raised a good point. You just didn't care that he made one. Taking out the pen and paper he gave you from your bag, you scribbled something and held it up in his direction. Seungmin snorted as Chan leaned forward with his eyes squinted, pretending to read the words on the notepad. When he finished his theatrics, he moved away from the awkward position.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” he said with a few approving nods. “You think I made a contract with the 20/20 vision monster!”

“I don’t think someone with perfect vision can see from all the way up here either,” Seungmin chimed in.

“Just telling me you can’t read it is also an option.” You raised the paper higher by stepping on your tippy-toes.

Chan’s eye twitched. Without trying to read your handwriting, he groaned with a slurred emphasis on each word, “I can’t read it.”

You chuckled with the faint movement of your shoulders, the air punching out of your nose indicating temporary humor. Dropping the pen and paper on the floor and picking up your sword, you turned to face the ember again. As you aimed it at the ember, getting ready to stab it, a bright light engulfed you.

You closed your eyes, bringing an arm up to block any potential attacks, and when you opened your eyes again, you were moved far away from the hole. You looked up at Seungmin, and he shrugged in response.

“It’s the Warp Curse. You didn’t think it’s going to warp you?” he said. “At least we know it doesn’t want us to destroy the ember.”

“That’s more reason not to touch it,” Chan said. “We don’t know if that is the heart of the curse. If we make it angry, we’re all doomed here.”

Seungmin pulled a face. “You mean I am doomed. Both of you are immortal.”

“They are actually partial,” Chan pointed out. “I’m the real immortal here.”

“What do we do then?” you sighed after clapping your hands for their attention, shifting your weight onto one leg and dropping your sword to your side.

“I don’t know. Do it again?” Seungmin suggested. “Let me see what it’s actually doing.”

You spared him a disapproving glance but didn’t have any brighter ideas, so you did as he asked. You approached the ember, raised your sword, and got teleported elsewhere. The pattern repeated several times until you decided to stop, glaring up at Seungmin to pressure him into figuring something out.

He avoided eye contact to think. He noticed something, but he wasn’t sure how viable his idea was. Looking up at his arm, which must be turning paler based on the numbness, he sighed. He slowly released the karma from the wall so he could slide off of it instead of falling feet first. When he landed, he dusted his hands and hurried to where you stood.

“Hey! Are you guys abandoning me?” Chan shouted.

“You should join us down here!” Seungmin said. “Your face is turning red. You’re gonna fall!”

“You wish I would! I might be old, but I’m very endurable!” he exclaimed, tightening his grip on his cane. “You guys figure out how to kill the curse so I can get out of here! The dead bodies stink!”

You rolled your eyes. “The real surprise is his cane being able to hold his weight.”

“It can do much more than that,” Seungmin signed back, then he said, “It’s his partner in crime.”

“Why does he need it?” You almost spared Chan a glance, which would have given away the fact that you were talking about him. “He doesn’t limp.”

“Nobody knows. He makes up stories. My friend looked him up, but there was nothing.” Seungmin shrugged. “He sometimes limps.”

“Nobody knows why?”

“What else can it be? An accident.”

“Hey, I love that you are hitting it off with them. But can you focus on your mute outreach program some other time? I’m getting tired!”

Seungmin put a hand on his hip and squinted, the corner of his lips quirking into an unamused smirk. “You said you’re endurable.”

“One word for you, young man–“ Chan leaned his head forward as if to spit–“coexistence!”

Seungmin turned around. “I don’t blame you if you reject our invite.”

“I hate to say this, but it’s not like I have a million dollars to give you, so why don’t we leave?” Chan continued. “The area is already on lockdown anyway. We should let the city deal with it! That’s what our tax dollars are for!”

“He hasn’t paid taxes in years. What is he talking about,” Seungmin muttered.

“Neither have I.” You grimaced.

“You’re legally unemployed,” he said. “You’ve never paid taxes.”

You shrugged. He wasn’t wrong. All of your bounty-hunting jobs were through backdoors. None of them were official, and most of them were suspicious, but those were the ones that paid the most.

“Anyway, this thing seems to operate like a tunnel,” he signed. “If you get put in, you can always get pulled out.”

As Seungmin cleverly pointed out, since the curse might understand human language, it came in handy that you two could communicate through sighs. Since he was still learning, he mainly talked through short and choppy sentences with a few keywords that could get his point across.

He told you he noticed a few patterns of which you were warped, meaning the curse must have laid out specific routes that it could use. It was no coincidence that all those routes ended up somewhere above a nail. Another thing he saw was that you turn invisible when you were being warped, and judging by the laying of routes, he doubted the curse could see you when you were in the middle of the routes.

“Okay. This should be secure enough.”

He squeezed your hand firmly and pulled at your fingers to check for security. You two shared a nonchalant nod as he removed his hand from yours. You rubbed your fingers to feel the goo he transferred to your skin; like he warned, they stung like spicy mint or super glue on your skin.

Seungmin watched you intently as you approached the ember again. You twirled your sword so the point faced the ground, and as you pretended to puncture the ember, you were whisked away. Forcing your eyes open, you waited a few seconds for the curse to push you toward a considerable height before you let go of your sword.

Seungmin ran toward the direction of where you were moved away. There were only faint lines of the ‘tunnel,’ so he could barely see where you traveled to amid the multiple routes possible.

He raised a hand, and a thin line of goo webbed between his and yours. He turned his wrist around the line and held it to keep it steady, and then, with one leg anchored on the floor, he pulled the string over his shoulder.

The light around you disappeared like a camera flash as you were snatched away from the air tunnel. Your blurry vision steadily rubbed itself away, but you could faintly make out the shape of your sword still in the air.

Once you were almost in arm’s reach, you shot a hand out and grabbed its handle, and then you leaned your weight forward so you could begin to fall to the ground.

Seungmin raced to the ember when the karmic string snapped. There was no way the curse would idly sit by this operation, and he couldn’t count on the probability that it couldn’t activate its warp one after another within a moment’s rest. If his assumptions were correct, when you were about to fall sword first into the ember—

He pulled you down by your shirt and shielded you from behind, briefly taking your place, and then he was flung into the air.

—the warp curse would try to remove you again.

Wind released between the crack of the broken ember, and one by one, explosions from beneath the blood trail broke apart its food source.

The ground rumbled beneath you, forcing you to lose your footing. As you were too busy trying to regain your composure, a slit cracked between your feet, and then bigger and bigger until a rocky nail shot upward from the spot.

You were pushed aside in the nick of time, and there came a trail of pained groans from none other than the gentleman himself. The earthquake didn’t stop, but you scrambled up to your feet upon the chaos and bolted toward the curse. Grabbing a fistful of the sapling, you squeezed it tightly in your hand and willed for its destruction.

Your arm twisted with a pop—a low price for multiple lives lost, and the sapling in your hand turned into ashes.

The nails crumbled soon after, dropping all its victims to the ground in several thuds. Chan spat the blood out of his mouth as he tried to get off the ground, but instead, he flipped his body over so he could lay on his back. With his eyes closed in relief, he breathed away the pain in his chest as his curse sealed his injury up.

“I hate this job,” he muttered, earning a chuckle from Seungmin, who walked up to him just to kick his thin.

“How’re you holding up, old man?” Seungmin asked. “Hyunjin did offer to be here today.”

“If it wasn’t for me, they would have died–“ Chan groaned. “Ugh, I forgot they can’t die too.”

You held onto your broken arm as you made your way to them. Chan closed the eye closest to you when you neared, turning his head away and bringing a finger gun up at you.

“I’ll repeat it,” he laughed, “try biker shorts.”

You clicked your tongue as you took a big step back, pressing your hand onto your skirt to cover up.

“Is your arm broken?” Seungmin asked, gesturing toward it. “We can check it out at base. The one who was supposed to be here in Chan’s place is our medic.”

You nodded. Agreeing to head to their home would have established your agreement to join their operation to kill the sound monster. Truthfully, there wasn’t much else you could do as an individual project now that they have explained your family history. Killing the sound monster didn’t sound like a bad next step.

“I guess I’m in?”

“Great. I’m glad you agree,” Chan groaned as he sat up. When he noticed your surprised expressions, he smiled. “Yeah, I do know sign language. I had a weird sister.”

As you and Seungmin drowned yourselves in shock and mild annoyance, Chan ruffled his hair and looked around. He nonchalantly looked past the dead bodies on the floor and exhaled.

“Say, do you think we can still get monetary rewards for finding these missing people?”

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paintmepurple · 12 hours ago

Text

A gold mine 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

Hey hey! You can call me Lo!

I write fics and fake texts for SKZ. I use the app Social Maker for my fake texts/tweets. It's no longer available on the App Store and yes I'm terrified of what's gonna happen when I get a new phone 😭😭

My requests are OPEN. Please see the guidelines before writing in!

My masterlist of fics is below the cut. Thanks for stopping by my blog!

Mobile Masterlist

Here is the masterlist in web/desktop version

🩷 = fluff, 🖤 = angst, 💚 = crack, 🔞 = contains sexual content, ✖️ = intense subject matter

Fake Texts

chan

encouraging you to spend his money 🩷

he gets jealous when you talk to someone else at a work event 🖤

you're his super hot pottery teacher (with minho) 🩷

you get stolen from 🩷

minho

you're his super hot pottery teacher (with chan) 🩷

hyunjin

you have a weird exotic pet 💚

he doesn't believe you when your pet is sick 🖤

random texts with bf! hyunjin 🩷 💚

jisung

he takes you birdwatching 🩷💚

he doesn’t care about your big promotion | part 2 🖤

felix

he forgets a date 🩷

seungmin

he falls out of love with you 🖤 | part 2 🖤 | alt part 2 💚🖤

he's your last-minute date for a wedding | part 2 🩷 💚

jeongin

pushing him away due to work 🩷

ot8

you're injured but you're being soooo chill about it : hyung line | maknae line 💚

you live in a shitty apartment: chan/lee know/hyunjin 💚 | changbin 🖤 | changbin part 2 🖤🩷

he calls you clingy: hyung line | hyung line part 2 | maknae line | maknae line part 2 🖤

he RUINS your birthday: hyung line | hyung line part 2 | maknae line🖤

YOU call HIM clingy: hyung line | hyung line part 2 | maknae line | maknae line part 2 🖤

you guys have an age gap: hyung line | maknae line 🩷

you're perpetually single and it's driving you insane: hyung line 🩷

he ditches you for his girl best friend: hyung line | maknae line 🖤

Prose Fics

chan

hello, christ? i’m bout to sin again (vampire au, 6.4k) 🔞

sharpest tool (2.9k) 🖤

baby, it's cold outside (no seriously it's crazy out there) (4.1k) 🩷

treatment resistant (4.7k) 🖤✖️

minho

juno (3.3k) 💚🔞

seungmin

to do what i can do (6.1k) 🩷

souvenirs (1.8k) 🩷🖤

#skz masterlists #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz scenarios

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lixies-favorite-cookie · 15 hours ago

Text

𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫・h.j

—for months you have dealt with constant intrusive thoughts, wondering what life was like before your head was swarmed with anxiety—until one day, you wake up and it isn't your OCD that you remember—it's hyunjin. alternatively: you find hyunjin baking your favorite sweet treat and you fall even deeper in love with him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・hyunjin x gn!reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・hurt and comfort, established relationships, one sided angst, me trauma dumping, tooth-rotting fluff // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.4k // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・reader with OCD, could be read as any sort of obsessions + compulsions but focuses on the obsession of time and the thought that this state of mind will never change, one curse word, kisses, so so many kisses, kisses that end in food fights, food being made that ends in kisses, was the food ever actually made? the world may never know. // 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭・je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson

𝐚/𝐧・this kind of really sucks, but i decided to throw away my perfectionism for a little bit and just pour my soul out instead. I've recently been dealing with some serious OCD symptoms and I am trying to get a phycologist to help me navigate these symptoms and get diagnosed, but I thought of this today what it would be like to not wake up and immediately remember my anxiety and my obsessions...then started sobbing :D then hopped on my computer and wrote through the tears haha. edit cookie: I wrote this in early December hated it decided to post it anyways in the small happenstance that somebody might relate to it, I hope that somebody out there feels even the smallest comfort from it :)

You wanted to run away—to take Hyunjin by the hands and disappear into the forest brush; to press your palms into the earth until it felt as though your fingers had become roots, twisting and tangling, becoming one with the trees. You longed to rest beneath the grass, to watch as the stars sang like fairies, strung in sweet, serene stillness. You wanted to trace constellations on his skin, set fireflies alight in his eyes, to kiss him until you were sick of it—until your lips could bear no more.

You wanted to run away and never look back, but 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 always had a way of looking back at you. One day, you awoke, and all the stars had fizzled out—ripped from the sky like a fallen angel's wings. Your world had been dipped in ink, a single drop that spread underneath your eyelids as though you had never woken at all. It consumed you, a once-magical world stolen in a single moment, leaving you completely and utterly under their control.

The trees had grown thick with leaves, their vines crawling up your spine; creeping across your legs, your feet, your teeth. Go away, you wanted to scream. Go away, go away, go away! But the more you squirmed, the deeper they sank their thorns in. There was no escaping; you had become one with the fear, one with the shadows. The sense of what had been faded out, swallowed by the crippling uncertainty of who you were 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 the darkness returned.

Months later, that feeling still hadn't left, and it terrified you to imagine it never would.

In the small stretch of time, floating on the edge of an in-between, is where you felt most at peace. Only a heartbeat short of two seconds, where sleep was nothing but an echo, yet the world had not quite begun to spin again. And for a breath, as you stretch your palm across the silky sheets, still warm from the imprint of Hyunjin's body, you didn't think about 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞; you didn't think about anything but him.

You stay here long after the world began to spin again—waiting, wondering, sinking deeper into the thought of him: the fallen star nuzzled just beneath his eyelid, the feel of his fingers, soft and saccharine, brushing over your knuckles; the way his lips taste like oranges and his skin smells like fresh rain. You study every moment as though they were going to fade away—fluttering from your palms like ashed scrolls.

Then suddenly, it hits you. There were no intrusive thoughts, no anxieties—nothing but the ache where Hyunjin should have been; an ache that consumed you so greatly that you didn't have enough time to worry about 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞. The realization sinks deep into your bones, pulsing in tandem with your trembling heart—everything felt so overwhelming in that bed, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 flooding back in. Though this time, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 tasted bittersweet—a distant, muted sour, a small break from the usual loud, potent flavor it tended be.

Something about the thought made your chest feel heavy, your head feel loud. You wanted to ask yourself so many questions, so many things you didn't have the answer to, but instead, you decide to search for Hyunjin, rising to your feet.

The faint scent of bananas and honey wafts through the crack in the door, slightly ajar from where he had left minutes before. You follow the scent down the hall, willing your trembling legs to hold you steady, though the sight that awaits you makes you weak in the knees for an entirely different reason.

Hyunjin's standing above the stove, still disheveled in his pajamas, swiftly whisking a bowl of batter. Beside him lays a cutting board with sliced bananas and a bread pan, the inside sticky with butter. And when he tilts his head to check the stove's timer, you notice the streak of flour smeared on his cheekbone, and for whatever reason, that detail absolutely destroys you.

Dewy-eyed and weak, you shuffle towards him, wrapping your fingers around his wrist to shake the whisk from his hand. Hyunjin jumps, startled by the sudden touch, before he blanches, watching a single tear fall from your lash line.

The bowl drops onto the stovetop with a soft thud.

One second, you are feeling his heartbeat flutter underneath your palm, and the next, it is pressed against your cheek, the tip of your nose nuzzled into his throat. You breathe him in, filling your lungs up until it feels as though your chest has blossomed with the subtle scent. Hyunjin smelled like the forest's first breath—a faint, delicate petrichor that clung to his skin, as if he was the creator. A smell that brought you right back home.

"My love, what's wrong?" His voice hums against your cheek, trembling with a worry you were so reluctant to cause. It takes you centuries to speak, brushing through the vines creeping up your throat.

"I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought of was you," you whisper.

Hyunjin stills underneath your palms, his breath catching like weeds in his throat. It killed him to see you this way, utterly terrified by the very person he was so overwhelmingly besotted with. For months, he guided you through it, every restless night, every bad day, murmuring into your hair—when there's darkness look for the stars—with his hand held tight, you would argue "but there are no stars."

So Hyunjin created some. Every night before bed, he would coat your thoughts in honey, so with every kiss you would be reminded of him, and not them. It almost brought him to his knees, knowing all his hard work paid off.

He was over the moon, grateful tears collecting on his lash line. It takes him three shuddering breaths to push the words off his tongue—falling into your ears like sweet nectar.

"Oh, baby," he chokes, capturing your cheeks between trembling palms, still mindful of his sticky fingers. "I'm so glad, baby, I'm so fucking glad." Hyunjin can't hold himself back as he leans his forehead against your own, pressing his lips to yours.

He tastes like oranges and joy, so, so much joy it's dizzying. You seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, then his chest. He pulls you closer, so impossibly close, it feels as though your heartbeats have taken root within each other, a love sprouting through a single passionate kiss.

When there is darkness look for the stars—it was a quiet night four months ago when you first heard those words, nestled under the nighttime sky; his cheeks freckled with moon dust.

You could still feel it, the way your heart overturned as you shoved the words out of your mouth. It was embarrassing to talk about—how could you explain something you didn't understand? How could somebody sympathize with something that was so crazy?

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a while after that, bestowing your words with all the deference you deserved. It felt as though you had died a million times before he finally decided to speak.

"When there is darkness, look for the stars." At first, you stammered, both confused and slightly offended—that was, until he hooked his finger under your chin and kissed constellations onto your skin, spreading the galaxy inside your eyes until that was all you could see, all you could think.

It was that night where it all began.

It takes one clumsy kiss for him to accidentally smear a fat strip of batter across your cheek, breaking your makeout with a startled gasp. He goes wide-eyed, only slightly apologetic as he breaks out into a smile, seeing how adorable you looked—lips swollen and red, banana and flour smudged on your face.

"Baby—" Hyunjin doesn't get to finish his sentence, not before a slice of banana is catapulted onto his forehead, sticking with an audible thwap. He yelps, utterly gobsmacked, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

You begin to laugh, a rib-splitting, belly-gripping guffaw that resounds throughout the entire kitchen. With a playful scoff, Hyunjin grabs a handful of bananas, flicking them at you like bullets. You don't stop throwing food at each other until your stomachs burn with laughter and the floor is coated with enough ingredients to make banana bread itself. Hyunjin pulls you in, lips dusted with flour and giggles. He presses his smile against your own.

You realize then, blossoming with adoror, you had been so focused on what it was like 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 that you never stopped to think about how 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 didn't include Hyunjin.

Maybe, just maybe, you could get used to 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫.

cookie owns this. thank you.

#hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz angst #stray kids angst #hyunjin angst #skz scenarios #stray kids #skz #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids x

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luckymilkshakerebel · 2 days ago

Text

A Love Rekindled

Genre: fluff, clingy and a little bit angst

Content warning: too much fluff, a little bit smut, angst

Cast : seungmin x reader

---

It had been a full week since I last heard from him. A week of unanswered texts and calls that went straight to voicemail. Every time I dialed his number, it rang once or twice before he hung up. My heart sank with each call that ended without a word. I didn’t understand what was happening. We’d never gone this long without talking, without checking in with each other. I tried to convince myself that maybe he was just busy, but as the silence stretched on, doubts began to creep in. What had I done wrong? Was he pulling away?

Then, one morning, I woke up feeling horrible. My throat was sore, my body ached, and a headache made it impossible to concentrate. I didn’t have the energy to fight it, so I stayed in bed, trying to sleep it off. But as the 1 day passed, I knew I needed something. I decided to drag myself to the pharmacy to get some medicine, hoping it would make me feel better.

I was barely able to stand as I walked into the pharmacy, feeling miserable, but I had to get something to ease the symptoms. I shuffled over to the aisle for cold and flu meds, trying to focus despite my dizziness. I grabbed a box of medicine and stood there, staring blankly at the shelf, when I heard a voice.

“Are you okay?”

I turned around and froze. There, standing in front of me, was my boyfriend friend Han. He looked surprised to see me, and his face softened when he saw how pale and unwell I looked. His eyes searched mine, and I could tell he hadn’t expected to run into me here—especially not like this.

I didn’t have the energy to say much, so I just nodded weakly, not wanting to explain everything that had been building up over the past week. Han looked at the medicine in my hands and then back at me. His expression shifted from concern to something else, something I couldn’t quite place.

“Why are you here? You don’t look well,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding more serious.

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. “I’m sick. I just... I wasn’t feeling good, and I needed something.”

Han brow furrowed. “You should’ve told seungmin. Did he know?”

You shake your head as a sign of no, Seungmin doesn't know

Before han could respond, you said " i need to go, bye" you pay for you medicine and start to go home as you feel worse.

As you push the door open, the weight of the day presses harder on your already aching body. The air inside your home feels still, a silence broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. You're burning up with fever, but hunger gnaws at your stomach. You shuffle toward the kitchen, each step heavier than the last.

You fumble through the cabinets, finding ingredients for something simple—a bowl of soup. The rhythm of chopping vegetables feels distant, like you're watching yourself from afar. The heat of the stove makes you sweat more, but you endure, determined to eat something, anything, to regain some strength.

When it's ready, you ladle the soup into a bowl and sit at the table. The aroma is comforting, but as soon as you bring the spoon to your lips, your stomach churns violently. You take a small sip, but it’s no use—your body rebels, forcing you to rush to the sink. You didn't eat yesterday and still can't eat

You lean over, heaving, as waves of nausea take over. The fever has robbed you of your appetite, leaving you weak and defeated. After cleaning up, you sink onto the couch, shivering despite the warmth surrounding you. The untouched bowl of soup sits on the counter, a reminder of how your body has betrayed you today. You drift to sleep

After a while, The door clicked open, and you barely stirred from the couch. Fever had made you sluggish, but the sound of someone entering your home snapped you out of your haze.

Your boyfriend, seungmin walked in, his face filled with concern, but something about it annoyed you. Seungmin used the password to let himself in—no knocking, no waiting for permission. His eyes darted to the kitchen counter where the half-eaten bowl of soup sat, then back to you slumped under the blanket.

“You didn’t finish your soup,” seungmin said, his voice gentle but edged with frustration. “You need to eat something, even just a little. You’ll feel worse if you don’t.”

You sighed, turning away from him, your back against the couch. “I’m not hungry,” you muttered, your tone flat. “And I don’t need you hovering.”

Seungmin paused for a moment, clearly taken aback. “I’m not hovering,” he defended, stepping closer. “I’m just worried. You didn’t tell me you were this sick.”

You let out a bitter laugh, heat rising—not just from the fever but from your frustration. “Oh, now you’re worried Seungmin? After ignoring me for days? You only care when it’s convenient for you.”

His jaw tightened, and he sat down beside you, his voice softer but firm. “I didn’t ignore you y/n. I’ve been busy—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, cutting seungmin off. “You could’ve checked in. A text 'i'm home' or I'm busy' doesn’t take much effort, Seungmin.”

Seungmin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m trying to help. Can you at least let me?”

You turned to face Seungmin, your exhaustion and irritation swirling together. “I’m too tired to argue,” you muttered. “But I don’t want to eat. Just... stop pushing.”

Seungmin didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. Finally, he stood up and walked to the kitchen. You heard the sound of running water as he dumped out the soup, and guilt pricked at you, but you were too drained to say anything.

When he came back, he sat down quietly, leaning back against the couch. After a few moments, he said softly, “I know I messed up. I’m sorry. Let me take care of you now, even if you’re mad at me.” Seungmin continued "did you eat something today or yesterday, i know you can't eat well when you get sick, did you eat the soup?" you just shook your head.. Seungmin start to get annoyed with your stubborn.

Seungmin gets up to get the soup again, he's going to make sure you eat tonight."You should eat," Seungmin prompted you gently. trying to coax you out of couch. You had been trying to sleep off your violent cold you somehow acquired from work. The suggestion of moving out of your comfort space wasn't so appealing, not when you had finally found the angle to stop your nose running or your throat to feel irritated enough to send you into a coughing fit.

"I bring food for you, let's not waste it," Seungmin sighed, stroking hair out of your face tenderly. You shook your head

"But you need to eat now," Seungmin insisted softly. You knew he was Worried about you, and it made you feel bad for being so stubborn about this.

"Left there. i will eat later" you said softly

"Don't put it off. I bring the food you make to make sure you eat" he encouraged, gently tugging at your arm to get you to sit up, so he could place a tray on your lap. You look up "why did you came?"

"What, you didn't think I would be checking in on you?" Seungmin scoffed gently, sitting on the edge of your bed with you. "Why wouldn't I come and see you?"

I felt a lump form in my throat, and I could barely hold back the tears. “You’ve been ignoring me for a week... I’ve been trying to reach you, and you kept hanging up every time I called. I didn’t know what to think.”

His face fell, and he stepped closer to me. “I know. I messed up. I didn’t mean to shut you out. I was dealing with some stuff, but that’s no excuse. I should’ve been there for you.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked down at the floor. The silence between us was heavy, but it felt like he truly regretted his actions.

“I’ll make it right,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I’ll take care of you now. I’m not leaving until you’re okay.”

"But you have been ignored me for one week... I need you but you keep shutting me out. But then because I'm sick you came? Because of what?Why did you came?" Seungmin froze at your words, and instantly, guilt consumed his expression.

"Hey, stop... I haven't been ignoring you," he denied, even if the truth wasn't on his side. "I just... I've been busy with work is all"

He reached to take your hand, threading his fingers with yours. "Listen, I'm here now, aren't i? Don't think that I don't care about you," Seungmin murmured, biting his lip.

"Hey." Seungmin said, more firmly. He cupped your chin with his other hand, forcing you to look at him properly.

"You know I love you, right? Just because I'm a little busy it doesn't mean i don't want to be around you. l'd have never come here if I didn't want to see you," he confessed, frowning as you continued to look miserable. "Am i that clingy"

"No-!" Seungmin's eyebrows furrowed at your broken tone. He looked a little sad that you would even suggest that. "| didn't mean it when I said that, okay? I was just annoyed, I didn't mean a word of it... I like your clingy, I just... I was stupid," he muttered, looking frustrated with himself.

"Then am i a burden to you" you look at him . "You aren't a burden to me," Seungmin reassured you tenderly, rubbing your shoulder. He sighed heavily, still a little frustrated that he had made you feel this way.

"How many times have I told you that you're the most important thing to me," he mumbled, gently resting his forehead on yours. "The idea of losing you.. Scares me. YoU aren't a burden to me. And you aren't clingy, either. But you are mine," he added, pressing his lips against your forehead.

"But you keep shutting me out" On the verge of tears

"I know. I know" Seungmin pulled back, looking frustrated with himself. He ran a hand through his short black hair restlessly.

"I don't know why I shut you out, it wasn't intentional. I'm just an ass sometimes," he mumbled, sighing.

"Do you. Do you really think I don't want you?" He mumbled, looking genuinely saddened by the idea. " Because you keep ignoring me, i can't help the thought" you look away

"I don't ignore you," Seungmin denied, but it was a weak protest. He had a terrible habit of shutting you out when he was stressed. "I don't know because you keep ignorig me"

"Honestly, it's not even me that does it... It's like, I'm fine, and things are great, but the second something stressful happens it's like you're at the back of my mind... And then a week goes by, and I feel like an idiot." He ran a hand through his hair stressed, looking guilty. Silent

Seungmin took a deep breath, trying to control the frustration building up in him. He hated himself for making you feel this way.

"I'm an idiot, okay? A real jerk... But I love you. You don't, for a second, believe that I don't want you.. right?" He asked, grabbing your hand again and gently holding it in both of his hands. You keep silent and look away

"Hey," he said, his voice firm. "Look at me." Seungmin grabbed your chin to force you to look at him again. Despite the slight frown, it was obvious that he was desperate for you to pay attention.

"Have I ever not been into you?" He asked quietly, gently caressing your chin with his thumb. "Have I ever been annoyed with you hanging on me? I... I like it, and I need it," Seungmin mumbled, looking frustrated with his Own actions. Or, more so, his lack of actions.

You still avoid his eyes. Seungmin huffed a little, gripping your chin a bit firmer to keep you facing him. "Please just look at me," he pleaded, looking pained that you still refused to look at him. He didn't want you to be so distant from him, it hurt him to see you looking so cold towards him.

You finally look at him.Seungmin felt a wave of relief wash over him when you looked at him. It was still a bit frustrating that you had looked away in the first place, but at least you weren't avoiding his gaze now.

"You can be as clingy as you want," he mumbled. "In fact, please be. I want you to be." He ruffles your head softly, but still you don't give any response

"Please say something," Seungmin groaned frustrated. He hated that you wouldn't talk to him. Was he really making you that angry?

He gently caressed your cheek, trying to coax you into speaking. "I'm here now... and I'm not going anywhere," he attempted to reassure you, even if he didn't know if he'd be able to keep that promise again.

"Why did you come when I got sick? Do i need to get sick every time I need your attention?" Softly mumble, you look at you lap

"No," Seungmin huffed, gently gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. He hated your tone - it was so cold, and it hurt him that you felt like this.

"No, you don't need to be sick to get my attention... Don't say stuff like that," he mumbled, looking upset by your statement.

"I'm glad that han see you at the pharmacy, I'm sorry because i left you alone, leaving you hanging without reaching to you" He gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him again. He didn't like it when you Wouldn't look at him. He liked the feeling of your eyes on him a lot, it made him feel a lot of things.

"Hey, I need you, okay? And i know it's not easy to forget that if I keep... shutting you out, but I do. I always need you," Seungmin mumbled, desperately trying to get you to believe him.

"You know that I have trust issues" He gripped your chin a little firmer, making you look at him again. His hand was warm on your chin, the gentlest yet firm touch.

"I know. And i know that l'm not exactly helping that.." he mumbled, looking frustrated. It hurt that he had been the one to contribute to your trust issues.

"Please tell me I haven't broken your trust entirely," Seungmin mumbled,

feeling a heavy ball of guilt and sadness in his chest. "Maybe, i don't know" you said as looking at him

Seungmin swallowed hard, feeling that lump in his throat expand. You were so closed off to him now and, god, he hated it. It was his Own damn fault for acting the way he did, and now he wanted nothing more than to hold you, to make you look at him normally again.

"Hey, please," he murmured brokenly. "I hate this. Don't... don't be so distant"

"I can't help when you keep brushing me off" you play with your hands.

"I'm sorry," Seungmin mumbled, feeling like an incredible jerk for acting the way he had.

He gently pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist.He buried his face into your shoulder, pulling you against him. He had missed this. The feeling of you in his arms, the feeling of your body against his.

Seungmin tightened his grip when you tried to pull away. pulling you closer against him and shaking his head.

"Don't hug me, what if you get infected" you tried to push him

"| don't care," he mumbled, burying his face in your shoulder more. He took a deep breath, drinking in your scent that he had missed so much this past week. "Don't Seungmin"

"No," he mumbled firmly, refusing to let you pull away from him.

His grip on your was tight, refusing to budge. He wanted you against him,he needed to feel your body against him. He needed it.

"I will eat but after that you need to go" you finally decide to eat, Seungmin felt a wave of disappointment hit him again, but he nodded reluctantly.

"Yeah. Yes, okay," he mumbled. He didn't want to leave, especially after finally being able to be with you again, but he couldn't really argue. He had been ignoring you for a week, after all. "Give me the food" you reach your hands

Seungmin felt hurt by your cold command, but he couldn't blame you. Hehad been acting ike an idiot.He grabbed the tray of food he had left on the couch, handing it over to you.

He continued to linger, staring at you for a moment. Part of him was desperate to stay here, but he knew it would be better to give you Some space. But he still didn't want to leave. "why" as you see he fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, biting his lip.

"l don't wanna go," Seungmin mumbled quietly. He was being honest. He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay and keep his arms wrapped around you. He fidgeted again, looking at you with a conflicted look on his face.

He knew that he should give you space, but he didn't want to leave. He wanted, needed to stay with you.

"Can I... Can I just stay a little longer?" He mumbled quietly. "Why" you slowly look at him

"Because I miss you," Seungmin mumbled, looking at you with sadness in his eyes. He missed being close with you, he missed having you in his arms like before. It hurt, being apart from you.

"Because I don't want to leave when you still won't look at me."

Seungmin's expression dropped when you didn't even look him. It was like a stinging pain in his chest. You still wouldn't look at him.

You look at him and ask is that enough

"No," he murmured, feeling frustrated. "It's not enough. Look at me, please." Seungmin felt a bit of relief wash over him when you finally looked at him.

But it didn't feel the same as when you normally look at him.

"I'm already staring at you "

"I mean...properly" he mumbled, gripping your chin gently to keep your gaze on him.

"Don't touch, I'm eating" Seungmin huffed a little, pouting a bit when you told him not to touch.

"You don't like it when I touch you anymore," he mumbled, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Because I'm eating" coldly

"Yeah, I know you're eating," Seungmin mumbled, watching you eat. Part of him was a bit glad you couldn't talk while you were busy eating, because he wasn't sure if he could deal with your tone again. But he still felt hurt about the distance and his own damn fault.

He continued to watch you eating, a conflicted look on his face. He wanted to touch you, but he knew that you had told him not to. He desperately wanted to pull you into his lap, to kiss down your neck, to hold you close. But, he knew that he couldn't because he didn't deserve that privilege right now.

Seungmin's eyes widened a bit when you suddenly got up, feeling a small bit of panic rise in his chest.

"Where are you going?" He immediately questioned, his voice a bit worried

"water"

Seungmin felt a small bit of relief wash over him as you responded to him,but he still felt worried.

"Alone?" He questioned, his voice quiet and a bit concerned. You Hm, Seungmin grimaced a bit, not liking the quiet hum as a response. He fidgeted with his fingers fora second, before carefully asking another question. "Can I... Can I come with you?"

"Why, you stay there... The kitchen is not far"

Seungmin felt a pang of disappointment as you told him to stay there. Hewanted to come with you, he didn't want to be apart from you again.

"Please, " he said, his voice sounding a bit desperate. "I..l just don't want to be apart from you..."

"Hm"

Seungmin was growing more and more frustrated with your short responses. He just wanted to be near you, and you seemed so cold to him right now.

"Just let me come with you," he pleaded brokenlų, his tone almost

sounding desperate.

"Quick, I'm choking"

Seungmin immediately snapped out of whatever he was feeling when he heard your words, now just feeling worried and panicked.

"You're choking?" He questioned, already on his feet and rushing over to you. He grabbed your shoulders, his grip on you firm as he tried to assess the situation. His heart was racing in his chest, worry consuming him as he held onto you.

"Are you okay?" He questioned, looking you over franticly.

"Because there's no water"

Seungmin felt his annoyance rise again when you responded with another short response. He squeezed your shoulders again, not exactly Sure of the reason why he was feeling so annoyed and frustrated right now.

"So you said you were choking because you were thirsty?" He questioned, his tone a bit sharp.

"hm"

Seungmin felt like he was going to lose his mind if you responded with another single word. He was already frustrated with how cold and distant you were being, and it was making his emotions a mess. "Stop just giving me one word answers!" He snapped frustratedly.

You rise your eyebrows, Seungmin realised that he had just snapped at you and immediately regretted it. He didn't mean to snap at you, especially when he was the reason why you were being so distant in the first place.

He sighed heavily. gently letting go of your shoulders as another wave of guilt hit him.

“Im sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead.

As you turned to go to the kitchen, Seungmin felt another pang of helplessness run through him. It made him feel like a damn idiot, watching you turn and walk away like that.

He felt like he should try to follow you, to keep you close. But he didn’t know if you actually wanted him around right now.

“Quick if you want to follow me” as you sense that he’s not following you

Seungmin immediately followed after you without pausing. He wanted to follow you, he needed to be close to you. He followed you like a puppy into the kitchen, his footsteps a bit quicker than an usual. You find it cute, you chuckle softly, make that he didn’t see.

As you guys arrive at the kitchen “Glass and medicine in the box behind you”

Seungmin Immediately grabbed a glass for you and the medicine, watching you closely as he waited for you to fill the glass with water est medicine. He was desperately trying to not be apart from you.

“came here”

Seungmin was thrown off by how you suddenly spoke, telling him to come with you. He was a bit surprised that you had even asked him to come towards you, but he didn’t wait to follow your instructions. He immediately stepped forward, walking until he was right in front of you.

Seungmin looked at the glass that you held out to him for a second, before slowly taking it from you. His fingers brushed over yours briefly. And for a small moment, it felt as if it was before the last week.

But he broke out of the feeling quickly enough, and he looked at you. Waiting for you to tell him what to do next.

“Drink”

Seungmin couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation again at your short command, but he did as you said. Drinking the water in the glass that you had given him.

He could feel your eyes on him, even if you weren’t looking directly at him, and he felt a sense of.. anticipation? He didn’t know quite what to call it.

“Aren’t you tired?” You softly ruffle his hair

Seungmin felt another pang of guilt at your words. He knew that you were right. Seungmin was a little thrown off by your next question. Was he tired?..

Of course he was tired, he hadn’t gotten any decent amount of sleep for the past week. But he didn’t want to say that he was tired. He didn’t want to show any kind of weakness to you right now.

He nodded his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yeah, a little,” he mumbled, trying to not sound tired.

"You need to rest, you have been overwork yourself"

Seungmin felt another guilt hit his chest. You were right, he had been overworking himself. He felt a bit sheepish that you had noticed it, and that you were concerned about him. But he couldn’t help but feel happy that you still care about him and sad because he needs to go,if he wants to rest.

He gripped the glass even tighter, his voice a little frustrated.

“I’m fine, I can stay up.”

“Nope you need to rest , You can stay here, but you need to sleep.. I need to see with my own eyes that you rest.” you touch seungmin hair softly

Seungmin immediately grew more relaxed when you told him that he could stay there, but he grew more reluctant when you said that he needed to sleep.

He was about to protest, but all words died on his tongue when you touched his hair. It felt… reassuring. Comforting almost.

He didn’t want to sleep, as selfish as that was. But he slowly relented, knowing that he couldn’t argue with you anymore.

“Okay,” he mumbled weakly.

“Promise”

Seungmin felt another pang of guilt and worry as you demanded that he promise you. He didn’t know if he could promise to sleep, but he knew that hat he didn t want to disappoint you right now.

He gave a reluctant nod, his expression a bit sheepish as he spoke. “I promise.” After a minute goes by silent from both of you

“You want to touch me” You ask seungmin

Seungmin felt another flood of nervous and awkward energy as you questioned him directly. He hadn’t expected that kind of question, but the answer was an obvious yes. He did want to touch you, he wanted to be close to you.

He felt sheepishness as he answered quietly, his voice small but firm. “Yes… I do.”

Seungmin was trying to avold your gaze as he answered, trying to keep his voice steady and firm. He felt a mixture of nervousness, but there was a hint of desire in his voice too.

He was quiet for a few moments afterwards, unsure what else to say or do. He just wanted to be close to you, to touch you.

“Hmm okay.. hug me then ”

Seungmin felt his heart skip a beat as you requested a hug. He didn’t hesitate for a moment, he immediately wrapped his arms around you. Pulling you into a tight, warm embrace.

He held you close, burying his face into your shoulder as he spoke with a soft, sincere voice.

“I’m really sorry,” he mumbled quietly. His eyes closing as he held onto you tight. You rub his back softly

Seungmin felt a mix of emotions as he held you in his arms, feeling both relieved and guilty. He was relieved that you were so understanding and forgiving, but also guilty that he had caused any pain in the first place.

He tightened his grip on you slightly, mumbling into your shoulder, his voice quiet and sincere.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I just… get stupid sometimes,” he mumbled sheepishly, feeling vulnerable in this moment.

“Me too. Sorry for keep craving your attention too much” You apologise

Seungmin felt a pang of sympathy as you apologised for craving his attention too much. He knew that it was his fault that you had felt the need to do that, and he felt guilty about it.

He pulled back a little, looking at you gently as he spoke, his voice soft.

“No, you don’t have to apologise for that. It’s my fault that I made you feel like you needed to do that. I promise I’ll give you more attention from now on.” He assured you.

“Hmmm, love, do I smelled bad? I didn’t shower yet today because I feel too cold” You tried to get away from the topic.

Seungmin felt concern for you as you asked him if you smelled bad. He could tell that you had been feeling cold and hadn’t showered yet today, and he wanted to make sure you were comfortable and clean.

He spoke in a soft tone, his voice full of care. “No, you don’t smell bad, but if you’re feeling cold, a hot shower might make you feel better. Do you want me to help you get ready?”

“Yes please” You nodded enthusiasm

Seungmin felt a wave of relief as you finally agreed to let him take care of you. He knew that you were stubborn and independent, but he was glad that you were letting your guard down a little, allowing him to pamper you. He smiled warmly, his arms still gently holding you.

“Good. Now, let me help you into the shower, alright? You’ll feel so much better after a warm shower.”

Seungmin carefully led you to the bathroom, his hand steady on your back. He made sure you were stable on your feet before starting the shower, adjusting the water temperature to be comfortably warm.

He turned to you, his voice gentle. “yn/ do you need any help undressing, or do you think you can manage?”

“Help me, but seungmin I’m cold” you shivering,

Seungmin felt sympathy as you mentioned that you were cold. He knew that you were feeling particularly cold and vulnerable, and he wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible.

He immediately stepped closer to you, his hands gently reaching for the hem of your clothes, careful not to touch your skin too soon.

“It’s okay, I’l help you. Just hold onto me, okay? I’ll warm you up soon.”

Seungmin slowly helped you out of your clothes, being gentle and patient.

He could see the shivers shaking your body and the goosebumps rising on your skin. He wished he could wrap you in a warm blanket right away, but he knew that first, he had to get you into the warm shower.

Once you were undressed, he carefully guided you to the shower and under the warm spray of water.

“I know it’s cold, but it’ll get better soon, I promise, Just give it a few more moments, okay? Let the water warm you up.” Seungmin tried to convince you

When you see he step away from the shower “You don’t want to join me” you ask him

Seungmin surprise at your suggestion, his cheeks flushing slightly. He hadn’t expected you to ask him to join you in the shower, but he couldn’t deny that the idea was tempting.

He fidgeted for a moment, a mixture of shyness and anticipation in his eyes.

“If you want or am I too much” You think you embarrassed yourself

Seungmin shook his head, a small smile on his lips. He found your question endearing, the way you asked if you were being too much.

He stepped closer to the shower, his voice calm and gentle.“No, you’re not too much. I’ll join you. If you don’t mind.”

“Come” You pull him

Seungmin felt a mix of excitement and shyness as you invited him to join you in the shower. He took a deep breath. Willing himself to not get too flustered

He stepped towards the shower, carefully stepping under the warm spray of water next to you. Seungmin stood in the shower next to you, the warm water cascading over both your bodies. He couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious, a blush rising to his cheeks as he tried not to stare at you too obviously.

He spoke in a soft tone, his hands gently touching your arms.“Is the water better now? Warmer?” You nodded

He continued washing you, his hands carefully and gently moving over your skin. He spoke again, a hint of affection in his voice. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Just relax and let me take care of you.”

Seungmin continued to gently lather the shower gel onto your body, his hands moving slowly and tenderly over your skin. He enjoyed the feeling of your soft, warm skin under his fingertips.

As he washed your body, he noticed that despite his efforts to stay focused, he was having a hard time concentrating, his mind wandering to less innocent thoughts.

“Oh, isn’t this your body shower? Did you leave it?” you ask

He replied gently, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “No, love. That’s yours. I have a different one. I wouldn’t want my scent to take over yours.”

“But how did you know we have different body shower” Seungmin smiled as you asked how he knew they had different body showers

He replied gently, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Well, for one, I’m familiar with my own scent. And secondly, I know you prefer the floral ones, while I lean towards the musky ones. You’ve told me before.”

“Oh really “ Seungmin chuckled again, finding your confusion endearing. He continued washing you, his hands carefully and gently moving over

"Y/n, I want to ask, did you recently into my group?” He ask while massage your scalp, you surprise at the attention, you thought that you being secretly about that.” Oh you caught me?”

“It wasn’t difficult to guess, love. I could sense the change in your demeanour, the way you talked about my group with a sparkle in your eyes. Plus, I know you’ve been watching our performances and content lately. So, who’s your new favourite member, love? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“I don’t want to tell you” you giggles, Seungmin feigned hurt, pretending to clutch his heart in mock despair. He spoke in an exaggerated woeful tone, his voice filled with overly dramatic sadness.

“What? Why won’t you tell me, love? I thought we had no secrets between us. Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Come on, don’t leave me in the dark. I Just want to know, who’s the lucky member who won your heart?”

“Can you promise that you will not stop me from admire him” you look up at him

Seungmin raised an eyebrow in curiosity, a small smile on his lips. He was still trying to guess who your new favourite member is, and he wanted to know why you needed such a promise from him.

He spoke gently, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of possessiveness.

“Sure, I promise I won’t stop you from admiring whoever it is. You have my word. But I’m curious… why do you need me to promise you that, love?”

He spoke in a soft, affectionate voice, a hint of possessiveness in his tone.

"Because of your possessive and jealousy "

Seungmin couldn’t deny the truth in your words. He did have a possessive and jealous streak, and he knew you were aware of it. He chuckled softly, his expression sheepish, yet genuine.

“You got me there. I can’t deny my tendencies to be possessive and jealous, especially when it comes to you. But I promise you, I’ll try to keep it under control. Your admiration is your own, and I’ll respect that. Now, please tell me who your new favorite member is. You’re making me squirm in suspense here.”

smiling while pointing at him "You"

Seungmin’s eyes widened in surprise, a soft gasp escaping his lips. He hadn’t expected you to say that your favorite member was him. He felt a mixed rush of emotions—shock, happiness, and a hint of possessiveness.

“Me? Are you serious? I’m your favorite member now? Are you sure you’re not just teasing me, love?”

You nodded,Seungmin’s heart skipped a beat at your affirmation. The possessive streak in him felt satisfied, knowing that he had won your favouritism. At the same time, he was still in disbelief.

He spoke in a soft, affectionate voice, a hint of possessiveness in his tone.

“You really mean it? You really see me as your favorite member now? I don’t know what to say… I’m honored and flattered, but I also can’t help feeling a bit… possessive. You’re mine now, you know that, right?”

"I know that" You smile.. you hold his neck and whisper "I’m cold let’s get out"

Seungmin chuckled softly as you held his neck, whispering to him that you were cold and wanted to get out. He found your clinginess endearing, and the possessiveness in him stirred again as he felt your touch and heard your words.

He spoke in a warm, playfully authoritative tone, his voice filled with affection and a hint of possessiveness.

“Ah, I see you’re feeling cold again. You’re always in need of my warmth, aren’t you, love? Let’s get out, then. Can’t have you freezing on me.”

He started walking with you in his arms, heading towards the exit. His protective instincts kicked in as he held you snugly against him, making sure to keep you warm and shielded from the cold.

As he walked, he whispered in your ear, his voice filled with a mix of affection and possessiveness.

“You’re safe now, love. I’ve got you. Nobody else can make you feel warm like I can. You’re mine and mine alone. Just lean on me.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling away reluctantly. He was loathe to leave your side, even for a moment, but he knew he needed to find something to wear.

He spoke in a playful yet reassuring tone, his voice filled with a hint of mock drama.

“Don’t miss me too much now. I’ll be right back, love. I promise I won’t be long. Just wait for me, okay?”

With that, he reluctantly released his grip on you and began searching for some clothes nearby. His eyes scanned the surroundings, looking for anything that could serve as suitable attire for the night. You look at him with so much love

“Found some suitable clothes for the night, love. Don’t worry, I made sure to avoid any bras in there, just like you requested. Easy access, as you said.”

He closed the drawer, holding the clothes in his hand, and walked back towards you, a small smirk on his face. “how about you? Your clothes in the third drawer” he knows, the third drawer is specifically for him

He smirked and spoke in a soft, yet possessive tone, his voice filled with a hint of anticipation. “i know that and got my clothes for the night, love. Just the way you wanted, eh?”

He closed the distance between you and him, standing before you with a mix of playfulness and possessiveness in his eyes.

“Ready to get back into bed, love? I’ve got my clothes now, and I’m all warmed up thanks to you. Let’s get cozy and snuggle up close, like we always do.”

“Yes please” you pull him to you, Seungmin smiled affectionately at your eagerness to snuggle up with him

He loved how you always welcomed his closeness, and it made him feel even closer to you.

“Of course, love. Let’s get back into bed now. I want to hold you close and feel your warmth against me. Let’s get cozy and warm together.”

He held your hand gently, leading you back towards the bed. He climbed into the bed and patted the space next to him, signaling for you to come join him.

As you snuggled up next to him, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and cuddling you close to his bare chest. He spoke in a soft, affectionate tone, his voice filled with a hint of contentment and possessiveness.

“There we go. Much better. I have you in my arms again, where you belong. I love holding you like this, love.”

He gently nuzzled his nose against your hair, inhaling your scent and feeling a sense of comfort and famillarity.

“You smell amazing, love. I could just stay like this forever, holding you in my arms and breathing you in. You’re so warm and soft against me. I could never get enough of this.”

“I use your hair essential oil” as you snuggle closer to him

Seungmin smiled, recognizing the scent of his favorite hair essential oil still lingering on you. He chuckled softly and spoke in a soft, appreciative tone, his voice filled with affection.

“Ah, you’re using my favorite hair essential oil again, huh? That’s why you smell so amazing. It’s like you’re wrapped in my scent, even when I’m not around. I love it.”

He snuggled closer to you, nuzzling his face against your neck and taking in a deep breath of your scent.

“You know, I could recognize your scent from miles away. It’s so unique and special to me. I’ll never get tired of it, especially when it’s mixed with my favorite scent.”

He began to gently trail kisses along your neck, his lips caressing your skin with tenderness and affection.

“I could lose myself in your scent, love. It’s like a drug to me, addictive and intoxicating. And when you smelli like my favorite essential oil, it just makes it even harder to resist you.”

“It’s tickle love” Seungmin realized your neck was ticklish from his kisses and started to chuckle softly.

He spoke in a playful tone, his voice filled with mild amusement.

“Ah, are you ticklish here, love? I didn’t mean to tickle you. But it’s cute, you know, how sensitive your neck is to my kisses.”

He continued peppering soft, light kisses along your neck, his lips gently brushing against your skin, taking care not to tickle you too much.

“I’ll be more careful, love. I don’t want to make you too ticklish. But I just can’t resist kissing your neck, it’s so inviting and sensitive.”

He planted a lingering kiss on your neck, his lips lingering on your skin for a few moments, before pulling away ever so slightly.

“You know, I could never tire of kissing your neck, love. It’s like a canvas, a canvas just waiting for me to mark and claim.” He spoke in a soft, yet possessive tone, his voice filled with a hint of possessiveness and desire.

“I want to leave my mark on your neck, love. I want to claim you as mine, and make it abundantly clear that you belong to me and me only.” He continue

“Do it” Seungmin chuckled at your insistence for him to leave his mark on your neck, his possessive side stirring again. He spoke in a soft, yet authoritative tone, his voice filled with a hint of playfulness.

“Oh, you want me to do it, love? You really want me to mark you as my own, huh? Well, who am I to refuse a request like that?”

He gently tilted your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck. He began to gentiy kiss and nibble on your skin, his lips moving along your neck in a slow, deliberate manner.

As he marked your neck, he spoke between kisses, his voice filled with possessiveness and desire.

“You’re mine, love. Remember that. This mark on your neck is proof of that. You belong to me and me only.”

“I know” You smile widely

Seungmin smiled as you acknowledged your belonging to him, the possessive side of him greatly enjoying your affirmation.

He continued marking your neck, his teeth gently nipping at your skin, his lips gently sucking and biting, leaving a trail of hickeys along your neck.

As he marked you, he spoke in a soft, yet authoritative tone, his voice filled with a hint of possessiveness and ownership.

“That’s right, love. Remember that you belong to me. Your body, your mind, your heart – they are all mine. No one else has the right to touch you like this.”

“ I love you seungmin, love you sooo much” you pull his face softly, and kiss his lip..” let’s sleep okey” seungmin chuckle.. “love you too, y/n. Let’s sleep “ seungmin kiss your forehead

As the minutes ticked by, seungmin could feel his own eyelids growing heavier, the combination of exhaustion and the soothing rhythm of your breaths making it increasingly difficult to stay awake. But still, he refused to let himself fully slip into sleep, his possessive nature adamant that he remain vigilant and protect you, even in your most vulnerable state.

And seungmin finally drift off sleep, It took some time, but eventually, exhaustion overcame Seungmin, and he surrendered to the pull of sleep. His grip on you loosened ever so slightly, his arms still encircling you protectively, even in his rest.

His face relaxed, the tension draining away as he slumbered, the lines on his forehead softening and his expression growing peaceful.

In his sleep, he instinctively pulled you closer to him, his subconscious seeking your warmth and presence, even in his state of unconsciousness.

He subconsciously nuzzled his face against your hair, his breath warm on your skin.

The steady rhythm of his breathing filled the room, the sound of his soft, even breaths creating a soothing white noise. Every now and then, he would make a soft, content sound in his sleep, as if dreaming pleasantiy, his body completely relaxed and at ease as he held you close.

The hours ticked by, and still, Seungmin slept on, his hold on you

The room was quiet save for the sound of his soft breathing, a comforting rhythm that filled the space. The tranquility was only broken by the occasional shift or murmur from Seungmin, as he snuggled even closer to

You in his sleep. His arms unconsciously tightening around you.

What do you think guys, this one really take me for days to complete it.

Sorry for wrong title in poster.. i put the wrong one and can't change it.. so yeay..

Want to read more you can go to my MASTERLIST

If you have any idea, tell me

48 notes · View notes

catiuskaa · 10 hours ago

Text

THIS IS SO 🥺🥺🥺 i swear i will eat jisung alive qjbfiebfiwkd 100% nomnomnom

Expecto Patronum {2}

<< part 1.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Tags: anxiety, talk of mental health, fluff

Summary: as promised you meet up with Jisung after soundcheck.

Soundcheck goes by in a blur and before you know it, your eyes lock one last time with Jisung before he turns around and leaves the stage with the rest of the members. You nervously play with your bracelet and wait a bit for everyone to scatter around before approaching the tall and muscled security man that Jisung had pointed out to you.

To your surprise you don’t have to say a word, the man just smiles down at you and gestures to one of the exits on the left. You nod and follow him, nervously glancing around you if anyone notices, but no one does. Everyone is too excited about soundcheck, chatting, giggling and some are getting drinks and food at the little stations on the side of the arena.

‘Are you alright?’ the man speaks up when you follow him through a door that says; staff only. ‘You seemed to be really going through it back there.’

‘Oh, uhm,’ you stutter, surprised he both noticed and cared. ‘I’m feeling better now, still a little anxious, but I’ll be okay. Thank you.’

‘You don’t have to worry about meeting them, you know,’ the man says, surprising you again. ‘They’re some of the nicest idols I’ve ever met.’

You look up at him and he smiles kindly at you.

‘One of them even helped the staff carrying a heavy suitcase,’ he continues. ‘You rarely see that happen.’

‘That must have been Chan,’ you chuckle, already knowing the leader of the group is known for helping anyone whenever he can.

‘If you say so,’ the man laughs, leading you through another long hallway. ‘We’re almost there, do you need a moment or are you okay with me knocking on the door right away?’

You blink at him, once more surprised by his kindness.

‘My sister has anxiety, so I know a thing or two,’ he winks at you when he notices the look on your face. ‘It’s just around the corner, tell me when you’re ready, okay?’

You nod and take a deep breath, thinking happy thoughts. ‘I’m ready.’

When you round the corner, the first thing you see is Jisung. He’s leaning against the wall beside a door and scrolling on his phone, humming softly. He is still in the same outfit as before and doesn’t notice you until the security guard clears his throat when you’re only a few feet away from him.

Jisung looks up from his phone and a radiant smile appears on his face when he spots you. His phone is stuffed in his pocket and he pushes himself off the wall to walk towards you.

‘You came!’ he cheers, opening his arms for a hug.

‘Of course I did,’ you say, your voice trembling slightly as you try to fight the nerves when he comes closer.

When his arms come around you and you’re pulled in a tight hug, you only tense for a moment before slightly relaxing against him. He smells absolutely divine, a bit like lavender, cedar and spices. Normally you don’t like hugging strangers, but Jisung somehow doesn’t feel like one.

‘You okay?’ Jisung asks, his hands rubbing your back.

‘Yes,’ you murmur against his chest, breathing in his scent. ‘Thank you.’

‘Hmhmh,’ he hums. ‘Just breathe for a minute, yeah? Expecto patronum.’

You have no idea how long the two of you stand like that in the empty hallway, just breathing. Jisung keeps rubbing circles on your back and every now and then he hums a soft melody. When all the anxiety has left your body, you let out a relieved sigh and slowly pull back from the hug.

‘Thank you,’ you smile up at him, fighting the urge to poke his cheeks when he grins back.

‘Anytime, I know exactly how you feel.’

You frown at that, not liking at all how he too fights with anxiety. You know he did of course, it’s very well known among Stays, but you always feel for everyone who goes through the same thing you do. It’s a curse really.

‘Nooo, don’t frown,’ Jisung whines dramatically. ‘Give me that smile again.’

You immediately giggle and are rewarded by another radiant smile from your idol. You try not to think too much about how you’re actually in front of him, how you hugged him for a long time and how he comforted you like your life is a fanfiction.

‘That’s better, come, let’s go inside,’ Jisung says, grabbing your hand in his before opening the door and pulling you with him.

You’re about to protest, but it’s already too late. The door closes behind you with a thud and suddenly you’re in the Stray Kids green room, dressing room or whatever this room really is. It’s huge, there’s racks with clothes everywhere, food is scattered over the table in the corner and there are two big couches, one being occupied by Felix. The blonde is scrolling on his phone and doesn’t look up when you come in.

‘Relax,’ Jisung whispers in your ear. ‘Felix doesn’t bite and the others are on a coffee run I think.’

‘Even Chan?’ you whisper back, remembering he doesn’t like coffee.

Jisung laughs, catching Felix’s attention.

‘Oh, hi there,’ the Australian greets you with his deep voice and a bright smile.

Fuck.

‘Yep even Chan, he’s probably getting one of those sweet frappuccino’s,’ Jisung answers your question as he pulls you along to where Felix is sitting.

‘Lixie, this is-’ Jisung’s eyes widen. ‘Oh my god, I don’t think I even asked your name yet?’

Felix laughs and you quickly join him, bursting out in a fit of giggles at the sight of his shocked face.

‘It’s okay Hannie,’ you laugh. ‘I didn’t really introduce myself either, but I’m Y/N.’

‘Beautiful name, nice to meet you Y/N,’ Jisung says, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of your hand, almost like he had done earlier.

‘Such a gentleman he is,’ Felix snorts. ‘But I agree, it’s nice to meet you Y/N, I hope you’re feeling better.’

You’re about to answer when the door bursts open and the rest of the members loudly enter the room, their hands filled with drinks. It sounds like they’re discussing something about a pokemon, but you’re not sure, it could also be about an anime.

Jisung squeezes your hand and pulls you closer to his body as if to shield you from his very loud members. You hadn’t noticed your heart rate going up again and you feel absolutely pathetic when Jisung turns his back to his members to stand in front of you, his eyes concerned as they meet yours.

‘Breathe Y/N, we’re all just human remember. It was just the door, nothing is going to happen. You’re safe here.’

It’s only then that you notice you’re shaking and almost hyperventilating again. For fucks sake. You squeeze your eyes shut and curse your stupid anxiety ridden brain for reacting like this.

‘Shit, sorry,’ you hear a concerned voice.

‘We didn’t mean to spook her Sungie,’ another says.

‘Is she okay? Fuck no one should panic like this over a door, right? Did something happen?’

You smile at that, but keep your eyes closed. ‘It’s just a bad case of anxiety, no worries.’

‘Well I am worried,’ the same voice that cursed says, it sounds like Bang Chan, but you can’t be sure.

‘Chan, back off,’ Jisung says, proving your brain is still working somehow.

‘It’s fine,’ you whisper. ‘I just need a minute.’

‘That’s okay. Would you like another hug?’ Jisung asks.

You nod and arms are immediately wrapped around you, Jisung’s scent enveloping you once again as you bury your nose against his shirt.

‘Uhm, I could help?’ you hear Felix softly ask. ‘It usually works for you too.’

‘Y/N?’ Jisung whispers, rubbing your back. ‘Is it okay for Felix to hug you as well? For me it's always really grounding to be in a hug sandwich, the weight feels safe an-’

‘Yes,’ you interrupt him. ‘Thats cool, it’ll be like being wrapped in my weighted blanket.’

Felix chuckles from behind you and then you feel a warmth against your back as he wraps himself around you as well. Immediately it feels easier to breathe and you let out a sigh of relief. It doesn’t take long for you to calm down once you're wrapped up into their warmth, their slow breathing, calming yours.

‘Better?’ Jisung whispers, his chin leaning on the top of your head.

‘Much, thank you,’ you reply, tightening your arms around his waist.

‘How about I get you some tea?’ Felix offers.’ I think we have some of Jisungs valerian tea bags somewhere.’

‘Oh, no, I’m fine,’ you say. ‘I wouldn’t want to-’

‘I already made some tea,’ a voice calls out from behind you and Felix. ‘With valerian.’

‘Aww aren’t you cute Min,’ Jisung coos over your head to his friend and band member.

Felix slowly lets go of you, your back immediately feeling cold and you nearly pout at the loss of his warmth. Jisung holds you a little longer before leading you down to the couch Felix was sitting on before. The others are sprawled out on the second couch and the floor, each of them is on their phone as they sip their coffees.

‘I’m sorry for being so silly,’ you apologize with heated cheeks, sitting down next to Jisung.

Chan, who had stood up to get a notebook, sits down at your other side and nudges your knee with his. ‘No need to say sorry, we’ve seen first hand what anxiety can do to a person.’

‘I just hate being a burden,’ you say, a little softer.

Chan stiffens beside you and turns to face you, his hand lifting like he wants to place it on your thigh, but he hesitates and puts it on his own instead, probably afraid it would freak you out.

‘You could never be a burden, not to us. Whoever made you believe you are, should get their head examined and I’d gladly talk with them,’ he says, a determined look in his eyes.

Emotions clock in your throat and you look down at your hands, afraid you’ll cry if you keep looking at him. He really means it.

‘Calm down Channie,’ Jisung says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

‘Sorry,’ Chan’s ears turn red. ‘I just feel very protective over Stays.’

‘I know you do, it’s one of the things we love stays about you,’ you smile, looking up at him again. ‘But you can’t save everyone or carry all that weight on your shoulders all the time.’

‘Do you need saving?’ Changbin asks from his spot on the floor across from you.

‘Not really, I mean, not in the way you’re thinking,’ you answer honestly, leaning against Jisung’s side.

It’s crazy how comfortable you feel around him.

‘See, that still worries me,’ Chan says, biting his lip.

It’s quiet for a few seconds as you debate what to say, or if you should say anything at all.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Jisung asks then, his thumb rubbing circles on your upper arm.

You shake your head and give him a sad smile. ‘Probably best if I don’t, unless you want another anxiety attack on your hands.’

‘Not helping,’ Chan mutters and he gets up to pace around the room, his iced coffee forgotten on the table.

‘No, no, it’s nothing bad like that. It’s just my mental health and you actually help a lot with that,’ you hurry to say, hoping to get the older member smiling again. ‘You help a lot of stay with that actually.’

‘And you help us with ours,’ Jisung says and multiple hums of agreement go around the room. ‘Let’s talk about something more cheerful! How about I play you something on my guitar?’

‘Not sure how that’s cheerful,’ Seungmin says, slurping on his iced coffee.

‘Yeah and it’s also not talking, Sungie,’ Minho adds, smirking at his friend.

‘Are you going to serenade the poor girl, Ji, you sure you up for that? Maybe I should do it instead,’ Jeongin joins the teasing.

You giggle behind your hand when Jisung pouts and the tension in the room seems to disappear. Chan sits down again and Hyunjin gets up to get Jisung his guitar.

‘Any requests?’ Jisung asks when he tunes his guitar.

‘Uhhh,’ you blink at him, your mind goes blank. ‘I suddenly can’t think of a single song?’

They all laugh and Felix leans over to whisper something in Jisungs ear. His eyes light up and he nods, pulling at the strings of his guitar until he’s satisfied it sounds the way he wants.

‘Ready?’ he asks.

‘Nope,’ you grin back. ‘I’m about to be serenaded by you, how could I ever be ready for that?’

Jisungs shrugs and starts playing a very familiar melody. Immediately tears fill your eyes and your hands fly to your mouth to cover your gasp. The others chuckle at your reaction and Felix even takes out his phone to make a video.

When Jisung starts singing it’s like everything around you disappears and the only thing you see is him. His eyes lock with yours and it feels like he’s singing right to your soul.

'Cause you are

You're perfect in my eyes

You are

Don't ever doubt yourself

I know that feeling too, I've been inside the dark

I've never been so empty, hopeless

But no, it isn't true

'Cause know that all the stars are by your side

You’re full on sobbing when everyone joins Jisung for the chorus. It’s the perfect song for them to sing to you and a feeling of extreme gratitude floods you. You’re so unbelievably lucky to have this moment and it will be something you can think of the next time you’re feeling down.

Felix puts his phone down and pulls you on his lap, hugging you tightly. The action makes Jisung frown slightly, but he keeps on singing, his eyes never leaving yours. Everyone joins for the chorus once more and you wipe your wet cheeks with your palms.

When the song ends, Jisung puts his guitar aside and Felix hands you over to him like you weigh nothing at all.

‘I didn’t mean to make you cry,’ he whispers, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

‘I would probably have cried with any song,’ you sniff. ‘That was beautiful, thank you Jisung.’

‘Did his serenade work?’ Minho asks cheekily, diving out of the way when Chan reaches over to slap him over the head.

‘Definitely,’ you laugh, leaning your head against Jisung’s chest. ‘I’d propose right now if I had a ring.’

Felix chuckles and Hyunjin pulls one of his rings off his fingers, tossing it to you. You don’t catch it of course as you didn’t see it coming and everyone laughs once more.

‘I tried,’ Hyunjin sighs, pouting.

‘Maybe you can give me your phone number instead?’ Jisung asks in your ear.

When you look at him with big surprised eyes, it causes another fit of laughter to go through the group. ‘I mean, so you can text me when you get back to your seat, and also if you just ever need to talk.’

‘Don’t I need your phone number for that?’ you joke.

Jisung’s ears turn red and you take pity on him, holding up your hand. ‘If you give me your phone, I’ll put my number in.’

His phone is in your hands a heartbeat later and you giggle, typing in your number and adding your name.

‘Wait, wait,’ Jisung says when you give him the phone back. ‘We need a picture for you as well.’

‘So smooth,’ Felix mutters beside you with a deep chuckle.

Jisung ignores him and opens up the camera on his phone, holding his arms out to get the both of you in the frame.

‘I look all red and blotchy from crying,’ you protest, your cheeks heating up even more when you see yourself cuddled up in Jisungs arms.

Jisung huffs. ‘Hush, baby, you’re adorable.’ You flush even more at the pet name and Jisung chuckles in your ear. ‘Smile, darling.’

You do as he says and he quickly takes the photo, happily setting it as your contact photo before showing you. To your surprise it’s actually cute and when you voice your thoughts, Jisung places his chin on your shoulder.

‘Course it is, baby, it’s you and me.’

a/n: hehe I hope you enjoyed part 2 lovelies! I spend almost the entire day writing this for you before I throw myself in my new series (:

Big thank you to @staylovesmiley for letting me yap and brainstorm with you while writing <3

Taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @helialaufeyson28

#the cuteness aggression is real #stray kids fanfic #han jisung x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #han jisung #han jisung fluff #han jisung x y/n #kats reblogs ^^

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memorabxlia · 2 days ago

Text

Christmas With You ━ 필릭스

genre: fluff summary: You’ve always felt distant from Christmas, its joy and magic something you never experienced growing up in a home where the holiday was just another day. But this year, Felix, your best friend, changes everything. warnings: flashbacks, mentions family struggles, mentions of loneliness, insecurity, mentions food, heavy mentions of christmas (definitely forgot something) pairing: bff!felix x fem!reader wc: 3.9k a/n: DAY 7!!! nets: @blossomnet @k-labels @k-films

When you were seven, Christmas was just another day. You remember the gray, overcast sky pressing down on the tiny apartment, the faint chill that seeped through the cracks in the windows. The radiator clanked and hissed in protest, but it never quite managed to warm the place. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor of your bedroom, surrounded by the quiet hum of a world that seemed to have forgotten it was supposed to be special.

In your lap was a hand-me-down picture book, its pages soft and worn at the edges, the colors faded but still bright enough to draw you in. The story was simple: a little girl waking up on Christmas morning to find a puppy under her tree. The illustration on that page had stopped you in your tracks. The tree was enormous, decked out in shimmering ornaments and strings of golden lights. The girl’s face glowed with uncontainable joy, her hands pressed to her cheeks as the puppy wagged its tiny tail, a red bow tied around its neck.

You’d stared at that picture for what felt like hours, running your fingers over the textured page. The little girl looked so happy, so full of wonder, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be her. To wake up and see something magical waiting just for you. To have a tree glowing in the corner of the room, the smell of pine needles mixing with the warmth of a cozy house. You tried to imagine the weight of a gift in your hands, the rustle of wrapping paper, the sound of laughter echoing through the halls.

But there was no tree in your living room. No gifts. No smell of pine or twinkling lights. Just the faint sizzle of something cooking in the kitchen and the soft sound of your mother’s voice humming a tune you didn’t recognize.

Clutching the book to your chest, you’d tiptoed out of your room, the floor cold beneath your bare feet. The kitchen was dim, lit only by the pale morning light filtering through the window. Your mom stood by the stove, her back to you, a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. The air smelled of eggs and potatoes, a breakfast she made often, but today it felt heavier somehow, as if the ordinary weight of the day had settled on her shoulders.

“Mom,” you said quietly, your voice almost swallowed by the steady crackle of oil in the pan.

She glanced over her shoulder, her face softening for a moment when she saw you, but the tiredness in her eyes never fully disappeared. “What is it, sweetheart?” she asked, turning back to the stove.

You hesitated, gripping the edges of the book tighter. “Why don’t we have a Christmas tree?”

Your mom froze for a moment, the spatula hovering mid-air. She didn’t turn around right away, and when she did, her expression was unreadable—somewhere between sadness and frustration. “Trees cost money, sweetheart,” she said finally, her voice measured but firm. “We don’t have money for things like that.”

“But the book says—”

“The book’s not real,” she interrupted, her tone sharper now. Her gaze flicked to the picture book pressed against your chest, her lips tightening for just a moment. “Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat making it impossible to say anything else. The book felt heavier in your hands as you shuffled to the table, the image of the little girl and her glowing tree still vivid in your mind. You ate in silence, the words you wanted to say trapped behind the growing ache in your chest. All day long, that ache stayed with you, a quiet, persistent reminder that some dreams were too big for a family like yours.

You sit on the couch, fingers curled around a mug of tea that’s long since gone cold. The faint bitterness of the brew lingers on your tongue, but you don’t bother to get up and make a fresh one. The December chill seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, creeping in like an uninvited guest, though you barely notice it anymore. The space heater hums from its spot in the corner, struggling valiantly against the cold, but its warmth never quite reaches where you are.

Outside, the sounds of the season filter through the cracked window—a child’s shriek of laughter, the crunch of footsteps on snow, and, faintly, the bright jingle of bells. Somewhere out there, the world is alive with the holiday spirit, but inside, your apartment feels quieter, lonelier.

Your gaze drifts to the coffee table, empty except for a few scattered papers. You let yourself imagine it for a moment, transformed by the kind of festive cheer you’ve only ever seen in other people’s homes. Brightly wrapped gifts stacked neatly in the center. A pair of steaming mugs of hot cocoa, topped with whipped cream and tiny marshmallows. Maybe even a plate of cookies dusted with powdered sugar, the kind that looks too perfect to eat. The picture in your mind is vivid but fleeting, vanishing the moment you try to hold onto it.

“Why do you hate Christmas?”

The question jolts you, pulling you back to the present. You blink, turning toward the doorway, where Felix stands with a shopping bag slung casually over one shoulder.

His coat is dusted with snowflakes, and his scarf is crooked, like he’d hurried to wrap it on his way in. His dark hair is damp where the snow has melted, tiny droplets clinging to the strands. But it’s his grin—wide and mischievous, as though he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t—that draws your attention.

“I don’t hate Christmas,” you say automatically, though the words sound hollow even to you.

Felix raises an eyebrow, stepping further into the room. “Then why are you sitting here like Scrooge before the ghosts showed up?”

You try to deflect with a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not—”

But Felix doesn’t let you finish. He’s already crossing the room, his boots thudding softly against the floor. With a dramatic flourish, he dumps the shopping bag onto the coffee table, the impact rattling the few papers you’d left there.

“Ta-da!” he announces, gesturing to the bag as though it’s a treasure chest.

You glance inside, confused, and immediately spot rolls of wrapping paper sticking out of the top. Felix reaches in, pulling out one item after another—a bundle of twinkling string lights, a box of cheap ornaments, and, finally, a small fake tree still wrapped in plastic.

“What is this?” you ask, your brow furrowing.

“This,” Felix declares, his grin widening, “is Christmas.” He pauses for effect, then adds, “Or at least it will be once we’re done with it.”

You stare at the pile, unsure what to say. The sight of it stirs something unfamiliar in your chest—something that feels equal parts hope and dread.

“Felix, I don’t think—”

“Come on,” he interrupts, his tone shifting from playful to earnest. He leans forward slightly, resting his hands on the back of the couch as he looks at you. “Just trust me, okay? Let’s make some magic.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you consider refusing. The sharp pang of memory rises unbidden, halting you mid-reach when your hand instinctively moves toward the decorations.

Felix notices your hesitation. His grin softens into something gentler, his dark eyes studying you with a mix of patience and curiosity. “Hey,” he says, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on? You’ve been weird about this all week.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, but Felix doesn’t let it drop.

“Don’t give me that,” he says, moving to sit on the arm of the couch. His tone isn’t accusing, just concerned. “You’ve been avoiding every single Christmas thing. Decorations, music, even that market in the square. I thought you’d love that stuff.”

You don’t answer right away, your fingers twisting together in your lap. The truth feels too big to explain in a few words, too tangled in years of silence to bring out now.

“I just…” You trail off, unsure how to finish.

Felix tilts his head, waiting. When it’s clear you’re not going to elaborate, he gestures toward the decorations. “Look, I know this kind of stuff can feel a little cheesy. But I promise, it’s fun. You just have to give it a chance.”

“It’s not that,” you say, shaking your head.

“Then what?” Felix presses gently.

You glance at him, and something about the way he’s looking at you—open, expectant, without a hint of judgment—makes the words slip out before you can stop them. “We never celebrated Christmas when I was a kid,” you admit quietly. “We couldn’t afford it.”

Felix blinks, his expression flickering with surprise, but he recovers quickly. “Oh,” he says softly.

You expect him to look away, maybe to fumble for the right thing to say, but Felix just nods, as though you’ve handed him a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Well,” he says after a moment, his grin returning, “there’s a first time for everything.”

You let out a short laugh, though it’s more out of disbelief than amusement. “Felix—”

“Nope.” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, standing up and grabbing the bundle of lights. “We’re doing this. Together. And you’re going to love it. End of discussion.”

He starts untangling the lights, his movements quick and sure, like he’s afraid you’ll try to argue again if he pauses. You watch him for a moment, torn between frustration and something warmer, something softer.

“Why do you care so much about this?” you ask finally.

Felix glances up, his smile softening into something more serious. “Because I care about you,” he says simply. “And everyone deserves to have at least one good Christmas.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then, slowly, you reach for the box of ornaments, the sharp pang in your chest fading just a little.

“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s make some magic.”

Felix’s grin returns, brighter than ever, and in that moment, you think maybe he’s right. Maybe this could be the start of something new.

Felix doesn’t wait for your response. He picks up the strand of lights and begins untangling them with exaggerated determination, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. You watch him for a moment, unsure whether to feel annoyed or grateful for his relentless enthusiasm.

“Felix,” you say, but he cuts you off without looking up.

“I’m serious,” he says, holding up the lights like a trophy when he manages to free one end. “You might think you’re fine without all this stuff, but I think you deserve more than fine. I think you deserve magic.”

His words hang in the air, and you find yourself staring at him, unsure how to respond. Felix always has a way of saying things that make you feel like you’re standing in the sunlight after spending years in the shadows. It’s disarming, and a little terrifying.

“Magic’s overrated,” you say, trying to brush it off.

Felix finally looks at you, his dark eyes steady and unyielding. “Not when you’ve never had it.”

The room falls silent except for the faint hum of the space heater. You want to argue, to tell him he doesn’t understand, but the way he’s looking at you—earnest, determined, and a little bit sad—makes the words catch in your throat.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit quietly.

Felix’s expression softens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good thing I do,” he says, scooting closer until his shoulder brushes against yours. “And lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.”

He hands you the untangled strand of lights, and you take them reluctantly, the plastic wire cool against your fingers.

“Okay,” he says, leaning back to survey the pile of decorations. “Step one: lights. Step two: ornaments. Step three: we sit back and admire our hard work while drinking the best hot cocoa you’ve ever had in your life.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound surprising even you. “That’s a pretty ambitious plan.”

Felix grins. “What can I say? I’m a man of vision.”

As the two of you get to work, Felix keeps up a steady stream of chatter, filling the quiet room with his voice. He tells you about the Christmases he had growing up—the smell of his mom’s gingerbread cookies, the way his dad used to insist on stringing popcorn garlands for the tree, even though the dog always tried to eat them. He talks about the time his sister accidentally broke the star for the tree and how they ended up making one out of construction paper and glitter.

You listen, your hands moving slowly as you wrap the lights around the small tree. His stories are filled with so much warmth and laughter that it feels like stepping into a world you’ve only ever seen from the outside.

“Your family sounds nice,” you say quietly when he pauses.

“They’re loud,” Felix says with a laugh. “But yeah, they’re great.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for the air to feel heavy again, but Felix doesn’t let it linger.

“Hey, it’s not too late, you know,” he says, adjusting a particularly stubborn branch on the tree.

“Not too late for what?”

“For you to have those kinds of memories,” Felix says, glancing at you. “You might not have had them as a kid, but who says you can’t start now?”

You don’t know how to answer, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak.

Felix leans over, nudging your shoulder with his own. “That’s what we’re doing here,” he says, his voice lighter now. “We’re making memories. The good kind. The kind you’ll want to tell someone about someday.”

You glance at the tree, the lights casting a soft glow across the plastic branches. It still doesn’t feel real—not quite—but there’s a warmth creeping into the edges of your chest, soft and unfamiliar.

“Thanks, Felix,” you say quietly, the words feeling small but important.

He grins at you, wide and bright, and for the first time, you think maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not too late after all.

Felix ropes you into untangling the lights, which, as it turns out, is less of a task and more of a battle. The strand of lights is an impossible tangle of wires and bulbs, and every time you think you’ve made progress, you realize another knot has formed somewhere else.

“Why do they even come like this?” you mutter, pulling at a stubborn section of the strand.

Felix, meanwhile, is making things worse. Instead of focusing, he’s trying to twirl the lights like a lasso, and at some point, his scarf becomes part of the chaos.

“How did you even—” you start, staring at the mess he’s created.

Felix cuts you off with a sheepish grin, holding up the knotted scarf like it’s a badge of honor. “Magic, obviously,” he says, as if that explains everything. He yanks the scarf free with a dramatic flourish, sending a few bulbs swinging wildly in the process.

You shake your head, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes. The sound is lighter than you expected, like it’s been waiting for an excuse to come out.

Felix looks at you, his grin widening. “See?” he says, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. “You’re already having fun.”

“Barely,” you tease, though you can’t deny that your heart feels a little less heavy.

It takes another twenty minutes to fully untangle the lights, and by the time you’re done, your fingers are sore, and Felix is covered in glitter from a rogue ornament that apparently exploded somewhere in the pile of decorations.

“Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies,” you say, trying to stifle a laugh as you point out the specks shimmering in his hair.

Felix gasps, pretending to look offended. “Excuse me, this is my festive sparkle.”

“Your ‘festive sparkle’ is everywhere,” you point out, brushing some off his sleeve.

“Exactly,” Felix says, striking a pose. “The holidays are all about spreading joy—and glitter.”

By the time the tree is up, you’re both knee-deep in a sea of decorations. Felix has made it his personal mission to fluff every single branch of the tiny plastic tree, despite your protests that it’s fine as it is.

“Fluffing is crucial,” Felix says, adjusting a particularly stubborn branch. “It’s what separates an okay tree from a great tree.”

“It’s what separates a sane person from you,” you reply, though there’s no real heat in your voice.

Felix grins, unfazed. “You’ll thank me later.”

When the tree is finally deemed acceptable by Felix’s absurdly high standards, you start hanging ornaments. The box Felix brought is a mismatched collection of baubles, figurines, and homemade crafts. There’s a reindeer with googly eyes, a snowman with only half a carrot nose, and a glittery angel that looks like it’s been through a war.

“These are…” you hesitate, searching for the right word.

“Beautiful,” Felix supplies, handing you a chipped ornament shaped like a penguin.

“I was going to say ‘chaotic,’” you admit, placing the penguin on a low branch.

“Same thing,” Felix says with a shrug.

Despite the haphazard nature of the ornaments, the tree begins to take on a certain charm. Each decoration tells a story, and Felix is more than happy to share them all. He tells you about the angel, which his mom made when she was in high school, and the reindeer, which his sister gave him as a joke one year.

“Do you still talk to her?” you ask, curious.

Felix nods. “Every week. She’s the one who sent me the cookies I brought over last time.”

“The ones you claimed you baked?”

Felix flashes a guilty grin. “I didn’t say I baked them. I just… didn’t correct you when you assumed.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” Felix says, hanging an ornament shaped like a candy cane.

When it’s time to put the star on top, Felix insists on doing it himself.

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyeing the tree, which is barely taller than he is.

“Positive,” Felix says, holding up the star with a triumphant flourish.

You watch as he stretches on tiptoe, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. The star wobbles precariously in his hands, and you feel your heart jump as it tilts dangerously to one side.

“Careful,” you warn, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Relax,” Felix says, his grin unwavering. “I’ve got this.”

He doesn’t. The star slips from his fingers, and you barely manage to catch it before it hits the floor.

Felix bursts out laughing, doubling over as he clutches his stomach. “Okay,” he says between gasps, “maybe I didn’t have it.”

You can’t help but join in, the sound of your laughter filling the small apartment. It’s loud and unguarded, the kind of laugh you haven’t heard from yourself in years.

Once you’ve both calmed down, you hand the star back to him. “Here. Try again.”

Felix takes it with a mock salute. “I won’t let you down.”

This time, he’s more cautious, and the star finally finds its place at the top of the tree. Felix steps back to admire his work, his grin as bright as the lights now twinkling across the branches.

“Perfect,” he declares, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “We make a great team.”

You glance at the tree, its mismatched ornaments and crooked star glowing softly in the dim room. For the first time, the sight of it doesn’t feel foreign or out of reach. It feels… good.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “We do.”

Once the star is securely in place, Felix steps back, hands on his hips, admiring the tree like an artist surveying their masterpiece. The room feels transformed, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm hue across the walls. The mismatched ornaments sparkle faintly, each one holding a story Felix had happily shared. It’s far from perfect, but that’s what makes it special.

Felix turns to you with a grin. “Now, we celebrate properly—with the best hot cocoa you’ve ever had.”

“Big words,” you tease, following him into the kitchen.

“Trust me,” Felix says, already digging through your cupboards for supplies. “This is one of my specialties.”

You watch as he works, tossing marshmallows into mugs like he’s auditioning for a cooking show. He heats the milk with practiced ease, mixing in cocoa powder, sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. The smell wafts through the tiny kitchen, rich and sweet, and you can’t help but lean against the counter, taking it in.

Felix notices and winks. “See? You’re already impressed.”

“I’ll reserve judgment until I taste it,” you say, though your tone is lighter than before.

When the cocoa is ready, Felix hands you a mug piled high with whipped cream and a sprinkling of chocolate shavings. He takes his own mug and leads you back to the living room, where the tree glows softly in the corner.

You sit on the couch, the warmth of the mug seeping into your hands, and Felix plops down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the only sound the faint hum of the space heater and the occasional crackle of the tree lights.

“So,” Felix says finally, turning to look at you. “Best hot cocoa ever, or what?”

You take a sip, letting the rich sweetness melt on your tongue, and nod reluctantly. “Okay, it’s pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Felix gasps in mock offense. “This is an experience, thank you very much.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. It’s amazing. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Felix says, grinning.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, your gaze drifting back to the tree. The glow of the lights makes the room feel warmer, cozier, and for the first time in a long time, the apartment doesn’t seem quite so empty.

“Thanks, Felix,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them.

Felix glances at you, his grin fading into something softer. “For what?”

“For… this.” You gesture toward the tree, the lights, the mugs in your hands. “For making today bearable. No, more than that. For making it good.”

Felix’s expression softens even further, and he leans back against the couch, bumping your shoulder lightly with his. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “This is what friends do.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Still. It means a lot.”

Felix doesn’t say anything for a moment, just sips his cocoa and looks at the tree. Then he turns to you, his smile widening again. “Well, get used to it,” he says. “This is only the beginning.”

You raise an eyebrow. “The beginning of what?”

“The beginning of me dragging you into all the holiday traditions you missed out on,” Felix says, his tone teasing but his eyes full of warmth. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but there’s a part of you that believes him. The part that’s starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, this season doesn’t have to be something you avoid.

For now, though, you let yourself enjoy the moment. The warmth of the cocoa, the glow of the tree, and the easy presence of Felix beside you. The weight you’ve carried for so long feels a little lighter, and for the first time, Christmas doesn’t feel quite so far away.

❥﹒ stray kids taglist: @minkilicious @casemoa143 @instabull @amarecerasus

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mymoodwriting · 16 hours ago

Text

Because You're Mine

Female!Reader x Werewolf!SKZ

Genre: A/B/O

Warning: Anxiety, Panic, Distrust, Insomnia, Suppressants, Numbness, Pheromones, Harassment, Non-Con, Revelations, PTSD, Reconnection, Mentions of Heat

Words: 4.5K

Chapter Ten

(Prev//Next) (@starillusion13 @salfetkablog @youngunknownwitch @loveforred @hydroyaksha @meowmeeps @azazel-nyx @luvyev @stellasays45 @littlebaby-bunbun @bangchansgirlsblog @puppyminnnie @bahablastplz @lemonn015 @blankperiodssn @stellasays45 @kkamismom12 @rxlvvrz @riri53 @stressymessyana @aalexyuuuhm @jutfelixdwae)

Prompt: With omegas completely removed from society, they needed their own communities and institutions to grow. All your life you had lived and gone to school alongside your fellow omegas, and orphaned alphas. You had managed to keep yourself together, but now at the university level, keeping your secret had grown impossible. You had to face your fears and make friends with an alpha eventually, and now was the time.

“I don’t like this…”

You had been locked in your bedroom with Felix, anxiously pacing around the room. You couldn’t hear much of anything going on outside and you weren’t sure if that was good or bad. Felix was taking all this better than you, merely on his phone while lying in bed.

“Maybe we should check things out, make sure Ji-”

“No, no, no.” Felix got up and grabbed your hands. “Y/n, the last thing you want to do is go anywhere near Jisung or the alphas. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“But-”

“The alphas are trained for this, Jisung is in good hands. By staying here we are helping.”

“Trained for this… how does an alpha train to handle an omega in heat… that’s just ridiculous…”

“I mean, we’ll see for ourselves some day.”

“… right…”

Despite Felix’s words of assurance, you couldn’t shake the nerves. You asked him multiple times if he could hear anything, which he said he couldn’t and would rather not try. You didn’t sleep all night, and Felix only dozed off a bit, trying to make sure you didn’t do anything rash. It wasn’t until early morning that you heard someone outside the door, Hyunjin and Jeongin checking in.

“I thought you would have fallen asleep?” Hyunjin questioned.

“I tried.” Felix mumbled. “But you know…”

“Is Jisung okay!?” You jumped to your feet. “Can I see him!? Where is he!?”

“Easy, easy.” Jeongin chuckled. “Jisung is fine, and he’s been moved to an observation room for the time being. You won’t be able to see him for a while.”

“Observation room? What’s that? Why can’t-”

“It’s temporary. Jisung’s in a delicate headspace and needs to be closely monitored, which means no guests. Once he’s better he’ll be back and then you can ask him questions. Okay. I promise he’s fine.”

“When will he be back?”

“It takes a few days, and the timing depends on every omega.”

“… okay…”

Even though you weren’t satisfied with the answers given to you, there wasn’t much else you could do. You had no idea where Jisung was, or what you could do for him. Of course you asked about him everyday, and the answer was always the same. Jisung was fine and doing well, he would return soon. You didn’t want to be an anxious mess, but you hadn’t been away from Jisung in so long. You couldn’t help but worry about him despite what everyone told you. Not to mention this was making it difficult to focus in any of your classes. Instead you started to realize other omegas were absent from class too, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were in the same predicament as Jisung.

“How can you be so calm?”

“I… well I trust the alphas not to hurt Jisung.” Felix admitted. “And they’re calm, so I’m calm…”

“Ah, right… your senses aren’t numbed up like me…”

You could be a light sleeper at times, and now was one of those moments. Every little sound at night made you think Jisung was back, but that wasn’t the case. The alphas told you that they’d let you know when he returned, but you were still waiting. Even if you didn’t sleep well, you were getting some sleep. It wasn’t enough to ease the alphas though.

“Y/n, can I talk to you.”

While you were trying to do an assignment Changbin knocked on your door. He stayed out in the hall, but he still wanted to talk. He didn’t look upset, and even if you couldn’t pick up on his pheromones you felt like you were in trouble. That was probably written on your face.

“Yeah… what is it?”

“You’re not in trouble for starters.”

“Oh, then what?”

“I need you to calm down.”

“Huh?”

“I know you’re just worried about Jisung, but your anxiousness is rubbing off on Felix. Not to mention you’re not sleeping well either.”

“… sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s not your fault.”

“I just want to know what’s going on…”

“When Jisung gets back he can answer all your questions.”

“I know but-”

“You’re gonna make him worry about you, and if you keep this up you’re gonna freak out Felix. You know it’s bad given you’re on suppressants and still affecting him.”

“… oh… right… right… I just…”

“I know the idea isn’t your favorite, but I could help you with my pheromones.”

“No. No, I don’t-”

“Hear me out. I know the last time I did such a thing it wasn’t consensual, but this would be different. You’re on suppressants so to get the desired effect it would take a lot longer than normal, so we can go slow and at your pace.”

“I… I don’t know…”

“You won’t get overwhelmed, but if you don’t want to I am going to need you to at least take sleeping pills. You need rest.”

“Fine… we can try… the pheromones first…”

“Okay.”

You weren’t entirely sure what Changbin had in mind, but he wasn’t going to do anything in your room and mess up your safe space, again. So instead you went to the living room. He turned on the TV and let an old show play, asking you to sit next to him. You had brought your assignment, wanting to work on it, but you only managed a bit before giving up. You sat back on the couch, keeping close to Changbin but not too much. He hadn’t said anything the whole time, creating a calming atmosphere and letting you ease into it. The others were out for the time being, so there wasn’t anything to interrupt.

You focused on the show, getting a bit engrossed in that and unknowingly leaning against Changbin. Even though he had noticed he didn’t draw any attention to it. His intention was for this to be slow and gradual. He carefully moved his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you closer. You were starting to feel a bit tired, leaning against Changbin as you dozed off. Changbin slowly pulled you into his embrace, adjusting his position and letting you rest against his chest. A hand softly pet your head, soothing you and getting you to sleep. This was long overdue for you, and very necessary.

Come morning you woke up in your own bed, actually feeling well rested. It was surprising, but you also didn’t feel as anxious anymore. Still, you weren’t gonna be completely better until Jisung returned. The wait wasn’t long after that night with Changbin, and you felt such relief when you saw Jisung again. He returned to the dorm early one morning, and you immediately rushed to hug him. You were so happy to have him back, and of course you couldn’t help but berate him with questions about what happened and how he was doing. For everyone’s sake, the alphas let you and Felix catch up with Jisung.

“I’m just fine, I promise.”

“But what happened to you!? The alphas said you were in an observation room.”

“Yeah, I was, they just had to keep an eye on me as my memories came back to me.”

“So you really blacked out?” Felix questioned. “After the whole ordeal?”

“I mean… yeah, it was… intense… and the alphas were very nice.”

“Yeah I bet. Did all six of them-”

“No! No, let’s not talk about that.” You interrupted. “What matters is that you’re back, and you’re not gonna disappear again, are you?”

“There’s no reason for me to. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It’s not your fault. Something like that is out of your control.”

Things seemed to go back to normal now that Jisung was back, and you were very much at ease. You figured everything would be fine, but what happened with Jisung was only the beginning. One night you were up late doing some reading when you decided to get snacks. The dorm was quiet enough, so you snuck over to the kitchen. There you discovered you weren’t the only one up late, seeing Felix rummaging around the fridge. You chuckled and cautiously approached him, tapping his shoulder.

“You gonna share?”

“Sh! Only with you.”

The two of you giggled and grabbed something to munch on, sitting on the kitchen counter top. You didn’t need to talk, just enjoying the quiet of the night and your snacks. You wanted to get back to your book, but Felix caught you by surprise when he followed you, hugging you from behind. He nuzzled into your neck, tickling you.

“Felix, cut it out.”

“Don’t go, not yet.”

“It’s already late, we shouldn’t be up anyway.”

“But we are.”

You tried to get Felix to let go, but he wouldn’t budge. You figured maybe he was just sleepy and a little delusional so you started moving with him in tow, planning to take him to his bedroom. At one point he stopped and held you in place, whimpering.

“Felix, come on now.”

You tried again to get Felix to release you but his grip only got tighter. You groaned, grabbing at his hands and really forcing him off. You got free, but only for a moment before he pounced on you, pinning you to the ground with his body.

“Don’t be so mean.”

You tried to get Felix off of you and then your hands brushed against his face. You felt this warmth, cupping his cheeks and pressing your palm against his head. He was burning up, but you began to realize this wasn’t just a fever. You immediately began squirming and trying to break free, but Felix wasn’t letting you go.

“Help! Help! Chan! Minho!”

You knew this wasn’t Felix’s fault, but you shouldn’t be anywhere near him in this state. All you could really do was scream for help.

“Changbin! Seungmin! Someone! Help! Hyunjin! Jeongin! Please!”

You didn’t know who it was, but all of a sudden Felix was yanked off of you, another pair of hands pulling you back and getting you to your feet. You heard some scuffling, but didn’t get to see much before you were taken away. Next thing you knew you were in your room, Chan looking you over.

“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“… no… no, is Felix okay?”

“He will be, we’ll look after him.”

“… sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you…”

“You did the right thing. Now you stay here, okay?”

“I know… wait, what about-”

Before you could finish your question Hyunjin came in with a sleepy Jisung in tow. You pulled him over, having him lay down in bed.

“You two will be okay, right?” Chan questioned.

“Yeah…”

“Okay. Stay here, like last time. Someone will check in later.”

“I know.”

Even though you had been through this before, you were still worried. You hadn’t seen what Jisung was like before the alphas took him away, but seeing Felix. He didn’t do anything to you but you could only imagine what would happen down the line.

“Y/n, take it easy.” Jisung mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Felix is gonna be just fine, he’s in good hands.”

“…”

“I was in his situation before, and now I’m here. You know he’s gonna be alright.”

“Yeah… you came back no problem… but what if-”

“No, no, no, no, none of that.” Jisung went to hug you. “Don’t think like that. This is just a normal part of being an omega, it’s okay.”

For a moment you felt at ease, processing Jisung’s words and then something dawned on you. Jisung was right, this was a normal part of being an omega, and given that Jisung had gone through this not so long ago, it meant you were surely next. You didn’t like that idea at all, holding on to Jisung tighter than before.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this…”

“Maybe it’s just Felix’s lingering pheromones, how about a shower? Then we can get some rest.”

“Sure…”

You washed up with Jisung, the shower actually helping. Even if you were worried about your own future right now, you couldn’t get any answers until later. You focused on the present, deciding to try and sleep while everything else went on. You only managed to doze off here and there, getting some rest. Jisung slept through the night, but he would wake if you disturbed him too much. He kept you wrapped up in his arms, not wanting to lose track of you even while he was sleeping. Come morning there was a knock at the door, and you looked over to see Chan and Seungmin peeking in.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Seungmin teased.

“I tried…” You mumbled. “And Felix?”

“He’ll be away for a few days.” Chan said. “He’s just fine.”

“Good… uh… I wanted to ask… uh…”

You felt a bit embarrassed to ask, so Chan gestured to talk elsewhere to let Jisung sleep. You carefully slipped out of bed and headed out to the living room. The other alphas weren’t around, but you were still nervous.

“Did something happen?” Seungmin asked. “You can tell us, we won’t be mad.”

“It’s not that… I just… Jisung and Felix… am I… gonna… you know…”

“Ah, you’re cute, but no. You shouldn’t be going into heat anytime soon. You’re on suppressants.”

“So as long as I take them, I’ll be fine?”

“Not necessarily.” Chan continued. “The suppressants will certainly delay your first, but it can’t prevent it. Not forever.”

“… is there anything… I can do…?”

“Omegas have heat cycles, it’s a natural thing. It’s gonna happen eventually, but honestly, I don’t think it will be anytime soon.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause you don’t trust us. You don’t feel completely safe around us and the stress of that means your body won’t put you in such a vulnerable state. You’ll get there in your own time.”

“… okay…”

Jisung stayed close while Felix was gone, feeling a greater imbalance in the dorm for the time being. You mostly stuck to your room, wanting to distract yourself until Felix was back. Also to not think about what Chan had told you. While at your desk doing homework you noticed a random scribble on one of your notebooks, seeing a phone number and name, Gunil. You suddenly remembered that when you got back from the party you had written down Gunil’s number before going to wash up. You had completely forgotten about it until now. The thought of texting him crossed your mind, but you weren’t sure it was a good idea given how much time had passed. Still, curiosity won out, so you send him a message.

“Hi… it’s y/n… sorry I didn’t text sooner.”

There wasn’t a response, and you figured he was probably busy with something. As you were about to put your phone down you felt it buzz.

“Hey, nice to hear from you. How you been?”

“Good, and you?”

“Same old stuff. Just working on this paper.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not. I need a break anyway. What are you up to?”

“Just some reading.”

“I’m kinda jealous you just get to learn and not take exams.”

“It has its perks, but also feels pointless to a degree.”

“Touché. You know, I have some free time later today, wanna meet up?”

“Sure.”

You thought things over for a moment, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt to see Gunil in person. Besides, there were some things you wanted to ask, and only he had the answers. Now the problem was going out. You never did that, so obviously the alphas were gonna ask questions when they saw you heading for the door.

“And where are you going?” Jeongin asked, walking over. “Your classes are done for the day.”

“I know. I’m just going to meet up with a friend…”

“A friend? Who?”

“I knew him back in high school and we recently reconnected… he gave me his number at that party…”

“Is he an alpha?”

“… yes…”

“Since when-”

“Let her go.” Minho cut in. “She wouldn’t be going out to meet with some alpha if she didn’t trust them, and she’s not lying either. You can hear her steady heartbeat.”

“Fine. You won’t be out late, right?”

“No, no, I’ll be back before sundown.”

“Good. Call us if you need anything.”

“Okay…”

You agreed to meet up with Gunil outside the library, wanting to be out in the open. When you arrived you saw him sitting on a bench browsing his phone. As you got closer he looked up, seeing you and smiling, getting up to meet you halfway.

“Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“Hi…”

“I’m glad you agreed to meet me. Why don’t we get something to eat and talk, no interruptions this time, right?”

“Yeah.”

There were a lot of places on campus that you hadn’t been to before. You knew of them, but the idea of going and potentially getting mobbed by alphas frightened you too much. Things were different now with the suppressants, and you weren’t alone. Gunil bought some snacks and drinks, the two of you finding a table to sit at.

“You got my favorite…”

“I was hoping that was still the case. I remember when I used to leave them on your desk with a note. I don’t think I ever saw you eat them.”

“Uh… well… I didn’t…”

“Didn’t want me to see?”

“… didn’t know…”

“Huh?”

“I never found any snacks on my desk…”

“Oh…”

“I would have thanked you… and probably told you it wasn’t necessary…”

“I see… I guess I should have kept a better eye on that.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I suppose… you know… after everyone switched classes… I didn’t see much of you anymore…”

“Did you miss me?”

“… I’m not sure I can answer that…”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean.” Gunil got silent for a moment. “Even though we weren’t in the same class anymore, I still saw you.”

“You did…?”

“Yeah. Out in the halls, always scurrying off and keeping your head down… I could tell something was different about you. Everything and everyone seemed to frighten you, and you avoided alphas as if they were the plague. You seemed stressed, and I didn’t want to add to that, so I waited. Yet you were always sad, so I kept my distance, for your sake.”

You had always wondered what happened to Gunil. You wouldn’t have been able to face him after the incident, but his sudden absence didn’t go unnoticed. All this time you thought he only paid attention to you cause you were in the same class, and now that you weren’t, he didn’t have time for you. It was a long time ago, but knowing the truth now was comforting.

“… thank you… for your kindness… back then… I really do appreciate it…”

“Y/n… I am sorry for what happened to you.”

“… what? Did you…”

“Only recently.” Gunil explained. “I heard about those that got expelled, the names were familiar, and I remembered what they were like back then… so I just put the pieces together… it was my fault… and I understand if you can’t bring yourself to face me after this but… I would still like to keep in contact, if that’s possible.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You took a moment. “I’ve been… healing… slowly getting better… I dorm with some alphas… and they’re all pretty nice… even if they have their secrets…”

“I’m glad to hear that. There was certainly joy and life in your eyes when I saw you at the party, something I hadn’t seen in a long time.”

With the heavier side out in the open, the uncertainty between you two seemed to lessen. You found it easier to talk with him, and just be friends. In a way he helped you look back on your high school days in a more positive light. You had been stuck in one place for so long, and were only now shedding the past and living in the present. You did keep your promise to the others though, excusing yourself before sundown, telling Gunil you’d message him later. He was glad to see you smile, offering you a quick hug before letting you go. When you got back to the dorm you heard a lot of commotion, and a familiar voice.

“Felix!”

You ran to hug Felix tightly, glad to have him back. You didn’t even have to ask as he began to tell you that he was alright.

“It was a nice long vacation, but I’m back now, and I’m perfectly fine.”

“Good.”

“I am sorry about before…”

“I know it wasn’t your fault. It’s just good to have you back.”

You could finally feel at ease with everyone back, knowing there were no more surprises in store. Or at least, no one was gonna spontaneously leave. Although now that you weren’t worried about those two, you could finally sit down with everything else that had happened. You kept texting with Gunil, glad to have a friend, and he helped you see things a bit differently. In reality, he let you see things as they really were. When you were around the dorm you found yourself staring at the alphas. You knew them more than any other alpha. You had seen the good and bad from them, but you knew that at their core they wanted to do good. Jisung and Felix never had any reason to be weary of them and liked them from the start. Perhaps if things had been different you’d feel the same.

You knew more than you should and it changed your view of many things. There were serious consequences for alphas who did not do well, and you didn’t want anyone to suffer in such a way. You wanted to do better, to get better, but you knew that was still a work in progress. As long as you were open to the idea, things should work out. Still, you weren’t quite ready to talk to the alphas, but you still wanted to do good. For the moment you’d just stick to what you did best, knowing you’d get there at your own pace. One day as you were doing some reading you were starting to get frustrated, getting hot. Perhaps you needed a break so you went to take a shower. The cool water felt so refreshing, yet after a moment you realized it wasn’t helping.

“Y/n.”

You jumped a bit when you heard Jisung calling your name, knocking on your door. You didn’t want to see anyone at the moment, so you called out from the shower, saying you were busy. You thought he left but then heard another knock on your bathroom door.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

“I’m fine…”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound-”

“Go away!”

You felt bad for yelling, but you hoped he’d take the message. It had the opposite effect as Jisung entered the bathroom. You screamed when he pulled back the shower curtain, covering yourself. Jisung apologized but still reached over to grab you, pulling you closer and pressing his palm against your head. You shook him off, telling him to leave again, but he didn’t move.

“Y/n… you’re kinda burning up…”

“I’m fine, now get out!”

“You know… you’re likely going into heat…”

“I’m not!”

“The alphas are gonna notice eventually, and you’re gonna get worse.”

“It’s not that, now go!”

Jisung decided to do as you asked this time, leaving you alone, but he put the idea in your head, and now you were starting to panic. You sat down in the tub, hugging your legs to your chest and just telling yourself it wasn’t true. It was probably just some fever or something and you’d be fine. You just needed to get some medicine, but you didn’t feel like moving. You hadn’t felt any better since Jisung called you out, and you were scared if he was right.

“Y/n…” You heard Chan’s voice knocking outside your room. “Are you alright? Jisung-”

“I’m fine! Don’t come in here!”

“I won’t, I promise, but are you-”

“Go away!”

Chan honored your wish, but he wasn’t happy. After talking to you Jisung ran to him, and he could catch your faint scent on him, and he knew what was going on immediately. He knew you wouldn’t just let him in, let him help, but he couldn’t just let you suffer. It wasn’t long before the others realized what was going on, wondering what to do.

“She can’t be alone.” Changbin said. “We need to do something.”

“I know, but this is still a delicate situation.” Chan stated. “We can’t just barge in, even if she’d forgive us in the end. This is an important time for her, we shouldn’t mess it up.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Hyunjin asked. “It’s only gonna get worse the longer she keeps to herself.”

“Which is why she won’t be.”

“She won’t…? Wait, are you suggesting Jisung and Felix help her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nuts?” Seungmin snapped. “Her pheromones are gonna trigger them, then we’re gonna have three omegas in heat.”

“It will help her though.” Minho added. “And that’s the priority here. I think we can handle three omegas. Only one of them would be going through their first.”

“It honestly sounds kinda fun.” Jeongin chuckled. “But are we sure we can deal with this? Y/n’s going through her first, she needs the most care and attention. If we have to worry about Jisung and Felix too, things are gonna get complicated.”

“It will help though…” Jisung mumbled, making his and Felix’s presence known, the pair having been eavesdropping. “Right?”

“She needs to feel safe and be in a good state so she accepts our help.” Chan explained. “If you can help her with that, it would be very good for her.”

“We’ll do it.” Felix confirmed. “We can help.”

♥♥♥♥♥

You wanted the cold water to help you feel better, but it wasn’t. You were scared, having no idea what was supposed to happen. Reading books and being told about it was all just theory, and everyone had a different experience. While lost in your own head you heard knocking, looking up in a panic only to see Jisung and Felix. They knelt down by the tub, Jisung reaching for your hands.

“Hey… you can’t stay like this… the water won’t help.”

“Just leave…”

“We’re not gonna do that.” Felix said. “We’re gonna help you.”

The two helped you get out of the tub, shutting off the water and wrapping you in a towel. They dried you up a bit, but without the water you were starting to feel worse. The heat in your body was spreading, making you anxious. This didn’t feel like a normal fever, and it was hard to deny what this really was.

“You two… shouldn’t be here…”

“We know.” Jisung admitted. “But we can’t just leave you alone. The alphas don’t just want to help unless you’re okay with it.”

“I don’t want them to… help…”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Felix wondered. “It’s gonna get worse. They can help, trust me they really do, and-”

“No… no, I’ll be fine…”

“You’re gonna change your mind.”

“I… I won’t…”