innies dimples

20y with good taste

[strayzid]

✷ ˖࣪ ̣ 🍒 ๋ 𓆪 888 ... nena's navi

୧ㅤ۪ ㅤ۫ the image of yours i could only see

19! entp & brazil!

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do not repost, translate or plagiarize any of my works. mdni nsfw posts. dfi you anti any of my faves, hate account, basic dni criteria, hates any of my moots, feels uncomfortable with anything i write. i love meeting new people, we are just a message away! i identify as she/her, am pansexual and english is my second language.

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[strayzid]

nena !! imyyy how are you

omg ree!!!! imy lots, im so so tired but im good!! hbu???

[mrpoo-poo]

assets under the cut

[seospicybin]

TASTE.

CHAPTER I

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. (15,3k words)

Author's note: It's my first fic series this year so pls enjoy it and don't be shy to share your thoughts on it ♡

Piquant. /ˈpikənt/ , /piˈkɑnt/ adj. 1. having a pleasantly strong or spicy taste 2. interesting and exciting, especially because of being mysterious.

Farfalle was more than a restaurant—it was an institution.

Nestled in the heart of city’s bustling upscale district, the Italian fine dining establishment stood as a beacon of culinary excellence. With its pristine white façade adorned with golden lettering, it was a destination where food enthusiasts and critics alike gathered to experience the extraordinary. Inside, chandeliers sparkled like constellations above the polished marble floors, while the soft hum of conversation merged with the clinking of crystal glasses and the soothing notes of classical Italian music.

For years, Farfalle had been celebrated not just for its impeccable dishes but for its unwavering commitment to authenticity. Each plate told a story—one of passion, precision, and tradition. The handmade pastas, aged Parmigiano, and imported olive oils were matched only by the artistry of the chefs who brought them to life.

Yet, behind the glamour of the dining room, the kitchen was a battlefield. The restaurant’s reputation rested on a relentless pursuit of perfection, and the pressure to uphold its Michelin star weighed heavily on the staff. Every dish was scrutinized, every garnish meticulously placed, and every mistake unforgivable.

But this year marked the start of something new—a transition that sent ripples through the culinary world. Farfalle’s long-time head chef had retired, leaving behind a legacy that seemed impossible to surpass. The news of his replacement had been met with equal parts excitement and trepidation.

Enter Lee Minho.

The name alone was enough to spark both awe and dread. A man renowned for his uncompromising standards and fiery temper, Chef Lee’s reputation preceded him. Some called him a genius; others called him impossible. And now, he was poised to take Farfalle into uncharted territory.

As the restaurant prepared for his arrival, the staff whispered in hushed tones, speculating about what the new head executive chef would bring—or destroy. Would he preserve Farfalle’s legacy? Or would he tear it apart to rebuild it in his own image?

Only time would tell.

-

Minho adjusts the cuffs of his tailored coat, standing across the street from Farfalle. The restaurant glows like a jewel in the night, its golden lettering catching the soft light of the streetlamps. A small line of well-dressed patrons stretches from the door, their faces a mix of excitement and impatience. Even from here, he hears the faint hum of life—clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional burst of chatter.

He doesn’t need to step inside to know the kind of experience Farfalle offers. The meticulous exterior, the perfectly aligned tables glimpsed through the window, the hushed efficiency of the servers—it all speaks to a restaurant accustomed to excellence. Yet, as his sharp eyes scan every detail, his mind already races with ideas.

The plating could be more dynamic. The menu, from what he’s seen online, needs innovation without losing its roots. And the staff? Well, he’ll find out soon enough if they can match his standards. If not, he’ll shape them into what he needs—or replace them altogether.

Minho crosses his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching in thought. He can see why Farfalle is revered, but to him, it’s still just a canvas. A blank slate ready for his brushstrokes. He has no intention of simply maintaining its legacy; he intends to redefine it.

A gust of wind sweeps through the street, carrying the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted garlic. The dinner rush is in full swing, and the kitchen must be at its peak intensity. His fingers itch to walk in, to observe the chaos, to see how the staff functions under pressure. But he knows better than to intrude during service.

“Not the time,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

He lets his gaze drift down the street. The nightlife in the area seems just as vibrant as the restaurant itself. Neon signs flicker above bars and clubs, and the sound of music spills out into the crisp evening air.

With a final glance over his shoulder at Farfalle, Minho makes his decision. “Let them have their dinner rush. I’ll see it when it matters.”

He strides down the street, blending into the flow of people, his thoughts shifting to the possibilities awaiting him in the city’s nightlife.

Minho wanders the streets for nearly an hour before he finds what he’s been looking for—a bar tucked away from the chaos of the city’s nightlife. The dimly lit sign above the door reads Ambra, and the soft jazz drifting from inside piques his interest.

Stepping in, Minho instantly knows he’s made the right choice. The bar is intimate, with low lighting and leather seating that exudes understated elegance. The hum of quiet conversations fills the space, blending seamlessly with the music. Shelves stocked with an impressive selection of liquors line the wall behind the counter, and the bartender moves with practiced precision.

Minho takes a seat at the bar, orders a beer, and leans back to absorb the atmosphere. It’s rare for him to feel this at ease, but tonight, he allows himself to indulge. The first glass goes down quickly, a refreshing antidote to the brisk evening air. By the time he’s nursing his second, he feels a satisfying warmth settle over him.

After a while, he slides off his stool and heads to the restroom. When he returns, however, he stops in his tracks.

Someone’s taken his seat.

You.

You’re perched on the stool, casually sipping a drink, your posture radiating effortless confidence. Minho narrows his eyes as he approaches.

“That’s my seat,” he says, his tone clipped and direct.

You glance at him, unfazed. With the faintest of smirks, you take another sip. “So what if it is?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, the intensity of his gaze sharpening. Most people would flinch under the weight of it, but you remain completely indifferent, your calm demeanor only intriguing him further.

He stares at you for a moment longer, his mind tugging at a strange sense of familiarity. “Have we met before?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “You’re not an actress or a model, are you?”

The corner of your mouth twitches, and you let out a soft chuckle. “Why? Do I look like one?”

“Something like that,” he replies, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering. “Or maybe I’ve seen you somewhere.”

You lean in, just enough for him to catch the faint scent of your perfume and the warmth of your breath. Your voice drops to a playful murmur. “Maybe you saw me in your dreams.”

For a moment, Minho blinks, caught off guard by the audacity of your response. Then, to his own surprise, he laughs quietly.

“Is that so?” he says, his lips curving into the faintest of smirks.

You lean back, returning to your drink as if nothing happened. But Minho doesn’t take his eyes off you. There’s something about the way you carry yourself that keeps him hooked, an unshakable confidence that challenges him in a way he’s not used to.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft but insistent.

You glance at him, taking your time as you swirl the liquid in your glass. “Why? Do you need it to keep dreaming?”

His smirk deepens, his curiosity growing. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m interested in making it a reality.”

You study him for a moment, your gaze unwavering as you sip your drink. Then, with deliberate slowness, you set your glass down and tilt your head. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Minho doesn’t hesitate. “Come with me. Let’s see if your theory holds up.”

The corner of your lips curves into a smile. You take another sip, letting the moment stretch out. Finally, you set your glass down and rise from the stool, brushing past him as you head for the door.

Minho follows, his interest piqued more than ever.

-

The elevator ride is quiet, but the air between you and Minho crackles with unspoken tension. Minho keeps his hands in his pockets, stealing quick glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. You, however, seem entirely at ease, leaning casually against the elevator wall, your lips curved in a faint, knowing smile.

When the doors slide open on his floor, Minho leads the way, his steps purposeful but unhurried. His hotel room is at the end of the hallway, and the sound of his keycard beeping against the lock breaks the silence.

He glances at you, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossing his sharp features, but it’s gone in an instant. The door clicks open, and he steps back, gesturing for you to enter first.

You flash him a smile—one that’s more challenging than polite—and step inside. The room is spacious but sterile, the kind of impersonal luxury that defines high-end hotels. Warm, ambient lighting softens the edges of the modern furnishings, and the faint hum of the city outside seeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Minho trails behind, quietly closing the door as his eyes follow your every movement. You take in the space, walking slowly, your fingers grazing the back of the leather armchair by the window. It’s a room meant for passing through, a temporary refuge, but tonight, it feels charged with possibility.

Turning around, you face him, your gaze locking onto his. The intensity in your eyes mirrors his own, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

The silence stretches, taut and electric, until you break it. Your voice is low and laced with challenge. “So… are you ready to make your dream come true?”

Minho exhales softly, his lips curving into a slow, deliberate smirk. He takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “That depends,” he says, his voice rich with quiet confidence. “Are you?”

You hold his gaze, letting the tension simmer between you, a charged pause filled with unspoken promises. You move toward the bed, each step deliberate, each motion radiating quiet confidence. You climb onto the bed without hesitation, settling back against the pillows with an air of unshakable ease. His eyes follow the slow arch of your movements as you stretch out, your gaze locking onto his with an almost defiant intrigue.

You tilt your head slightly, one leg bending at the knee as your skirt shifts, revealing a whisper of lace beneath. The soft, seductive curve of your lips carries a challenge as you murmur, “Come. Make your dreams come true.”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of Minho’s lips, sharper on one side than the other. His dark eyes glimmer with something dangerous, something intent, as he steps forward with measured precision. His gaze never wavers, a simmering intensity that would make most crumble—but you hold it, your calm composure only fueling his fascination.

He reaches the bed and leans down, his hands braced on either side of you, caging you in without touching. His breath is warm against your cheek, the closeness of his presence a magnetic pull. You feel the weight of his gaze as it lingers on your face, searching, daring you to falter.

But you don’t.

Minho leans over you, bracing one hand on the mattress beside your head, the other sliding gently along your jaw. His thumb brushes your skin, a touch that sends sparks down your spine. He’s so close now that his breath mingles with yours, warm and tantalizing.

You don’t break the gaze, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles as if to challenge him further. Minho takes the bait, his smirk fading into something darker, something more intent. He closes the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s slow at first, deliberate, testing.

His mouth moves against yours with a growing fervor, each kiss deeper, more demanding than the last. His hand shifts, trailing down to your waist, pulling you closer as his weight settles beside you. The heat between you builds, your breaths quickening as the world outside the room fades to nothing.

You feel his fingers brush against the fabric of your skirt, his touch firm yet unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment. His lips leave yours briefly, trailing down to your jaw, then your neck, each kiss igniting a fire that spreads through you.

Minho lets the silence stretch for just a moment longer before his hand trails down, finding your bent knee. With a touch that’s both deliberate and unhurried, he lifts your leg slightly, tilting it closer to him. His lips graze the soft skin of your thigh, leaving a slow trail of kisses that climb higher with every breath.

The air between you grows heavier, the atmosphere charged and electric. You sense the shift as his focus sharpens, his movements deliberate yet unspoken, the tension between you nearly tangible.

Minho finally dips his head lower, the closeness of his breath on your clothed core igniting a fire along your skin. You close your eyes briefly, caught in the moment, every action a silent promise of what’s to come.

Taking you off guard, Minho tugs the fabric of your underwear between his teeth and drags it down your legs until it's off of you. Nothing is getting in his way now but before that, he shot you a menacing look before planting his mouth on your cunt, taking the first step in making his dream comes true.

-

Minho is wrong to think that he's the one who won't be easily satisfied tonight. You're on all fours, taking it well even though he is going as hard as he can, the skin slapping sounds echoing in the room louder than the lewd noises spilling out of your parted mouth.

“Harder, harder,” you repeatedly say between your moans. You're barely holding on, your hands are gripping the sheet under you, your legs trembling, a sheen of sweat coated your skin yet Minho finds it hot that you're asking for me.

Minho grabs a fistful of your hair and gently tugs at it, using it to tilt your head to the back, allowing him to plant ferocious kisses on your neck. He then presses his mouth to your ear and whispers. “Harder, huh?”

You slightly turn your head to the side to meet his gaze. “Harder,” you simply say back to him.

Hearing you saying that with a commanding yet seductive tone, he feels challenged. He grips each side of your hips, hard enough his nails digging into the flesh and he takes a second of break before launching himself into you, harder than before.

Your moans grow louder so you plant your head onto the pillow to try muffle it, your hands are now holding the side of the pillow like it's your lifeline.

Minho lowers his mouth on your back shoulder, placing kisses with his teeth faintly scraping your skin. “Isn't it what you want, huh? I'm giving it to you.”

He adds speed to his thrusts and the intensity of his movements make the bed quakes along with it. At first, he thought you were just being greedy but fuck, you're taking it so well.

“You're close, huh?” Minho murmurs with his eyes fixated on the way his cock slipping in and out of you.

He lowers himself until his chest meets yours and putting his arms around your waist, he plants his mouth on your shoulder as he takes you with him, kneeling on the bed. His muscular, veiny arms wrapped around you, keeping you steady as he keeps thrusting into you despite you're on the brink of climaxing.

You tilt your head to the back, letting it drops onto Minho’s shoulder, your moans grow low and hoarse as you're closing in on your high.

Minho silently holds back himself from getting carried by the way your fluttering around him but he likes it, oh, the way you sucking him deeper into you. There’s nothing like it, he's enjoying every second of being inside you. His hands wander your sensuous body as you're relishing your orgasm. He catches you smiling with your eyes closed and satisfaction painted on your face, nothing arouse him more than realizing that he made you like that.

“That good, mmh?” his lips graze your ear as he speaks.

When he thought that you couldn't impress him more, you turn around and push him hard until he collapses onto the bed. He props an elbow but your hand pressed to his chest, gesturing him to stay down.

You slyly smile as you hover above him, your eyes filled with mischief as you say. “Now, I'll make your dream comes true.”

It's like you’re not tired or spent at all from the previous session. You're bouncing on his cock with both of your hands firmly resting on his chest as support and when you get tired, you're switching to rolling your hips back and forth at a painstakingly slow motions.

“I can see that you like that more,” you murmur, now rolling your hips in circular motions, earning low grunts from Minho.

He thinks it's not just about the way you're fucking him but it's also the way you're enjoying doing it to him. The sly smile never strays away from your face, provoking him but at the same time, arousing him so much that he knows his high is close, too damn close that it happens without him realizing it.

By the time he knows he’s cumming, he finds himself gripping your thighs as you keep moving, slowly and deliberately, teasing his sensitive cock as it's filling the condom with his seed.

Throwing all of your hair to the side, you lower yourself on him until your lips meet in a rapturous kiss that keeps Minho floating on cloud nine. You continue peppering his face and neck with kisses, you prop an elbow next to his head, just staring at his face with that crooked smile lingering on your pretty face.

“So, how does it feel now that you dream came true?”

Minho closes his eyes and blissfully smiles, he then shakes his head. When he opens his eyes, they instantly found yours. He hastily kisses your lips before speaking, “But it’s not the end of the dream yet.”

-

The soft shuffle of footsteps pulls Minho from sleep, his body reluctant to stir. He groans quietly, his eyes heavy with the weight of lingering exhaustion. Cracking them open, he squints at the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. It’s still dark out—far too early for his liking.

He turns his head, catching sight of you moving around the room, your bare silhouette outlined in the dim light. You’re bent slightly, picking up your clothes from the floor, the soft rustle of fabric filling the quiet space.

Minho watches, saying nothing, his gaze following the fluid movements of your body. There’s a magnetic pull in the way you carry yourself, confident and unhurried. He wants to call out to you, ask you to come back to bed, but the words stay lodged in his throat.

You step into your underwear, sliding the fabric up with practiced ease before reaching for your bra. Minho’s eyes trace the lines of your figure as you fasten it behind your back, your fingers deft and steady. Next comes your skirt, which you pull up with a casual swing of your hips.

Turning around, you catch his gaze, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes when you realize he’s awake.

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. His voice is rough with sleep as he asks, “So when can I see you again?”

Your lips curve into a playful smile, your demeanor coy as you tilt your head slightly.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” Minho tries another way.

You remain coy and continue buttoning up your blouse, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look at him.

“Why are you hesitating? You're supposed to refuse on the first time,” he teases.

“I'll be working,” you simply answer.

“What time you get off work?”

You tuck your shirt into your skirt. “I would only be free at night.”

Minho tilts his head to the side, slightly narrowing his eyes as he asks you, “At what time?”

“Around midnight.”

Minho’s eyes narrow slightly, his curiosity piqued, but he doesn’t press further. He can tell you’re not one to be cornered easily, and there’s something about the mystery that only draws him in more.

“There's only one thing a man and a woman could do together at that time,” his voice filled with playful lilt as he's sitting up on the bed and sending the duvet slides down his shoulders, exposing his bare upper half body.

Getting no response from you, Minho scoots closer to the edge of the bed. “I guess you find me attractive. You didn't turn me down once.”

His eyes are commanding as he searches for yours and won't stop until you hold his gaze. “I'll see you around midnight at the same bar then. Not tonight or tomorrow, but the day after. Let's say you turned me down for tonight and tomorrow. Okay?”

You slip on your jacket, adjusting it with a quick, practiced motion before walking toward the door. Pausing with your hand on the handle, you glance back at him, your smile softening just a fraction.

“You’ll see me soon enough,” you say simply, your voice carrying an ease that lingers in the air long after you’re gone.

The door clicks shut behind you, leaving Minho in the quiet stillness of the room. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his tousled hair. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he stares at the spot where you stood, already thinking of the next time he might see you again.

-

The faint hum of kitchen appliances fills the early morning quiet at Farfalle. Minho arrives even earlier than expected, the weight of his position settling into his steps. He walks through the restaurant as if already claiming it. His first stop is the dining hall.

The soft morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the elegant tables adorned with pristine white linens. He takes note of the layout—the alignment of tables, the polish of the silverware, and the sparkle of the glassware. It’s all flawless, but Minho already imagines ways to elevate it further.

His steps lead him to the heart of the restaurant: the kitchen. The air inside is cool, the silence only broken by the occasional clatter of utensils and the low murmurs of the few staff already prepping for the day. Heads turn as he strides in, his presence commanding attention even without an introduction. He doesn’t offer a word of explanation, his sharp gaze enough to unnerve those caught staring too long.

Minho moves through the space, examining the stations, the organization of the pantry, the sheen—or lack thereof—on the stoves. Every detail is cataloged in his mind. A few whispers ripple through the staff.

“Who is he?”

“Is that the new head chef?”

“He looks... intense.”

By the time the morning briefing begins, everyone is assembled in the main kitchen. The restaurant manager, Mr. Oh, clears his throat to silence the chatter.

“Good morning, everyone. As you all know, we’ve been in search of a new head chef to lead this kitchen. Today, I’m pleased to introduce the person who will be taking Farfalle to new heights.” Mr. Oh gestures to Minho, who steps forward with a composed, almost cold demeanor.

“This is Chef Lee Minho.”

Minho scans the room, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Good morning,” he says, his voice low but carrying an edge that commands respect. “Before we begin, I’d like to get to know the team I’ll be working with. Introduce yourselves—name and position.”

One by one, the staff steps forward.

“Seo Jun, Sous Chef, Meat Station.”

“Ha Yura, Sous Chef, Pasta Line.”

Each introduction is met with a brief nod from Minho, his expression unreadable.

Then it’s your turn. Dressed in your white chef’s attire with your hair tucked neatly under a bandana, you look like any other member of the team. Minho’s gaze briefly skims over you before moving on, but when you step forward and speak, something halts him.

“I'm in the pasta Line.”

Your voice is calm, but there’s a teasing lilt to it. His eyes snap back to you, narrowing slightly as recognition flickers across his face. You meet his gaze, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. The same lips he kissed the night before.

Minho’s jaw tightens imperceptibly. He feels the faintest twinge of disappointment—mixed with intrigue. You’re not just someone who caught his attention for one night. You’re one of his chefs. His interest deepens, but it’s complicated now, tangled in a dynamic he can’t control.

You hold his stare with a confidence that unsettles him. It’s clear you’re enjoying his momentary lapse, the way his usually steady composure falters just slightly.

“Welcome to Farfalle, Chef Lee,” you say smoothly, the faintest hint of amusement in your tone.

Minho recovers quickly, masking his thoughts behind his usual cold demeanor. “Thank you,” he replies, his voice clipped. He moves on to the next introduction, but the tension lingers, thick and unspoken.

The rest of the briefing passes without incident, but as the team disperses to begin their tasks, Minho’s thoughts remain on you. He can’t decide whether this is a cruel twist of fate or a challenge he’s strangely eager to face. Either way, it’s clear to him: working in this kitchen just got a lot more complicated.

-

The kitchen hums with quiet activity, a low symphony of clinking utensils and running water. The scent of freshly chopped herbs lingers in the air as you wipe down your station, the stainless steel gleaming under the fluorescent lights. You’re focused, meticulous, ensuring every corner of your workspace is spotless before the chaos of service begins.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Minho entering the kitchen. Dressed in his crisp chef's coat, he radiates authority, his steps deliberate and measured as he takes in the environment he now commands. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel his gaze on you.

You glance up, catching his eyes. His expression shifts, a playful smirk curling the corner of his lips.

“When you said we’d meet again soon,” he begins, his voice low and teasing, “I didn’t think you meant here. In this kitchen of all places.”

You lean casually against the counter, resting a hand on your hip. “And here I thought you’d be glad to see me again.”

His smirk deepens, but his eyes remain unreadable. “Should I be?”

“You tell me,” you counter, tilting your head slightly. “Or did you regret meeting me that night?”

Minho pauses, letting the silence stretch. His gaze lingers on you, as if weighing his response carefully. Then, with a faint chuckle, he shakes his head. “How could I regret it?”

You raise an eyebrow at his answer, sensing there’s more he’s about to add.

“But,” he continues, his tone dropping just enough to send a subtle chill through the air, “something tells me you’ll regret meeting me here.”

His smirk turns sharper, more menacing, as he flashes a smile that feels like a warning. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before turning away and walking to the chef’s table at the center of the kitchen.

Minho surveys the area, his sharp eyes missing nothing as he settles into his position of authority. The chef’s table, positioned strategically for both observation and action, will serve as his command post. Every dish will pass through him, every detail scrutinized to ensure it meets his exacting standards before it leaves the kitchen.

One by one, the rest of the kitchen staff begins to trickle in. The chatter picks up as stations are claimed and preparations continue. Knives flash as vegetables are diced with precision, and the air grows warmer as the stoves are fired up.

By the time the restaurant opens, the kitchen is a hive of activity. Minho stands at the helm, his arms crossed as he observes his team. His sharp gaze flicks from one chef to the next, silently assessing their movements and demeanor.

“There’s this nervousness when waiting for the first order. But there’s always happiness when empty plates return so just relax and continue what you have been doing before.”

“Yes, chef!” everyone replies in unison with a hint of excitement in their voices.

The sound of the printing machine cuts through the hum of the kitchen, signaling the arrival of the first order. The staff pauses, their eyes darting to the small slip of paper as it prints out.

“Shall we start?” Minho’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, steady and authoritative. “Table number four. One Grancio, one porcini, two fettuccine and one vongole.”

“Yes, chef!” Everyone answers in response to Minho’s order.

The kitchen springs to life, the rhythm of Farfalle's service beginning in earnest. Minho’s eyes linger on you for just a moment longer before turning his attention to the plates coming his way, ready to set the tone for the day—and for his reign in the kitchen.

-

The faint aroma of freshly baked bread still lingers in the shared apartment as you sit at the small kitchen table, peeling apples for a late-night snack. Yura and Minji, your roommates and fellow chefs at Farfalle, chatter animatedly in the living room. Their excitement fills the quiet space with a buzz of energy.

“I swear, he’s like a fresh bottle of olive oil,” Yura gushes, her eyes practically sparkling. “Sleek, refined, and expensive.”

Minji giggles, her tone dreamy. “Not to mention, he’s so handsome. Those sharp features... and the way he walks? Confident, but not cocky.”

You stay silent, focusing on the rhythmic glide of the knife over the apple’s skin. Their words echo in the background as you continue peeling, occasionally flicking the pieces into a small bowl.

Yura’s gaze suddenly shifts to you, curiosity lighting up her features. “Hey, didn’t you say you and Chef Lee went to the same culinary school in Italy?”

The question makes you pause, if only for a fraction of a second. You quickly resume peeling, keeping your expression neutral. “Yeah, we did.”

Yura leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So? What was he like back then? Was he always this good?”

You slice the apple cleanly, avoiding her eager gaze. “He was... impressive,” you answer, keeping your tone even. “He was one of the best students and won a lot of cooking competitions.”

Minji’s eyes widen. “Wow, really? That’s amazing! Did you guys ever talk or hang out?”

You shake your head, carefully cutting the apple into thin slices. “Not really. He was focused on his work, and I was... just trying to keep up. I doubt he’d even remember me.”

Minji frowns slightly, clearly unsatisfied with your response. “But you must have crossed paths, right?”

“Sure,” you reply casually, placing another neatly sliced piece into the bowl. “But Minho wasn’t exactly the type to stop and chat.”

Yura sighs dreamily. “Well, he’s certainly something now. I mean, did you see how sharp he looked in his chef coat? And the way he handled the kitchen today? So commanding!”

Minji nods enthusiastically. “I wouldn’t mind getting scolded if it’s from someone like him.”

You suppress a smile, the corner of your lips tugging upward briefly. Their admiration feels almost innocent, a sharp contrast to the memories quietly tucked away in your mind.

Instead of commenting, you place the knife down and start arranging the apple slices on a plate. Yura and Minji continue gushing over Minho, their excitement filling the room with a warm, almost naive energy.

You glance at them briefly, observing the way their faces light up as they talk about him. You don’t say a word, letting their admiration float freely in the air. The stories you could share stay locked away, hidden behind the veil of your quiet demeanor.

It’s not your place to ruin their perception, not yet. So you offer the plate of neatly sliced apples to them with a small smile, pretending you know nothing about the man they’re so smitten with.

-

The sound of laughter echoes faintly through the apartment as you shuffle out of your bedroom, still bleary-eyed from sleep. In the living room, Minji is curled up on the couch, glued to the television. She’s watching her favorite cooking show—the one with Chef Sara, her idol—her expression full of admiration.

“Minji,” you call, your voice heavy with morning grogginess, “How about breakfast?”

She glances over her shoulder, her innocent smile catching you off guard. “But it’s the episode where Chef Sara visits Florence. You know how much I love this one!”

You sigh, dragging a hand through your hair. It’s not like you expected Minji to be in the kitchen; she rarely helps with breakfast. As the youngest in the apartment, she’s grown comfortable letting you take on the responsibility.

The clinking of utensils draws your attention to the kitchen. Yura’s sitting at the dining table with her hair wrapped in a towel, sipping coffee while scrolling through her phone. She doesn’t even look up as she says, “Good morning. Breakfast ready yet?”

You suppress a groan and trudge into the kitchen, tying your apron over your pajamas. It’s always like this—Minji caught up in a show, Yura leisurely sipping coffee, and you stuck cooking for the three of you. You start peeling eggs and slicing fruit, your mind wandering as you go through the motions.

By the time you finished getting ready for work, you rush out of your apartment, nearly tripping over your untied sneaker in your haste. The morning routine has become a battlefield of time with Yura and Minji monopolizing the bathroom and leaving you scrambling to get ready after them. The faint echo of the apartment door slamming shut behind you accompanies your hurried footsteps down the hallway.

Reaching the elevators, you frantically jab the button and bounce on your toes, silently pleading for it to arrive before you’re late for work. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal Minho standing inside, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his sleek black coat.

You freeze for a second, caught off guard by his presence. Regaining your composure, you step in and flash him a faint smile. “Good morning,” you murmur, keeping your tone neutral.

Minho acknowledges you with a brief glance, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he’s amused by something. The doors close, and the elevator begins its descent, the silence stretching between you like a taut string.

You focus on the glowing numbers above the door, counting down to the lobby. Your heartbeat quickens, though you’re not sure if it’s from the rush or his proximity.

As the elevator hums softly, Minho’s voice breaks the quiet. “Don’t forget. Midnight.”

You turn your head slightly, your brows furrowing in confusion for a split second before his words click. The bar. The unspoken rendezvous.

You glance at him, catching the faint smirk tugging at his lips. His tone is casual, but the way his dark eyes linger on you hints at something more.

The elevator dings open, and the cool morning air from the lobby filters in. You step out, pausing just long enough to glance back over your shoulder. “I’ll see you there,” you reply, your voice steady despite the subtle thrum of excitement coursing through you.

Without waiting for a response, you stride toward the exit, leaving Minho behind as the promise of midnight lingers in the air like the taste of something forbidden.

-

Minho strides into the kitchen, his polished chef coat pristine, and his expression unreadable. He takes his usual place at the chef's table, positioning himself so he can observe every station in the kitchen. His eyes sweep over the staff like a hawk surveying its territory, lingering just long enough to unsettle.

Leaning casually against the table, he crosses his arms. “Is everyone excited for the first order?”

Next to you, Minji perks up, her voice carrying a coquettish lilt. “Yes, Chef.”

The kitchen momentarily halts as all eyes turn toward her, some raising eyebrows, others hiding their amusement. You keep your gaze down, focusing on your pasta dough, but you can feel Minho’s sharp stare shift toward her.

A faint smirk touches his lips. “Let’s see if you can live up to that enthusiasm.”

The printer by the wall whirs, and the first ticket slides out with a soft beep. Minho snatches it and glances at the list, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Table number two. Three Caesar salads, two fillets, one pasta primavera.”

“Yes, chef!” Everyone responds in unison.

The kitchen bursts into life, the clatter of pans and the hiss of flames filling the air. You focus on your station, expertly tossing fresh pasta in a creamy sauce, the rhythm of the kitchen taking over.

Not long after, Seungwan approaches the pass with a plate of Caesar salad. The portion towers on the plate, the croutons precariously stacked like a culinary Jenga. Minho’s brow furrows as he steps forward, his gaze fixed on the dish.

“What is this?” he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

“It’s the Caesar salad, Chef,” Seungwan replies, a nervous edge creeping into his tone.

Minho picks up the plate, holding it at arm’s length as if inspecting it for flaws. Then, in one swift motion, he sends the plate crashing to the floor. The shattering sound reverberates through the kitchen, freezing everyone in place.

“Does this look like a Caesar salad meant for a fine dining restaurant?” Minho’s voice rises, sharp and unforgiving. “This isn’t a family buffet! Start over, and this time, don’t make it look like a joke.”

Seungwan stammers, his face flushed with embarrassment as he scrambles to clean up the mess and start again. The rest of the kitchen watches in stunned silence, hands momentarily still, as if afraid to move.

Another ticket prints, and Minho retrieves it with unnerving composure. “Table number eight. Two more fillets, one minestrone, one ravioli.”

He glances around, his voice cutting through the tension. “Why is no one responding?”

The silence stretches painfully until the staff collectively murmurs a hesitant, “Yes, Chef.”

You tighten your grip on the handle of your pan, throwing yourself into your work to avoid his scrutiny. Next to you, Minji fumbles with her sauce, her earlier confidence replaced by nervous energy.

Minho’s gaze sweeps over the kitchen again, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Good. Now, let’s see if you can keep up.”

The atmosphere is heavier now, every move calculated, every dish triple-checked before reaching the pass. The truth is clear to everyone—this is Minho’s kitchen now, and no one is safe from his exacting standards.

-

The atmosphere in the kitchen is strained, the tension palpable as every chef rushes to perfect their dishes under Minho’s watchful eyes. Minji approaches the chef’s table, her plate of risotto carefully balanced in her hands. She sets it down with a nervous smile, stepping back to let Minho inspect it.

Minho glances at the dish, his expression unreadable. For a brief second, it seems like he might pass it, but then his hand moves with unexpected force, shoving the plate back toward Minji.

“This isn’t a risotto,” he says coldly, his voice cutting through the hum of the kitchen. “Do it again!.”

Minji’s face flushes with embarrassment, but she nods quickly, snatching the plate and retreating to her station.

Minho straightens, his sharp gaze sweeping over the kitchen. He steps away from the table, moving with purpose toward Hyunwoo’s station, where the younger chef is carefully garnishing a bowl of soup.

“Stop,” Minho orders, his tone laced with authority. He picks up a shrimp from the garnish and holds it up for everyone to see. “Is this a joke? You didn’t even bother to devein it.”

Hyunwoo stammers, “I-I didn’t think it was necessary for this dish—”

“Do I need to devein your brain too?” Minho interrupts, his words laced with sarcasm. Hyunwoo’s face turns red as he mumbles an apology and quickly begins redoing the garnish.

Minho moves on, stopping next to Seojun’s station. The sous chef’s cooking is impeccable, but Minho’s attention is drawn to the trash can beside him. He picks it up, examining the contents with a grimace.

“This,” Minho says, lifting the can higher, “is worth months of your salary.”

Before anyone can react, Minho dumps the contents of the trash can in front of Seojun, creating a mess of perfectly good ingredients discarded unnecessarily. The room goes silent, all eyes on Seojun, whose jaw tightens in suppressed anger.

“Next time,” Minho continues, his tone icy, “if you feel the urge to waste food, do it at home. Not in my kitchen.”

“Yes, chef,” Seojun weakly respond, his hands gripping the edge of his station, but the fury in his eyes is unmistakable. Minho smirks, satisfied, and strides back to his chef table.

The uneasy calm is broken when a dish is returned from the dining hall. The staff member hesitates before approaching Minho, holding the plate carefully.

“The customer said the lobster is too tough,” they report nervously.

Minho’s eyes narrow as he glances at the dish, then shifts his gaze to Yura. “Redo it. Now.”

Yura, already simmering with frustration, nods sharply and returns to her station. Minutes later, the same dish comes back to the kitchen, the dining hall staff once again bearing the plate.

“The customer still says the lobster isn’t right.”

Yura’s temper snaps. Without a word, she storms out of the kitchen, ignoring the stunned silence of her colleagues. She marches into the dining hall, her face flushed with anger, and approaches the table where the complaint originated.

“Excuse me,” she says loudly, placing her hands on her hips. “What exactly is the problem with this dish? Do you even know what properly cooked lobster is supposed to taste like?”

The customer, a middle-aged man with a calm demeanor, raises an eyebrow. He sets down his fork and looks up at her, his expression unreadable.

“Actually, I do,” he replies evenly, pulling out a business card and placing it on the table. “I’m a food critic for Culinary Gazette. This restaurant is being reviewed for next month’s issue.”

Yura’s eyes widen, the weight of her mistake crashing down on her. The rest of the kitchen staff watches through the small window, horrified. Minho, standing at his table with his jaws tensed.

Yura walks back into the kitchen, her face pale and her usual fiery confidence replaced by dread. The moment she steps through the door, she’s met with Minho’s piercing gaze. He’s standing near his chef table, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but undeniably intimidating.

The silence in the kitchen is suffocating as everyone watches the exchange, their work forgotten. Minho doesn’t waste time. He strides toward her, stopping just a foot away, and lifts a finger to point at her.

“You’re fired,” he states coldly, his voice carrying an air of finality.

Yura’s shock quickly turns to indignation. Her face flushes, and her temper reignites as she begins protesting. “Fired? For what? For defending my work? That critic doesn’t know anything—”

Minho interrupts her with a dismissive shrug, stepping around her and returning to his chef table. He casually picks up a spoon to inspect a sauce from a nearby plate, tasting it as if the argument isn’t worth his attention.

“Defending your work?” he says, not even looking at her. “You stormed out of the kitchen and embarrassed this restaurant in front of a food critic. If you think that’s defending your work, then you’re not cut out for this industry.”

Yura clenches her fists, her voice rising. “This is ridiculous! I’ve been working here longer than you. You can’t just walk in and—”

“Enough.” Minho’s voice slices through her tirade like a knife. He looks at her then, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “This is my kitchen now. And in my kitchen, there’s no room for your temper or your excuses.”

The finality in his tone leaves no room for further argument. Yura stands there, breathing heavily, her defiance wavering as she realizes there’s no changing his mind. The rest of the staff exchange nervous glances but remain silent, unwilling to draw Minho’s ire.

Satisfied, Minho turns back to the dish in front of him, as if the conversation never happened. “Someone clean this station,” he says over his shoulder. “We have orders to get out.”

Yura stands frozen for a moment before storming out, slamming the door behind her. The tension in the kitchen lingers, but everyone quickly gets back to work, unwilling to be the next target of Minho’s wrath.

Minho tastes another dish and smirks faintly, his voice low but audible enough for those nearby. “Let this be a lesson—anyone who steps out of line will face the same fate.”

The room is silent except for the sound of knives against cutting boards and the faint hum of the kitchen appliances. Minho’s authority is unquestionable now, his control over the kitchen absolute.

-

Minho steps out of the kitchen freezer with Taesoo following close behind, their breaths visible in the cold air as they finish inspecting the frozen stock. He closes the freezer door and turns to speak, but his attention snaps to an unexpected scene at the far corner of the kitchen.

Minji and Seungwan are leaning against a counter, locked in an intimate embrace, completely oblivious to the two men’s presence. Their quiet murmurs and soft laughter fill the otherwise silent kitchen, unaware they have an audience.

Taesoo clears his throat deliberately, and the sound jolts them apart. Minji and Seungwan freeze, their faces paling as they register Minho's cold stare.

“I-I’m sorry, Chef,” Minji stammers, stepping back from Seungwan. “We—uh—it won’t happen again.”

Seungwan nods quickly, his face a mix of guilt and fear. “It was a mistake, Chef. We weren’t thinking.”

Minho says nothing, his sharp eyes flicking between them before he turns on his heel and walks away.

“Gather everyone in the dining hall after service,” he says to Taesoo, his voice low but commanding. “We have some things to address.”

The dining hall is eerily quiet, the usual warm glow of its chandeliers casting an ominous light over the small group of kitchen staff seated at one of the larger tables. Minho stands at the head of the table, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Let’s start with the lobsters,” he says, his gaze settling on Yura. “The issue lies in how they were stored in Styrofoam boxes, making it impossible for the freezer to maintain the correct temperature.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. “That’s your responsibility, Yura. You failed to ensure the proper handling of the seafood for your station.”

Yura opens her mouth to argue, but Minho raises a hand, silencing her.

“You embarrassed this restaurant in front of a critic, and now I find this. You’re fired.”

Yura’s temper flares immediately. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Minho cuts her off, his tone cold and final. “This is my kitchen, and you’re no longer part of it. Pack your things.”

The room feels heavy with tension as Yura storms out, slamming the door behind her.

Minho’s attention shifts to Minji and Seungwan. “Now, about you two.” His voice is calm, but his words are razor-sharp. “The kitchen is a sacred space. It’s where we create, where we work, where we respect the craft. It is not where we indulge in personal relationships.”

Seungwan swallows hard. “It was a mistake—”

Minho cuts him off again. “There are no excuses. Romance has no place in my kitchen. For that, you’re both fired.”

Minji’s eyes widen, and she steps forward quickly. “Wait! Chef, it’s my fault. I—” Her voice falters slightly, but she pushes through. “If someone has to leave, it should be me. Seungwan is a great chef. Don’t take this opportunity away from him because of me.”

Minho studies her for a long moment, his cold gaze flickering with something unreadable. Finally, he nods. “Fine. Seungwan stays. But you... you’re fired.”

Minji’s shoulders sag, but she nods in resignation. “Yes, Chef,” she says quietly before walking out of the dining hall without looking back.

As the door swings shut behind her, Minho allows himself a faint smirk. Everything is falling into place. No women in his kitchen, just as he intends.

But then his eyes land on you, standing quietly at the end of the room, your expression neutral. Minho’s smirk falters for just a moment before he turns away, heading for the door.

“This kitchen isn’t for the weak,” he says over his shoulder. “I hope the rest of you can keep up.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you feel the weight of his unspoken challenge settle over you. Minho’s plan might be working for now, but he hasn’t dealt with you yet—and that, you realize, makes you his next obstacle.

-

Minho pushes open the door to the locker room, his steps echoing faintly against the tiled floor. He walks toward his locker, his focus seemingly on the lock in his hands. The metallic clang of the lock twisting open echoes, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the soft rustling of clothes behind him.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Minho freezes. Two lockers away, you’re standing half-dressed, your black lace bra visible as you methodically pull on your shirt. His breath hitches for just a moment, though his expression remains neutral.

He doesn’t say a word, instead quietly observing your movements. The way you move—unhurried, deliberate—strikes him as oddly familiar. But he can’t place where he’s seen it before.

You button your shirt, unaware of his watchful eyes. Finally, you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder, sparing a brief glance in his direction. Your expression is unreadable as you walk out of the locker room, leaving Minho behind in the lingering silence.

Moments later, Taesoo enters, a casual grin on his face. “Hey, Chef,” he calls out, leaning against a row of lockers. “So… you really don’t remember her, huh?”

Minho frowns, closing his locker with a sharp click. “What are you talking about?”

Taesoo chuckles softly. “You and her went to the same culinary school in Italy. Everyone thought you two were close.”

The words hit Minho like a puzzle piece snapping into place. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Memories flash through his mind—bits and pieces of a classmate who rarely took things seriously, who was more interested in fleeting romances than perfecting recipes.

“Oh? She’s the one who was always slacking off,” Minho mutters, almost to himself.

Taesoo gets confused. “Huh? She still graduated, didn’t she?”

Minho stands still for a moment, letting the realization settle in. That’s why you seemed so familiar. That’s why he couldn’t quite figure you out until now.

With this newfound knowledge, Minho’s lips curl into a faint smirk. He shuts his locker with finality, grabs his coat, and walks out of the locker room without another word.

The night air is cool as Minho steps out of the restaurant. The city buzzes around him, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. His destination is clear.

The bar isn’t far, just a short walk away. As he approaches, the faint hum of music and chatter grows louder. Minho pauses at the entrance, running a hand through his hair.

He pushes open the door, stepping into the warm, dimly lit space. His eyes scan the room, searching for you. Tonight, he plans to uncover more than just a drink.

-

It's midnight and you're here at the bar where you met Minho. You sit at the same spot, quietly sipping your drink as the faint hum of music and chatter fills the space. The warmth of the liquor burns your throat, grounding you amidst your swirling thoughts. The door creaks open, and you feel a presence slide onto the stool next to you.

You don’t have to look to know who it is.

“Funny,” Minho says, his voice low and teasing. “That’s quite a face for a girl who came to meet a guy.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. His smirk is as sharp as ever, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“I wonder if you're still dating around like you did back in culinary school?” he asks casually, tilting his head as if he’s genuinely curious.

The comment stings, and you clench your glass tighter. So, he recognizes you now.

“Finally remembered me, huh?” you retort. Then, leaning slightly closer, you counter, “What about you? Still traumatized by your past experience, I see? Is that why you fired all the female chefs?”

For a moment, Minho’s smirk falters, but he recovers quickly. “Is this how you treat a guy on a date?” he asks, brushing off your words like dust on his coat.

You scoff but don’t respond. Instead, you press forward, determined to get answers. “You planned it, didn’t you? Firing all the women in the kitchen because you don't want women in your kitchen.”

Minho doesn’t answer right away. His silence feels heavier than the music playing in the background. Then, suddenly, he leans in. His face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Let’s do it,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “You and me. Go out. Date.”

The words catch you off guard, and you blink at him, trying to read his expression. He’s serious, but his seriousness feels like a challenge rather than a confession.

You hesitate, weighing the implications. To say yes would mean leaving the job—leaving the kitchen you worked so hard to be in. As if reading your thoughts, Minho adds, “You can’t work in my kitchen. There’s no place for women there, and you know it.”

The bartender interrupts the moment, sliding closer to ask, “Another round?”

Minho seizes the opportunity, turning to you. “Well?” he asks, his voice smoother now, almost seductive. “What’s it going to be? Another drink with me or...?”

He leans in closer, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Stay. Have another drink. Let’s see where this goes.”

You feel the heat rise in your chest, but you don’t look away. Instead, you drain the rest of your drink, the glass making a soft clink as you set it down on the counter.

Still holding his gaze, you rise from your stool. You say nothing as you turn and walk out of the bar, your decision clear in your mind. If Minho wants to get rid of you, he’ll have to try harder.

Minho watches as you disappear into the night, the sway of your silhouette fading into the city’s glow. You didn’t look back, not even once, and yet he knows—he knows—you’ve accepted the challenge he silently laid at your feet. A smirk tugs at his lips, though his chest tightens with an unfamiliar ache he refuses to name. This isn’t just about control or proving a point anymore. There’s something about you that unnerves him, something that stirs a dangerous mix of irritation and intrigue. You’re a complication he didn’t plan for, and complications, Minho thinks, always have a way of unraveling the best-laid plans.

-

The kitchen is chaos. Orders spill from the printer at an unrelenting pace, each ticket a stark reminder of the restaurant’s packed lunch service. Farfalle is fully booked, and the staff can barely keep up. The tension is palpable, the air thick with the mingling aromas of simmering sauces and stress-induced perspiration.

At the pasta line, you’re barely holding it together. Seungwan has stepped in to help, his movements quick but clumsy as he fumbles with the pasta portions. It’s clear he’s unfamiliar with the intricacies of the station, but there’s no time to complain. With fewer hands in the pasta line, the pressure feels insurmountable.

“Move faster!” Minho’s voice cuts through the cacophony, sharp and biting. He stands at his chef table, watching every station like a hawk, barking orders that keep the team on edge. “Don’t just stand around like electrical poles.”

Your hands ache from tossing pasta, the boiling steam stinging your face as you strain spaghetti and toss it into the pan. Beside you, Seungwan drops a ladle, cursing under his breath as sauce splatters onto the counter.

“Pick it up!” you snap, your patience thinning as the next order comes in. You’re already juggling three pans, but the thought of falling behind propels you forward.

Minho’s footsteps echo as he approaches. “What’s taking so long on that linguine?”

“It’s coming!” You shout over your shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze.

You can feel his eyes boring into you, assessing every move you make. The weight of his scrutiny is suffocating, but you push through it, your focus unwavering. You can’t afford to falter—not now, not ever. Not when proving yourself means everything.

“Faster, faster!” Minho demands, his tone clipped. “The customers are screaming in hunger.”

The words sting, but you bite them back, tossing the finished linguine onto the plate and sliding it onto the pass. “It’s done,” you say, your voice steady despite the fire burning in your chest.

You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. No matter how overwhelming the orders, no matter how loudly he shouts, you refuse to let him believe—even for a second—that you can’t handle this.

The weight of the frying pan, clams, broth, garlic and pasta is 1,5 kilograms. Since you're holding two pans, that's 3 kilograms combined. That's almost the weight of a newborn baby so right now you're practically rocking a baby in your hands and Minho is trying to say is that in the kitchen, men are better with babies? Not a chance.

This isn’t just about the pasta or the orders. It’s about proving him wrong, about showing him that women can not only survive in his kitchen but thrive.

By the time the rush subsides, your arms feel like lead, your body drenched in sweat. But when Minho glances your way, his face unreadable, you meet his gaze head-on. You don’t say a word, but your silence speaks volumes: I’m still standing.

-

The kitchen is eerily quiet after the lunch rush, save for the faint clinking of utensils and the hum of the exhaust fans. Most of the staff are resting their arms on counters or sipping water, their faces etched with exhaustion. You stand by the pasta station, massaging your sore wrists discreetly, hoping no one notices.

But Minho notices.

From his position at the chef table, his sharp eyes catch the subtle movements of your fingers rubbing against the tender skin of your wrists. His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes—a brief, almost imperceptible calculation.

Without a word, Minho leaves the kitchen, disappearing into his office. A faint murmur of conversation filters out from the slightly ajar door, his voice low and measured as he makes a phone call.

Dinner service looms, and the staff are back at their stations, bracing themselves for another storm. The tension is palpable, a collective anxiety that builds with each passing second. You’re adjusting your mise en place when the kitchen doors swing open.

Minho strides in, a commanding presence as always, but it’s the figure trailing behind him that draws everyone’s attention.

The new guy is tall and lean, with long, bleached hair pulled into a loose bun. Freckles dust his cheeks and nose, softening his sharp features. He’s beautiful, almost too pretty to be real, and for a moment, everyone wonders if Minho’s broken his own rule about women in the kitchen. But no—there’s no way.

Minho stops in the center of the kitchen, his eyes sweeping over the staff.

“Let me be clear,” he begins, his voice cold and biting. “Today’s lunch service was a disaster. I overestimated all of you—thought you could at least prepare one meal correctly without fumbling like amateurs. Clearly, I was wrong.”

The staff exchanges uneasy glances, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Minho turns his gaze to Seungwan. “Get back to your station,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Seungwan nods stiffly, retreating to his corner of the kitchen.

Then, Minho gestures to the newcomer. “This is Felix. He’ll be taking over the pasta line.”

Felix steps forward, his expression calm but focused as he positions himself beside you. He gives you a brief smile—warm and genuine, a stark contrast to the cold indifference that permeates the kitchen.

Before everyone can process the change, the first order for dinner service comes through.

Minho wastes no time. “Table number six. Two risottos, one linguine with clams, one carbonara!”

The kitchen springs to life, knives chopping, pans sizzling, and voices calling out orders. Felix moves with practiced ease, his hands deft and precise as he takes over part of your workload.

For the first time all day, you feel a flicker of relief. But as you glance at Minho, watching him observe the chaos he’s orchestrated, you know this is far from over.

-

The bar is dimly lit, the warm glow of amber lights reflecting off the rows of bottles behind the counter. Minho sits at a corner table, nursing a glass of whiskey. Across from him, Felix sips a cocktail, his relaxed demeanor a sharp contrast to Minho’s brooding intensity.

Felix sets his glass down, his freckled face tinged with amusement. “I’m still surprised you called me. What’s it been? Two years?”

Minho tilts his glass, the liquid swirling lazily. “I didn’t have a choice,” he says bluntly. “The kitchen is chaos. Everyone’s far below my expectations.”

Felix leans back in his chair, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Sudden desperation, huh? Not very Minho of you.”

Minho gives a short laugh. “I should’ve called earlier, but you know how it is. Didn’t think I’d need help.”

Felix raises a brow. “Well, I’m here now. But I gotta say, I was surprised to see her there.”

Minho’s grip on his glass tightens ever so slightly, but his expression remains neutral. “Who?”

Felix smirks knowingly. “You know who. The girl at the pasta line. What’s her name again?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Minho replies dismissively, waving a hand.

Felix chuckles, leaning forward. “So, you’re letting women in your kitchen now? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Minho lets out a low, sinister chuckle, shaking his head. “Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Felix’s teasing fades, replaced by curiosity. “You haven’t moved on from it, huh?” he asks, his tone quieter, more serious now.

Minho doesn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stares at his glass.

Felix continues, “You know, Italian kitchens demand commitment and adaptability. Times are changing. There are tough female cooks these days, and some are damn good at what they do.”

Minho smirks, finally meeting Felix’s gaze. “You don’t need to worry about it,” he says, his voice smooth and composed. “My kitchen isn’t just any kitchen. It’s not meant to be easy-going.”

Felix studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before taking another sip of his drink. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a hint of something—disapproval or resignation, perhaps—in his tone.

Minho downs the rest of his whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. “Thanks for stepping in, Felix. Just do your job, and don’t get too comfortable.”

Felix laughs lightly, raising his glass in a mock toast. “With you around? Never.”

The conversation shifts to lighter topics, but the weight of Felix’s words lingers in the air, unspoken yet undeniable.

-

The soft hum of the coffee machine fills the small apartment as you shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy from the night before. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the faint aroma of cinnamon, a small comfort in an otherwise tense atmosphere.

Yura and Minji are already seated at the kitchen table, their postures slouched as they stare at their laptops. Each of them clutches a steaming mug of coffee, their expressions tired and resigned. Yura is the first to glance up at you, offering a half-hearted smile.

“Morning,” she mutters, her voice hoarse.

“Morning,” you reply, moving toward the fridge. The silence is heavy, save for the occasional click of keys as Minji scrolls through job listings.

You decide to make breakfast, a small gesture to lighten the mood. Pulling out eggs, bread, and vegetables, you get to work, the sound of chopping and sizzling breaking the quiet. You carefully avoid mentioning Farfalle or Minho, knowing it’s a sore subject for both of them.

Yura breaks the silence first, her tone hesitant. “We’ve been talking,” she starts, her eyes fixed on her screen. “Minji and I… we’re going to have to move out soon.”

Your hand stills on the spatula for a moment before you force yourself to keep flipping the eggs. “Oh?”

“We just… we can’t afford rent anymore,” Yura continues, her voice tight. “Especially without jobs lined up. And, uh, we’ll need to take the deposit money too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You knew this was coming, but hearing it aloud makes the reality sink in. Living alone will be expensive—rent, bills, groceries—it’s a lot to shoulder on your own. You might have to find a roommate sooner rather than later.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I get it,” you say, your voice calm. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. I hope you both find something soon.”

Yura gives a small nod, though her eyes are still glued to her screen. Minji doesn’t say much, just takes a long sip of her coffee.

You finish plating breakfast and place the dishes in front of them. “Here,” you say, managing a smile. “Eat up. And good luck with the job hunt.”

“Thanks,” Minji murmurs, finally looking up.

As they start eating, you sit down with your own plate, your mind already racing. The weight of their impending departure looms over you, but you push it aside for now. You’ll figure it out—just like you always do.

-

The dining hall buzzes with low murmurs as the kitchen and service staff assemble for the morning briefing. You stand in your line, feeling Taesoo’s presence lingering just behind you, a quiet support in the tense environment.

Felix strides in moments later, his presence like a burst of sunshine cutting through the cloudy atmosphere. His bleached hair glows under the morning light, and his freckled face radiates a kind, unbothered smile. “Hey,” he greets, his voice soft yet carrying a note of warmth. “It’s nice to see another familiar face here.”

You offer him a polite smile. Of course, Minho would call Felix. The two were practically inseparable back in culinary school, despite Felix being a year below Minho. Felix had always trailed after him, eager and wide-eyed. It doesn’t surprise you in the least to see him here, undoubtedly Minho’s protégé by now.

“Nice to see you too,” you reply with a small smile. “Looking forward to working with you in the kitchen.”

Felix grins, his gaze sweeping the gathered team. He greets the others with the same warmth, extending his hand as a gesture of goodwill. The service staff respond with polite nods, but the kitchen team barely acknowledges him, their faces etched with stony indifference.

Felix leans closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Why are they acting like that?”

You glance at the kitchen crew, their tension palpable. “Probably because they think the Italian grads are taking over the pasta line,” you murmur back.

Before Felix can respond, the manager enters, followed closely by Minho, who radiates authority with his sharp, no-nonsense expression. The low hum of conversation dies down as the manager clears his throat and begins the briefing. He details the full lunch and dinner bookings, emphasizing the need for efficiency and teamwork.

When the manager finishes, Minho steps forward, his presence commanding the room. “There’ll be further restructuring in my kitchen,” he announces, his voice calm yet laced with an edge.

The manager blinks in confusion. “Restructuring? You fired people yesterday, and we barely managed the orders. We need more hands, not—”

Minho cuts him off with a raised hand. His gaze sweeps the room before landing squarely on you. His finger points in your direction, sharp and accusatory. “You,” he says, his tone cold. “From today, you’ll share the locker room with the service staff.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You stiffen, refusing to back down. “No, chef,” you flatly refuse.

Minho’s brow arches, his lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. “Why not?”

“Because I’m part of the kitchen staff,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

The room holds its breath as the two of you lock eyes in a silent battle of wills. Minho’s jaw tightens, his gaze never wavering, but you refuse to look away. After a moment that feels like an eternity, he looks elsewhere, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice dripping with disdain. “Do whatever you want.”

Minho pivots, addressing the team again. “Moving on. First, Farfalle will no longer serve foie gras.”

“But that provides us a lot of sales,” someone from the service team blurts out.

Minho’s eyes snap toward the entrée line where the most resistance is coming. “Foie gras is made by shoving a funnel down a goose's throat and force feeding it until its liver becomes the size of a fist. I don’t support animal cruelty, and this restaurant won’t either.”

A ripple of shock and murmurs sweeps through the room. Sous Chef Seojun steps forward, his face twisted in disbelief. “But foie gras is our VIP customers' favorite.”

“I’m not here to pad your wallets with unethical practices,” Minho snaps, daringly gazes into Seojun’s eyes.

Before Seojun can argue further, Minho barrels ahead. “Second, spoons will no longer be served with pasta dishes.”

Hyunwoo mutters under his breath, loud enough for the room to hear, “This is ridiculous.”

Minho’s gaze snaps to him, sharp as a blade. “From now on, we're going to use half as much sauce on our pasta. Pasta should soak up the sauce so that you don't need a spoon to eat it. In other words, pasta shouldn't be so watery. You should be able to to chew it and enjoy the nutty texture, instead of slurping it down. It should be served on a flat plate without a spoon and watery sauce. So that means, there'll be no more bowl type dishes as well.”

The air is thick with tension, animosity brewing among the staff. Minho, however, stands unshaken, his stance firm, his eyes daring anyone to challenge him further. Felix shifts beside you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and unease.

You can feel the kitchen’s collective resentment bubbling beneath the surface. And though you don’t agree with Minho’s methods, a part of you can’t help but admire the sheer audacity with which he holds his ground.

This is Minho’s kitchen, and everyone is learning that the hard way.

-

The lunch rush descends upon the kitchen like a storm. Orders pile in, each ticket a new test of patience and precision. But today, the storm is harsher. The absence of foie gras and spoons from the menu seems to have lit a fuse among the patrons. Complaints echo from the front of the house to the kitchen, carried in by the servers who are met with Minho’s unflinching glare.

“Table six wants to know why there’s no foie gras,” a server stammers, holding the ticket like it’s a shield.

“Because we’re not barbaric,” Minho snaps without looking up from the plated pasta he’s inspecting. “Next question.”

Another server rushes in. “Table three says there’s not enough sauce on their pasta.”

“It’s a sugo, not a soup,” Minho barks, flicking his hand dismissively. “If they wanted a bowl of tomato water, they came to the wrong place.”

The kitchen vibrates with tension. Even the sous chef, who usually keep his grumbling to a minimum, can’t mask their irritation. Seojun’s jaw tightens as he works the grill, his movements sharp and mechanical. Across your station, Hyunwoo mutters curses under his breath, his hands trembling as he reduces yet another sauce to Minho’s exact specifications.

You stand at your station, hands moving on autopilot as you toss a pan of pasta, the repetitive motion grounding you. The complaints weigh on you too, but you keep your head down. You’ve made it this far; you’re not about to let Minho—or anyone else—see you falter.

“Focus!” Minho’s voice cuts through the chaos like a whip, directed at no one and everyone. “If I hear one more plate leaves this kitchen without my approval, someone’s going home early. And not in a good way.”

“Yes, chef!” Despite the chaos, the kitchen soldiers on. Plates go out, tables are cleared, and somehow, the lunch service marches toward its conclusion. By the time the last order is fired and plated, an exhausted hush falls over the team.

The other cooks exchange glances, their disdain for Minho unspoken but palpable. Felix, ever the optimist, claps Taesoo on the shoulder and offers a reassuring smile.

Minho surveys the room, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. “Good work,” he says, his tone begrudging, like the words physically pain him. “But don’t think for a second this means you’re keeping up. Dinner service starts in five hours. Clean up and get back to prep.”

As the team disperses, you take a deep breath, the ache in your wrists flaring as you stretch. Another day in hell, you think. And yet, you can’t help but feel a flicker of pride. Against all odds, you finished the service.

But you know this is just the beginning. With Minho at the helm, there’s no such thing as smooth sailing. Only storms.

-

The dining hall is crowded as all of the staff are taking their break and having lunches, indulging in the rare peace before dinner service. But you have other plans. Quietly slipping away, you make your way to the cashier’s terminal, your heart thumping with anticipation.

The order history is your goal—a record of the Italian consulate’s dining habits. Scrolling through the list of past reservations, you start to see the pattern. Each visit showcases a different dish, meticulously selected as though the consulate is sampling the entire menu, piece by piece. One glaring omission stands out: Vongole.

The realization lights a spark of determination. Heading to the freezer, you prep the clams with care, imagining the dish that might just win over one of the most discerning palates to grace Farfalle’s dining room. But as you emerge with your bounty, Minho appears, as if conjured by your audacity.

“What are you doing with that?” he asks, his voice laced with curiosity and skepticism.

You straighten your back. “The Italian consulate will order Vongole tonight,” you reply confidently.

Minho’s expression shifts into a cynical smile. “And what makes you so sure?”

“I checked his previous orders,” you explain, meeting his gaze without flinching. “He’s ordered everything on the menu except Vongole. It’s the only dish left.”

For a moment, Minho simply stares at you, as though debating whether to dismiss you outright or acknowledge your boldness. Then, a sly smirk tugs at his lips. “We’ll see,” he says, brushing past you.

Dinner service is in full swing, the clamor of the kitchen almost deafening. Minho’s sharp commands ring out above the noise, each order executed with mechanical precision.

Then comes the moment everyone has been waiting for—the consulate’s arrival. The manager sweeps into the kitchen, a nervous energy radiating from him as he announces their presence.

Minho’s expression remains unreadable. “Focus,” he orders, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

The anticipation is palpable as the consulate’s table lingers over their menu, debating their options. When the order finally comes through, all eyes turn to Minho as he reads the slip of paper. His gaze flicks to you, holding it for just a second longer than usual before he barks out the order.

“Vongole!”

Felix raises his hand immediately. “I’ll make it,” he volunteers, his enthusiasm earnest.

But Minho ignores him, his attention fixed on you. “You,” he says firmly, pointing in your direction. “Make the dish.”

Your heart pounds, but you give no outward sign of hesitation. “Yes, Chef,” you reply, moving to your station with purpose.

As you work, Minho hovers nearby, his presence both unnerving and oddly reassuring. Halfway through your preparation, he approaches, holding a bottle of wine.

“Use this,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate, glancing at the label—it’s an expensive bottle, undoubtedly his personal stash. “Chef, this is—”

“It’ll elevate the flavor,” he interrupts, his voice steady. “Use it.”

Swallowing your nerves, you nod and accept the bottle. The addition of the wine transforms the dish, the aroma wafting through the kitchen as you plate the pasta with precision.

The staff exchange glances—some envious, others suspicious. But Minho ignores them all, his focus entirely on the dish in front of you.

“Serve it,” he orders once the plate is finished.

As the dish is carried out to the dining hall, a charged silence falls over the kitchen. All that remains is to see if your gamble—and Minho’s faith—will pay off.

-

The dinner service nears its end, the kitchen quieting as the last orders are plated and sent out. You’re tidying up your station when the manager steps in, his expression unreadable.

“The consulate wants to meet the chef,” he announces, then adds, “and the one who cooked his Vongole.”

Your heart skips a beat, an icy wave of anxiety washing over you. Did you mess up? Did it fail to meet his standards?

“Let’s go,” Minho says, already heading toward the dining hall.

You fall in step behind him, nerves gnawing at your composure. Minho walks with his usual confidence, his back straight and his presence commanding. It’s only when you reach the consulate’s table that you notice someone unexpected seated beside him.

Chef Choi Sara.

Recognition hits like a slap. Sara isn’t just a famous culinary star; she’s Minho’s ex from culinary school. They were inseparable back then, both as a couple and as rivals, constantly pushing each other to excel. Stories of their relationship are almost legendary in the culinary world—a whirlwind of passion, competition, and ambition. But something happened between them, and whatever it was, it ended both their romance and their partnership.

You glance at Minho, searching for a reaction. His face remains as unreadable as ever, but there’s a tension in his posture, a flicker in his eyes that betrays his composed demeanor.

The consulate rises with a warm smile, shaking Minho’s hand first. “Congratulations on your new position,” he says. “The food tonight was exceptional, as always. You’ve truly elevated this restaurant.”

“Thank you,” Minho replies, his voice steady and professional.

Then the consulate turns to you. “And you,” he says, his tone lighter but no less sincere. “The Vongole was exquisite. You’ve got a remarkable talent.”

You bow slightly, your voice soft with humility. “Thank you. I’m flattered you enjoyed it.”

Before the conversation can continue, Sara interjects, her smile sharp and knowing. “Well, it’s no wonder the food is so good,” she says, her voice laced with confidence. “The three of us went to the same culinary school, after all.”

Her words hang in the air, pointed and loaded. It’s as if she’s reminding Minho—and perhaps you—of their shared history, of the heights they reached together and the tension that pulled them apart. Minho doesn’t respond, his focus remaining on the consulate, but the air between him and Sara is thick with unspoken words.

The consulate gestures to a box beside his chair, lifting a few bottles of wine. “A gift,” he says, handing them to Minho. “I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I’ve enjoyed your cooking.”

Minho accepts the gift with a polite nod, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, a glimpse of memories resurfacing. You can’t help but wonder what this exchange is stirring up for him.

“Shall we take a picture to commemorate the evening?” the consulate suggests, already standing to pose.

You barely have time to process the request before you’re lining up beside Minho. As you smile for the camera, you feel the faintest brush of movement. Glancing down, you see Sara’s arm looped through Minho’s, her posture relaxed and confident, as though she belongs by his side.

Your smile falters for a split second before you force it back into place. The flash goes off, but your mind is already racing.

As you walk back to the kitchen, questions swirl in your mind. What’s the nature of Minho and Sara’s relationship now? Did their rivalry ever truly end, or was it just another layer of their complicated dynamic? And more troublingly, does Minho still harbor feelings for her? The possibilities unsettle you, leaving you to wrestle with a mix of curiosity and unease.

-

The kitchen is less hectic as the only sounds that can be heard is the low hum of post-service cleanup, exhaustion settling into the faces of the staff. Minho stands in the center, a bottle of wine in hand, his expression unreadable. With a sharp twist, he pops the cork and pours glasses for everyone.

"Here," he says curtly, passing out drinks. "Celebrate while you can."

The team exchanges wary glances before lifting their glasses. Minho's tone is brusque, but his actions are a rare acknowledgment of their hard work. You sip the wine in silence, watching him walk away with the second bottle tucked under his arm.

Minho heads toward his office, his steps measured and deliberate. He’s halfway to the door when he freezes, his sharp eyes catching a figure leaning casually against the wall near his office—Sara.

"Minho," she calls, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Still the last to leave, I see."

“What do you want?” he asks coldly, brushing past her toward his office door.

Sara pushes off the wall and falls into step behind him. “I just wanted to check on you,” she says breezily, her tone too light to be genuine. “Word is that Farfalle’s sales are plummeting since you took over. Not exactly the success story everyone expected.”

Minho stops abruptly, turning to face her. His eyes are dark, his patience clearly thin. “Mind your own business.”

She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “I just hate to see someone who used to be the best… fall so far.”

Minho doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps into his office, setting the bottle of wine down on the desk. He gestures toward it, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

“Recognize this?” he asks.

Sara’s gaze flickers to the bottle, and for a moment, her confident facade cracks.

“It’s just wine, Minho,” she says, though her voice is quieter now.

“Not just wine,” he counters. “It’s a reminder. A reminder of the moment you ruined everything. Of how you planned to take me down.”

Her expression hardens, but she doesn’t deny it.

“It was a mistake,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “A shameful, momentary mistake.”

Minho laughs, though there’s no humor in it. “A mistake?” he repeats, his disbelief cutting through the room. “You planned it, Sara. Every step. And now you’re trying to rewrite history?”

Sara looks away, her silence speaking volumes.

Minho steps closer, his voice low and laced with disdain. “The real mistake wasn’t trusting you. It wasn’t even competing with you. The real mistake was falling in love with you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and final. Without waiting for a response, he grabs his coat and strides past her, leaving Sara standing alone in the dim light of the office. Her carefully constructed poise falters, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as the door closes behind him.

-

The soft ding of the elevator echoes in the quiet corridor as you wait, exhaustion heavy in your limbs after a long day. Your mind drifts to the task you’ve been putting off—informing the property agent about listing your apartment for a roommate. Just as the thought settles uncomfortably, you hear footsteps approaching.

Minho steps into view, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He takes a spot beside you, his presence commanding the space as you both wait for the elevator in silence.

The doors slide open, and the two of you step inside. The hum of the elevator is the only sound until Minho finally breaks the silence.

“You must be happy,” he says, his tone laced with mock indifference. “I let you keep your job, I let you cook for the consulate, and I even let you use my wine.”

You glance at him, a small smile playing on your lips. For the first time in a while, this feels like the Minho you’d met that night, not the cold, sharp-edged chef from the kitchen.

“Thank you, chef,” you say softly, your smile widening. “You really are the best.”

Minho’s lips twitch as though he’s fighting a grin. “Flattery does not work on me,” he mutters, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Amused, you turn slightly to study him. His jaw is set, his expression stoic, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. Acting on impulse, you step closer and gently cup his jaw, tilting his face toward you. His eyes widen in surprise, but before he can react, you lean in and press your lips to his.

For a moment, he freezes, but then he relaxes, his hands finding your waist as he returns the kiss. The warmth of his lips, the way he pulls you just a little closer—it’s electrifying, and the rest of the world fades away.

The elevator chimes, signaling your floor. Slowly, you break the kiss, a playful smile on your face as you step back.

Minho leans in as though to capture your lips again, but you quickly place a hand on his chest, teasingly stopping him. “Goodnight, Chef,” you say, your tone light and mischievous.

His lips part, as if to protest, but you’re already stepping out of the elevator. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch the look of longing on his face before the doors slide shut, leaving him standing there, wanting more.

-

Ever since that kiss, Minho can’t stop thinking about it. The memory keeps replaying—the warmth of your lips, the way your breath hitched right before it happened. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It can’t happen. And yet, he can’t deny how much he still wants to pursue whatever this is.

If only you weren’t working in his kitchen...

Stepping out of his apartment, Minho sighs quietly, raking a hand through his hair. He presses the elevator button and stares at the numbers lighting up as the lift ascends. The soft creak of your door opening makes him turn, and he sees you stepping out, adjusting the strap of your bag.

You spot him and offer a faint smile. “Morning,” you say, your voice light but cautious.

The elevator doors slide open, and you both step in. The space between you feels charged, the silence heavier than it should be. Minho shoves his hands into his pockets, debating whether to say something. This is his chance, but he knows he has to tread carefully.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low but steady. “Listen to me carefully.”

You glance at him, waiting for him to continue, your expression unreadable.

“I don’t want to fire you,” he says firmly. “But I need to remind you… you’re just a chef in my kitchen. Nothing more.”

The words land heavier than he expects, and he watches as your expression shifts. A flicker of something he can’t quite place crosses your face before you mask it again.

You stay silent for a moment before nodding.

Minho frowns slightly, uneasy. “Understood?” he asks, needing confirmation—for himself as much as for you.

“Yes, Chef,” you reply, your voice calm and unwavering.

The formal response makes his chest tighten. It’s what he wants to hear—what he needs to hear. But it feels like a wall has gone up between you, colder and more impenetrable than before.

The elevator dings softly, and the doors slide open to the ground floor. Minho steps out first, reminding himself of his own rules. No women in his kitchen. No romance in his kitchen. Even if he wants to break them.

-

The dining hall hums with quiet conversation as the service and kitchen staff gather for the usual morning briefing. You stand among them, arms crossed, waiting for Mr. Oh to arrive. It's strange—he’s never late for these meetings.

The minutes stretch, and impatience grows. Finally, Minho steps into the scene, exuding authority as he takes charge. “Let’s not waste time,” he says, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “We’ll start—”

The double doors to the dining hall creak open, silencing everyone. All heads turn toward the entrance, and a collective murmur ripples through the room as a figure strides in.

Dressed in a tailored black suit that seems to absorb the light, the man’s presence is magnetic. His pale skin contrasts sharply with his dark attire, and his piercing gaze sweeps over the staff, commanding their attention without a single word.

He moves with an air of calculated confidence, each step echoing in the hushed hall. Reaching the front of the room, he turns to face the gathered crowd, his lips curling into a faint, enigmatic smile.

“I apologize for the disruption,” he begins, his voice deep and smooth, laced with a subtle edge of authority. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Chris, and as of today, I am the new manager of Farfalle.”

A wave of whispers breaks out among the staff, curiosity and unease blending in their expressions.

Chris doesn’t waver. He clasps his hands behind his back, his sharp eyes scanning the room with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “I look forward to working with each of you.”

His words hang in the air like a challenge, leaving an unspoken tension that prickles at your skin. Without waiting for a response, Chris gives a final nod and steps aside, his presence lingering even as he moves.

Minho watches him with a subtle narrowing of his eyes, his jaw tight. The air in the room feels heavier, charged with the dramatic shift Chris's arrival has brought.

“I'll make it short,” Chris begins, his tone steady and authoritative. “I'm closing down the restaurant.”

And just like that, the briefing takes on an entirely new weight, ending not with words, but with the undeniable realization that change is here—and it wears a sharp black suit.

-

Support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @inlovewithstraykids @eastjonowhere

[strayzid]

i have to say, this is one - if not the - best fanfic ive read in my entire life. LIKE THIS IS OUTSTANDING!! I cannot figure how much I love this, it just got me goosebumps.

I loved all of it: the smut is incredible, its like i felt all of minhos character right when it started. The kitchen dynamic is SO well written cause i could feel the tension AND WAS SO TENSE till the end of it. And I think thats one of your main qualities as a writer: you make me feel all the different emotions throughout the entire MAIN COURSE THAT THIS FIC IS.

I love how you also introduced Felix and Chan as characters that ACTUALLY build up the plot, not just another character, cause I GASPED WITH CHAN AT THE END NGL.

And also the PUSH AND PULL WITH MINHO AND YN??????? NO WAAAAAAAAY????!!!!! THAT WAS AMAZING I WAS SO :O the whole time

You inspire me as an author, and you make me want to write, and thats the best compliment i could give.

[cb97percent]

Aphrodisiacs II · 「No Excuse」

➥ Established D/S Relationship — 1.7k

⚠ — Free use (see masterlist before reading)

➥ There are rules in place, and you are to observe them. No matter where you are.

[Aphrodisiacs II is an early access content released under Cherry Bomb, and the full collection will be available on Ream only.]

“...so in order for this deal to work— Yes, Karina?”

“I am so sorry to interrupt,” your assistant wriggled by the glass door of the conference room all apologetic, “but your husband is here. He says it’s an emergency, and they couldn’t reach you on the phone?”

Keep reading

「© 2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

➥ Tagging — Happy to! Kindly read the masterlist warnings carefully before asking to be tagged, and please only ask if you have the time to read so you can meaningfully interact. Thank you! [Make sure your blog is not invisible so I can tag you.]

· @anylady-fics @strayzid @d-damacinzenta-blog @chans-american-slave @tzeweiii05

· @yoongisoftface @anniemarvel @slice-of-vi @the-life-of-stella @syedazarintasnim

· @cb097maze @hobarihope @oiphoebe @paperclip-skz @stayceebs97

· @krayzieestay @rylea08 @tirena1 @confusedabouteverything @heauxteas

· @sunnyhonie @wildtokay @simpforleeknaur @chanspuppy

[strayzid]

ive actually read a ton of free use fics BUT THIS IS A MASTERPIECE YESSS THANK U 💓 glad im here to read this series.

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[imanutcase-10]

Then bring me luck

[thirddeadlysin]

the day after I posted this last time I was notified that I was selected for a really cool mentorship gig and got an unrelated glowing review at work

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pls I need a raise or something like… pls??

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

I reblog the good luck potato and it turns out someone is trying to get me fired so… wtf potato??

[strayzid]

pls

[cb97percent]

Aphrodisiacs II · 「Last Nerve Pt.2」

➥ Brother’s Asshole Best Friend!Chris x Reader (f) — 3.9k

⚠ — Pictophilia, corruption kink, cum/spitplay (see masterlist before reading)

➥ Frustrated as hell with his recent condition involving you, Chris snaps.

It’s natural to think of more common causes when something happens for the first time.

“Stop,” Chris heaved a frustrated sigh, “This isn’t working.”

➥ Read the full story here. (Clicking is sufficient — for content protection only)

「© 2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? Share your thoughts with me! It would also be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

➥ Tagging — Happy to! Kindly read the masterlist warnings carefully before asking to be tagged, and please only ask if you have the time to read so you can meaningfully interact. Thank you! [Make sure your blog is not invisible so I can tag you.]

· @anylady-fics @strayzid @d-damacinzenta-blog @chans-american-slave @tzeweiii05

· @yoongisoftface @anniemarvel @slice-of-vi @the-life-of-stella @syedazarintasnim

· @cb097maze @hobarihope @oiphoebe @paperclip-skz @stayceebs97

· @krayzieestay @rylea08 @tirena1 @confusedabouteverythings

[strayzid]

LATE BUT ITS OKAY!!!! This was fantastic!!! The writing was so so good and i LOVED the ending, the "i'll die a hero" I CANNOT LMAOOO

i love this chris and the characters are so so fun, also how yn is not afraid to make him BEG EXCUSE MOI??? so good 🤌

waiting for the next aphrodisiac part, love it 💓✨

[j-0ne25]

CLUB CLASSICS — PT. 1 of MEGAVERSE — [18+!]

AN INTERACTIVE SERIES

“Come on, be a good girl for me, Y/N,” he softly whispers.

❇️ All you wanted was to be a little delusional. Nothing out of the ordinary, simply creating your crush as a character in a video game to make him fall in love with the version of yourself. Everyone does that, right? Little did you know that cheating your way through the storyline would make you end up in a parallel universe that seems a little too similar to the game you were playing.

❕ [READ CAREFULLY] Select an option for the poll after reading a chapter! [polls will be up for 7 days and then the next part drops]

🧩 CONTENT INFO: skz ot8 x afab reader [not at the same time], smut/fluff/angst, parallel universe/video game au, sci-fi au, refer to series m.list for more infos

📗 WORD COUNT: 5.7K

⛳️ CONTENT WARNING: explicit sexual content [includes oral (f receiving), protected sex, choking, praise, name calling such as babygirl and good girl], alcohol consumption, mention of smoking weed and dealing, subtle hint of toxic relationship and stalking (not reader)

💚 AUTHOR’S NOTE: the first part is here! choose your option wisely. i hope you will like this little intro and if you do so, I’d be very grateful for any kind support (reblogs, comments, asks, DMs etc.). I’m sending lots of love to you and thank you for reading 🫶🏻

Some people would say that it's weird texting your friend that lives with you while he’s at home as well, but perhaps that’s just the age we live in. Or in your specific case, it’s easier to communicate with written words, regarding the fact you have a crush on him.

Opening the Discord app, you search for Jisung’s chat with you and send a message as well as a little meme to hype him up.

[y/n]: hop on discord dude

[y/n]: tenor.gif

You know that he’s always on his phone—especially nowadays which worries you a little—so he might see the messages soon and he does.

[jisung]: sorry mate i’m busy gettin readyyy

[jisung]: venessa invited me over ;)

Your heart bursts into a thousand pieces. Right. The girl he’s been texting with. 

It’s ridiculous, yes, that you have a crush on your longtime friend and roommate Han Jisung—and also a little pathetic but who can resist a gamer boy—so it was inevitable for jealousy to bubble up in your stomach and take over you.

Deep breaths, Y/N. Everything’s alright.

[y/n]: jeong venessa? that tiktok girlie?

You know who he means. You don’t even know why you ask again. Tapping your nails against the surface of your table, you await an answer.

[jisung]: you heard it correctly

[jisung]: tonight’s the night if you know what i mean

You do indeed know but you wished you could erase it from your brain forever.

[y/n]: oh congrats 

[y/n]: then i’m gonna go partying alone with cecilia. your loss. they’re playing 2010s music tonight in hongdae 

It’s not even a lie. That was your plan for later anyway. However, after a round of possibly playing your current favourite game with him you were hopeful to get Jisung to drag along with you. It would have been a perfect idea to spend more time with him—while your best friend is busy talking to her own crush anyway. Cool, now you’re gonna be third wheeling.

[jisung]: you guys are going clubbing in hongdae??? then you probably won’t need me anyway. there will be enough other men trying to get your attention ;)

Other men that give you attention?

Does he mean that otherwise he would be the one to do that?

Han Jisung confuses to no end these days. This constant hot and cold, push and pull messes with your head. One second he’s flirting with you, the next one he’s talking about that Venessa girl again.

[y/n]: like… you?

[y/n]: what’s that supposed to mean, ji?

You look at the little symbol that shows that he’s typing, before you receive two messages.

[jisung]: nothing 😝 have fun baby

[jisung]: call me if you need anything 

Baby.

That’s the thing.

Why does he call you baby a few hours before probably having his dick inside another woman?

[y/n]: i thought you were busy with venessa 🤨

You don’t get him.

[jisung]: probably will be 😏

[jisung]: but i’m always here for my favourite girl so don’t worry 😘

You decide to just drop it. Jisung isn’t aware of your actual feelings for him and you guys have always been this playful and flirty with one another. So, you can’t just start being mad at him out of nowhere. That wouldn’t be fair.

Sure, what you guys need is an actual conversation. Communicate whatever the fuck that is between you two. But then again, he’s been so busy these days with his work as a new IT consultant after graduating college—you seriously have no idea what his job involves and what he does there—so this hasn’t been an option so far.

You brush all those thoughts off and type another message.

[y/n]: have fun too ji!! 🥰

He instantly replies.

[jisung]: thanks baby ❤️

“Y/N, he will be here tonight!” Cecilia squeals.

Yes. This is the first thing your best friend says when she enters your apartment two hours after your little chat with Jisung who still isn’t at home.

Cecilia doesn’t even greet you, but walks inside, severely hyped for the night. You absolutely adore and admire how much energy she brings into a room but for an introvert like you it can get annoying quickly as well.

“Who?”

She takes her shoes off, grabs you by your wrist and drags you into your bedroom.

“Hyunjin, you dumbass. I told you, he’s gonna go to the same club with his friends,” Cecilia explains, dropping down to the floor to start doing her makeup. “Which also means Changbin will be there too though…”

“Of course he had to be here too,” you chuckle. “I mean, your brother and Hyunjin are best friends. Changbin goes whenever he goes.”

“I know, but it’s sooo annoying,” she says, throwing her head back.

“I get that, darling. We’re gonna make the best out of this night,” you reassure her, while finishing up your makeup. You’re already looking for the dress that you want to wear, running around in your small bedroom.

“Sure! Tonight’s the night for Hyunjin finally taking me home with him,” she giggles.

God, it’s annoying. You seriously thought this was gonna be a girls’ night—at least as much as possible—but Cecilia is unfortunately that type of woman that talks about men all day long.

“D’you think he fucks in missionary or prefers doggy?” she questions, tilting her head.

“Cee! Are you insane? Why would you ask that?”

“Ugh, never mind. You’re such a prude, for real,” she scoffs. “When was the last time you got any?”

You hate it. You absolutely hate it when she starts talking about sex. It’s not like you’re actually a prude—it drives you mad that she talks to you like this but you’re too much of a coward to defend yourself—but you might be inexperienced, yes. Most men you met in your life just didn’t excite you in a way that’s enough to be intimate with them.

You don’t have to love someone to cross that border, but there has to be some type of connection and a little spark between you for it to work.

“Does it matter?” you ask, slipping into the black dress you chose for tonight.

“Yeah, you need to get outta there. Make some experience. I can’t believe your body count is still only two,” Cecilia shakes her head.

“Why is it a bad thing? I mean, it doesn’t really matter if my body count is two or twenty, does it?” you ask, turning around towards her.

“You’re such a pretty girl when you take in some effort and dress up, why not get some free attention from men, hm?”

You decide to not reply anymore and it works—the conversation dies down and Cecilia forgets about the topic. However, this just brings her back to her previous focus.

“Do you think Hyunjin prefers dark red lipstick or a brighter shade?” she asks, looking at two different products in her hand.

It’s been like this for weeks now. Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin. That’s all she ever talks about. Sure, you can admit that the guy is handsome—but you’d love to talk to your best friend about other topics as well.

“I don’t know… I’d just wear what fits best with the outfit,” you suggest.

“Thanks, babe!” Cecilia applies her dark red lipstick before she looks at you, her mouth falling agape. “Gosh, you look pretty like this. You should totally wear dresses like these more often and stop hiding.”

“Thank you.” At least you guess so. Sometimes Cecilia’s compliments feel a little backhanded.

So, for whatever reason—it might be the wine you had—you decide to ask her questions instead, “What’s your thoughts on having a first date with Hyunjin, by the way?”

“First date? I’d love to date him, no question. But you know how I feel about serious relationships these days. After everything with Michael,” she explains

Right. The guy that told her that he loved her after the first date and then called her with several different numbers after she kept blocking him.

“Yeah, that’s super valid. I just thought… you seem to like Hyunjin a lot, so…” you continue.

“I do,” she agrees, looking into your eyes now and she’s suddenly so serious. “But I also need to protect my heart so no man can ever stab it with a dagger again.”

“Fair point.” You get up from your seat and grab your purse, watching Cecilia finishing the last touches of her lipstick. “Are you ready?”

Your best friend stands up too, as she follows you to the front door of your apartment. Jisung is already gone and for a second your thoughts start wandering again.

But only until Cecilia snaps you out of them. “Let’s go, babe.”

It’s loud. It’s sticky. It’s crowded in here.

Why the hell did you decide to go clubbing in Hongdae again?

Cecilia and you have been here for almost half an hour, currently sipping on your second drink and swinging your hips to the mediocre music, when a certain someone approaches you two.

“Hi, Cecilia, how’re you?” the tall man instantly asks, pulling your best friend into a hug. She has to hold back a squeal and presses him tightly against her body.

Hyunjin is the first one to pull away, before he brings his attention to you. “Y/N, hey, I’m glad you’re here. Everything alright?”

You instantly become confused—why shouldn’t everything be alright? Sure, you haven’t been in the best state of mind, regarding the fact your crush is at another girl’s place, probably getting his dick sucked right now, but you’ve tried your best to hide it.

“Yeah, of course. It’s nice to see you,” you say, meaning it. Whereas Hyunjin is off the table—and not really your type anyway—since he’s your best friend’s crush, you’ve never viewed him in a romantic light. But you feel super safe around him and that’s what counts.

He gets called by a friend from afar and follows them there, telling you two he will be back soon.

“Nice to see you?! What the hell was that?” your best friend shoves you aside from the dancefloor, her blood boiling up with anger.

What on earth?

“I’m just being friendly. He said something along these lines too,” you instantly defend yourself. You hate that you always get defensive around her even if you didn’t do anything.

“No, no, no. That’s gonna stop. You’re not going to flirt with my crush, Y/N,” Cecilia tells you.

“What? I wasn’t even flirting with him,” you reply.

“Good. Because I can’t risk him falling in love with you,” she says, shaking her head.

Is she for fucking real right now?

“Slow down with the drinks, Cee. You sound ridiculous. He doesn’t see me like that and much more importantly—I don’t like him like that either,” you explain.

“Sure. I mean, you could do something to prove that,” she suggests, clicking her tongue. And that smirk. She’s got the same smirk sometimes as her half-brother. This can’t mean anything good.

“What do you mean?” you questions 

“Flirt with a man that’s not Hyunjin,” she chuckles.

“Why would I do that?”

“Just for fun. To show me that our friendship means something to you. And to grow a pair and make some experiences with men, duh,” Cecilia continues.

“What would I be getting out of it?”

“Like I said—fun and experience.”

She can tell by the look on your face that this isn’t enough to convince you. Your definition of fun is staying at home, playing video games and ordering food.

“Fine, and I pay for our coffee dates for the next two weeks.” 

You’re still hesitant, so Cecilia’s gaze softens.

“Y/N, listen. You can always say no, yeah? I’m just trying to hype up your mood. You’ve been looking a bit… out of it today. And I think this could help. Just a little flirting, trust me, yeah?”

You sigh, “Fine. I’m in.”

There’s nothing to lose anyway, right? The party is boring as hell and you can’t get Jisung out of your mind. He’s probably busy with having Venessa under him, so you can have some fun too.

Great timing—you see your best friend’s crush approaching you, carrying a round of tequila.

“Shots, ladies?” Hyunjin says, bringing Changbin with him.

“Always, Jinnie,” Cecilia tells him with a wink.

Another hour passes by, as your best friend and her crush are basically sticking together like glue. He’s dancing with her, pulling her close, while you’re standing far away, having the worst time of your life.

The amount of alcohol you had doesn’t do you a favour, which is why you impulsively open your Discord app, looking if your roommate is there.

[y/n]: ji? are you online?

[y/n]: cecilia is spending all her time flirting with hyunjin and i can’t look at this anymore

Why would Jisung be online though? He’s on a date. Or something like that.

[y/n]: it’s so boring here i’m actually thinking about just choosing whatever dude crosses my view next and become as pathetic as i’ve never been…

It’s totally normal for you to overshare with him. Jisung is used to it. He does the same with you.

Although, in combination with your intoxication it might not be the smartest idea you’ve ever had.

[y/n]: i wish you were here rn ngl

Fucking hell. You should stop. You really should. But you carry that insane urge inside your soul to just tell him about your feelings.

[y/n]: I hope ditching us for venessa was worth it and she gives good head

[y/n]: i’d be better at it tho 

Shit. You should slow down the drinking.

When you receive a notification from your Duolingo app—the green owl threatening you to do your language lessons or else—you’re being pulled back into reality again.

Oh, God. What did you just text Jisung?

You’re glad about the fact that first, Discord allows you to delete messages and second, your roommate doesn’t have notifications for Discord turned on. So, you just get rid off the two unhinged texts again.

This party is going so… not well. And the same counts for the bet with Cecilia. Shit. You’re so bored and you really want that free coffee for two whole weeks. Maybe it’s worth putting in some effort. It’s just flirting, nothing else, right?

Your eyes start roaming around inside the club, looking for potential men but they don’t seem to be very successful. None of them ignites some type of spark inside you.

For a second you think about flirting with Changbin. Just to piss Cecilia off. But you can’t do this. He’s basically the polar opposite of his sister when it comes to romance—absolutely hopeless and the relationship type of guy.

But just when you’re about to turn around and head to the bar to get something non-alcoholic, someone decides to talk to you instead.

“Hi, I’m Chan. One of Hyunjin’s friends. I think we’ve met before, right?”

Fuck, he’s beautiful. The man is wearing a white button down shirt combined with black trousers. Not the most oddinary outfit choice but he looks amazing in this simple combination. He’s wearing his curls open, as his dark brown eyes stare right at you. And those plump lips—God, they look so kissable–

“Yes, I’m Y/N, nice to meet you again,” you manage to catch yourself.

“What’s your favourite drink?” he asks, carrying a smirk on his face.

“Right now I actually think of answering lemonade. Just because I’ve had one beverage too many,” you confess.

Chan chuckles, looking so pretty while doing it, “Great choice. You wanna come with me, so I can buy the prettiest girl in the club her favourite lemonade?”

Oh, he’s smooth. You didn’t expect that at all.

With Chan time just passes by. You instantly get along, talking about anything and everything, basically just jumping from one topic to the next one. It’s crazy.

“Yeah, that’s right. I moved to Jeju Island a year ago. Surfing there is so much fun. It reminds me of my childhood in Australia,” he tells you.

He’s such an interesting person. You could listen to him for the rest of the night.

“Woah, that’s incredible. You’re meant to be living by the ocean, huh?”

“I just love the calm it gives me,” he adds.

You’ve never done something like this before. With Chan, you don’t have to know each other on an extremly deep level—it’s as if you met ten years ago. You instantly clicked from the beginning and maybe that’s how you excuse bringing him home with you an hour later.

Usually, you’re not someone who has one night stands. The sheer thought of them is a huge turn-off for you. But perhaps since Chan is one of Hyunjin’s friends, it doesn’t feel like being with a stranger. Plus, you’ve been talking for what felt like eternity until he even made the slightest move on you. He seems shy, although you can’t read if that’s perhaps just pretence.

The two of you get in the backseat of the cab he called for you, giggling like teenagers. Once you made it home, you catch yourself checking if your roommate is at home. But he isn’t. Jisung is probably still at Venessa’s place. After all, he’s spending the night there, right?

“You okay, babygirl?” Chan asks, walking a bit closer to you after he’s taken off his shoes.

“Yeah. More than that,” you smile. When he’s with you, you suddenly forget about the rest of the world and you can’t put it into words why he’s got that effect on you.

“You’re in the right state of mind, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m sober. I want this,” you admit.

“Good. Because I won’t be able to stop, once I have you underneath me,” he warns you.

And Chan manages to keep his words. A little while later, he’s got you spread out on your soft mattress. Your thighs are thrown over his shoulders, as he places rough kisses on your inner thighs. He’s gonna devour you like a starving man, that you are sure of. You might be inexperienced but this is a scene that’s played in your head a thousand times before.

“Come on, be a good girl for me, Y/N,” he softly whispers and you follow suit, parting your legs further.

His fingertips are grazing over the wet patch on your ruined panties, softly colliding with your clit. Chan pushes the fabric aside, exposing your wet cunt to him and all that menace does is smirk.

“Fucking hell,” he curses to himself, right before his tongue starts collecting your juices. He smears them all over your pussy, making you squirm underneath him. A minute later, two of his fingers are inside your hole, stretching you out so deliciously.

He prepares you well for what he’s got planned with you—making you forget about everything but his name and how good he’s making you feel.

“Chan–“

He looks up at you between the curls that are covering his forehead, “Yeah, baby?”

“Can you please… please just fuck me?”

You don’t even know what has gotten into you. Maybe you’ve got a bit inspired by certain scenes you’ve read in all those romance books.

But judging the way Chan’s gaze is darkening, he enjoys it.

“Of course, baby. Because you’re such a good girl for me, hm?”

He reaches inside his jeans pockets to grab a condom, as he gets up. Chan wastes no time and takes off his remaining clothes, before he crawls back on the bed. You’ve still got your legs spread, impatiently awaiting him.

He scoots back right between them, opening the wrapper and sliding down the condom on his hardened cock.

“Are you sure you want this, Y/N?” he asks, oh so softly.

“Absolutely. I can’t wait,” you tell him.

Maybe there was something good about the bet your best friend made with you.

Chan is careful, when he brushes the tip of his cock over your folds, teasing you a little and you let him. He's circling around your entrance, before he pushes the first few centimetres inside, watching you get adjusted to the sensation.

You tell him to start moving a little while later and that’s what he does. Well—not just that. He also casually manages to make your brain finally shut up with the way he’s pounding his hard dick into your aching cunt.

“Fuck, you’re driving me mad, babygirl,” he whispers into your ears. Chan has one hand wrapped around your throat, slightly applying pressure to the sides.

“Channie–“ you let out.

“Yeah, call me by that name again,” he grunts through his teeth.

“Channie– please– ‘s too much,” you babble.

He reduces his speed a bit. “You want me to slow down, baby?”

“N-No. Keep going, please,” you change your mind. It just feels too good to have him inside of you. You dearly hope this won’t be the last time being with him.

“You’re so polite, hm? Such a good girl for me. Letting me ruin you like this, baby,” Chan chuckles, slightly changing the angle so he can fuck into you even deeper.

Oh, God. And he’s driving you closer to the edge with this.

“Whenever you’re ready, darling. I’ve got you, yeah?”

As if he’s manipulated both your mind and body, you follow suit, allowing the intense sensation to take over you. Pure ecstasy is rushing through your cells, while Chan helps you through your high.

“You look so pretty when you come for me,” he whispers, feeling himself getting closer too. A minute later or less, he fills the condom as he praises you with more words.

“You did so well for me,” is what he says before pulling out again.

Jisung manages to get home by three in the morning, calling a cab after Minho and Akira placed him into the vehicle.

He reaches for his phone for the first time within hours, instantly reading your texts before he replies.

[jisung]: you okay y/n?

[jisung]: why did you delete 2 messages and what were they about?

Fuck. He dearly hopes you’re safe.

However, the thoughts are spiralling inside his head. They’ve been doing this for the past hours ever since Venessa ended their date because Jisung perhaps accidentally moaned your name while they were getting intimate.

His drunk brain takes over him then, making it hard for him to stop hitting the keyboard with his thumbs.

[jisung]: do you need me to pick you up?

[jisung]: i’m not with venessa anymore… it was a useless date tbh… turns out she realised i have feelings for someone else lol

[jisung]: the whole purpose of meeting up with her was forgetting about that other person

Jisung doesn’t even realise he accidentally spilled that. He’s just a mess. It’s surprising how he manages to type that well.

[jisung]: fucking hell im rambling sorry.., that’s what drinking with minho and akira does to me lol

He shouldn’t have gone with them. His best friend and his colleague never know when to stop.

[jisung]: i would rather be with you my favourite person rn.. have you in my arms, take care of you, give you the best night of your life baby

[jisung]: wait 

[jisung]: shit i’ve had too many drinks

Jisung keeps worrying but decides to enter your shared apartment first, thinking it's best if he sobers up a little before he sends a message he might regret in the morning.

But his breath gets stuck in his throat when he notices you’re already back home—and you’re not alone. There’s a pair of men’s shoes carefully placed next to the ones you wore tonight on your way to the club.

Fuck. He’s such an idiot. And he can’t even be mad at you for sleeping with another guy when he was the one to brag about his own date.

Jisung hears footsteps then and a screeching noise that indicates your door is opening. 

“Oh, hi, I’m Chan,” the man that walks towards the bathroom introduces himself, when he sees Jisung.

Shit. Do you have a boyfriend? At least that’s what Chan instantly thinks.

Jisung sees the panic in his eyes and while he’s in fact jealous you slept with another man, he’s not in a position to claim you. Especially not, when he was the one who went on a date with another woman.

“Hi, I’m Jisung. I’m Y/N’s roommate,” he introduces himself.

“Roommate… okay, thank God,” Chan sighs and adds a little chuckle after his sentence, right before he disappears inside the bathroom.

Fucking hell. How is Jisung supposed to sleep tonight?

“Morning, baby,” a low voice wakes you up from your slumber.

When you slowly open your eyes, you’re sure you’re dreaming. But this feels real. Jisung is next to you in your bed.

Did you…

No, wait. The memories come back then. You did go to bed with a man—but not with your roommate. Still, he's the one with you now. So, Chan must have already left.

“Hey, Ji,” you whisper.

“You slept well?”

“Like a princess, to be honest. I had a great night after all,” you tell him.

It’s not even your intention to make him jealous—why would he be after all—but you did have an amazing time thanks to Hyunjin’s friend Chan.

“I’m sorry I saw your messages so late. I would have picked you up… you sounded so bored,” he tells you, catching his lower lip between his teeth.

Fuck. This certain look always messes with your head. But this morning is slightly different. You’ve got someone else on your mind. Perhaps, it’s just the remaining serotonin that Chan created to be let free inside your system, but you won’t complain.

“Well, I met one of Hyunjin’s friends then who kept me company. He said he met you in the hallway,” you tell him.

“Chan’s already gone?”

“Yeah. How was your date with Venessa?”

Jisung places a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt, “You didn’t read my messages? It didn’t go that well. Went on for an hour. So I went drinking with Akira and Minho instead.”

“That sounds good too,” you say, still waking up. Your brain is so slow today.

“Hm, you were missing, though,” he replies with a smirk, as he starts playing with a strand of your hair until this one gets tucked behind your ear.

“I’d never disturb your emergency guys night, Ji,” you try to handle the conversation. Why is he being so flirty again? He’s gonna drive you crazy one day.

“Doesn’t matter, I’d rather spent my time with you,” your roommate says with a wink.

“What about Venessa?”

“I told you, we don’t work out.”

You can’t do this right now. You feel dizzy, so you get up, walking away from your roommate who just stares at you confused.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ve got work,” you say, grabbing your clothes.

Perhaps the whole thing will have one good part. Since Jisung went out with Minho last night—the guy that happens to be your former academic rival and then upgraded to being your annoying boss—so you don’t have to worry about another man getting on your last nerve when he’s fighting his own hangover.

“Oh… okay. Maybe we can have a chill evening tonight?” Jisung suggests.

You nod and rush to the bathroom. This is gonna be future-Y/N’s issue to deal with.

Jisung decides to not call after you and when he realises you still have not picked up your phone since last night—he deletes his own messages from his device.

He’s not aware though that you did in fact check them when Chan met him in the hallway last night. Shit. This is messing with your brain.

Why did you find out that after all, Jisung might like you back, when you started to feel like finally moving on? After you allowed someone else to be close to you without any regrets?

Chan has been confusing you—in a good way. Yes, it might have been just a one night stand but you’re actually ready to meet him again.

And now Jisung decides to drunk-text you that there is a slight chance for the two of you?

[jisung]: i’m sorry but something came up at work. i’ll have to stay a little longer and won’t be back until 21:00. are you still in for our movie night? 

Okay. That’s good. Your day was exhausting as hell—mainly due to the lack of sleep and ongoing thoughts—so getting some rest for yourself before facing your feelings sounds like a good plan.

[y/n]: no rush!! i’m home anyway and can wait 😊

Your roommate is typing and a few seconds later he sends another text.

[jisung]: ahh thanks baby. you can choose the film and food btw. make yourself comfortable i’ll try to get home asap ❤️

Han Jisung is gonna drive you mad one day. You can’t keep up with these mixed signals anymore but tonight might determine what’s going on between you two.

So, the adult person that you are, you decide to spend your after work hours by playing some good old Sims 4 game. You’ve got a save file that you usually use—one where you adjusted the sims townies’ horrendous looks and created some cool venues. You start this one, select your pre-made version of yourself and put her in a household with no one else than the Han Jisung sim.

What a life. You sometimes wonder what it would be like to be inside a video game. Things could be so much less complicated, for real. After all, you always manage to let your sim self talk to Jisung sim about her feelings and they end up happily married. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, right?

As well as a beautiful mansion, a well paid job and lots of friends. Of course, your sims mostly get there with the help of some cheats and installing so many modification contents that your computer is running so hot you could basically fry an egg on it. But that’s what a girl has to do.

Just when you’re about to let Y/N-sim approach Jisung-sim, you hear your phone buzzing.

It’s from Hyunjin. Three texts. Weird.

[Hyunjin, 19:44]: Hey, Y/N. I just wanted to tell you that you looked really beautiful last night. I hope my mate is treating you well. If this isn’t the case, you know where to find me.

Your mouth falls agape but you read further.

[Hyunjin, 19:45]: and before you ask or get insecure regarding Cecilia. I’m sorry but I don’t like her that way. I’ve told her many times, just so you know, but she doesn’t listen.

Fucking hell. What has gotten into him?

[Hyunjin, 19:46]: I’m not expecting a reaction or response or anything from you. I just needed to get this off my chest and be honest with you. I’m sorry if this is overwhelming. If so, please delete these messages and this never happened. 😇

Yeah, no. You need to calm down first. 

When you bring your gaze back to the computer screen, you realise you didn’t hit pause. Cool. At least your house is not on fire. But Y/N-sim took the chance and lit herself a joint to get rid of some work stress, while she’s sitting at the computer… playing The Sims 1.

Wow, the irony. And yes, your sim self version is able to do such forbidden things thanks to the extra content you installed to make your computer’s life a hell. 

However, that little video game version makes you realise you’ve run out of weed so you reach for your phone, searching for a certain contact.

[You, 20:07]: hey minnie are you in the area rn?

You get back to your game and a bit later, Seungmin replies.

[Minnie, 20:12]: You need something, doll?

[You, 20:13]: you know me too well 😊

Great, he’s here. Seungmin is your savior. You’re not going to smoke now, that’s for sure. After all, Jisung might be home soon. However, it’s always good to have some stuff here for emergencies like your roommate possibly telling you that he doesn’t feel the same way.

[Minnie, 20:14]: Of course I do. You’re my favourite customer after all.

[Minnie, 20:14]: So, the usual?

He does know you too well.

[You, 20:15]: yup that would be great!! 🫶🏻

[Minnie, 20:16]: Anything for you. I’ll be there in half an hour. Meet me at our spot.

Great. That means you still have about twenty minutes to play your game. Then you can pick up the goods and get back before Jisung comes home.

However, that’s not enough to make Jisung-sim fall in love with Y/N-sim, let them get married and move into their mansion together. Especially not now, since your video game version is a bit out of it. And your computer is so fucking slow.

Fuck… you didn’t hit pause again. Y/N-sim burnt the grilled cheese and her whole house down. Amazing.

Stuff like this can only be saved with cheats. Yes, you wanted an honest game. But you’re not getting one tonight.

You open your separate word document and look for the cheats you need to handle this mess—a few mods will help you with it—and start typing and typing and typing.

You lose track of time completely. Your fingers start aching from hitting the keyboard that much and for a second it feels like you enter some sort of trance.

Until you hear a loud bang.

And after that, all you see is black for a while.

A deep slumber takes over you, before you wake up from it again.

You are able to open your eyes, instantly being hit by the bright screen in front of you that seems to be going around your whole body, no matter where you look at.

In bright letters you read the following:

Welcome to the Real Life Simulations. Please choose a world to play in.

What on earth is going on?

And more importantly, what will you choose?

Which world would you like to live in?

1) A versatile city with a beautiful old town.

2) What matters to me is good weather.

3) I love big cities with skyscrapers that offer everything you need.

4) I prefer small towns by a lake or river.

5) I need mountains and beautiful nature close by.

6) A city that allows me to be myself and chase my dreams!

Voting ended onAug 24, 2024

© j-One25 2024 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

[strayzid]

YESYYSEYSYSYYSYEYSYDHEYUSGDKWGSKDHEOE YESSSSS THIS IS JUST TOO GOOD OMG 💓 im ascending, its so messy and so good lmao

[cb97percent]

Aphrodisiacs II · 「Last Nerve Pt.1」

➥ Brother’s Asshole Best Friend!Chris x Reader (f) — 1.2k

⚠ — Hints of corruption kink (see masterlist before reading)

➥ You accidentally send nudes to the literal bane of your existence, and his taunt attempt massively backfires on him.

GOOD GOD, this man!

➥ Read the full story here. (Clicking is sufficient — for content protection only)

「© 2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? Share your thoughts with me! It would also be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Kickoff with a Bang. Let's go even more unhinged moving forward ❤️‍🔥

➥ Tagging — Happy to! Kindly read the masterlist warnings carefully before asking to be tagged, and please only ask if you have the time to read so you can meaningfully interact. Thank you! [Make sure your blog is not invisible so I can tag you.]

· @anylady-fics @strayzid @d-damacinzenta-blog @chans-american-slave @tzeweiii05

· @yoongisoftface @anniemarvel @slice-of-vi @the-life-of-stella @syedazarintasnim

· @cb097maze @hobarihope @oiphoebe @paperclip-skz @stayceebs97

· @krayzieestay

[strayzid]

WHAT A START!!!!! this was soooo good, and im actually so so so anxious for the next part i cannot wait 😸💓 TY MY LOVE FOR THIS MASTERPIECE

also we love fuckboy chris at this blog ty very much.

[cbini]

cybernetic system

pairing: winter soldier!seo changbin x afab!reader

warnings: basically post catws recovery bucky but make it changbin, memory loss, trauma, ptsd, breaking and entering, vomiting, descriptions of past torture (electroshock therapy, brainwashing, human experimentation), mentions of suicide and death, murder, identity issues/crises, self doubt, crying, established relationship, slow burn, kissing, masturbation (m & f), nonconsensual voyeurism for like .2 seconds, nipple play, metal arm kink, scar kissing, unprotected sex

w/c: 16k

a/n: happy birthday changbin!!! i’m proud to have written birthday fics for the birthday boy 2 years in a row now! this one is inspired of course by his first verse in runners, i took one listen and knew what i had to do lol. this doesn’t follow the exact plot of captain america, it’s my own little twist, so i hope that’s okay! everyone, but most especially my fellow seolars and bucky lovers, i hope you enjoy!! 🖤

he doesn’t recognize the man on the wall. 

the man in the pictures. changbin seo, The Captain had told him on the carrier before it went down. 

changbin, you’ve known me your whole life. 

your name is changbin seo. 

i’m not gonna fight you, you’re my friend. 

then finish it. ‘cause i’m with you ‘til the end of the line. 

The Asset does not have friends, and he most certainly does not smile. 

the man in the pictures is unrecognizable. a wide grin is spread across changbin seo’s face, eyes squinted and cheeks bunched in what can only be described as joy. something that only humans feel. his arms, both made of flesh and blood, are thrown around someone who is smiling just as wide. the smile is not directed outwards toward the camera, it’s directed at him. a foreign notion. The Arm whirs. 

a look to the right shows another picture on the wall. a black tuxedo, a white dress. two figures huddled over a table with something large in the middle. cake, he recalls after a moment, but he can’t be too sure. it’s foggy. changbin seo holds a utensil in his hand and is bringing it to the other person’s lips, a smile once more appearing on his face. there’s a look in his eyes that The Asset cannot name. 

his boots are silent on the floor when he turns to leave. through the window again, the way he came. 

he scopes the perimeter outside one last time and makes for the abandoned safe house. 

that’s where The Falcon finds him two days later, sitting on his cot with a stolen Captain America pamphlet from the smithsonian. 

his gun is on the table, but he makes no move for it. he keeps a knife strapped to his thigh and another in his boot anyway. The Falcon wears his civilian clothing, he doesn’t have his wings like he did on the bridge because The Asset ripped them apart. he doesn’t have his red-eye goggles or machinery either, but The Asset knows he’s carrying. a handgun, in his back pocket by the way he tucks in his shirt when he rounds the door. 

“you’re loud. you’re a shit spy,” The Asset gripes, and he turns the page of the pamphlet. there would be a bullet hole in the middle of the man’s forehead if only The Asset deemed necessary, but he doesn’t know what is and isn’t anymore. 

programming required. 

a thin box drops in front of him, and The Falcon lowers himself to the ground to sit. “and you’re a shit host. where’s the hospitality? your esteemed guest is sitting on the cold, hard floor while you’re all comfortable on your… raggedy cot.” his sentence trails off, but he kicks the box towards him regardless. 

The Asset glares. at The Falcon, then at the box, then back up again. 

“it’s just a pie, man, jesus. with those little pepperoni cups?” 

a kitchen table, two places set. crumpled, greasy napkins strewn along the turquoise mats. bare feet tangled underneath the table and hands tangled on top. 

‘do you want the last piece, changbin? here, i’ll-”

the thought is gone as soon as it starts, and The Falcon blinks owlishly at him. he rolls his eyes and reaches forward to open the box, and the smell wafts over him like a fog, greasy, cheesy, and warm. 

his stomach hollows, contorts and writhes with the ache of hunger. it claws at his insides like a beast, and it growls angrily when he watches The Falcon grab a slice of his own and shove it into his mouth. 

it has been twenty-eight days since his last maintenance check. twenty-eight days since the last time he was reprogrammed, brain fried to high heavens and body injected with so many fluids before he was frozen inside The Tank to wait for his next orders that The Asset hardly had use for eating. when they did feed him, it was always something tasteless and slushy. eating for pleasure makes no sense in his scrambled mind. only humans and animals did that, and The Asset is neither of those things. but the injections have now run their course, and his body is weak. it will collapse in on itself without sustenance. 

is this a test? it is a cruel one if it is. he doesn’t remember much, but he doesn’t think The Falcon is cruel, even after they fought rough and hard and ugly on the highway and the helicarrier. his eyes are kind. trepidatious, rightfully so, but kind. he has not been looked at with kindness in a very long time. 

“it’s not rigged with explosives or anything, dude, just eat,” The Falcon says around an unattractive mouthful of pizza. 

The Asset reaches his flesh hand down to take a piece. it’s warm, dough greasy and cheese heavy enough that when he lifts the pizza to his mouth, the end of it droops. 

he’s on his second slice before he finishes chewing the first. 

“slow down a little, alright? i imagine you haven’t eaten in a while. if you eat too fast it’ll make you sick.” 

sick…

The Falcon doesn’t need to know he has already been sick. the twenty-eight days since his last reprogramming have allowed for recent memories to worm their way slowly back into his brain. like a dam that’s cracking down the middle. not many yet, but enough. enough to make him double over and empty the meager contents of his stomach onto the concrete flooring of the safe house. enough to make him wake up thrashing from night terrors. enough to make him fear closing his eyes at all lest he see the carnage he alone is responsible for. 

fear. a new development. The Asset is not familiar with fear. 

he wonders if Captain America is. 

if changbin seo was. 

“what do you want, Falcon? how did you find me?” is what he says instead. the crust is too chewy, and he puts it back in the box. 

“oh, business names, got it. um- well, first of all. i’m jisung. you tried to kill me and now i’m buying you pizza, what a turn around. chris has already told me your name is changbin.”

chris. christopher chahn bahng. Captain America. 

“don’t call me that. that’s not- i’m not- him.” 

all of the exhibits he’s been to have shown changbin seo to be an honorable man, Captain America’s right hand before martyring himself in combat five years prior. a loyal, faithful soldier, an even better friend. a fallen brother. an adored husband. such high regard should remain untainted by the blood and death and destruction on The Asset’s hands. changbin seo’s name should never be associated with that of The Winter Soldier. 

The Arm recalibrates as he flexes his fingers. all ten, half flesh and half titanium. 

“alright, robocop, don’t shoot the messenger. jeez, tough fucking crowd. anyway, you can thank redwing for that! recon and tracking. we’ve had your face in our system since you tried to feed me to the birds. cool, huh? wanna pet him? you can, just don’t rip him apart like you tried to do to me.” 

The Falcon, jisung, smirks toothily while he chews on the crust of his pizza. 

it’s then that redwing makes itself known, a drone that was previously camouflaged against the corner of the ceiling. 

if jisung and his drone were able to find him this easily, who else could? The Captain no doubt, maybe even The Widow if he feels inclined. he’s not ready to face either yet, but the thought that something bigger could find him sends a shiver up his spine and dread coursing through his vessel. 

fear. 

there it is again. 

he doesn’t want to go back to The Chair, where he’s strapped down and shocked so thoroughly until he remembers nothing but his orders, nothing but his objective as a Weapon. he can still taste the rubber bit in his mouth, where his teeth gnashed so hard his gums bled. The Tank, where he’s frozen in cryogenic stasis until he’s needed for a mission. he can still feel the phantom chills before his body and mind are trapped in nothingness. The Handler, who oversees it all. he can still hear his voice, hear his Words. 

he doesn’t want to go back, not to Hydra. he’ll put a bullet in his own head before that happens. 

“no one knows i’m here,” jisung pacifies. he wipes his hands together and then smooths them on his jeans. “chris thought you might be in the wind by now. thought maybe you’d make your way back east and tie up some… loose ends now that the head of the snake’s been cut off. but he’ll figure it out, man. especially when it comes to you, for some reason. we’re leaving to look for you tomorrow, and he’ll keep looking when we don’t find you. he’s hell bent on it.” 

he doesn’t understand why he’s worth the trouble. the benefit is not worth the cost, he’s sure. there is no benefit. not at this point. changbin seo is dead and gone, and The Asset is irredeemable. 

“i can see the cogs turning up there. just- you’re his best friend. or you were, at least. look, i don’t know why i’m even saying this, but… i had a partner a while ago, my wingman. he was killed during a mission while we were testing a new flight prototype, and i couldn’t do a damn thing. i just- all i could do was fucking watch while he went down. if he came back like you have, i don’t- man, i don’t even know what i’d do. i think i’d do everything i could to bring him home too.” 

he does go back east, but only when news outlets and tabloid magazines show that Captain America has returned to the states. 

there is no objective now. The Asset has no direction, no authority to follow. he is used to being given concrete instructions by The Handler at the behest of Hydra, and he hasn’t seen his Handler in a month. 

he failed the last mission given to him. The Asset did not eliminate Captain America, instead, he pulled him out of the potomac when he should have left him to drown. he is rogue. defective and faulty, he is no one’s asset but his own. 

if there is no mission to follow, he will create his own, and he will not fail this time. 

he finds The Handler standing above a whore in a seedy motel in kiev. his pants are around his ankles when The Asset slits his throat and listens to him choke. the woman looks momentarily stunned from her spot on the floor before she starts screaming. a freshly wiped Winter Soldier would have killed her with no hesitation. she is collateral, a hindrance, a means to an end, but he doesn’t even look at her before stalking out of the room without looking back. 

blood stains the carpet. another body added to his long, long list. this one though, his own choice. 

he doesn’t know whose screams are louder, the ones he leaves behind in the motel room or changbin seo’s in his head. 

soft fingers trace the scar on his chin, a body turned towards him in bed. smiling cheeks, minty breath, a nuzzle to his nose. he’s content. 

“my arm is numb,” he laughs. someone uses it as a pillow, but he doesn’t really mind. he doesn’t mind at all. 

“but i’m comfy!” the person says. “changbin. bin, i love you. i’m so happy you’re home with me.” something rustles at the end of the bed. a dog, playfully corn cobbing the comforter and pawing at the shape of entwined feet. 

his other hand moves to cup a smiling cheek, he just wants to touch. flesh fingers prod at the person’s lips, plush and smooth with residual chapstick. he can taste it on his tongue. he closes his eyes to take everything in, and when he opens them again, metal fingers are wrapped tightly around an unsuspecting throat. 

“changbin…?” 

his name is strained. his name is strained because his fingers are pressing hard against the person’s windpipe and interrupting the flow of oxygen. a kink in the hose. the plates in his Arm clack as he tightens his grip. 

he wakes up thrashing in his cot, a scream ricocheting off the walls of the safe house.

there’s a blanket on the couch that wasn’t there the last time. he remembers that. it hasn’t been too long since he’s been here, and as time continued to pass, the weight of his memories have broken the dam. The Soldier’s came first, then changbin’s, although there is still plenty that’s spotty. 

his flesh hand takes the corner of the blanket and rubs it between his fingers. it’s soft, something someone might pull over their legs while watching television or curling up with a book. 

he walks slowly around the living area and takes it in. the pictures on the wall, the decor, the placement of furniture. 

he lived here once. 

his feet padded across these floors, he danced in the kitchen, he brushed his teeth at the sink in the bathroom. 

he lived here once. 

he lived here with his partner. 

he’s married, or at least he was. 

can he still be married if he lost the hand his wedding band was on? can he still be married if his partner believes him to be dead? 

maybe he can be, but does he deserve it after everything he’s done? 

a picture frame on the small table beside the couch catches his attention. The Asset picks it up to inspect it further and has to catch himself on the arm of the couch before he falls to the floor, overwhelmed with the force of the memory that comes flooding back into his head. 

“it’s beautiful.” a wet voice, a trembling smile. 

your voice. your smile. 

changbin’s fingers reach up to wipe steadily falling tears off of sticky cheeks. his own smile is watery, and his chin quivers. the ring is beautiful, but it looks even more so on your precious finger. 

the small diamond on the right is from your grandmother’s wedding ring. what a surprise it was when she pulled him aside after his third christmas dinner with your family and gifted it to him for this purpose only. a soft, wrinkled hand cupped his own calloused one and hugged him tight, paired with a fierce whisper of ‘you take care of my baby’ spoken into his pinkening ear. 

the diamond on the left is his mother’s. her wedding ring had three: one for changbin, one for his sister, and one saved just for her. it sits on your finger now because you’re part of his family. his mother will tell you she knew you were his one before he did, but he knew you were it for him from the moment he laid eyes on you. call him a sap. 

the diamond in the middle he picked out himself. 

he knew he made the right choice, but he can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief knowing that you can’t stop looking at it. his smile widens as you hold your hand in front of yourself and stare, wiggling your fingers lightly to watch the way the candlelight hits the diamonds on your engagement ring.  

when you look up at him, his lungs nearly give out. you’re too beautiful that he can’t catch his breath. he almost drops to one knee all over again. 

“can we take a picture?!” you blubber, and he laughs. you’re precious to him. changbin wipes your tears again and goes back over the tracks with his lips, kissing down your face so that he can bring another smile to your lips. 

your hands are shaking when you pull out your phone. he’s not surprised when you hand it to him, and he’s not ashamed to say his hands are shaking just as bad. your hand comes up to cup his cheek; he feels the coolness of the band against his splotchy skin, and he nearly tears up again. the pictures will be blurry, there’s almost no doubt about it. 

changbin drops his hand when you turn to him, phone camera focused on nothing but the carpeted floor of your living room. 

“i love you,” you say, and it’s the best, most gratifying thing he’s ever had the blessing of hearing. “i’ll love you forever. you’re my person, i want to love you for the rest of my life.” 

when he comes to, the sun has nearly risen. The Asset blinks himself out of his reverie just in time to hear the distant creak of a bed, a gentle, tired voice. he places the picture frame haphazardly on the table again and is out the window before he has time to process anything. 

the window shuts with a click. out just the way he came.

as always, The Asset scopes the perimeter before he leaves for his safe house. 

his face itches. he’s antsy, and his flesh hand comes to swipe anxiously at his cheek. 

when he looks at his fingers, they’re wet. 

the face looking back at him in the mirror is nearly as unrecognizable as the one in the pictures on the wall of his old house. his eyes are sunken; his hair is greasy. 

there’s a few bathroom amenities in the corner of the abandoned safe house. a rusty sink, a smudged mirror, a toilet, a spigot in the wall, a drain in the floor. he needs a haircut almost as badly as he needs a shower, but he takes care of his hair first, scrounging through the desk in the opposite corner and finding an old pair of scissors that will do the trick. black clumps of hair fall into the dingy sink as he hacks away at the chin-length strands. it’s uneven when he’s done, a little choppy, but better than it was. it’s nothing a cap can’t cover up. 

turning to face the spigot in the wall is more daunting than taking scissors to his hair. he remembers being shoved into shower cubicles and sprayed with cold water like a dog. he remembers the high pressure water hose too, and a chill courses through his body right where he stands when he thinks of the aftermath. bruises, rashes, welts. the tender, mangled scarring that lines his titanium Arm torn open and bleeding. he can’t put it off any longer; he throws off his clothes and steps under the spigot, turning the knob and jolting as the cold water hits his skin. it makes him hiss, he cries out. his shoulders curl in on themselves, but he straightens back up to wet his hair. 

it’s all he’s felt for years, the cold, but he still can’t seem to get used to it. 

there’s an old bar of soap in the corner that he uses to wash his body and his hair. the water is so cold against his skin that his teeth chatter, but he’s gentler with himself than The Handler ever was. he washes himself efficiently enough and quickly turns the knob to turn the water off. there’s no grime underneath his nails anymore; the hair on his legs is no longer matted with dirt. his vessel is scrubbed clean. 

it’s warm enough outside and in the safe house that his shivering dies down as he moves around, but he still can’t help but wish he could wrap himself in the soft blanket from your couch. 

his hair curls as it air dries, and he hides it underneath a baseball cap after he dresses himself. they’re stolen clothes, jeans and a baggy hoodie to cover his titanium Arm, but they fit him well enough. 

a hesitant look in the mirror has him grimacing. it hits him then that he looks more like the man in the pictures now than he has in years, since he fell from the train and was made into a killer, a monster. he looks like changbin. like The Captain's best friend and your loving husband, but he doesn’t feel like him. he doesn’t think he ever will again. 

if he looks like changbin, is that who he is? is he changbin? he doesn’t know. he doesn’t think he can be. he doesn’t think he deserves to be. 

his head is full of memories that aren’t — are? — his own. some of them feel too good to be true, the memories that don’t belong to The Soldier feel like a dream he hardly wants to wake up from. he doesn’t know what’s real or what’s fake. if the nostalgia-filled memories in his head are just the product of his battered, broken mind trying to heal itself after all he’s done. 

his head is starting to hurt, and he presses his fingers against his throbbing temples as if it will quell the pain. 

he needs a sandwich. 

there’s a bell on the door handle that jingles when he walks into the diner. he’s been here enough times now that the noise doesn’t startle him anymore, and he shyly lifts his flesh hand up to wave at the middle-aged woman behind the cash register. 

he doesn’t stop to wait at the counter like the other patrons, not since the first time he came in, so he makes his way to his favorite booth in the corner and slides into the seat. 

The Asset bides his time by taking a napkin from the holder at the end of the table and placing it neatly in front of him. the fork comes next, he pulls it from the cutlery bag and sits it atop of the napkin. 

it doesn’t take much longer before ma brings over his club sandwich with a side of chilled pasta salad and an ice cold glass of water to drink. ma, the owner of the diner. she has curly salt-and-pepper hair and a silver tooth that matches the color of his titanium Arm. 

“you got a haircut,” she notes. she pulls a straw out of the apron around her waist and places it beside his drink. “i like it! less scruffy.” 

“dennis is scruffy.” 

“i know. couldn’t be assed with shaving all week, ‘s what he said. he tried to kiss me this morning ‘n’ it felt like gettin’ kissed by a damn critter.” she turns to look at the middle-aged man behind the counter with a grimace and he meets her eyes with a wink. she turns back and rolls her eyes, but she’s not angry, she’s not annoyed. The Asset can tell by her body language and the growing smile on her face that she is fond. “he’ll bring you your pie when you’re done. you better tell’im ma wants all that hair gone unless he wants to sleep on the porch tonight with the raccoons.” 

“yes ma’am, i’ll be sure to relay the message.” 

the smile that spreads across his face is slow. he hasn’t smiled in a long time; it feels foreign, but ma smiles back anyway. she takes the rag from the pocket of her apron and thwacks him on the shoulder lightly as she walks away. The Asset tenses but relaxes right away. her intention was not to hurt him, he isn’t being punished because there is nothing to be punished for. 

from the moment he stumbled into the diner weeks ago nearly delirious with hunger, ma has been kind to him. 

“pick out whatever you like on the menu. it’s on the house tonight,” she had said that first night. he didn’t know what to do; there was a stolen wallet sitting fresh in his pocket that he could use to pay for his meal, but she shook her head resolutely when he tried to pull it out. “i know a vet when i see one, ‘n’ you look a little worse for wear right now. how about you go sit down in one of the empty booths, can you do that? wave me over when you pick out something that tickles your fancy.” 

dennis’ club sandwich has been his go-to since that night, and he’s nearly through the first half of the club when the bell on the door jingles. 

he knows who it is without looking up. 

The Captain’s hesitant steps trail towards the counter, but The Asset can tell he’s being watched. he only looks up when he hears a slight commotion at the counter. dennis fumbles with the cups he’s stacking beside the register, and ma nudges him out of the way. 

“go sit down, honey. let’s not burn the place down now that Captain America’s here,” she jokes, and The Captain laughs. “can i get you anything special?” 

“maybe- maybe one of those famous milkshakes of yours? i’m just… here to see a friend.” 

he feels eyes on him again, and his eyebrows furrow as he takes a big bite of his sandwich. The Arm whirs underneath the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“you know lewis? well alrighty then! go sit, i’ll bring your milkshake right over when it’s ready.” 

The Captain drums his fingers against the counter for a moment and nods, turning on his heels to make his way slowly towards his booth. it’s almost as if he’s trying not to spook a skittish animal - he walks slowly, both of his hands are in plain sight. he stands almost shyly at the opposite side of the booth, and it’s not until The Soldier cocks his head towards the seat that he sits down across from him. 

he clears his throat once, twice. “lewis, huh? you- you remember that?” 

“i remember,” he gruffs, jamming his fork into his medium side of pasta salad. “i wanted an english name too. wanted to be called luck, but you said lewis fit me better. guess that makes sense now.” 

“there was another one too, yeah? you hated it! i- i remember that.  you wouldn’t even entertain it!” 

“fucking bartholomew,” The Asset huffs, head shaking. “i can’t even spell that.” 

“i really don’t think i can either,” The Captain laughs. he’s smiling wide, dimples popping on his cheeks, but his hands are restless. he folds his hands together on top of the table, props his chin on them, rubs anxiously at his earlobes. 

they’re silent for a moment, and Captain America watches as he takes a bite of his club. his eyes linger on his titanium fingers that peek out of the sleeve of his hoodie, but they snap away quickly, just in time for ma to bring over his vanilla milkshake with whipped cream on top. she looks between the two of them before she places a straw beside The Captain’s milkshake. she’s gone as soon as she came, whistling a tune as she heads back over to the register to count change until another customer comes in.  

The Asset sighs. 

“i’m not him, you know. not anymore.” 

“you are,” The Captain says, and he leans forward earnestly, elbows knocking on the wood before he jams a stubborn finger into the top of the checkered table to make his point. “he’s you. he’s- he’s in there. you wouldn’t have pulled me out of the river if he wasn’t.” 

the first sign of his malfunction, pulling The Captain out of the potomac. The Asset knew something had gone wrong with his programming as soon as he dragged Captain America’s limp body to the muddy riverbank. that wasn’t all, either, he remembers. he stood above the man to make sure his chest was rising and falling before he limped into the weeds. he should have reported back to Hydra, he should have been wiped clean and re-programmed to try again until he completed his mission, but he didn’t. 

“i don’t know why i did that.” he shakes his head. he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know. he does know. 

but is it real? 

he’s supposed to be meeting his sister at the bus stop, but a commotion from the playground behind the school catches his attention before he can make it very far. changbin clutches the strap of his bookbag and peeks around the corner of the brick wall to see big-headed bully jared wright push another boy roughly into the pole of the swingset. he falls to the ground with an oof, but he gets up quickly and holds his fists in front of his face. 

“i can do this all day,” changbin hears the boy say, and jared knocks him square in the jaw. 

changbin’s never been in a fight before. his eyes widen when the other boy goes for a hit and misses completely only to be met with the knuckles of jared’s mean fist again. his momma has always told him that violence isn’t the answer, run the other way and find an adult as fast as you can. 

his sister told him never to start a fight, but to finish it instead. 

changbin’s metal lunchbox collides with the back of jared wright’s big head with a clang, and he shouts and spins around angrily. jared clutches the back of his head and teeters on his feet. 

“hey, asshole! pick on someone your own size!” changbin yells. he’s sweating, nervous, and strands of his long hair stick to his chin. he swings his lunchbox again; it collides with the side of jared’s head this time. the hit shunts him to the side, and changbin lifts his foot and kicks him on the behind. jared’s feet scramble in the sand as he tries to get away. he turns back toward them with an angry glare but keeps going, jogging wobbly away from the playground. 

the boy sits dazed in front of the swingset, so changbin reaches his hand out. he takes it with no hesitation, standing shakily on his feet with changbin’s help. his lip is bleeding, his cheek is already forming a nasty bruise, but he wipes his hands together to clean the sand from his scraped palms before extending his hand for changbin to shake. 

“thanks for that. i- i mean, i coulda taken him, but that was really nice of you. i’m chris! what’s your name?” 

“my name is changbin seo, i’m seven.” 

“seo, huh? hey, your sister’s in my class!” 

“please don’t tell her i said a bad word. she’ll hit me with her headphone cord and tell my mom.” 

“it can be our secret! i owe you big time anyway.” 

The Captain’s eyes are patient when he finally rouses from the memory. there’s no expectation in his gaze, in chris’ gaze, just an open kindness that The Asset still isn’t used to experiencing. 

“i think- i mean, i think you do know. you always helped me out when i needed it the most, you know? that’s the type of person changbin is. that’s who you are.” 

yes, the voice in his head says fiercely. that’s who we are. 

“i’ve done things,” he whispers. his throat is tight. his chest is tight. he’s done so many things. evil, wretched things. he killed without question and without hesitation, families decimated by his hands at the command of Hydra. men, women, children. he was their Weapon. The Fist of Hydra. he can never begin to atone for all that he’s done, for even an ounce of the pain he’s caused. 

“i have too,” chris replies. his gaze drops to the table before it snaps back up. “i’ve done things i can never forgive myself for, and i have to live with that. but changbin… bin, that wasn’t you. they- they made you do those things. none of it was your fault.” 

he nods. it’s slow, but he is hesitantly willing to admit that he doesn’t think he chose any of this. he fell from the freight car and woke up in an underground Hydra facility. The Asset was born there, but changbin seo would have never chosen to give his life to Hydra. “but i still did it.” 

chris is slow to speak. he’s silent for a long while; the only sounds around them are dennis sweeping the floor and the low murmurs of the baseball game on the television above the counter. 

“you don’t have to do that anymore,” he says slowly. “you don’t ever have to do that again. you went back east, yeah? The Winter Soldier got his answers, right? when- when you found him?” 

The Handler. 

“i wasn’t looking for answers,” he says. no explanation could ever justify what he had been put through for so many years. no explanation or reason why could heal him, could fill the void in his chest or patch the fissures of his mind. “that was vengeance.” 

chris gives an understanding nod, like his answer makes all the sense in the world. chris always understood him, maybe that never changed. 

“are you satisfied?” 

is he? a feeling like that, is it possible? he isn’t sure, he hasn’t felt in years. 

“i can have a team ready tonight,” chris barrels on. “you just say the word. we can help you find them, take them all out if that’s what you think you need. if it’ll help.” 

he has no urge to go back east again, and he’s not stupid enough to think Hydra bases aren’t scattered around the states. if Hydra was able to infiltrate s.h.i.e.l.d, they could be anywhere. he has no urge to face them. not right now, at least. maybe one day, if he’s more stable and can think more rationally, if his mind can tell the difference between killing because that’s what he’s made for and killing the dregs of Hydra because it will make the world safer. 

“there’s nothing for me there. not now.” 

chris nods again. it’s life-changing, he would have been hit for giving an answer The Handler didn’t like, strapped to The Chair and fried to hell and back if he faltered or showed a hint of agency. he was never given the option to make choices for himself. now, chris sits across from him and asks him what he wants. 

“that side of you found what it needed, and i’m really, really glad. that’s a step forward, yeah? maybe you can find answers for changbin now. and y’know, i’m not the same chris you knew before… people change. it’s okay if you’re not the same changbin. no one will expect that from you, alright? not after- not after all you’ve been through. all you’ve overcome.” 

he cannot be changbin seo from five years ago. he can never be him again, even with his stolen memories steadily falling back into their rightful places. he doesn’t want to be The Asset, but he doesn’t know who he is if he is not The Asset, The Weapon, The Soldier. 

changbin was a good man. a loyal, selfless friend, a loving husband, a son, a brother. if he has the choice, if he can choose to be anyone he would want to be that man again, but— 

“i don’t know where to start.” 

chris does that for him. 

the morning after their meeting at the diner, chris rings your doorbell. he’s nervous, just as jittery and restless as he was when he sat across from him in the booth for the first time in over five years. he knows that chris is nervous, because he’s staked out on the roof of your neighbor’s house keeping watch. that, chris does not know. 

chris leaves his sight when the front door opens for him, and he waits with bated breath until he sees the man through the window in the living room. his window. 

his breath all but leaves his lungs when you turn from the door. his memories don’t do you justice, the beautiful curves and angles of your body, the smile on your face when you pull his friend into your arms for a hug. if only he could hear your voice. 

the serum heightened every aspect of his being. his musculature, his stature, his sight, his hearing, but he’s too far away to hear the goings on inside the house. he doesn’t know if he could bear it anyway; he is aware of the news you’re about to receive. he doesn’t know if he could handle the sound of your reaction because even the thought of it is sending his heart plummeting into his stomach. 

even though he is anxious, he doesn’t fidget. he may not want to be The Asset anymore, but he will never be able to unlearn what he was programmed for. there were times when he would spend days on a solitary mission, sitting completely motionless and unwavering with a trained eye peering through the scope of a sniper rifle. this is what he’s good at. he can wait. 

it all falls from the cracks when you lift yourself shakily from the couch and stumble over your own feet as you try to take a step. chris is up immediately, catching your elbow in his strong grip to keep you from falling. 

he’s off the roof and pressed against the side of your house in a second, heartbeat thundering in his chest. he can hear you now, hear your trembling inhales and your frantic, choked voice when you speak over the thunderous sounds of kitchen cabinets slamming open and shut. 

“he’ll- he’ll be hungry when he- when he comes home. i n-need- he loves pasta. chris, i don’t have any! i don’t- i don’t have any pasta! i c-can’t- chris!” 

his head turns away from the window when he hears you fall to the floor. chris follows you again, he hears that too, hears his best friend drop to his knees in your kitchen to hold you while you weep for the husband you thought you had lost for good. for him. 

every part of him aches. it overcomes him so completely that he has to grit his teeth before he shouts. he aches to hold you in his arms, to rock you gently back and forth until the wails that claw themselves raggedly from your throat calm into exhausted whimpers, but he can’t. 

he isn’t ready. 

he doesn’t know if he’s capable of that, doesn’t know if the titanium Arm that recalibrates and whirs and clanks on the left side of his body is capable of anything other than harm. can his voice still soothe you? would he even have the words to try? 

will you still love him when you find out what he’s done? when you learn that your husband has been made into a monster, a killer. will you look at him in disgust? will you fear him like everyone else has?

you should. he deserves that, but he doesn’t think he can bear it. his battered heart would stop beating in his chest. 

he moves to crouch underneath your window when your cries finally quiet down. chris leads you back to the couch and your feet follow clumsily. they drag against the carpet; he can hear the way you slump pitifully onto the sofa. 

you cry again when chris tells you what he knows. he doesn’t tell you everything, just like he promised at the diner. you know that he’s alive, you know he was kidnapped and experimented on and brainwashed, but chris keeps the more difficult details to himself. they’re not for you to know. not now, not so soon, maybe not ever. you might not come back from it. he barely even thinks he can. 

“is- is he safe?” you sob. “chris, is he safe? those people that hurt him… will they come back for him?” 

with the Hydra-infiltrated s.h.i.e.l.d in shambles, Hydra’s high ranking officers will be scrambling. he is not their top priority; they have other Winter Soldiers they can weaponize. he is safe as long as he lays low and stays off the radar. 

“if they do, they’re gonna have to go through me,” chris says. they’ve tried before, and they failed. “i promise you he’s safe. we’ve been… keeping an eye on him. if anything changes, we’ll know. we’ll be ready.” 

you’re silent for a while, contemplating probably. your breath still hitches with softening cries, you still snivel every few seconds, but he perks up when he hears your voice again. 

“i don’t- i don’t know if i’ll believe that until i see him for myself,” you whisper. “i know you’re telling me the truth, i know you are, but- but. y-you know? i need- i need to see his face. i- i need to touch him, i need to feel him. chris, it hurts. my heart- my heart hurts. oh, changbin. changbin.” 

he can’t believe you still want to see him, that you still want him to come home. 

chris is long gone by the time he lifts himself from the ground underneath your window, the sun has set and the crickets are chirping from the bushes. he presses his ear once more to the side of your house; dog paws are scrambling on the tile floor of the kitchen, the refrigerator door opens and closes. 

he backs away slowly and surveys the perimeter before making the trek to his safe house. 

the bedroom door is halfway open the next time he lets himself in through the window. he stops in his tracks, staring unblinking into the darkness of your room. he can see the shape of your bed, your head on the pillow, and he can tell by the sound of your breath that you’re thankfully sound asleep. it’s deep, you’ve been asleep for a while. 

did you leave it open for him?

as always, his boots are silent on the carpet as he walks his way around the living room. his flesh fingers reach out to touch the soft blanket that still sits on the corner of your couch, pinching the soft fabric between two fingers and rubbing. he glances at pictures, thumbs the corner of your wedding picture and blinks his eyes hard to stop the sting. 

he’s surprised to see the light above the stove has been left on in the kitchen. you don’t usually leave it on - at least not in the handful of times he has let himself inside. it’s always turned off, and your bedroom door is always closed shut. he should turn it off for you, he thinks, what if you left it on by accident? but maybe you didn’t. he shouldn’t change something you might have done on purpose; he doesn’t want to upset you or give you a reason to be angry. 

he’s conflicted. his sudden and unexpected acquisition of agency makes him more and more uncertain every day. there are so many things he doesn’t know, so many things that he could do wrong because there is no one there to give him concrete instructions anymore. 

it’s the first time his feet have taken him anywhere other than the living room. he steps carefully into the kitchen and is immediately stopped in his tracks again, uncertainty stripping away almost as soon as it came. 

there’s a pot on the stove, and beside it, a plastic, pink bowl with a matching fork. a quilted dishcloth is placed over the open pot. he lifts the corner of the cloth and is met with a garlicky smell that he immediately remembers. his mouth waters, and he swallows thickly. 

you made his favorite pasta. 

it’s garnished on top with what looks to be parsley and red pepper flakes. he doesn’t use the bowl; it would make too much noise, but he gingerly picks up the fork with his flesh hand and twirls it slowly when he leans over the pot. his eyes close when he brings the fork to his mouth and chews slowly, the flavor bursting on his tongue. it’s oily, it’s garlicky, it’s fresh with hints of lemon juice, just like he remembered. 

“eating from the pot like a caveman, i see. you don’t want a bowl?” 

you stand on your tiptoes behind him as he stands over the pot of aglio e olio on the burner to eat his dinner straight from the source. your arms wrap around his waist, and he squirms when your hands sneak underneath his t-shirt to pet at the warm skin of his belly. 

“i don’t need a bowl! it’s too good. i couldn’t wait…” 

changbin turns in your grasp and offers you a bite, bringing the fork to your lips and cupping his hand underneath in case some of the noodles slip from the utensil. your cheeks bulge when you chew, and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. changbin coos and pets his thumb against the soft skin of your chewing cheek. 

he takes another bite, and another, and another, until half of the pasta in the pot is gone. you made it for him, at least he thinks you did, but he shouldn’t be greedy and eat it all when he doesn’t know if you’ve had any. he places the dishcloth back on top of the pot and walks to the sink, gingerly laying the fork down in it now that he’s done. he leaves the unused bowl by the pot and makes the decision to turn off the stove light as well. when he turns around to head back into the living room, he’s stopped in his tracks for the third time that night. 

a small dog sits in the doorway of the kitchen. 

his heart plummets to his stomach. what does he do now? there are so many synapses firing in his brain, and the uncertainty is back with a vengeance. does he kill the dog? will he have to? he doesn’t want to, but he can’t face you yet, not tonight. he can’t risk the barking waking you up. 

he’s not ready. 

but he doesn’t have to worry for long, because all your dog does is waddle up to him with a wagging, tucked tail to lay on his boots. she wiggles and squirms and flips onto her back, tail thumping quickly against the tile floor of the kitchen. it’s louder than he likes, even louder when she starts frantically whimpering for his attention until he crouches down to hesitantly pet her small head with his flesh hand. 

she’s alone in her kennel at the shelter. 

she had a bath today; her silky fur smells like apples, and her nails are trimmed neatly. the laminated paper beside the fenced in kennel she occupies says that her name is sadie, and she’s a cavalier king charles spaniel just like chris’ dog berry. changbin’s senses are overwhelmed by the cacophony of barking dogs in the other kennels in the shelter, but she sits quietly, looking up at the two of you with sparkling eyes that he knows are making you melt.  

she’s a recent mother, the attendant says as he stops before her kennel, all of her pups have been adopted. she was a good mama to them, fed them well and played well with them too until one-by-one they were taken away - a gift for a child, a surprise birthday present for a grandfather. 

changbin knows she’s the one when you start to tear up, when you clutch his shoulder and pull him into you until he’s bumping against your chest. he’s never had a pet before, not even when he was little. he’s allergic to animal fur, and taking medicine or getting shots just seemed like too much effort for something he wasn’t even positive he wanted. 

he doesn’t think that now. not anymore, when he sees the sweet, tender look on your face as you watch sadie, alone and newly childless in her kennel. he knows he’d do whatever he had to do in order to take her home and make you happy. 

“is she trained?” he asks, and the attendant nods. she’s a good dog, knows how to use the bathroom outside and is good with children and other dogs. she can even do some tricks. 

you pull changbin closer towards the cage, and her fluffy tail swishes against the hard, concrete floor. she meets you at the grated door, snuffles and licks at your outstretched palm and wiggles when you stick your finger through the wiring to stroke her soft head. 

she licks at changbin’s hand too, and he snatches it away with a surprised laugh. he reaches out again and lets her smell the tips of his fingers. you tear up once more when she rests her chin in his palm. changbin kisses the side of your head and thinks that this is the perfect start to your little family. 

he asks for the papers immediately and sneezes the entire drive home. 

five years have been kinder to her than they have to him. sadie’s eyebrows and nose are sprinkled powdered sugar-white with age, and even the soft tufts of fur on her ears are scattered with white. she remembers him, just like he remembers her, and her tail keeps swishing when he cups her little face in his hand. 

“hi puppy,” he whispers. he sits down silently on the tile floor of your kitchen and lets her climb up his thighs. she licks frantically at his neck and his face and sticks her cold nose into his ear. “hi sadie.” 

her fur is so soft underneath his fingers. you keep her clean, you keep her happy and well fed and loved. she whiffs confusedly at his Arm, and he immediately goes stock still while she smells up and down the titanium limb. sadie cocks her head when the plates on his Arm shift; her ears perk and twitch cutely. if he moves, he could hurt her. he never wants to hurt her. 

he sits unmoving and silent on your kitchen floor. only his fingers move, flesh fingers, scratching lightly at her ears and rubbing at the side of her soft, round belly. sadie dozes in his lap, her little front paws curled snugly under her chest. one of her hind legs slips slowly down his thigh, but she’s comfortable, and he won’t move her until he has to. 

she’s so small. she’s so small, and she sleeps peacefully in his lap like she doesn’t care that he isn’t responsible for carnage as long as he scratches her ears. like the blood on his hands doesn’t stain her precious fur. 

he eases his petting, softens the movement of his fingers. he has to be careful; he has to make sure he doesn’t hurt her. 

he sits for so long on the kitchen floor that the lower half of his body goes numb, but it isn’t until the night turns slowly into dawn that he stands up with sadie in his arms. he needs to leave. he has to leave before you wake up, so he pads slowly to the living room and sets sadie on the carpet. she turns and runs straight back into your bedroom where she came. his heart pangs for a moment because she left him so quickly, but when he looks towards your bedroom it pangs for another reason. 

sadie sits on the edge of the bed and wags her tail. 

“come to bed, baby, sadie and i are waiting for you.” 

you’re asleep on the far side of the bed, body turned away from the open door. he always slept closest to it, and now, sadie sits in his spot and waits for him to join. her tail picks up speed when he steps closer, but he takes hold of the doorknob and closes it lightly instead. he presses his forehead to the closed door and breathes shakily. 

it takes him longer to leave this time. he doesn’t want to, he realizes when he closes the window, but he scopes the perimeter as always and leaves regardless. the walk back to his safe house hurts like it never has before. 

he doesn’t want to leave. 

he wants to come home. 

it doesn’t hit him until he’s laying on his cot and willing his eyes shut that he never sneezed once. the serum is certainly the reason for that. five years ago, holding sadie for that long would have had his nose running and eyes burning if he hadn’t taken his medicine. 

the serum changed everything. it kept him alive after he fell from the freight car, it made him nearly invincible in battle and on missions, it fixed his fucking allergies. 

everything is different, and things will never be how they once were. 

he curls onto his side and lets himself cry.

he stills when his boots step silently onto the carpet of your living room. you didn’t rouse with the muted click of the window opening, and you still remain fast asleep on the couch even when he stands mere feet from you. 

he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. his heart feels like it’s three sizes too big in his chest, swelling like a balloon that’s fit to burst with ever growing pressure. it’s the closest he’s been to you in half a decade, and it almost sends him to his knees. 

you’re waiting for him. it’s something he just knows. he’s not sure how, but he knows it deep in his bones. 

he’s killed people like this, unsuspecting and sound asleep in their beds. he watched the blood seep into their pillows, watched their bodies grow cold before fleeing the scene and leaving no trace.  

now, all he does is watch you rest. he watches your chest rise and fall, watches your eyes move underneath your closed eyelids. are you dreaming? do you dream of him like he dreams of you? your hands are curled under your chin, and he aches to touch you so badly that he almost reaches out and does it. he touches the blanket instead, the soft one on the corner of your couch. it’s unfolded and in his hands before he can register that he even picked it up, and he gently drapes it across your sleeping body. 

sadie wags her tail all the while, impatiently waiting her turn for his attention. she’s circling his feet and pawing at his legs until he bends down to cup her head and rub her ears. 

he can’t risk waking you up, so he doesn’t pace his way around the living room like he normally does. he sits across from you instead, in the small recliner beside the television, and sadie paws at him again to let him know she wants to sit in his lap.

he sits. he pets sadie, he sits, and he waits. 

he wants to come home, but is he ready? is he too dangerous to be around you? does he deserve it? he doesn’t know the right answer to any of the questions bouncing around in his mind, he hardly ever does anymore. what he does know, though, is that it feels right to be here, like something has clicked into place. it feels like this is where he’s supposed to be. here with you, here with sadie. 

The Soldier can’t want; he has never been allowed, but he wants this, and he shouldn’t. it’s so selfish, and he can’t be selfish with you. not when the force of his memories have broken the weakened dam of his mind, not when the currents of it will rise and rush and devastate anyone in his path. the people in his newfound life are collateral because of the damage that’s been done to him. he can’t let it take you like it has him. you’ve suffered enough; he won’t let himself be the reason you suffer more. he’s not ready, it isn’t time— 

he places sadie on the floor and makes for the window. he has to go, he can’t let you see him like this. this battered, this bruised, this broken. the window snicks open - an easy escape, but he pauses still, looking out into the night as he wills himself to leave the warmth of the home he once shared with you. 

his back is to you when he hears your breathing stutter. your heart rate accelerates, pounding hard in your chest when you see his figure in front of your open window. he can hear you sit up, hears your fingers tighten their hold on the blanket he draped over you earlier. 

“c-changbin?” 

it’s forced from your throat, something small and meek, like it takes everything in you to use your voice. even so, it’s a birdsong. it rejuvenates his withered soul, a soothing aloe to his very being. 

his head droops. he sags against the windowsill, and your arms are around him just before his knees hit the ground. he’s slumped against the wall, groaning deep in his throat before he curls in on himself. your fingers wrap themselves in the baggy fabric of his worn hoodie, they pet his choppy hair, caress his sunken face. he can feel the chill of the ring on your finger, the ring he gave you. his body isn’t used to being touched this gently. he flinches on reflex, but his flesh hand grips the fabric of your sleep pants fiercely when you try to separate yourself from him. he hasn’t felt tender intimacy and kindness in so long that your touch is life-altering. is this what he has been missing? is this what they took from him? 

“you made me pasta,” is all he says, before his body wracks with horrible sobs. 

you clutch him to your chest, your heart is a hummingbird wing. 

“you came home to me,” you whimper into his hair. you hold him like you can’t believe he’s in your arms, and sadie wriggles herself into your embrace to lick frantically at his wet cheeks. he holds her tiny body to his chest while you hold him to yours. 

“i’m sorry,” he chokes. “i’m so sorry. don’t- don’t make me go. please don’t send me away.” 

he’s nearly inconsolable, everything feels like it’s crashing down on him at once. his words are garbled with sobs, but you understand him anyway, bearing the heavy weight of the left side of his body in your lap as you begin to rock him from side to side. the steady press of your body warms the titanium of his Arm through his hoodie. 

“oh baby, never. never, oh, changbin.” you touch his face again. his cheeks are sticky wet, and he reluctantly lets you tilt his chin up so that you can look at him. he’s ashamed; he can’t open his eyes, but you thumb the weeping edges of them and they open on their own. you’re already crying, but your face crumples when you look into his eyes for the first time. he hates himself for it - he doesn’t deserve the tears you cry for him, but he’ll hold onto them like a liferaft. you cry because you still care about him, and that’s the only thing that keeps him from drowning. 

he sleeps on the floor in the guest bedroom, and you make pasta almost every night for dinner. 

when you knock on his half-open door, he’s shirtless and scrounging through the dresser in the corner for clothes. 

“o-oh, were you going to take a shower?”

he wasn’t, but if you’re asking, does that mean you want him to? he must smell bad, so he shouldn’t say no. 

“yes,” he lies, and he looks towards the bathroom door with slight trepidation. you don’t notice the look in his eyes because your eyes are locked on his Arm. his ears flush red, shame curling hot in his gut and spreading like an infection. it was already bad enough that he lost his arm during his fall from the freight car, then Hydra went and implanted the titanium appendage to his shoulder. frankenstein’s monster. the skin around his bionic Arm is mangled with ugly scarring, jagged and bulbous and tender pink. he doesn’t want you to see it, a permanent spotlight to the atrocities he’s committed and the guilt he lives with. “it’s an eyesore, huh?” 

“no,” you immediately say. your heartbeat doesn’t waver, and he doesn’t know what to make of that. “just another part of you.” 

“you’re crazy,” he laughs humorlessly, and he doesn’t realize what he said until it’s out of his mouth. he stiffens, body expecting some sort of punishment after making such a snide comment, but all you do is laugh in return. 

“and you still married me anyway!” 

you quiet down when you step closer to him, your body suddenly so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of you on his bare chest. your eyes trace the scarring of his Arm, and the shame spreads further when he sees the sadness pool in them. he knows that you won’t hurt him, your hands have only ever brought him comfort, but he flinches anyway when your hand lifts slightly to touch the titanium. he rears the Arm away from you, suddenly petrified.

“no! no, p-please no- you can’t. it could-” 

hurt you. it goes unsaid because he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. it could hurt you, it could kill you. The Arm is part of what made him one of the best Weapons that Hydra ever had. he can’t let you touch it. he can’t let it rot your innocent fingers. 

he hates himself even more when you shut yourself in his bathroom. he can hear you crying, pained whimpers and harsh breathing, and he hates himself. he should stop being selfish, he should have never stayed when all he does is make you suffer. 

but the urge to comfort you is stronger than the urge to leave, the ache wraps itself around his bones like barbed wire and keeps him rooted where he stands until he’s knocking softly on the bathroom door. he can hear you sniffle harshly to try and compose yourself before twisting the knob, but you start to sob all over again when you see the mutilated scarring on his shoulder. 

“stop,” he begs. “please don’t. i don’t- i don’t like it.” you let him touch your face. it’s warm, sticky wet, and your eyes close when his thumb tracks a tear down your cheeks. “please don’t cry. i- i don’t want to make you cry.” 

“‘m sorry, i’m sorry. n-no, no changbin, you didn’t make me cry. i- i should’ve asked first, b-but, but i just- i- it must have hurt so bad,” you sob, voice high pitched and watery. 

he thinks about it often now, how much anguish you must feel. how many conflicting thoughts must go through your head just like they do his. the undoing of his being has not only affected him. you thought he was dead, missing in action and presumed deceased by the army. you held a memorial service for him, you go to grief counseling monthly. and now, your dead-but-not-dead husband stands before you, with a surgically implanted bionic arm and half a decade worth of brainwashing and trauma to work through, a fate that many might consider worse than death. when you thought he was dead, maybe you could have at least reassured yourself with the thought that he died quickly, that he died without even knowing. now, you know without a doubt that he has suffered. you know he still suffers. 

he reaches for your hand. it’s the first thing he can think to do. flesh on flesh, he feels the warmth of your precious fingers and trails his hand gently up your arm until it can wrap around your shoulders. you let yourself be pulled into his chest, and he only jolts a little when you wrap both of your arms around his bare waist. he doesn’t know how long you stand in the bathroom, holding each other tightly and breathing in each other’s presence. neither of you let go when your cries settle down, two bodies making up for lost time. 

he traces your shoulder blade through your shirt when you pull back from him, and he shivers as you place a kiss in the middle of his chest. he holds his Arm at an angle so it doesn’t brush against you when you lean against the sink. 

“i’ll get out of your hair so you can shower now,” you say. your voice is raspy from crying hard, and suddenly he’s anxious again. 

he hates showers. they’re too cold, but he doesn’t want to offend you by wasting your hospitality. he watches you reach into the cabinet under the sink to retrieve a towel for him - another luxury he isn’t used to, and he touches the corner with his flesh fingers when you set it on the counter. it’s so soft, maybe it will help combat the cold water. 

the shower’s sliding door moves easily when he nudges it to the side, and he steels himself before turning on the water. he drops his sweatpants without hesitation and uses his peripherals to gauge your reaction in the mirror. he’s been bulking up again - you keep him well fed, and chris and jisung like to drag him out of the house every other morning for runs. the satisfaction that seeps through his body freezes to a halt when he steps inside the shower. 

you’re opening the door to leave the bathroom when he chokes, when the cold water hits his chest and shivers wrack his vessel. he curls in on himself as always but turns around and throws his head back to get it over with, to wet his hair and let the water cascade over his face. he shouts when the water hits his back, a debilitating chill zinging straight down his spine. 

“changbin? what’s wrong?!” 

you don’t even take your clothes off before you’re rushing over to slide the shower door open and step inside to help. it’s freezing, he knows, the water hasn’t touched your skin, but the cold air inside the shower stall is harrowing. 

“fuck, bin, it’s freezing!” you screech, and he backs into the corner, folding in on himself and making himself smaller. you’re mad. you’re mad at him, you must be. he couldn’t handle the cold and now he has to pay the price. the shower tile is just as cold as the water, and his teeth chatter loudly in his mouth. “baby, do you not want hot water?” 

you reach out and quickly turn the valve of the shower, not bothering to wait for his answer when he shivers so violently. 

“i- i can have hot?” he asks, and he watches as your hand dips under the rain of the shower head. your hand is blissfully warm when you touch his arm. he lets you pull him from the corner, looking at you with wild eyes. he squirms when the water touches his skin again, but the breath leaves his lungs when he feels it. the warmth.  

“baby, it’s warm. it’s warm now, is that better?” you ask, and your face is wet again. from the water, yes, but from the tears that immediately started falling from your eyes again as well. your t-shirt is plastered tight to your body, shorts and socks soaking wet, but none of that matters when you hold him in your arms under the warm shower. you hold him for so long that you feel his shivers die down. he leans his head back slowly so the warm water cascades over his face, his hair. 

“you used to wash my hair,” he mumbles instead, and you headbutt his chest with a nod, still crying. 

“yes,” you reply. “i would- i would really love to do it again, if you’d like me to.” 

you’re giving him an option. it’s hard to let himself accept comfort or ask for the things he wants. sometimes he still feels like he’s talking out of turn, like the next time he tries to speak he’ll be strapped to The Chair again and shocked until he doesn’t remember how to use his mouth. but you look at him with patience, and with kindness, just like chris does. maybe this once, he can allow himself to want. 

“yes. i would like that.” 

once he makes the life-altering discovery that not all physical contact requires pain, he seeks it out. his body searches for it constantly, even unconsciously. when you make dinner, when you sit next to him on the couch to watch a movie, when you join him in the bathroom to brush your teeth together. 

that’s only part of the reason he kisses you in the kitchen. 

the other part of the reason is that he wants, and he can’t stop. he wants with an ache so fierce it wakes him up almost as frequently as the nightmares do. he’s not used to wanting, to craving, but now that he’s gotten a taste, it consumes him from the inside out. 

you’re sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for the water to boil so you can throw your pasta noodles in when he trudges between your legs. you wrap around him immediately, legs and arms clinging to him while he basks in the comfort of your presence. his flesh arm slinks behind your back and underneath your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. you’re eye to eye, and he kisses you when you tilt your chin forward to nuzzle your nose against his round one. you make a devastating noise, a new memory he’ll treasure until his last breath. 

your first kiss since he came back. 

it’s gentle, a slow press of lips. he remembers this. 

countless kisses, a constant from a faraway life. in this exact position and others. kisses on the couch, kisses before bed, kisses when you leave for work, kisses while sadie scrambles her way in between the two of you in search of her own. 

he remembers them all, but this one feels like coming home. 

you pull away with a wet smack and lean back just enough to look into his eyes. 

“changbin?” you ask. 

“mm?” 

that’s a recent development too. he answers to his name. not The Asset, not The Soldier, but changbin. his name is changbin seo. he’s not the same man he was five years ago, but maybe that’s okay. maybe he doesn’t have to be. 

“are you sure?” 

is he? he’s not sure of much. he still has days where he worries that all of his good memories were just created by his mind in order to try and protect himself from the constant pain he feels from his past actions, but he knows this. he knows you, and he knows this is what he wants. 

“you’re the only thing i’m sure of.” 

his lips are plump and spit-slick when they kiss you again; they trail from your neck to your jaw, and your mouth drops open when he scrapes his teeth lightly against the skin there. not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt, but enough to make goosebumps raise in anticipation. the noises you make are so beautiful, and changbin wants to taste them on his tongue. so he does, trailing his way from your jaw to the siren song of your lips. when you moan into his mouth, it feels like he’s born again, like this is what life is all about.

changbin’s metal fingers scrape noisily against the counter in his haste to grab onto something. his flesh hand is wrapped safely around your back, pulling you closer to him while you kiss. he feels you arch against him, feels your perfect breasts press against his chest as the arch deepens. his fingers trace the dip in your back and you shiver. 

as your kiss deepens, you ease closer and closer towards the edge of the counter to get closer to him. there’s hardly any space between you, and your fingers worm their way into changbin’s hair as his tongue explores your mouth. it’s not until you nearly slip off the edge of the counter that his metal hand moves from gripping the corner of it - the chill of the titanium makes you gasp as it holds you steady underneath your thigh, and changbin pulls away from your lips frantically. 

“it’s okay. it’s okay, i promise,” you whisper fiercely, pressing needy kisses to his cheek. 

you’re not scared of it. you never have been. your eyes have never looked at his Arm with unease even though he would never blame you if they did. you’ve reached for it, laid your hand down between the two of you with your palm facing up just to give him the option. let him know he can touch you, flesh fingers or metal. 

his Arm recalibrates under your added weight, and the sound of it makes you bite your lip. he sets you on the counter again like it’s nothing. he leans forward to kiss you again, but a sudden bark from sadie has you both jolting apart, lips swollen tender and slick.  

“oh, fuck, the water!” you cry, and changbin backs up enough to let you slip to the floor so you can quickly move the pot from the burner, right before it overflows with boiling water. 

changbin isn’t asleep, but he’s comfortable enough on his pallet on the floor that he very well could be soon, until a noise from your room has him immediately on alert. he sits up quickly, stealthily walking his way to the door and opening it quietly. he surveys the living room, the kitchen, then makes his way slowly to your bedroom. 

the door is cracked. your lights are off, but the fairy lights above your bed are on so he can see you clearly. 

it takes him a moment to realize what it is that you’re doing, that you aren’t in any danger at all. your sleep shirt is rucked up above your breasts, and your underwear dangles from a delicate ankle. even without his enhanced hearing, he would be able to hear the buzzing noise that whatever you have between your legs makes, something small and pink that settles right over your clit. he swallows hard, eyes trailing down your writhing body until they’ve seared every inch of it into his memory. your face is what mesmerizes him the most, the way your eyebrows scrunch, the way your lips fall open.

“changbin!” you whimper, and your hand flies up to cover your mouth. your eyebrows furrow deeper in the middle and your body twists. he watches your thighs shake, sees the way they squeeze shut before you pry them open again so that you can keep going.

he aches again, heat curling in his stomach when he thinks about how badly he wants to fit himself between your legs like he used to. it takes everything in him to step away from your door and go back to his room. he doesn’t want to; he wants to stay. he wants to watch, but not without your permission. when he makes it back to his room, he shuts his door lightly and heads straight for the bathroom. the lights on the mirror are so bright that they make him squint when he looks at himself. he’s sweating, his ears are pink, and his pupils are blown wide. 

the water is scalding hot when he steps into the shower. that’s how he likes it now, a touch too hot to remind him that not everything has to be so cold. 

his titanium Arm presses against the tile of the shower wall, and he hangs his head. he spends a few moments watching the water cascade from his hair to the floor, but his gaze soon settles on his cock, hard and throbbing between his legs. he takes his cock and balls in one hand and squeezes, shakes them a little bit just to get a good feel of them after so long. he can hardly wrap his mind around the fact that his body used to bring you pleasure, that it felt pleasure. that his vessel could be used for anything other than bringing death and destruction. 

when he begins to stroke himself in earnest, he sees flashes from the past of the two of you entwined. your hands clawing at his back, your legs over his broad shoulders, his hands gripping your asscheeks to spread them apart for his gaze. he’s taken you in so many ways, so many places, but his mind keeps going back to what he saw mere moments before. 

your tits jiggled so sweetly when you arched your back to rut your hips into the toy, your nipples pebbled as you brought yourself pleasure and whimpered his name. god, the way you sound. he wants to make you moan like that again, kiss the sound from your lips while his cock kisses you inside. you felt perfect when he held you on top of the counter, your body fit against his just right. he felt your skin, felt your curves under his flesh and the weight of your gorgeous thigh on top of titanium. 

his recent memories of you get to him the most, and changbin sags against the cool shower wall when he cums in thick rivulets. 

he’s laying on his pallet again when you knock on his door.

“hey, i heard the shower running a few minutes ago. everything okay?” you ask, and he immediately feels guilty. you ask him if you can come in, so he scoots over and lets you settle down beside him. shame flares in his gut again; you should be laying on a soft bed instead of on the floor, but the bed is just too soft for him. the thought dissipates before he can stew on it for too long when you throw your leg over his waist. 

“i saw you,” he says. he needs to tell you the truth, that’s the least you deserve. “in your room earlier, with your…” changbin waves his Arm in the air like that will explain what he means. “i’m sorry. i thought something was wrong, so i went to see if you were alright, but i… i’m sorry, i won’t make another mistake.” 

your hand comes up to pet his face. his cheek is hot to the touch, and he presses his forehead against yours when you pull him into you. 

“it’s okay to make mistakes,” you whisper. “people make mistakes all the time, it’s kind of our thing.” 

it always takes him back when you say things like that. like they’re a fact, like it’s normal, like no one will bat an eye if he says the wrong thing or makes the wrong move. it still makes him angry when he thinks about it - what Hydra took from him, how they broke him to his core, and the anger he feels isn’t only for himself. he feels it for you, for chris. it’s his burden to bear, but he’s not the only one that’s crushed underneath it. 

a press of lips to his own has him blinking, and he hears your voice call to him. a lighthouse in the fog. 

“come back,” you say, kissing his lips, his cheeks, the scar on his chin. “come back to me, changbin. where are you?” 

he’s here with you - he never wants to be anywhere else. he kisses you about it, turns onto his side and pulls you into his thick chest, nudging your noses together before pressing his lips to yours. changbin keeps his lips close when you pull away to speak. he can’t seem to make himself stop, kissing languidly at your throat and your collar bones and making his way slowly to your jaw. 

“did it- ah, ch-changbin, what you saw, did it upset you?” 

“no,” he gasps. something fierce and untamed rises in his throat, and he gulps it down. “no, i- you were beautiful.” 

changbin lifts onto the elbow of his titanium Arm and cups the nape of your neck with the other. you’re so beautiful, so special to him that it twists his insides, ensnares his beating heart. your eyes shimmer in the lamplight while you watch him watch you, and he can’t bear not kissing you for another second. he dips down again, hesitant to press his weight onto you, but you don’t let him hesitate for long. you tug him down, wrapping your arms and a leg around him and humming in contentment when you feel his weight, the heat of his body. 

you kiss like that for a long while, until your lips are sore and your hips rock against each other fitfully. 

your fingers nudge at his chest, and he pulls away immediately. he’s surprised when he feels your hands scramble down to your waist to — oh god — lift the hem of your t-shirt until the fabric is rucked above your bare breasts again, just like it was in your bedroom earlier. he stares, he can’t help it. your nipples pebble under his gaze, and your eyebrows furrow when you look up at him pleadingly.  

his hand caresses your side, thumb circling your soft skin while he blinks dazedly at the mounds on your chest. 

“can i touch?” he breathes, and you meet him halfway. your back arches as his hand trails to your chest. you’re so soft, so fucking soft, your skin so warm and supple that he never wants to spend another day not touching you like this. he cups you underneath your breast to feel the way it gives underneath his fingertips, and you whimper when he shakily thumbs your peaked nipple. 

“the other one too? please, changbin. bin, please,” you whine, and The Arm recalibrates like it knows it’s what you want. “you won’t hurt me. i trust you, you’d never hurt me.” 

he could. he dreams of it; it’s his worst nightmare. he’s hurt so many people, and he’d never recover if he hurt you. 

but looking down at you, your expression so open, so raw, so hopeful, he finds himself wanting to give you what you ask so sweetly for. how could he ever deny you when you look at him like that? he wants to deserve your trust, he wants to live up to it. you trust him, and maybe that can be enough for now.

changbin readjusts the stance of his elbow so the titanium Arm has more room to move, and he slowly lifts his metal fingers to the other side of your chest. you both gasp when it makes contact, and his fingers flinch away on reflex. you cup his hand, bringing the metal back to your chest and squeezing his fingers in encouragement. it’s not something he can feel - not really. he feels the pressure of your hand, but it can’t feel your touch like his flesh hand can. 

“oh my god,” you keen, and your chin tilts down so you can watch. he kneads your chest softly with both hands, pushing them towards your chin and back down. he hasn’t touched you like this in years, but you arch against his hands beautifully, like you’re happy to have him relearn your body. 

the breath leaves your lungs in a stutter when he pinches at both of your nipples. it’s such a juxtaposing sensation, one hand blood-warm, one hand cool. the nipple he teases with his titanium fingers is so hard, perked up and sensitive to the touch because of the coldness of his fingers. he circles the areola lightly and it has you writhing underneath him, but your thighs slam shut around him when he sucks it into his mouth. 

“ohmygod, fuck!” you cry. changbin hums against your chest while his tongue whips quickly at your nipple. he moves to the other one, kissing wetly across your chest before he circles it with his tongue. his head bobs, he opens his mouth wide so that he can fit as much of your breast inside as he can. changbin kisses and nips and licks back up your neck and into your mouth - tongues clashing wildly in a kiss that leaves spit seeping down your chins. 

he wants to go back to kissing his way down your beautiful body again, but you take matters into your own hands by kissing down his neck. changbin bares his throat for you, tossing his head to the side to give you more room to kiss. 

he has to stop himself from freezing completely when your fingers come up to trace the plates on his Arm. they whir, clank into place at the foreign touch, and you follow the shifting with the tips of your pretty fingers. 

“be- be careful, okay? just be careful, i-” he’s at a loss for words, and he watches you with wild eyes when you lean up to kiss the scarring on his shoulder. 

your lips press tender, open mouthed kisses where his skin meets metal, the jagged, pink, grotesque scarring that circles his shoulder and underneath his Arm. changbin slams his eyes shut. he can’t watch. he can’t feel it either, the loss of his flesh arm and the addition of the surgical implant left him with so much nerve damage that he’s surprised he can feel the left side of his body at all, but he can hear it. he hears your lips smack softly against the ugliest part of himself, and he hopes that you won’t be disgusted by him when you pull away. 

fingers cup his face, and when he opens his eyes, he’s looking right into yours. he meets you in the middle for a kiss, heart hammering in his chest when you mumble against them. 

“fuck me,” you whisper. right against changbin’s lips. “do you want to? please, i- i want to feel you again.” 

the ache flares again, rises in his chest until it’s threatening to spill from his throat. he wants. 

“a-are you sure?” 

he has to know. are you sure you want this? are you sure you want this with him? are you sure you want him? 

“you’re the only thing i’m sure of.” you smile against his lips, repeating his words from earlier, and he sags against you in relief. 

taking each other’s clothes off is a dangerous affair. you’re pressed so close together that it makes it difficult, you almost knock him in the head with your knee and he almost elbows you in the stomach. changbin hasn’t laughed in so long, in years, but he finds himself laughing with you when your clothes finally find themselves tossed all over his room. 

he’s felt it occasionally lately, but it really hits him now that he’s healing, or at least that’s what his therapist says. he owns himself again; changbin is no one’s Asset. he can laugh, he can feel joy, and he presses the feeling into your lips for the thousandth time tonight. 

changbin breathes heavily against your open lips when your precious hand wraps itself around his cock. he’s so hard that he leaks in your grasp. it tilts his world on its axis, the way you grip and stroke him, so much better than the feeling of his own hand in the shower earlier tonight. he props himself on his metal elbow again and reaches the other hand between you, and he bites his lips when he feels your thighs spread for him. 

you’re hot to the touch, silky wet, and changbin’s mouth waters like a dog. he lets himself explore, lets himself feel his way around your beautiful cunt. the pudge of your swollen clit, the give of your willing hole. you touch each other like that for a while, warm breaths mingling and bodies rocking until the tip of his cock grinds against your clit. 

“i- i- oh,” you stutter. “oh god, ‘m so fucking wet.” 

you’re right. he slips against you; he can’t stop rocking his hips. you feel too good, your lips bracket his cock so perfectly that his head spins. 

“i should do something about that, huh?” he asks. it’s said through a grin, but he’s just as breathless as you are. 

you cling to him so tightly when he sheaths himself inside that he has half a mind to think your muscles will lock that way. his plump mouth is mashed against the side of your nose while his hips slowly rock into you. changbin is pressed so tightly against you that he can feel when you start to cry, and he’s scared to death again. he stops rolling his hips, immediately cupping your face in his warm hand and searching for the answer. 

“i hurt you. i’m so sorry, what’s wrong? sweetheart, what did i do?” changbin begs. he might just start crying too. 

the pet name makes you cry harder, but you shake your head. 

“i never thought i would have this again,” you weep, clutching onto his shoulders tighter and pressing your heels against his ass as a sign to stay put. “but you’re here with me.” 

he’s here with you, and he’ll stay as long as you’ll have him. 

changbin eases himself forward until his hips are flush to yours and nuzzles his nose in the space behind your ear to breathe you in. 

“i’m here with you,” he whispers. it sends goosebumps up and down your arms. he knows his cock is thick, and he wonders if you’ll feel it tomorrow, if you’ll feel the phantom ache and remember that this is real. “i’m right here with you.” 

you’re pressed so tightly together that he has no other choice but to rut his hips into you. there’s no room to thrust, so he cages you in and grinds into you deeply. changbin’s flesh hand comes up to cup the top of your head, and his titanium Arm curls underneath your shoulder to pull you as close as possible. you’re all he can feel, all he can taste and smell and hear. inside and out, your body is warm, and he can’t get enough of it. your fingers wind themselves into his damp hair and curl over the bulging bicep of his Arm. 

“you feel so fucking good in me. you always feel so good, baby, your cock-!” you mewl. he shivers when you mouth desperately at the shell of his ear. he can hear how much you like it. the precious noises you make in his ear tell him all about it, the whimpers, the moans, but so does the sweet squelching of your soaked cunt. he’ll bury his face in it later if you’ll let him, drink your nectar until there’s none left to swallow.

you’ve always felt so good too, he remembers. the clutch of your body has always been breathtaking, but memories could ever compare to the real thing. 

he has to fuck you better. he has to fuck you like you deserve, so he kisses the whine from your mouth when he pulls back and sits up on his knees. god, you’re a sight for sore eyes, a flower in the desert. he rubs the heaving skin of your stomach and plants his knees firmly on the soft blankets underneath him and fucks you. his thrusts shunt you up the pallet until you’re chanting yes-yes-yes-yes! with your head thrown back. you’re clutching at his arms where they’re balled into fists and planted by your sides, fingers wrapped tightly around his forearms.

“fuck. fuck,” he grunts. “do you like it? is it good?”

you nod frantically. “i love it! i love it, please don’t stop, changbin, oh-!” 

he can’t. he wouldn’t dream of it now. it’s not like he had the chance to try it out, but he has a feeling the serum coursing through his veins could keep him going all night if that’s what you want him to do. changbin wants it too, wants it more than anything, to reacquaint himself with your body after so long without it. 

your chest shakes every time he fucks his hips, and he breathes a rough curse into the air when you cup them in your hands. you thumb at your nipples, twist and pinch them between your fingers. you up your game when you notice him watching - pushing your tits together and jiggling them in your hands. 

“you’re a minx,” he says, but it’s paired with a fond shake of his head. his heart almost stops when you smile up at him. 

changbin slows his thrusting for a moment to adjust the stance of his knees, sliding them forward until his thighs press against the backs of yours. you spread yourself wider for him, gripping underneath your knees to keep them up and open for him. he’s deeper this way, so fucking deep that it feels like his thick cock is in your throat, and one of your hands scrambles for him again. you’ll settle for anything you can reach; you just want to feel him. 

you grip his Arm, and changbin gasps. he’s still not used to it, not used to your gentle touch on the part of his body he’s most ashamed of, but it gives him a headrush when your fingers seek his out. they entwine frantically with his metal ones, clenching and squeezing while you’re fucked just how you want. your own muscles flex when you move to lift his Arm. the titanium is heavy, he knows, so he helps you the best he can. changbin doesn’t know what you’re doing, but he lets you guide his Arm where you want it anyway. he isn’t expecting for you to bring it to your lips, much less for you to lick the tips of two of his metal fingers. he almost jolts back on instinct, but the look in your hazy eyes keeps him in place. he watches in awe when you suck them into your mouth - his pinky and ring fingers curl downwards to give you more room, and you bob your head in thanks. you suck on his titanium fingers just like you would his cock. changbin can’t stop staring, the way your lips wrap around the metal is intoxicating, nearly damning. you suck him deep into your mouth until your throat is convulsing, and only then do you pull your lips back with a sultry pop!

a deep, depraved part of him tells him to reach down to rub your clit with it, make you cum faster. the coolness of his fingertips would have you thrashing underneath him. admittedly, he’s not ready for that, but the thought has him going nearly cross eyed. you would surely like it, he knows that. maybe he can give it to you one day.

for now, his flesh fingers do the job. he swipes them against the drool running down your chin and brings them straight down to your swollen clit, rubbing swift, tight circles on that cute little button his mind tells him that he missed so much. 

“yes! like that, keep going just like that!” you cry. so he rubs your clit and drills his cock inside just like you ask for until you’re cumming with a high pitched wail of his name. it’s beautiful, one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, heard, and felt. he follows behind you quickly, rutting into the softness of your pulsing cunt and stilling inside to let you have it all. 

you trade kisses even as he rolls off of you and lands on his side, he cranes his neck and puckers his lips as you stand up to go use his bathroom, and you’re about to bend down to straddle his lap and kiss him until you fall asleep when you hear a scratch at the door. 

you find the bare minimum of your clothes before you let sadie in; changbin shoves his legs into his sweatpants and you put your panties and sleep shirt back on again. sweet sadie curls right up between the two of you when you let her in and lay back down on changbin’s pallet, and everything feels right. 

changbin breaks the silence first, breathing your name and petting your head where it’s resting on his flushed chest. you hum to show him that you’re listening. 

“i’ll never be the changbin that you lost,” he says. he’ll never be that man again. too much has changed, too much has been taken from him. he’s not the same changbin seo he was before he fell from the train car, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be changbin seo at all. 

you kiss his chest, right above his beating heart.

“this is enough. any changbin you let me have is more than enough.”

you know what he’s done. you know what he’s been through, but you choose him anyway. you’ve chosen him every day since you found him in your house. you chose even before he came back to you; the pictures that hung on your wall proved it. you chose him when you took his hand in marriage, when you took his last name. you chose him then, and you still choose him now despite the things he was made to do, despite the damage that has been done to him. monster turned man. 

“you love me anyways…” he says. it’s not a question, but a statement. 

“i love you anyways,” you confirm. “i love you always.”

for years, all changbin felt was the cold, but here, with your head on his chest and sadie curled at his hip, he begins to thaw.

[strayzid]

yall do not understand how much i loved this. so so so so good like i read it so 😮 and 😭 and 🤤 and 😚 omg that was an emotion rollercoaster omg. i recommend this to everyone. i love their relationshop wtf 💐🩷 (actually thought yn would be so old at frist i was 😦 omg they are 80 years old what, just my dumbass)

[facioleeknow]

The art of pleasure ch. 4

Charm ° Hwang Hyunjin

When one girl in your class makes fun of you for being a virgin at a party, you are left distraught. It's only natural that you decide to whine about it to your best friend, Bang Chan; but he does more than lending a shoulder to cry on, he comes up with a solution. He and his 7 friends will help you and teach you all about the pleasure of the flesh. What could go wrong?

Genre: College AU, smut 18+ ONLY WC: 1.8k+

Warnings: fraternity skz. inexperienced reader, experienced hyunjin, unprotected sex, clit play, creampie, hyunjin likes hairy pussy, first time, virginity loss

The art of pleasure masterlist

A week after your little encounter with Changbin, you were still thinking about him. His charm was unmatched, no man had ever treated you and made you feel like a woman as much as Changbin. The way his body had reacted to you, to your touch, to your mouth, had made you feel like the most powerful person in the world. His soft loving eyes had made you feel safe and appreciated.

Everyday your fingers hovered over his contact, you yearned to call him, to hear his voice, feel his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours. You had never wanted a second date so badly in your entire life.

Unknown number:

Good Morning, it’s Hyunjinnie<3

I’d like to take you out this weekend if you’re free <3

The hearts made you smile, Hyunjin was as much a lover boy as Chan had said. A frown quickly subsided, you could not keep thinking about Changbin while being with another guy, it wouldn’t have been fair to him. And frankly speaking, you were hellbent on enjoying to the fullest this new date; Hyunjin was gorgeous and famously picky with his hookups, being chosen almost felt like an honor and you wanted the opportunity to brag about it.

The number you called was so familiar that it was engraved in your memory and even under hypnosis you wouldn’t have been able to forget it.

“Hello??”

“Channie, I need your help!”

“What-what is going on, baby?” Chan has never sounded that out of breath in his entire life.

“Baby? Are you talking to a girl? Do you have a girlfriend?” a muffled female voice resounded on the other side of the phone. Chan tsked, you had never heard him do that, with you he was nothing but extremely polite. 

“You can go, I’ll call you.” If your phone hadn’t displayed Chan’s contact name, you would’ve thought you had  called the wrong number. A chill ran down your spine at his icy cold tone. Maybe the stories about him being a fuckboy were true after all…

“Chan? Were you with a girl?”

“Don’t worry about it baby,” he mumbled into the phone. He sounded like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar, he knew what you were thinking and he was embarrassed that you had to witness that side of him.

“Don’t worry? Were you fucking Chan?” The conversation was getting more and more absurd with each passing second and the tension and embarrassment was palpable even if you were in two different places.

“Yes?”

“Why the hell would you answer your phone, then?”

“Baby please, don’t push it! Just tell me what you need,” he whined. You could picture his face in your head with accuracy, lower lip slightly pushed out and sparkly round eyes.

“Alright,” you sighed, you could never resist him when he got like that, “I have a problem with our lessons, are you free to talk?”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little busy these days, baby. Can we hang out this weekend?”

“I have a lesson with Hyunjin this weekend, Channie.”

“That’s perfect! I’ll see you saturday!” 

He hung up without even waiting for your answer. Damn fuckboy.

Laying on Chan’s bed felt weird and gross after the call from a couple of days earlier, even worse knowing that your friend might have finished what he had started.

“What’s with the face?” his voice soft and muffled by the skin of your neck against which Chan’s face was smushed.

“Just wondering if I’m laying down on crusted jizz,” you teased, half serious half joking.

“Baby!” he whined again, his feet kicked lightly against your legs.

“Alright, alright, you big baby, now stop kicking me!”

“What did you want to talk about anyway?” Chan cuddled even more into you and started nosing at the spot behind your ear. Suddenly the room was starting to feel hot.

“I can’t stop thinking about Changbin, the way he made me feel…I’ve never felt that way before.”

Chan scoffed and suddenly detached himself from you. The atmosphere in the room shifted in a matter of seconds, from warm and friendly to icy. 

“You can always go on a date with Changbin after the lessons, focus on what’s in front of you, not behind.” Even if he was irked, his advice was always on point.

“And you’re worried about Hyunjin right?”

“Yes, it wouldn’t be right to him..” your best friend’s attitude had completely changed and suddenly you felt judged. Chan sighed.

“Thank you Channie, are you sure you’re ok-”

The sudden slam of the door against the wall made you and your friend jump in your spots.

“Hyung, how do I look? Good enough for Y/N?”

Hyunjin stood at the door in all of his glory; he wore baggy black pants, a tank top and a red cardigan. He looked delectable.

“Y/N, I was about to come get you,” his smile was the brightest you had ever seen and made him even prettier if that was even possible. You got up quickly.

“You should go,” Chan wasn’t even looking at you as he bid you goodbye. You were conflicted, leaving would mean things would stay weird with Chan but you were starting to feel quite horny and your vagina was starting to do the thinking instead of your brain.

Your indecisiveness and the weird atmosphere in the room were broken when Hyunjin took your hand and gently dragged you outside of the room.

“Bye Channie,” you whispered.

Hyunjin’s car was clean and tidy, it perfectly embodied his lover boy persona. He drove steady, with confidence; his right hand delicately caressed your thigh over your skirt, he didn’t make any move to raise the hem of your clothing to touch the rest of you. You were getting impatient, you wanted his hands on you. Wetness seeped into the cotton of your panties; he was so hot and riling you up so effortlessly that you almost hated him…almost. 

Suddenly his index finger ventured past the fabric of your skirt and came in contact with your skin. An electric feeling spread from his touch through your entire body, your pussy pulsed in response. God you were so pathetic and so wet. 

Right when you were debating whether to jump him or not, the car came to a stop.

“We’re here, pretty,” Hyunjin murmured softly as not to break the sacred silence that was in the car. 

The view in front of you was breathtaking. The lights of the town shone under you forming tiny little dots on the ground. Above the night sky presented itself in all of its glory, you had never seen so many stars in your entire life.

“What do you think? Do you like it?” Hyunjin was behind you, his hand ghosted over your waist.

“I love it, it’s really pretty.”

“You’re really pretty,” his breath fanned against your neck, his whole front was pressed against your body and you could feel every single part of him.

“Hyunjin, please touch me, I can’t wait anymore,” you whined. In a heartbeat Hyunjin spun you around, like he was waiting for your words, and his lips were on yours. The kisses were soft, slow and passionate, his hands were confident in their ministrations as they moved across your body. Hyunjin was an exceptional kisser, the best one so far and you were happy you decided to stop thinking about Changbin and just enjoy the moment. 

So immersed in the feeling of his soft lips you didn’t notice his hand sneaking under your skirt and inside your panties. The rhythmic movement of his fingers on your clit elicited a gasp from you, Hyunjin smiled.

“You don’t shave?” the boy moaned. You froze in your spot, Minho hadn’t minded so you thought Hyunjin wouldn’t either.

“God, baby, that’s so hot, I need to have you,” your lover moaned out before you could answer. It was one of the most sensual sounds you had ever heard.

Your kisses got deeper and more sensual, the more the tension rose the more Hyunjin slowed down until all of his movements became languid and intense. His hand in your panties stroked your sensitive bud gently, giving you enough stimulation to curl your toes but not enough to make you cum.

“Lay down, pretty,” Hyunjin gently pushed you back towards the blanket he laid down while you were admiring the view and you complied, tonight you had no desire to disobey him. Above you, he shook off his cardigan showing off his toned arms and then slowly pulled down his pants and boxers. He smirked, he was giving you a show. His cock sprung free from the confinement of his underwear and slapped against his stomach, he was long and veiny. You wanted him in your mouth but maybe another time.

“Are you feeling okay?” the boy laid down on you, your bodies pressed together, his cock against your clothed pussy.

“I'm gonna die if I don't feel you inside me, Hyunjin.” He chuckled at your impatience, but his fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and he dragged them down quickly. He was as affected and impatient as you.

“Are you ready?” The tip of his cock prodded against your entrance and, after your nod of approval, breeched you. It was a weird sensation, an intrusion that wasn't purely unwelcomed, but Hyunjin soothed the discomfort immediately by pressing his thumb against your throbbing clit making you keen out loud. 

“God, you're so warm,” he grunted against your neck. His strokes were slow and powerful, he was sensual even when fucking with no feeling attached. The tip of his cock hit a spot deep within you that made you see stars and bite down on your lip with every stroke.

“Are you close, beautiful? I can't last long, you're too warm and wet,” he moaned and panted inside your ear. His thumb sped up the circles on your swollen clit and you cried out in pleasure. This was only your first time but you were already hooked on this feeling, or maybe Hyunjin just knew what he was doing.

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside, please.”

His thrusts became harsher and harsher, your tits bounced everytime his pelvis came in contact with your ass and thighs. Moans and pants came out of his lips, he wasn't scared to be vocal and you loved it. A long, strangled whimper sounded in your ear and suddenly hot spurts of cum spilled inside you. The feeling of his release was the last thing that took you to get over the edge. Your body shook in pleasure and your thighs tightened around Hyujin’s waist.

You figured you almost passed out because when you came to, Hyunjin was laying on his back and you on top of him, your thighs still locked around him.

“Was it good enough for a first time?” His hand lightly scratched your scalp.

“It was great, thank you Hyunjin.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, the only thing that could be heard was yours and Hyunjins breathing and heartbeats.

“I'd like to paint you next time, you have a really pretty pussy.” You poked his side and he giggled.

“You haven't seen it.”

“But I felt it. Will you let me?”

“Maybe next time.”

@kflixnet

[strayzid]

WTF????? THIS WAS AMAAAAAAAAAZINGGGGGGGG!!!!! omg i need more of this series, i just bing-read it and it was ✨perfect✨.

ty so much for writing this, i love the way you pictured every character and even the way she could only think of Changbin cause that is so real and makes yn look so much more human, so fragile and makes me connect to her so much, knowing her emotions. I like that she is not some oh so innocent virgin, no!!! She is a badass horny brave woman i want to be her!!! ty ty ty i love it. please tag me on the next part

obs. PEOPLE SHOULD GIVE MORE FEEDBACKS????? THIS IS A MASTERPIECE IDK WHY PEOPLE ARE SLEEPING ON IT STOP

[thefantasyden]

"I don't know how to write (member)" is a weird excuse for excluding one from your "ot8" posts and imma stand by that. "I'm not attracted to him" is also weird when it's ONE member of the group.

Excluding ONE MEMBER from a GROUP post will always be weird and there is no excuse for only supporting the select members you wanna fuck.

The fact that y'all always wanna exclude Changbin because he's the chubby one and he's not your standard of "sexy" is so fucking weird.

You do not have to be attracted to someone to be capable of writing for them, especially not when the work you're excluding them from is PLATONIC AND NON SEXUAL??? HELLO???.

Good writers can write for anyone. They don't need to want to fuck them.

[strayzid]

THIS!!!!! i blocked this author like a minute ago and i was so MAD cause wtf??????????? girl just say u are an ot7 and shut the FUCK up. if u cannot write for someone u dont "feel attracted to", u are not a good writer. PERIOD.

Also, reducing stray kids to just "oh im attracted", "oh hes cute" "oh hes sexy" IS SO DISGUSTING. they show us different sides of themselves EVERYDAY. Readers want to picture themselves with skz not cause they are sexy, but because they are AMAZING PEOPLE. when you just look at their appearance, you are showing that you are not just a bad writer, but a bad stay too.

If you cannot write about Changbin as the good listener, mood maker, funny, gentle, SMART, intelligent, big brother, sweet, lovely, active, responsible, brilliant, good at giving advices, and SO SO SO SO HANDSOME man that he is, you cannot tell me that you are a stay. only caring for appearance (AND BEING BLIND CAUSE THAT MAN 😚🫠🫣🤤 LABRKWBEKDHEOD CANNOT FUNCTION RIGHT) is disgusting.

Anyways, us Changbin stans will always be next to our man. thank u for being such an idiot, like we say in Brazil: bom que sobra mais. Also, remember: If you are ANYTHING other than ot8, i DONT want to here. you can get out.

[kpop---scenarios]

Blind Spot (2)

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x Reader x Lee Know

Warning: Heartbreak, Mentions of Smut [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

Word Count: 2k

Taglist: @number1jeonginstan @anskiiz @angelsquid @stay-tiny-things @theodorenottgf @caught-in-the-afterglow @endofjune30

@wife2straykids @bx-lov3

Everything Taglist: @ivydoesit23 @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @iovecb97 @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan

@anskiiz @1810cl @tsunderelino @gabriellamarie @silly250

ONE |

“Jeongin.” You call out to the living room, but hear nothing back. “Babe?” You yell.

Nothing.

“Hey, Jeongin.” You say, now walking into the living room. He doesn't notice you right away, too interested in whatever was on his phone. You walk over, trying to see the screen, something the two of you had done a lot of to each other, but he noticed you now, quickly turning off his phone, sliding it under the blanket that was covering his lap.

“What are you doing?” He asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry, I was trying to call you from the living room but you weren't answering.” You say. You try to sit down next to him, but he doesn't move his legs off the couch, instead looking up at you, unimpressed and annoyed.

“What do you want?” He asks, throwing his head back on the back of the couch, barely looking at you.

“Minho texted me.. asked if we were coming to game night tonight.” You whisper. You really weren't sure what you had done to Jeongin to make him so mad at you but fuck you wished he would talk to you.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He sighs, moving the blanket to stand up. “I'm going to shower.” He finishes, walking past you without so much as a glance.

“Jeongin.” You call out. He stops walking but doesn't turn around to face you. He stands there, silently. “Are we okay?” You whisper.

“Why are you asking that?” He scoffs, still facing away from you. “Yeah, we're fine.. I just have a headache.” He now whispers, dropping his head. “I'm sorry.” He finishes, continuing to walk to the bathroom.

Why was he sorry? Was he sorry for having a headache? He didn't need to apologize for that. You shrug your shoulders, going to the bedroom to start getting ready. You tried to shake off the uneasy feeling you had in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to believe his words of the two of you were fine, but he really was less than convincing.

You finish getting ready by the time Jeongin finally emerges from the bathroom, water droplets dripping from his hair, down his body.

“How's your head?” You ask, sitting down on the bed as you watch him begin to get dressed.

“It's okay.” He sighs.

“You're not very talkative lately.” You mention, wanting to see how he'll react, or respond. But he doesn't respond, instead only sighing loudly as he slips on his shirt. You watch him wander around the room, putting on socks, spraying cologne, putting on his watch, still not saying anything to you.

“Let's go.” He says, slipping on his shoes before heading to the front door, he leaves the apartment, closing the door behind him before you even finished putting your shoes on. Wow, he was surely showing you how little he cared about you right now and you wished you knew what the hell you did. You walk out of the apartment, heading down to the parking lot where Jeongin sat in the driver's seat, car running while he smiles at his phone. You open the passenger door, climbing in and his expression immediately changes back to the straight-faced sour man you've come to know over the last week.

The entire car ride is silent, the radio volume barely up enough to hear it, Jeongin not interested in saying a word to you, while you sat there looking out the passenger side window, on the verge of tears.

As Jeongin pulls up to Changbin's house, he still doesn't say anything as he parks the car and gets out, you trail behind him with your head down, not feeling like being there anymore when apparently you had such problems in your relationship. You just hoped no one asked you what was wrong because you would surely break down into a sobbing mess and no one wants to see that.

“Hey guys, welcome.” Changbin smiles, opening the front door. He ushers you two inside, Jeongin's mood instantly changing into the happy, positive and joyful man you knew.

“So what kind of games have you got this time?” Jeongin asks, sitting on the couch, surrounded by his friends and a few of the girlfriends some of them had.

“For tonight's festivities.” Changbin begins. “We've got Uno, Twister, Truth or Dare, Never Have I Ever…” He says, continuing to list more games but you cringe at Never Have I ever. You feel ready to shut down, your body on the verge of tears again at the reminder of the game that brought the entire threesome idea up. Minho notices, moving to sit beside you. You weren't sitting next to, or even close to Jeongin. You were on the opposite side of the living room, watching him smile and laugh with his friends, wishing that he was going to be that way with you again.

“You okay?” Minho asks, leaning into you, but keeping his eyes on the room.

“Yeah.” You whisper, but even in a whisper your voice breaks and he knows you're lying.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He wonders. You nod your head, afraid if you say anything else you'll start sobbing. You get up to walk away, Minho following you not long after to the kitchen. You lean against the counter, crossing your arms as he walks in, hopping up to sit on the island across from you.

“What's going on?” He asks, waiting for you to tell him.

“It's Jeongin.” You whisper. “Last week we did something we shouldn't have done and ever since he's been so distant, he barely talks to me, he doesn't smile at me, he's not affectionate anymore.. it's like everything has changed but he won't tell me why.”

“What did you guys do?” Minho asks, eyebrow raised.

“Ugh.. we had a threesome..with my friend.” You murmur.

Minho's eyes go wide. “Why would you do that with a friend?” He asks. “That's like rule number one of what not to do.” He partially laughs.

“Yeah I'm realizing that… not my finest decision. And it didn't go at all how I thought it would… It was more like them than the three of us.”

“You don't think he's…cheating? With her?” Minho asks.

“No!” You shout. “I mean, he's not like that, you know? He would talk to me if he wasn't happy…” you trail off.

“Would he? You just said he won't talk to you at all.” He says. “Look, I'm not trying to worry you or upset you.” He says. “I care about you, alot and I just want you to be happy, and you aren't.”

“What do I do? I don't know how to handle this.” You groan as you start to cry.

“Either you confront him, or you wait and see if you can figure out what's going on.” He says. “And as much as I love Jeongin, I care about you more. I really hope he doesn't fuck it up and lose you.” Minho smiles, sliding off the counter, heading back to the group.

Just as you're about to go back to the living room too, Jeongin walks in, straight-faced. “What were you doing in here with Minho?” He asks, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Just talking.” You say. “Something I wish you'd do with me.”

“For fuck sakes Y/N. Jeongin snaps. “Did you ever think that maybe I just don't want to talk to you?”

“Then why are you still with me? Clearly you're fucking miserable and hate me, so why stay?” You yell back. You did not deserve to be treated like this, and you were tired of standing back and taking it.

“Good fucking question.” He spits. “I'm out of here.” He says, slamming the can down on the counter, storming out of the room. You follow him, watching as Changbin and Chan try to talk to him. He waves them off, storming out of the front door, leaving it open. You stand in front of the open door, watching him get into the car and peel off, leaving you there, crying.

“What the fuck was that about?” Chan gasps, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a side hug.

“I'm sorry, everyone.” You apologize, forcing a smile. “I'm just going to call a cab and go.”

“Nonsense.” Chan laughs. “One of us will drive you home. Unfortunately I've already been drinking…” He trails off.

“I can. I haven't had anything yet.” Minho says. “Just sit down Y/N and try to calm down. We'll go soon.” He half smiles. 30 minutes later, Minho grabbed his jacket and keys, waving at everyone.“I'll be back.” He tells the group

“I'm sorry for everything, you guys.” You whisper as Minho guides you out the door and to his car.

“So…” Minho begins. “What was that about?”

You let out a groan, reliving the public outburst Jeongin had had under an hour ago. “He asked me what we were doing in the kitchen and I said just talking. I made a comment like it was something I wished he'd do with me and he lost it.” You hiccup. “He said ‘did you ever think that maybe I just don't want to fucking talk to you?’” You quote. “And so I asked him why he was even with me and he said it was a good question. And then you saw the rest… he stormed out and left me there stranded.”

“Stranded?” Minho laughs. “But in all honesty, something is not right with him.” Minho sighs. “He's never been like that before.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” You whisper. “I'm kind of scared to go home.” You admit.

“I'll walk you up.” Minho smiles. “Whatever is going on, I'm here for you.”

“Thank you… I really appreciate this and you.” You smile.

The rest of the drive, anxiety fuels you, the knots in your stomach growing bigger and bigger with every second that you get closer to your shared apartment. You didn't want to go in. You were too sure on what you were going to walk into or if he was even going to be there. Once Minho pulls into the complex's parking lots all the small knots quickly turn into one giant knot as Minho parka the car, and begin walking with you up to your front door.

When you open the door, all the lights are off in the kitchen and in the living room, but even in the dark you can see Jeongin’s keys sitting on the kitchen table, so you know he is home. Maybe he's diffusing in your shared room? Taking a shower to distress himself? You just wanted to talk to him and try to get to the bottom of the issues that came on so suddenly.

“Innie?” You call out, walking into the house. Minho stays near the front door, waiting for you to tell him you're okay but you aren't sure yet. The bedroom door is closed, but you can see light shining from under the door. You make your way over there, your hand hovering over the door knob before you quietly turn it, pushing the door open. Your mouth hangs open as you watch your best friend, or ex best friend, ride Jeongin's cock, his fingers digging deep into her hips as she moans his name.

“I can't fucking believe this.” You scream. Chae falls off Jeongin, scrambling to cover herself with the blanket as Jeongin shoots out of bed, trying to put on his boxers as you turn to walk away from them.

“Y/N… please… wait.” Jeongin yells, hoping, trying to catch you while also trying to cover his cock.

“Save it.” You scream, turning around to face him. “I have nothing to say to you.” You sob, walking past Minho to get out of the building.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?” Minho says, shaking his head, closing the front door, leaving Jeongin standing there feeling like the worst person in the entire world.

[strayzid]

THIS WAS CRAAAAAZY GOOD WHAT???? lmao this was so perfect, i LIVE FOR PART 3 THANK U FOR GIVING BIRTH TO THIS, ITS LIKE CINEMA 😚😚😚😭😭😭😭

[strayzid]

Please, Please, Please.

♡ ୨ bang chan x fem!reader | lee know x fem!reader smau

💐 you always loved him, but he breaks your heart. gladly someone else is there to make you love again. — part 1 | part 2

— cw: angst??? kinda i actually suck at this; just getting over someone; rejection!!; broken heart; cursing; being sad and kinda depressed; being lonely but its like just tweets... if i missed something, just tell me<3

[strayzid]

Please, Please, Please.

♡ ୨ bang chan x fem!reader | lee know x fem!reader smau

💐 you always loved him, but he breaks your heart. gladly someone else is there to make you love again. — part 1 | part 2

— cw: angst??? kinda i actually suck at this; just getting over someone; rejection!!; broken heart; cursing; being sad and kinda depressed; being lonely but its like just tweets... if i missed something, just tell me<3

— note: just something i did cause i was feeling ✨angst✨. but it kinda has a happy ending!! sorry for being a mess and never being constant!

[ybklix]

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧

★ lee minho

✦summary: You embark on an unusual night for you, as a companion to a wealthy stranger man with a cold countenance, a warm heart and a very hot form of affection.

✭ content - tags - warnings: smut / oral sex / spanking / hair pulling / chocking / ceo lee know x fem reader / non idol felix x fem reader / mention of sex workers, scort / sugar daddy

word count: 12.3k

(masterlist) part two soon

Money did buy happiness, you thought; if it did you would be in your mansion worth millions, you would use your money to buy contacts to get your dream job without having to sweat a drop and you wouldn't be standing there right now listening to the landlady, while she yells at you and reminds you how far behind you are in your payments.

It was humiliating and you had no other excuse to tell her, it was obvious she didn't give a shit how much you studied and worked at the same time and it still wasn't enough. She finally left, insulting you a couple of times and flattering herself for being a good person by letting you stay and giving you a space in a very rushed and busy city like this one, where millions of people are looking for a place to live every day.

You wanted to feel unashamed, carefree but you couldn't do it and everything was a thousand times more embarrassing when you were helping your best friend pack as she was moving to a new and better apartment. You knew Hari since you moved into the building three years ago, she was your neighbor and you were the same age so you two quickly liked each other... but the day had come, she was able to move on and was going to a nice place.

Hari watched the whole scene with a bit of sadness, knowing deep down what it felt like to go through exactly the same thing and hear the same old lady screaming. And, as she took one of her boxes to pass it to the mover she thought if after all this time it would be good to finally confess a secret to you… she was terrified of feeling judged but, she appreciated you too much that she really wanted to tell you.

You sighed without further ado, smiling and turning back to your friend.

“Hey, if you need…” Hari wanted to say but you interrupted her immediately.

“I'm fine, really.”

You stared at her and gave her a fake smile. It wasn't new that you hated asking for help and that people feel sorry for you, first it was your male best friend who stupidly is a millionaire and now your best friend who you were supposed to share economic pains. You felt that everyone was moving forward but you, but you didn't want to be seen as a poor girl in distress, it was what you hated the most even though you appreciate their gestures and words in your heart, despite that. it's hard for you to take it, as well as thank them and…. express yourself.

“If you need anything you know you can count on m...?”

“On you and Felix, I know.”

You rolled your eyes trying to appear annoyed but you weren't, it was obvious, they always reminded you. And you were extremely grateful just at the thought that they cared about you. You were aware that one of the very good solutions was simply to start dating your rich best friend who you know likes you… but you weren't like that, unfortunately, you were too proud to accept easy money.

“You should give him a chance” Hari added.

“I think I'm fucked up enough to fall in love and add another worry.”

Felix was sweet, caring, attractive and incredibly wealthy, you met him in college as he was studying cinematography. And you were studying performing arts, actress, your biggest dream. Strangely enough, you and Felix connected instantly in a course where you coincided, and you got along very well forming a nice friendship; he had a big and pure heart and was not at all the typical brainless rich kid, however you were the opposite of him, reserved and a bit pessimistic about life and clearly… in some big and tight economic problems. You couldn't count the countless times Felix offered to help you financially, but you simply felt you were abusing the power of your cute and cuddly best friend.

He would offer you money, he would offer you one of his properties, all paid vacations, you knew it was every girl's dream and that if you told anyone other than Hari about all this, they would be sure to slap you and call you ‘stupid’ to your face. You recognized that he was all a dream come true and that was what you feared the most, that you might be a nightmare for him, your personalities were different and most of all, you felt so bad that you didn't have something to offer him; you felt it looked so wrong to be just him trying so hard even though you were trying twice as hard too and sometimes it seemed in vain.

Moreover, you were quite realistic and recognized well that guys like Felix, wealthy and from a long line of millionaire ancestors, a simple girl like you wasn't enough, and you could never end up with someone like him.

Hari laughed at your comment.

“Love isn't so bad... have you ever been in love?”

You looked at her perplexed, almost wanting to laugh in her face; Hari in love was a concept you didn't know.

“Have you?” you asked, emphasizing your shock.

Your friend just looked at you amused and continued her duty of clearing out her old home. She was nervous, she had a solution for you but wasn't sure if it was an option for you.

After a few hours of exhaustive work like moving your whole life to another place, both of you contemplated the completely empty apartment where you used to spend nights together having sleepovers. Hari sighed, ready to confess something no one else knew.

“Y/n” she spoke to you.

You made a sound indicating you were listening, but you weren't really, you couldn't stop looking at that wall, thinking about what you had to do as soon as possible to get extra money. Hari called your name again until this time she caught your attention, so you turned to look at her; she felt nervousness and wanted to swallow for a second, you furrowed your brow at her sudden strange reaction.

“If I tell you something, promise you won't judge.”

“Of course” you quickly answered without thinking, her behavior seemed odd, but suddenly you were so curious to know.

She looked at you with big eyes of ‘I'm serious’, while you returned the look more than obvious.

“What is it about?”

Hari took a breath, hesitant, and suddenly she had all your attention.

“Have you ever wondered how suddenly I get all this, finally moving, nicer clothes...?” she replied with another question.

You furrowed your brow and tilted your head a bit confused, not meaning to offend, but your friend's life wasn't something you were so concerned about since you saw her completely normal, it wasn't something to be alarmed about, every time you met she was still the same... you wondered if there was suddenly something you didn't notice and that you should feel like a bad friend about.

“Did you get a big promotion at your job...?” you speculated without an answer.

She smiled mockingly.

“There's someone” she finally spat out, unable to express it entirely.

You got excited, those words meant she was dating someone of whom you didn't know details and suddenly it excited you. You raised your eyebrows in surprise and turned your whole body towards her, looking at her straight ahead, enthusiastic.

“Oh my God, Hari, why didn't you...”

“Or something like that” she cut you off abruptly.

Again, you looked at her confused, this time waiting for her to start talking. Hari looked at the floor and finally said:

“I have someone who gives me money.”

Silence embraced you, you didn't know what to say so you just laughed incredulously letting out a little air, Hari quickly looked at you with her expressive eyes of ‘you promised not to judge’, so you hurried to say:

“A sugar daddy or something like that? Well… good for you, I guess.”

“I think you need one” she cut off your sarcastic comment so now you laughed out loud. “Being a companion.”

“No thanks, I have enough dealing with Felix and his specific complex” you scoffed.

“I think you're not getting it… I don't know how to explain it but, I can live my life for 5 years without working a single day.”

You were in denial and totally ready to continue to contradict and mock your friend until that comment caught you by surprise.

“Wow, well that's…” you closed your eyes deeply trying to process the kind of conversation you were having. “I think you're exaggerating a bit here…”

“No” she interrupted you again, “this is different, I think you reject Felix because you know him and… these are just unknown men willing to pay a lot of money.”

“Do you really think you can give that kind of power to a man, of just giving you money without him expecting anything in return?” you added without thinking.

Silence returned… and it was when everything made sense and you understood that Hari did give something in return. You didn't want to say it out loud, but suddenly your best friend was a prostitute; you were really surprised. You couldn't help but open your eyes in surprise. Hari felt the need to explain herself before feeling judged.

“They are really wealthy men, it's something really exclusive and selective, you can choose and…”

You dissociated and stopped listening for a second, did they have methods? What did she mean? Why would she believe in the first place that you would be part of something like that?

“And are you with someone or do you have multiple relationships…?” you interrupted her.

You had no idea why you cared about that, you weren't a saint to judge, but maybe it was just curiosity. Hari rolled her eyes annoyed.

“At first a few until I finally found someone, I’m telling you it's surprising what can happen; so far it's him, he gave me the apartment, he'll decorate it and-”

You closed your eyes again incredulously.

“He bought you the apartment? I thought you rented it.”

“I had to lie.”

“And what happens when your fantasy and money run out?” you said mercilessly.

Hari smiled, you were too honest and straightforward sometimes.

“Well, I don't think that will happen for a long time and… Chan and I reached an agreement that I could work in his company as much as I want, even if our relationship ends and he stops supporting me.”

“Oh, so he has a name and now you're dating.”

“It's complicated, I like him but it's obvious that guys like him don't end up with the poor girl like a a TV show.”

And with a hooker, you thought. At least you were grateful that after all the senseless chatter something with common reasoning came out of your friend's mouth. You really had nothing against what she was doing, it just took you by surprise.

Hari sighed.

“I know you don't believe me, but do you remember that time months ago when we went out to eat and jokingly I showed you the meager ₩50,000 in my bank account?”

You nodded, still perplexed and cautious about what she might show you now. Hari took her phone and in a few swift movements with her fingers, handed it to you, displaying on the screen an incredible amount that made you sigh just seeing it. You couldn't believe it. How was it possible for someone to have so much money? Why would they give it to Hari?

“I think it's dangerous, maybe it's just sex with strangers but in exchange for that ridiculous amount… I don't know, you shouldn't trust strangers like that.”

Hari opened her mouth, offended, as she took her phone back.

“It's not always sex, it's about companionship.”

You pursed your lips, unable to believe it; maybe for old men with erectile dysfunction, you thought, but somehow or another, they are men looking for something.

“I'm just giving you an option to give it a chance. It's a really exclusive app, you even send your data to be accepted; it also comes with details of the people offering money for you, how they are, how much, and you can reject them all, you're in control. Come on, y/n, desperate times call for desperate measures…”

“I wouldn't categorize it that way, no thanks, Hari, I'm not that desperate, and by the way, how did you find out?”

“I went to a party months ago and overheard a couple of unknown girls talking about it, it changed my life” she quickly checked her phone again. “I have to go, he came for me, but think about it, okay? Just out of curiosity, like I did until I saw a really impressive amount. Also, they specify if they want companionship or something more…”

You rolled your eyes annoyed, it was crazy, you thought that Hari could live anonymously but your dream was to be an actress, what were you supposed to do if they ever found out that you practically sold yourself. Both of you left the apartment and stood there in the hallway for a few seconds.

“Do you want to meet Chan?”

Your attention returned to your friend as soon as she said those words and confusedly you thought in your mind “who?” until you realized who she was talking about. You were curious, you expected an older man but you were surprised to see that shiny black luxury truck and inside of it, an attractive young adult driving, he looked no more than thirty, or maybe less than forty. You had descended all those floors to meet the person your friend was talking about with enthusiasm and you were too surprised.

Chan got out of the car as soon as he saw Hari and opened the passenger door for her.

“She's my friend, y/n” your friend introduced you.

“Pleasure to meet you” you shook hands.

You were in absolute surprise and denial, suddenly everything started to feel like just a fever dream. You felt the heavy gaze of your friend's ‘partner’ and for a second you wondered if he was really the guy who slept with girls for money or the chauffeur of the lucky handsome rich man.

You gave him a small smile and Chan quickly looked at Hari with complicit eyes, silently asking if you knew who he was in her life to which Hari almost reading his mind nodded softly.

“I'll see you another day, goodbye” your friend said goodbye with a strong hug which you were too astonished to reciprocate.

And they both left, leaving you standing on the cold pavement of the parking lot with your thoughts floating.

You returned to your apartment with a million questions, questioning almost your existence. Imagining the possibility of getting into that silly app, you thought for a second that Hari must have had the greatest luck in the world to get the only handsome man in the whole system, whom you wouldn't be disgusted to sleep with even for a second. You thought if you really should pay attention to Felix, fall in love with him, live with him… but you shook your head vigorously to dismiss that idea, it was almost impossible not to fall in love with him but you didn't feel bitchy and cynical enough to take advantage of his love and money at the same time. You knew it was cruel and that he should be looking for someone because you understood each of his signals, and it was obvious that he was crazy about you but among the boring and miserable life you led, his attention was the only thing that kept you motivated.

You couldn't sleep and little by little you convinced yourself more, sex with a stranger? It shouldn't be so bad, having the same amount of money as Hari? it was such a bright dream for you. You could pay off your debts, look for a better place, and free yourself from the visit of the little witch every week. Now you were curious… if it was really reliable and if all your information was highly confidential.

You didn't even check the time and sent Hari a message: «How high security are we talking about in that app?» She replied «I'll tell you everything tomorrow» you noticed your friend's excitement when you realized how quickly she responded.

Until the next day arrived and after work you visited her new and remodeled apartment. It was unreal, you were breathless, the beautiful view and large windows, the harmony of its decoration, it was so bright to be true that if you managed to have money in this situation that you were about to get into, you wanted to keep it realistic, you were afraid that from one day to the next, you would have nothing, so changing your life drastically without having a fixed support was not an option for you, it wouldn't be something long term, just something to get you out of your soon predicament.

They sat on the couch in her spacious living room which was almost the size of your entire apartment.

“Do you want me to manage your account just to verify the data and all that?”

You nodded, you weren't sure what you were about to do, but there you were.

“Okay, all your data is done, they'll send you an e-nail confirmation and let you know if you've been selected to enjoy the app's services. So…”

You swallowed, watching as they wrote all your data to a strange email, your name, date of birth, occupation, your measurements, your physical appearance, number of sexual partners, if you've had any STDs and attach evidence that you're 100% clean, history of alcoholism and smoking…

“I think it's illegal for them to ask for so much data.”

“Don't worry, it'll be worth it.”

“Are you sure I won't end up in… some dark business?” you whispered the last sentence, terrified and nervous.

“Noo, you'll get all the data from the men who want to hire you, even their address while yours is never exposed.”

“I don't know, Hari, men naturally lie.”

Hari chuckled softly, sensing your nervousness.

“I'll put up a picture of you and send it, and…”

“Wait, what?”

“I sent it” she looked at you proudly. “It can take 24 to 48 hours to respond.”

Hours passed, and you were heating up your dinner when a call from Hari interrupted your time.

“You got approved, it was really fast. I'll come to see you.”

She hung up, and you took your food out of the microwave totally bewildered. An hour later, amid the serene night with little rain, your friend appeared at your door with a big smile.

“Why are you so excited? I'm literally about to sell my vagina to wetpussy.com.”

Hari laughed.

“But that will make you a millionaire overnight.”

“Mm” you expressed in disgust and let her in.

“I can't believe it was so fast, they really want you. You have the option to put your real name or a fake one, your real name you can only give if you want.”

“Please, a fake one.”

You were really regretting it.

“What name should I put you?”

“I don't know, just not mine.”

“Cheryl, like darling in French” she wrote with a smile “…except I need pictures…”

“Come on, I sent you the best ones.”

“I know, and you look spectacular, but there's an option where the money goes directly to your bank account once they unlock the function to see your photos…”

You felt like she didn't finish the sentence and you were a little annoyed by the situation, it irritated you to know that you had to do this, well, you didn't have to, and no one was forcing you, but you decided to do it.

“And?”

“They're spicy photos.”

“Absolutely not, is it necessary to do that?”

“Your face can't be seen, and the money goes directly to you. Every time someone opens the option, you get paid ₩10 million, well, it depends on how much the app values you.”

You were in denial until you almost regurgitated your dinner.

“That's an absurd amount.”

“I told you I wasn't joking, I didn't know what they were based on but according to Chan, they're based on dollars or something like that, so for them, it's quite little.”

“Fuck, does Chan have more sugar babies? Because if he continues, he'll go bankrupt.”

“I told you they're not ordinary people and they have to specify what they want, if you ever feel like they disrespect you and don’t follow what was previously established, you have every right to fine them and report them.”

“And make it a public legal issue? No thanks.”

“Then…”

“Well, I guess I have nothing to lose by taking a few lingerie photos, without showing my face!”

[…]

There you were, in the mall at a lingerie store on your day off, trying to find the best pieces that scream “classy slut”, you were so terrified, it means they must be men with a lot of money and extreme loneliness and desperation, so the least you could do was pretend to feel sorry for them and look pretty in a nice set.

You were spending your money on something you hoped would soon multiply by millions, until the sound of your phone startled you because you were so focused that you felt like you were doing something illegal. It was Felix.

“Hey.”

“Hey, where are you? It's your day off, right?” he said.

“Yes… I'm at the mall.”

You couldn't lie to him, the music and sound of people were so audible.

“At the usual one? No way, I'm here too, I'm buying a birthday present for Olivia, I wanted to ask you to help me.”

“Well if you want to wait…”

“Where exactly are you? I'll come find you.”

You didn't want to see him, you felt so guilty accepting dirty money from strangers and not the one he always offered you in the purest way without asking for anything in return, you felt terrible.

“I'm at…” you looked around trying to find another store to run away when he's near, but you couldn't. “Buying lingerie on the second floor.”

You told him the truth, you didn't think he would come. And you've always been someone without filters, except when it comes to Felix, only with him do you have a soft spot. There was a little silence.

“Do you have a date?”

His voice suddenly became serious and his tone of enthusiasm vanished.

“Well, it's complicated” you grimaced but he couldn't see you.

“I'm coming over there.”

Felix hung up on you suddenly and you just let out a sigh; you couldn't guess where he was to calculate his time and leave the store and meet him outside, but you really needed that outfit, your last nudes were taken when you were in high school when you did your first sexting with a guy in your class, who was a nice guy, Kim Seungmin from your science class, you fucked him in the basketball gym closet and he never ever told anyone, nor showed your nudes; but the situation was already twisted enough without putting up your old photos from when you were a minor, plus the light and angles weren't fancy enough to be worth 10 million won.

You rushed to find something fast and before you knew it, Felix had already arrived.

“I like that one” he said in his deep voice close to your ear taking you by surprise.

You turned to see him, today he looked cuter than usual, he had his hands clasped behind his back and a small smile on his sweet face.

“Felix…” you whispered.

“So, what's the occasion? Who are you going to wear that for?” he mumbled.

He wanted to hide his irritation in a soft tone, but he couldn't, he was annoyed.

“Oh, it's nothing, I just have to update my closet.”

“Then buy whatever you want and I'll pay for it” you were about to speak and he gently raised his index finger in objection. “Is it bothering you that I'm here? I can leave you my credit card and wait for you outside.”

Felix looked around innocently, he was surrounded by women's underwear and women. You smiled warmly at him.

“No, actually you can help me.”

You liked to play with Felix a little, you adored watching the way his face would lift and light up all over, his ears would perk up a little and his round eyes would get bigger, as happy as a loyal puppy. Objectively yes he could help you, he was also an incredibly wealthy man, you thought maybe all millionaires shared the same neuron or tastes to get them turned on.

“I'm between this one and this one” you showed him the pairs you had selected.

“Take both of them. Or as many as you want.”

You wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, you were suffocating to the idea of what you were going to do; you loved shopping but today….

“Come on, take some more, your closet won't be filled with just two” Felix added.

You smiled at him and chose a few more so he would stop talking and you could leave at once. Felix paid without any problem while the cashier looked at you with contempt and envy when she saw the pretty boy who accompanied you, slim, elegant, blond with long hair and an innocent face bathed in freckles.

“Thank you, Lix” you gave him a quick kiss on his soft, rosy cheek.

If Felix had a dog's tail, you were sure he'd be wagging it vividly and endlessly with happiness.

“Have you eaten yet? Let's go get something to eat…” he mentioned excitedly, turning to look at you.

“Mm, later, now I'll help you choose the gift for your sister.”

“Oh, yes, sure, what do you think, Cartier or Tiffany? Although Van Cleef is very fashionable among young girls. And maybe a Dior bag, I think it's her favorite brand; my father will give her her first Birkin so my bag will be like a toy, I don't know what to give her.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, Felix was talking and you were listening.

[…]

“Do you wanna go to my place? There's a movie I want to see. Only you would listen to me while I pause the movie every 5 minutes to make a comment.”

Felix spoke while he was driving, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye and noticed you distracted; you couldn't help it, you thought to yourself that you have to take good pictures and that maybe soon your pussy will be tasting a stranger's cock, for money, which made your hair stand on end. You came out of your trance when you realized Felix spoke.

“Yes, it's okay.”

You needed a distraction. And you missed movie nights —and commentary— with Felix, your best filmmaker friend.

“What are you doing on Saturday? You should go to Olivia's party, she's having a themed party after dinner with us; I don't know what her theme is yet, but I'll let you know. Olivia remembers you and likes you very much.”

Felix suggested trying to get your attention. You didn't even have to think about it, Felix's younger sister was a sweetheart like him, it was his older sister who was a tough crowd, you knew she didn't like you and that she thought you only hung out with her brother for his money, she almost fainted when she found out you were on scholarship and lived in a middle class neighborhood. It was enough for you to know that Felix drove you everywhere, that was too much for you.

“I'll think about it… I have a deadline this Sunday for a report.”

He pressed his lips together, knowing you were lying, but he didn't blame you, he thought maybe it would be too much pressure to meet his family.

“So… Are you going to tell me who you're going to wear that lingerie for? Is it someone from the university that I know?” Felix tried to be subtle, but he was dying to know who was going to touch you other than him.

You and Felix had almost done it for multiple times but you always stopped yourself, you couldn't do it because you were afraid he would do it so well and so sweetly that you would end up falling in love with him. He loved the way you made him completely horny, almost cumming in his pants.

And then you had a great idea, if you were going to get into that business you had to be cool and think it would only be a simple fuck, you wouldn't concentrate on anything but feeling a hard cock in your pussy… so you had to fuck Felix right now, there was no other way to prove you were an insensitive bitch than to fuck the only man you have ever felt love and respect for.

You tried to get flirtatious and quickly changed your mood.

“Maybe you're right, he's someone you know very well.”

You spoke slowly and seductively, staring at him, you must have recognized that you really have a very attractive best friend, he quickly noticed your heavy look and the change of mood, so he swallowed nervously and looked at you surprised with opening his pretty eyes in pity and that didn't help you at all, he looked fucking cute when he was like that.

“Oh yeah?” he added playfully looking sideways and running his tongue along the inside of his cheeks.

You moved closer to him and brushed his cheek with the tip of your nose seductively, while your left hand traveled dangerously from his thigh to his crotch where you massaged his growing bulge.

“Let's go to your place and you tell me what you think of each of the sets you bought me, for him.”

You noticed the irregularity of Felix's breathing, you didn't want to act clumsy and end up fucking him in the car, even though it was incredibly spacious enough… but you knew that when Felix was aroused and totally yielding to your charms and touches, he wasn't thinking clearly.

“Let's listen to music while we wait” you added amused.

You moved away from him and played music through the screen of his modern car, almost letting out a giggle, you didn't know if Felix hated you for that or was just turned on and, for him it was the second option, all the way he was uncomfortable with his pants drowning his cock, but he didn't know how to ask you nicely that if possible you could give him a handjob right there, to which he concluded that there was no decent way to say it so he waited until finally arriving at his pent-house.

As you entered the elevator you both kissed desperately, you almost smiled between the kisses knowing how much fun it would be to finally taste your best friend. Felix was holding all the shopping bags tightly, or at least he was trying to, he wanted to keep his hands on your waist and glued you to him, so once you reached his apartment, he let go of the bags and kept kissing you mercilessly, it felt so good, his warm hands on your waist, his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth and your lips joined with a huge appetite. You realized he wanted to take control and if he did, you would end up making love slowly and not just fucking, so you gently pushed him away, he saw you confused with puffy lips and a look of lust.

“Let me show you how good it all looks on me.”

You gave him a quick kiss and took his hand, directing him to the couch where he sat.

He licked his lips as he bit them, stretched out his arms and settled back, trying to ignore his throbbing sex. He loved the way you played with it.

You took the first piece of black full body lace lingerie. You undressed in front of him and slowly and painfully slipped it on, Felix was struggling with his immense desire to make you his.

“Help me.”

You dropped onto his lap pretending to have trouble putting the garment on, you were so wet, you wanted to feel him like you had never wanted to feel him before. Felix put his hands on your body and quickly reached for your pussy, pulling the tight, thin fabric away from your center and began to play with your clit. You moaned, losing control of your initial plan as you were surrendered to his touch.

You unbuttoned his pants, removing them and his underwear in exasperation. And there was your friend's hard, firm cock lightly lubricated in semen, as nice and thin as he was, it looked exquisite, and you were going to ride it so well.

“Felix, the condom” you practically begged.

He gasped at the touch of your hand and firm grip, “over there,” he mumbled pointing to a cabinet with a drawer, you thought for a second if he fucks regularly or why he had condoms in accessible and strategic places. You walked by the condom, feeling your wetness with every step and positioned yourself in front of him, your knees on either side of his thighs.

“You should take pictures of me, with each of the lingerie, exclusively for you; I want you to know that I'm really grateful every time you do something nice for me” you stared at him as you opened the wrapper.

You put the condom on him, you could see how gorgeous, red and swollen his cock was ready for you, and slowly, carefully pulling the fabric apart, you sat on it, inserting it and feeling every inch as you went down.

“Shit, y/n, move for me” Felix gasped.

You moaned as you felt it buried in your pussy and began to enjoy yourself endlessly, jumping on his erection as each squat made you lose your breath. Felix held you tightly by the waist, accentuating each movement. You gave yourself thrusts leaning on his thighs and, when you felt his cock throbbing and his body getting weaker and weaker indicating his orgasm, you hugged him on his shoulders and kept moving your hips and ass with agility.

Felix completely agreed that you would take control and held your ass helping you a little until, between gasps and almost crying, Felix finally cummed. You were so possessed by adrenaline, you could feel your orgasm so close, that you accelerated your squats and held your breath for a second until you finally exploded in a sea of sighs and glistening fluid.

You dropped your tired body on Felix's shoulder, feeling his scent and immediately regretted it, it had been amazing, but you always thought the first time you would fuck Felix would be so sweet, on a warm day, maybe in spring, involving roses and a date… not in such a dirty way on a cold October night on his living room couch.

“You know I like you a lot, y/n. Let's stay that way.”

And you said something really stupid, something you had no intention of saying. You wondered what he meant, whether to continue to stay like this fucking, or cuddling?

“I like you too.”

You kept hiding in his neck, you were a coward who can't accept that you were capable of feeling something for someone.

And if that wasn't enough to make you feel bad, he gave you the sweetest cuddles once you came out of his cock, he tended you carefully and told you how pretty you looked.

After that he took your long awaited pictures and after taking your last one, he made sure to reward you so well that he ended up eating your pussy.

You ended the night by taking a shower together, and fucking you again in there; you watched the movie while he commented on each annotation he made, but Felix fell asleep halfway through, in your arms. You didn't know what to do, you didn't know if you were going to continue that way with him and you still weren't ready to take the big step of accepting his money just because suddenly you go out and he gives you everything, his sister already hated you… what would people think; you cared more about your situation with him than about what they would think if I slept with a stranger for money situation, although, nobody had to know it was for money, if somehow someone found out, you could say it was just a fuck, you thought.

So, resigned to the fact that you still had to pay your rent, you sent the pictures to Hari, to which she quickly replied with a «wow! I got em» Thirty minutes later, a screenshot of what your profile looked like, it was embarrassing for you. «I'll be sure to get you the best deals😉», she wrote back.

The next morning you woke up in Felix's bed, wearing his clothes; he must have moved you and you hadn't even noticed, you reached for your phone and couldn't believe your eyes, notifications from your bank account app, you had received ₩ 40 million.

You were ready to tell Hari that you had enough with what you were getting just for the pictures, you couldn't believe it.

[…]

And, on the other side of the city, in one of the best, luxurious and exclusive hotels in the place, the hotel owner himself, the young and wealthy Hwang Hyunjin and his friend who fit in the same category as him, Lee Minho, were having brunch.

“Ah, Lee Minho, he can finally have brunch with you in his busy schedule” Hyunjin told him.

Hyunjin had arrived and Minho was waiting for him, sitting in one of the hotel's restaurants next to the large window with a view of the city. Hyunjin was more into art, but being the only son of his powerful father who owned hotel chains, he gave him that one right on his 18th birthday, since then Hyunjin has taken more than good care of it, and decorates it in his favorite pieces of art, his favorite part.

Minho stood up to greet him, shaking hands and a quick hug.

“Busy me? If it's you who's going around the country with your galleries” Minho replied, sitting down.

“I know, I know, it's unbelievable. Have you ordered lunch yet?”

“Yes.”

“I'll order the same” Hyunjin shouted to his employee as he sat in his chair facing Minho.

“Big day tomorrow, huh?” added Minho.

“Of course, you have to be there, I even left the presidential suite just for you.”

Hyunjin leaned back in his chair clasping his hands together with a smile on his face. Minho laughed softly.

“I don't get ready in hotels anymore.”

“Well, do it for me this time, like old times. Besides… you have a plus one to my gallery event.”

Minho's soft, amused look tensed a little when he heard his friend.

“Oh yeah? Well, I think I'll go alone.”

“In fact it's mandatory that you go with someone, so I got you that someone.”

“No thanks, I'd rather not go.”

Hyunjin smiled sideways seeing how cute his friend was getting when he was getting into his temper.

“It's a girl, but if you want a boy you have to tell me before tonight” he joked.

“Why can't I be your date then?”

“I'm sorry, I'm already going with someone tomorrow. But I think it's time for you to start seeing more people.”

Minho gave him a dirty look, he didn't want to have that conversation at their meeting after weeks of not being aware of their lives.

“I'm fine, I'm busy.”

“When was the last time you fucked someone” Hyunjin blurted out in amusement trying to smooth the conversation.

“It's none of your business.”

“I'll take that as you haven't done it in a long time.”

“If you care so much why don't you fuck me in the suite.”

Hyunjin laughed, gently touching his nose, though deep down he believed this was no time for joking… or at least it was a little since he didn't know how to tell him what he had to say.

“I would but you'd have to pay back every penny I spent on the pretty girl.”

“You paid money to a girl to sleep with me against my will? Artists are weird, I thought we were in the 21st century.”

Hyunjin couldn't hold it in anymore so he licked his lips and finally confessed:

“Soyul will be there.”

Minho's smirk left his face little by little and his heart almost stopped when he heard after so long the name of his ex-girlfriend; and that was exactly what Hyunjin was referring to and of the expression on his friend's part that Hyunjin feared for. He couldn't lie to him, Soyul was one of his biggest investors, she had to be present and he couldn't fool his friend; he knew he still wasn't over her, not even after two long years since their breakup; in fact, the idea of getting him someone started a few weeks ago, at their meeting where a drunken Minho confessed to him in tears the deep pain and misery he felt after the one he considered the love of his life left him. That was for Hyunjin the straw that broke the camel's back, he was not going to see his friend depressed.

“So?” Minho tried to sound nonchalant.

“She's going with her boyfriend… and I think you're still not over her….”

“And you decided to hire a hooker? That's why you left me the suite, isn't it, motherfucker?”

“She's not a-, well, if you don't want to fuck her, don't, just let her keep you company at my event.”

“Weren't the regular girls available?”

“All the normal girls in our social circle know Soyul and let's face it, they are very gossipy, it will be embarrassing for you for them to know that you haven't moved on with….”

“I can go alone” he interrupted him, he couldn't bear to hear him say his ex-girlfriend's name one more time.

“Come on, Minho, give yourself a chance, she is really pretty, she is an actress and…”

“A porn actress?” he interrupted him, not taking it seriously.

Meanwhile, their waitress was delivering their food and drinks, trying to act normal after overhearing the conversation.

“She's a real actress. I'll text you all her information. She's a Scorpio like you if you care about zodiac signs.”

Minho didn't answer, he didn't feel like dealing with anything else.

“They're freaky” Hyunjin poke as he picked up his cutlery, Minho frowned. “Scorpios. They say they’re good in bed.”

[...]

“I got wonderful news”

Hari suddenly appeared with a huge smile at your work.

“Hello to you too?”

“Can you take a break?”

“I'll be back in 5” you shouted and took off your apron to go out with your friend.

“I'm about to close a deal, I think you should have the money by now. You have to quit your job now, you have a date on Saturday.”

You were perplexed.

“Hari, what did you do?” you felt your phone vibrate in the back pocket of your jeans.

And there it was, your bank account with an imaginable amount, you opened your mouth in surprise, this was starting to get serious with an amount like that.

“I told you.”

“But who is it? What does he look like?” you didn't know how to react.

“Don't worry, they are Chan's friends, they are 100% reliable.”

“Is it more than one?” you opened your eyes in surprise.

“It's not… it’s complicated, a friend of Chan's, Hyunjin hired you for his friend Minho, who said he agreed, he just didn't use the app. I wanted to negotiate for him to pay for both of them but I guess he was pretty generous. Anyway, he just wants you to accompany Minho to Hyunjin's exclusive exhibition and pretend to be in a relationship with him for at least two hours?”

It was a lot of information to process, you didn't know what to say.

“Hyunjin will explain you more in detail but seriously you have to go otherwise you will be fined that same amount paid and a little more. You can leave as soon as you feel uncomfortable since apparently Minho has a strong personality.”

“Believe me, I'll leave as soon as I walk through the door.”

[…]

There you were on your Saturday night, standing in front of the door of a luxurious hotel, you walked in and met the handsome young man who was in charge of filling your bank account. You walked shyly toward him and greeted him with embarrassment. His dress code was clear: a short black dress fitted to your silhouette, comfortable shoes and normal underwear. He was going to dress you.

You looked at him, there he was, the famous Hwang Hyunjin himself from the large dynasty of the Hwangs, very influential people; he was taller than you, he had sharp eyes and thick lips, he was more attractive in person and he had to tell you the same.

“You look spectacular, chérie” he mentioned flirtatiously. “Come here” he invited you to come closer and you did.

You weren't a big fan of this, but you had to admit that something inside you grew and made you feel incredibly horny, the atmosphere of the hotel, the tense silence and the incredibly handsome man in front of you, in addition to your submissive behavior… rarely turned you on a bit.

“Do you want me to call you a make up artist or your make up it’s fine?” he gently touched your hair.

You looked up to see him.

“I think, it’s okay like this.”

You were nervous and slightly horny.

You did your best job with your make up and hair already, the make up was natural and elegant but still visible, matte nude eyeshadow, sharp eyeliner, elongated lashes, soft blush and lipgloss. Your hair was styled with soft waves.

“Great, so we don’t waste more time. You look beautiful already, actually you look better than the photos” he put his hands in his pants pockets and looked at you up and down biting his lip. “The dress is ready in the room, but you know what actually, bring it right here. Dress in front of me.”

Hyunjin was already aroused and was fighting his instincts to seduce and touch you, yet you were his friend's tonight, but he thought it only fair to see first what he had paid for. He sat comfortably on the couch and waited for you to return. On the other hand you were more than nervous and strangely agitated with excitement, that dark-haired man dressed in a tight suit all white because that was the theme of the party and finally there it was, a dress whose style and logo you could recognize so well. A white Versace mini dress that you assumed would fit to your mid thighs, you thought you had only seen that style in black so it was strange to see it in the brand's signature pearl white; until you saw the name Hyunjin embroidered on the label, was it designed for you? A shiny black Jimmy Choo silhouette heels, and a white crossbody bag from the same designer of the dress, you were speechless, so amazed that you almost forgot Hyunjin's request, he wanted you to change in front of him, then you saw something that terrified you, a beautiful white lingerie that went perfect under the dress, he wanted to see you naked.

You wanted it to be quick, almost like pulling off a bandit, so you tried to take everything and brought it close to him where you found him sitting on the couch ready for his little private show. You undid your black dress at the bottom so as not to ruin your hair and unthinkingly removed your underwear. Hyunjin was engrossed, he wondered why he didn't choose you, but for him after seeing your naked body. He was struggling as hard as he could to keep an erection from appearing in his pants, but it was too late.

You took off your low sandals ready to put on your underwear but he interrupted you.

“Let me help you.”

He took the garment and squatted down while helping you slide your panties to your area. Hyunjin enjoyed every second of the soft touch of your legs and then stood up to help you fasten your strapless bra. You could feel the tension in the air so you just bit your lip, resisting his hot touches and his warm breath on the back of your neck.

Finally you put on your dress and heels and you looked completely different, you never thought you would get to wear something like that to a type of event you don't frequent. You awkwardly moved the things from your bag to the new one and tried to regain your sanity.

“Something's missing” he spoke and grabbed your left wrist.

Hyunjin put on you the characteristic white clover bracelet with gold from the refined Van Cleef jewelry.

“Well, you've seen Minho. This is the key and it's two floors up from here” he added, handing you the access card. “I want to see the two of you together in the gallery, he may even could offer you the double of money so you can leave, but please, you have to go with him.”

Hyunjin now spoke in a commanding tone giving you instructions, his hot moment had passed, he had to concentrate.

“And please… let me know if you and Minho fuck, if the idiot doesn't touch you we can maybe go to…. how about Santorini?”

It seemed that you had your feelings locked in a box and that you acted according to a fever dream. You thought you were an actress and could get out of it easily, you just had to act. Your role was now about a rich girl wannabe.

You entered the room unannounced as instructed by Hyunjin and took a few steps forward until Minho heard the door open, interrupting his grooming time so he came out of his room wrapped in a towel and still with slightly wet hair.

“I didn't order room serv…” he said.

Minho stopped dead in his tracks as he looked at you standing there. You didn't know what to do, you were frozen in place; you looked at him, he looked handsome and was half naked, except for the towel covering his private parts, you couldn't help seeing him, his worked body, muscular arms but not exaggerated, his abdomen marked with a small scar above his navel and…. you felt bad but you thought he was looking directly at you too, his marked penis above the white towel. Minho smiled sideways at your nerve to look at him and could tell your mild surprise as you looked at his package, a valid reaction he thought.

“You're in the wrong room or are you lost?”

Minho could predict why you were there, after all you could only get in with the key. He looked at you sternly waiting for an answer. You took a breath and spoke.

“I will be your companion today at the art exhibition.”

Minho laughed and let out a breath.

“I don't remember ordering a hooker either. That fucker Hyunjin sent you, didn’t he?”

The term took you by surprise and you were offended, you were about to defend yourself when he continued speaking.

“Seriously, you can go, I'll pay you more than whatever that bastard gave you, just go” he waved his hands in a gesture for you to leave.

“I won't.”

“Will you make me call security?”

“Do it” you challenged.

Minho exhaled in annoyance and touched his forehead in concern.

“I'm going to kill Hwang Hyunjin.”

Without another word he went back to his room and thirty minutes later he came out ready dressed in a white suit with his serious expression. He looked at you for a few seconds with contempt as he passed by you and headed towards his door ready to leave, you ran towards him, leaving at the same time.

“I don't know what Hyunjin is up to but when I see him I'll…”

He was expressing himself annoyed until more people entering the elevator interrupted him.

“I'll get my car keys” he said to you indifferently as he walked away towards the hotel counter.

You followed Minho, keeping a distance; you glanced around, being able to see from the huge waiting room to the large entrance to the restaurant where you could also see and your heart stopped for a moment when you spotted a long dyed blonde hair sitting at one of the tables. You turned quickly, hoping he couldn't see you, but as if fate would have it, you managed to see him leave his seat and approach the foyer. In panic you slipped into the waiting room where you sat with your back turned.

Felix went straight to Minho.

“Lee Minho” he blond greeted him enthusiastically.

“Hey, Yongbokkie, what brings you here.”

Minho turned to look at Felix and frowned when he saw that you were no longer behind his back, he looked at you for a few seconds until he deduced that you might have finally run away, which made him happy and disappointed at the same time.

“It's Olivia's birthday dinner”.

“Oh, congratulate her for me” the blond smiled at him.

“Are you about to leave?” Felix said.

“Yes, I'm going to Hyunjin's.”

“Sure, sure, maybe I'll stop by later.”

Minho just smiled at him and asked a few more trivial questions about his parents.

“Mr. Lee, your car is outside waiting for you” the employee interrupted them.

“I have to go Felix, I'll see you later.”

“Of course.”

You were hiding, praying that Felix wouldn't recognize your hair and suddenly you saw him chatting with your 'date' for tonight, apparently they were friends so you felt more terrified, what if by chance Minho decides to tell Felix? Oh you would be ruined. After the short talk you saw Minho leaving towards the exit so once again you slipped away almost running to catch up with Minho. He was surprised to see you back by his side. Minho said,

“Mm, the night was just starting to get nice when I thought you had left.”

You gave him a dirty look and followed him to his car where you sat in the passenger seat. When Minho put on his seat belt he noticed the shiny gold detail on the strap of your dress, it was the medusa logo characteristic of that high fashion Italian brand.

“The bastard dressed you in Versace, you already look more like his than mine.”

You stood still not knowing what to say, it was maybe the first nice thing he had said to you during all your short time together.

Minho inspected you quickly, he was so upset that his friend didn’t lie, and just like Hyunjin said, you were a really pretty girl.

“But he didn't put earrings on you, if you're going to come with me you have to look your best.”

Once again he spoke in a resigned tone and arrived at Tiffany's jewelry store. Minho was resigned to the fact that you would accompany him tonight so he thought if you were going to make Soyul jealous, you really had to do it. Besides he had already inspected you, at first glance you were too pretty and that dress fit you like a dream so that speeded things up.

Once again, you had to go behind him and you entered the luxurious establishment.

“Good evening, Mr. Lee, how can I help you? Would you like something to drink?” the worker hurried to say to you once you entered, with a smile, looking quickly towards you.

You noticed how she looked at you in surprise since Minho hadn't brought another girl since two years ago when he was still in a relationship.

“Nothing for me in particular, I'm looking for earrings for women.”

“Of course, I'll show you.”

Minho followed the young woman and you followed Minho, who led you deeper into one of the display counters; you had come a lot of times with Felix every time it was a special occasion for his family since he had been raised among only women, he always offered to buy you some jewelry but you flatly refused. And now there you were, about to accept them from a stranger.

“Choose” he ordered you. “Quickly, I don't like to be late” he looked at his watch.

Timidly you leaned down to look at each one of the fine jewelry until a pair of gold diamond earrings in the shape of a flower caught your attention.

“These” you murmured to Minho.

The clerk stood waiting for his confirmation.

“I'll take those.”

He quickly took care of paying for them without looking at the price and they were finally delivered in their characteristic turquoise box with a white bow. He got into the car first and left the box there, you snorted for a second annoyed at how ungentlemanly and attentive he was, one second you felt like a princess wearing Versace and taking you to Tiffany & Co. and the next you had to run to keep up with him.

As soon as you got in, he said curtly:

“Use them, we're about to get to Hyunjin's.”

You watched him take the steering wheel attractively and noticed two boxes in between of you. You didn't know why you took the other one and Minho, noticing it, quickly placed his hand on yours stopping you.

“It's the other box.”

You looked at him, he acted a little strange; you took the other box and put on those sparkling diamonds. You had taken the old engagement ring that Minho bought for Soyul before they broke up, he was ready to give it up as it was of no use to him, it was made to fit his ex-girlfriend's finger.

When you arrived you saw that it was not a simple exhibition, but a chateau style mansion with many cars parked at the grand entrance, you got nervous, just like Minho, normally he didn't get like this but it would be the first time he would see Soyul accompanied by the man why she left him and also he had his first kind of date after so long.

Minho let out a breath.

“Well, we have to do it right. You're an actress, right? Create a character right now so we can both be on the same page.”

You didn't know what to say.

“I can change my name and….”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Which one is right for you?”

“Anything…”

“Choi Eunjoo… photographer from…”

“A place far away, what about Jeju?” he mentioned intensely, he was nervous.

You nodded. You had chosen the name of an inactive random actress who studied at the same university as you, who was a friend of Felix's mother and whose cinematography he forced you to watch while your friend argued how good she looked at her age. If they try to look you up for your name, they would be surprised to see only her and her inactive projects in the early 2000s.

“Okay, let's go.”

You both walked down the dirt road, once you came out of the darkness and Minho noticed people watching, he grabbed you by the waist.

“And what is your real name, Eunjoo?” he whispered to you.

[…]

It was better than you expected, you didn't imagine that there would be a construction like this in the modern city, you drank Champagne while you didn't leave Minho's side even for a second; after a couple of drinks you both relaxed completely and walked around the house and admired Hyunjin's paintings. This was maybe a normal Saturday for Minho, but it was for you a dream, you felt like Cinderella, once the clock struck 12 and the charm would be completely gone.

At one point in a room you both finally met Hyunjin, Minho came over to greet him and you shyly watched them chat, Hyunjin gave you a complicit look and smile, he hadn't seen Minho relaxed in years, sadly it was short lived as Soyul entered the room.

You noticed Minho's jaw tighten and saw where his eyes were fixed, on a pretty slim woman with the face of a celebrity. You quickly understood and walked over to Minho, linking your arm around his.

“You're here” she said to him.

She quickly looked at you.

“I'm still Hyunjin's friend.”

“Jung Soyul, nice to meet you” she introduced herself.

You held hands and Minho saw something that broke his heart once again, an engagement ring on her finger, suddenly the alcohol left his body, he felt sick, the suit was suffocating him.

“Choi Eunjoo” you smiled at her.

“So are you dating?”

Hyunjin could notice the sour look she had on you and that caused him satisfaction.

“Yes” Minho went ahead to say.

“I haven’t see you before, Choi Eunjoo.”

She said hypocritically, blinking repeatedly.

“Oh, it's just that, I'm an indie photographer from Jeju and… I met Minho and the rest is history.”

“Oh, now that's romantic.”

“More romantic than getting to know each other when you're in another relationship” Hyunjin added amusedly, taking a sip of his drink.

Soyul gave him a dirty look. And Minho didn't find it funny, he wanted to get out of there. Soyul knew him so well and noticed his expression, meanwhile you were analyzing the look of pity she was giving your boss, so you turned to see him, he looked serious and pale. You quickly approached his ear, covering your lips and whispered to him:

“We can get out of here if you want, pretend I'm saying something nice to you and smile naturally. You're acting weird.”

And so he did, Minho smiled softly; he hadn't felt the touch of another woman in years, suddenly your warm breath and soft lips brushing minimally against his ear pleased him.

“We haven't seen the whole exhibition yet, excuse me” he added, taking your hand.

You moved far enough away and, in a crowded room, he let go of your hand and walked out the large doors to what you could see was a balcony. You didn't know whether to follow him, but you did anyway.

He had unbuttoned his suit and a few buttons on his shirt, he felt suffocated. You saw him leaning against the white stone railing.

“Should I ask what's got you like this?” you said softly.

“You don't have to follow me around all the time” he added defensively. “Soyul cheated on me and now she is going to marry that motherfucker, what a great night to find out.”

You didn't say anything, you didn't know how to comfort someone and in a way, Minho was grateful for your silence.

“Well, once I say it out loud it sounds pathetic” he added.

“Hyunjin told me it was complicated for you…” you approached him and hesitated to touch him, but slowly rubbed your hand on his back, “that he wants the best for you and you start to meet new people.”

Minho let out a chuckle and watched you carefully, he hadn't given himself the task of observing how pretty you looked in that dress, under the moonlight, the way your eyes sparkled and how your lips looked so appetizing, Minho found himself losing his temper a bit for you so he quickly rejected any feelings and immaturely, he became elated and said:

“I don't know why I'm saying this things to a hooker anyway.”

He brushed off your touch and walked away leaving you absolutely lost and somewhat hurt.

The rest of the night you didn't find Minho and you were starting to get scared, you felt out of place, lost in a huge house, full of rich people laughing in their own social circle, you were so sensitive you wanted to cry, you wondered if Minho had abandoned you there.

You checked the time, past midnight and 5 minutes, it was time to go. You tried to look for a way out until you made it, you felt so embarrassed that you would ask for a cab but the signal on your phone there was terrible.

Suddenly you felt a big hand grab your wrist, you turned around scared and found the man you almost cried for tonight.

“Let's get out of here.”

Confused, he led you to his car and you parted on the road in silence. Minho had pondered all night and wanted to take the next step, to finally be with a woman other than his ex-girlfriend, but he didn't know exactly how to ask you.

As you merged into the city you realized he was heading in an unknown direction until you reached the hills in one of the more upscale neighborhoods and finally saw that he had taken you to his house.

You thought he was a selfish piece of shit and there were two options, suddenly he wanted to fuck you or he went home exhausted and sad and would let you call a cab to take you home. But what you didn't know was that he was cynically leaning towards the first option.

You got out of the car and now he was the one running towards you.

“Why that face y/n?” he said, approaching you.

You looked at him indignantly, suddenly he was calling you by name and wanted to have you close, you thought he must be drunk.

“Let's go inside, you have to be a good girl and thank me for the earrings, I'll make sure to buy you more pairs.”

He grabbed you by the waist, you noticed how his voice became gravelly, but that wasn't how you fell and he knew he said a couple of hurtful things but he didn't know how to apologize. You questioned whether you should play along, fuck him and call it a day and go home, as sadly you had to play along, or so you thought.

You stared into his eyes, those big dark eyes in a cute cat shape, he was attractive and from what you saw earlier he had a good dick, so you decided that if you would cry at least make sure it was worth it.

“What do you have in mind?” you rounded his neck and moved your face closer.

He smiled mischievously and, the next thing you knew, you were both in his home entrance devouring each other's lips. Minho had a lot of dirty ideas while he was away from you during the party, the alcohol made him horny. He took off his coat and untucked his shirt and undid his belt. He slipped his hands under your dress lifting it and shamelessly squeezed and massaged your ass, drawing you to his body where you began to feel his erection rubbing against you; Minho loved the idea of touching your bare ass since you only had tiny panties on, you moaned as you felt his lips and tongue on your neck, for some reason his mouth was so soft and you were a complete sucker when you were treated to a lot of physical contact during sex.

You parted and an act of lust, he sought to undo your dress and bra, he stared at you, semi naked for him and began to move his kisses down your breasts without breaking eye contact, it looked fucking good to watch him as he moved down your body and feasted himself on your tits until he moved down to your underwear and wet pussy. By this point you were panting and in need of action. His sharp nose brushed against your mons pubis and he slowly slid your underwear down your legs until he stripped them from you. He parted your legs a little and you felt his hot breath on your area screaming for attention. Minho took your pussy with his big hands and parted your folds, sticking his tongue out shyly and giving your whole pussy a deep, dirty kiss. You gave a little cry of excitement and didn't think you were capable of standing in heels while he ate you out.

Minho felt so good, with his thumb he stimulated your clit as you gave little spasms into him from your excitement. He noticed that you were becoming increasingly impossible to hold so he stopped, carried you suddenly upstairs to his room. Minho laid you down on his bed while he stayed on the edge of it finishing undressing himself. You watched the spectacle with excitement, from his notorious veins to his hands undoing buttons that looked tiny and finally his pants releasing his big firm erect cock, your heart raced faster just watching it, it was delicious, he was incredibly endowed, it was big and thick with notorious veins, you bit your lip thinking how incredibly painful but pleasurable that would feel in your pussy.

Minho saw your reaction and quickly positioned himself over you, he took your wrists and held them with one hand above your head.

“Did you like what you see, little whore?”

You nodded, unable to speak properly, if you tried to say anything it would surely be in a needy tone. You could feel him slapping your belly every time he came closer to you.

“You want it in your mouth?”

You almost screamed please, but before you could speak, Minho lay back waiting to be satisfied. On your knees and arching your back purposely giving him a view of your dripping pussy, you took his big cock and inserted it into your mouth tasting every vein. Minho sat up and began to fuck you with two fingers inserting them into your vagina. You are a mess, completely wet, with cum and saliva sliding down the corner of your lips, you didn't think it could have been better until you feel his hands on your hips and he tries to position you on top of him. You helped him a little and for the first time you were experiencing the 69 position.

You were panting between his big dick, your nose was starting to get slippery and little tears were coming out of your eyes. On the other hand Minho had his tongue deep inside you, he was tasting your labia, and stimulating your clitoris and from time to time he passed your wetness stimulating your exposed ass.

You stopped sucking him off when you felt your climax near, you sat up while resting your hands on his marked abdomen, only your gasps and grotesque sound of Minho devouring your pussy could be heard in the room, occasionally he would let out tinies 'mmmh' enjoying every second of you. You clung more to his abdomen and lifted your ass gently so as not to rest all your weight on him; you threw your head back blinded with pleasure.

“I'm gonna cum” you announced in a desperate, choked cry.

And just when you didn't think it could have been any better, Minho accelerated his licking and sucked harder, bringing you to the edge until you collapsed in his mouth. Your orgasm had been so strong that it hurt your abdomen a little.

You pulled away from him, embarrassed and soaking wet but Minho was more than happy. He leaned back on his elbows and wiped his mouth with a smile, it had been a long time since he had the intimacy of good sex, let alone eating such an appetizing nice pussy like yours, he smiled as he was satisfied that he was still excellent in bed.

You looked at his naked body again, his hard cock was needy and sensitive and within seconds you were horny again. Minho grabbed you roughly by the face and kissed you heatedly. He pulled away from you and with his hand made a motion indicating you to turn around, confused you showed him your ass and put yourself in four.

Minho without thinking caressed your buttocks and then spanked you hard 5 times in a row, each stroke exalted you and made you moan pleasurably, your skin was burning with pain, you could predict that your ass was thus as red as your riotous cheeks.

Minho played with your pussy a little, reinserting his fingertips, you saw him take a condom and within seconds you felt the latex on the tip of his penis teasing your entrance. Until you felt him slowly insert half of his erection and then insert the rest all at once causing you to let out a soft cry. You arched your back again as you gently moved your ass, adjusting yourself to his massive cock, filling your insides.

“I'm going to fuck you hard, kitten.”

He murmured and without warning and without mercy he began to ram you bestially making the sound of his pelvis slapping your buttocks resonate along with the sounds of your wet and well lubricated cunt. You couldn't help but moan every time he was inside, you felt like you were going to swoon all over him, it felt so good for you as well as for him, finally, the adrenaline and desire to fuck someone who wasn't as vanilla as his ex-girlfriend, Minho always liked to fuck hard.

You were in paradise, you were wearing diamonds and he was abruptly pounding your insides. Minho was holding you by the hips but soon grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it, riding you wonderfully; his view was beautiful, he pulled his grip tighter and pressed you to his body, your back rubbing against his bare chest, you could feel his cock protruding from your lower belly, thrusting you hard. In one swift movement, he held you with his strong right arm whose naughty fingers pinched and stimulated your clit and with his left hand he began to gently choke you. He gasped from time to time in your ear “fuck” over and over again. You both synchronized your climax and you felt the grip of his hand on your neck getting tighter and tighter until you couldn't breathe, you adored it, you loved how your body was fighting for oxygen but at the same time seeking the culmination of your pleasure, your heart beat faster and oxytocin shot out of your system and in desperation you placed your hands on his hand on your neck, you felt every vein exalted from his strong grip.

You thought you were going to pass out but it was only your shuddering second orgasm, Minho slowly released you and cum on the condom still inside you. You ended up exhausted, racing and with your limbs trembling.

You had never been fucked so well that you almost felt the need to tell him I love you so you could have him forever.

The next morning you woke up naked, still in his comfortable bed. When you opened your eyes you found Minho buttoning his shirt, he looked all tidy and was getting ready.

“Are you going somewhere on Sunday?”

You spoke, hoarse and still asleep.

Minho turned to see you and smiled, he thought you looked cute with your hair in disarray and your face a little puffy, but after a second he regretted it. He refused to feel anything for you other than just desire.

“You have to go. The driver is outside.”

He told you coldly and walked out of his room, leaving you slightly heartbroken.

He was unbelievable.

[strayzid]

THIS WAS SOOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOSO GOOD WHAT???? i like, need part 2!!!!! i am so serious right now this was one of the best things ive read in a while 😻🙏 ty so much for this masterpiece. also i love hyunjin on this, HE WAS SO REAL WTF LMAOOOOO i just imagined him giving the ex girlfriend THE side eye and drinking, like "girrrllll shut up". lol i love this. if it has a taglist, please put me in 🥰🙏

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[imanutcase-10]

Then bring me luck

[thirddeadlysin]

the day after I posted this last time I was notified that I was selected for a really cool mentorship gig and got an unrelated glowing review at work

[starryy-berryy]

I reposted this and all my practicals went decently. This potato works fr OMGGGGGG

[starryy-berryy]

Reblogging because exams aa gaye

[heeslut4life-deactivated2024072]

potato of luck.. GIVE ME FUCKING LUCK PLEASE😭🤞🏻

[yoongiluvr223-deactivated202405]

potato of luck PLEASEEE gimme some luck 🤞🤞🤞🤞

[wonuvs]

aint playing with my luck, i gotta pass this fucking final

[strayzid]

PLREEEEEEERRRASE