#1 tile challenge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vunblr · 5 months ago

Text

Toy Soldier (part 1)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings:Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Eventual Smut. Dark Content: Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 5.6.k.

notes: Even though this fic will include the tone I usually maintain in my stories, there will be flashbacks to unpleasant events that might be triggering. Please read the warnings carefully, and if I’ve missed any, feel free to let me know. More tags will be added in the future.

Masterlist

The cell reeked of bleach and iron, a suffocating blend of sterility and blood. She sat huddled in a corner with her knees drawn to her chest, shaking from the lingering aftershocks of what they had made her do mere hours ago. A steel table in the center of the room bore the evidence: blood-soaked rags, reinforced restraints, and instruments that glinted menacingly under the harsh light.

The door creaked open, and she flinched instinctively. Her pulse quickened as they rolled him in on a gurney, his body was impossibly broken again, but somehow, still alive. The Winter Soldier. His mask was cracked, exposing a bruised cheekbone, his metallic arm hung at an unnatural angle, wires sparking like dying fireflies. His tactic suit was shredded, revealing deep gashes that glistened with dark blood.

"Fix him," the handler barked, void of empathy. He tossed a clipboard onto the table, detailing every injury, every broken bone, every expectation to her work. "We need him ready by morning."

She didn’t move at first. She never did. But the familiar press of a gun muzzle against her temple jolted her into action. They didn’t tolerate hesitation.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold tiles as she approached the table. Soldat’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his blue eyes were half-lidded and glassy, staring past her into the abyss. She wondered, briefly, if he even felt the pain anymore, or if the agony had simply become a part of him, stitched into his body like the scars of the wounds she was forced to erase.

She laid her trembling hands over his chest, cutting the remnants of the suit and rushing her power forward like a tide, knitting sinew, mending fractures, restoring what should have been allowed to rest. His body convulsed as the healing process awakened raw nerve endings. He groaned low in his throat, a sound of both relief and torment and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Good pet," the handler sneered, patting her head, "Keep going."

As the minutes dragged into hours, her hands moved mechanically, weaving muscle and bone back into place. Every touch drew more from her, siphoning her strength to pour life into a body that shouldn’t be able to withstand such brutality. The process left her light-headed, and her vision started blurring at the edges, but she didn’t dare falter. They would notice. They always noticed.

As her hands pressed over a jagged wound on his side, a faint tremor ran through his body. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, and his eyes fluttered open. Glassy and unfocused at first, they slowly, impossibly, found her. A vacant gaze, yet somehow piercing, locked onto her face as if trying to understand who she was and what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She kept her voice low, trembling, her fingers brushing the edge of the wound as she worked. “I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.”

His gaze didn’t falter, even as she murmured the apology again, with a cracking voice. He didn’t speak -he probably couldn’t- but the weight of his stare felt like an answer. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

More time passed, and the room emptied. The guards left her alone with him, trusting her to finish her work under the ever-present cameras. The sterile silence closed in around them. She wiped the sweat from her brow and whispered again, “I’m sorry,” her voice breaking completely now. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

Soldat blinked slowly, almost as if acknowledging her words, but his body remained still. Her fingers lingered over his shoulder where fresh skin covered what had been a deep gash, and couldn’t stop herself from caressing his bloodied temple before going back to mend him.

By the time she finished, her legs felt like water, barely holding her upright. The Soldat’s breathing had evened, the jagged cuts on his skin replaced by fresh, pale scars. His metal arm still hung limp, but it wasn’t her area of expertise. He looked human again, or as close to human as Hydra would ever allow him to be. She allowed herself to caress him again as if that gentle touch could make up for what her actions on his body entailed, his endless torment.

When the door creaked open, the spell was broken. The handler barked a question she didn’t hear over the roaring in her ears. Then he stepped forward, inspecting her work with a critical eye. He tugged at Soldat’s extremities and poked his body, then he turned to her with a smile that chilled her blood.

“Well done,” he said, sickeningly sweet. “See? You’re still useful. You’ve earned yourself another day.”

The words felt like a slap, a grim reminder of her reality. She wasn’t a person to them. She was a tool, an extension of their will, just as much a prisoner as the man she had just saved. Her power was her curse, chaining her to a life of servitude. And for what? To keep the Winter Soldier standing. To ensure he could carry out their dirty work, kill their enemies, and endure whatever horrors they deemed necessary for him to endure.

The handler gestured to the guards. “Take her back. She’ll need her strength for tomorrow.”

They grabbed her arms, dragging her toward the door. Soldat's eyes shifted for a moment, trailing her as they walked her out, his gaze still glazing but faintly flickering with awareness. Then the door slammed behind her, sealing them both back into their respective hells.

----

The cryopreservation always left her disoriented, the passage of time reduced to a murky void of nothingness. Days, months, years, they blurred together into a haze she couldn’t untangle. Based on the count of the meager breakfasts slid through the cell door, it had been two days since they’d pulled her from the tube. Her body still ached from the cold, and the numbness clung stubbornly to her limbs.

When the metallic clank of the cell door jolted her from her thoughts, she instinctively tensed. Two guards stood there, gesturing sharply for her to follow.

The halls they guided her through were unfamiliar. These weren’t the sterile corridors leading to the medical bay. These walls were darker and the air was heavier, and the faint hum of machinery was replaced by an unsettling silence. Confused, she knit her brows but swallowed the urge to ask.

When they descended a narrow staircase, her stomach sank. The flickering lights cast long shadows against concrete walls. They passed rows of heavy metal doors, each marked with faint rust and grime. No cells with bars, no windows, just solid slabs of steel.

Her breath hitched when they stopped in front of a door near the end of the corridor. One guard yanked it open with a screech that set her teeth on edge. The other shoved her forward, barking a single command: “Fix it.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound echoed in the cramped room. She stood frozen, since the stench hit her like a physical blow: blood, sweat, semen, and something else she couldn’t place.

Her gaze darted around the sparse room. A cot pushed against one wall. A table cluttered with ominous instruments. And in the corner, barely illuminated by the flickering overhead bulb, the Soldat.

Her breath left her in a shaky exhale as she took him in. He was curled into himself, naked, trembling despite the heat radiating from his abused flesh. Blood and cum stained his thighs, while bruises painted his skin in grotesque patterns. His wrists and ankles bore the raw marks of restraints, and burns and welts layered over old scars, turning his body into a tapestry of pain.

But it was his face that shattered her. A blank mask with hollow and distant wet eyes, haunted by whatever horrors had left him in this state.

She forced herself to move. When her shadow fell over him, his head snapped up and his vacant blue eyes locked onto hers. The movement was sharp and instinctive, but he didn’t lash out, didn’t flinch. He simply stared, as though he were looking through her rather than at her.

She paused for a moment, crouching to his level, resting her hands lightly on her knees. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice steady. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond. The haunted emptiness in his expression pierced her chest. He didn’t deserve this. “I know,” she said softly, inching closer. “I know it hurts. I’ll do what I can.”

She reached for him carefully, brushing his arm. His muscles tensed under her touch, but he didn’t pull away. Gently, she guided his arm away from where he’d been clutching his side, revealing the bruises and burns scattered across his flesh. Her stomach churned, but her hands remained steady. She had no room for hesitation, no time to falter.

As she worked, she whispered to him, not apologies this time, but reassurances. “I’m with you now, I’ll make this right, even if it’s only for now.”

As expected, he didn’t speak, didn’t move beyond the involuntary twitches of his battered body. But his eyes stayed on her, betraying a silent acknowledgment, a fragile thread of trust.

She tried to focus on the burns on his chest, the raw welts along his ribs, anything but the bruises and blood marking his inner thighs. But eventually, she had no choice. The damage there couldn’t be ignored. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she shifted closer, and her hands trembled for the first time that day.

She couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t understand how anyone could twist a man into this, into something pliable, stripped of will, used like a puppet for their every vile whim. The red book and the chair had shattered his mind, and then they’d wielded that power not only to carry out their heinous crimes but also to satiate their carnal perversions.

“Soldat,” she said softly as she crouched closer. “I need to see the rest.”

His chest started to rise and fall in shallow breaths. His lip was caught between his teeth, bitten hard enough to draw blood. The distant, vacant expression he’d worn before had given way to something else now, resignation, or shame.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I know it's private -should it be-, and it hurts a lot… but I promise I’ll make it better, yes?”

Her tone was as soft as she could make it, the kind someone might use with a frightened child. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he exhaled and shifted ever so slightly, granting her access. The movement wasn’t much, but it spoke volumes. He didn’t fight her. He didn’t resist. Even now, after everything, he complied.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her hands moved carefully, brushing his battered flesh with as much gentleness as she could muster. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her focus on the healing, not on the tears threatening to spill over. Every touch she had to make felt like another betrayal of his dignity, but she couldn’t leave him like this, they wouldn’t leave him like this.

“It’s not fair,” she said under her breath “Fuck, it’s not fair.”

Every so often, her gaze flicked to his face, but he didn’t look at her this time. His eyes were closed, and his body was eerily still except for the faint shudder of his breathing.

—-

Some days, she wondered if he resented her. If he was even capable of that. She wasn’t the one inflicting the pain, wasn’t the one abusing him, but she was the one who ensured he survived it. She pieced him together, over and over, a cruel kind of mercy that prolonged his torment. Without her, they wouldn’t have been able to keep breaking him the way they did.

It haunted her.

Sometimes, it seemed like he remembered her. On the rare occasions when his body was whole and he wasn’t immediately dragged back out for another mission or another “session,” his vacant gaze would linger on her. Just a flicker of recognition in those haunted blue eyes, something that made her wonder if, somewhere beneath the chaos they’d inflicted on his mind, a part of him knew who she was.

Other times, he didn’t seem to know her at all. He would stare past her like she wasn’t even there. She didn’t know which was worse: the possibility that he hated her or the possibility that he didn’t think of her at all.

-----

Nine years had passed since her escape from their clutches. Nine years since Captain America and his team put down Pierce and dismantled Hydra’s plans, the Soldat went missing and she got away in the chaos of the fight.

In the early days, survival had been a constant struggle. She’d wandered aimlessly at first, her coarse, prison-like clothes drawing stares from strangers who gave her a wide berth. The world was unrecognizable: a kaleidoscope of flashing screens, roaring cars, and people glued to strange, glowing devices. Everything felt faster, louder, and infinitely more confusing than the world she remembered.

For a couple of days, she kept to the shadows, but the hunger and desperation eventually pushed her to the edge. One night, trembling and exhausted, she walked into a police station. The officer at the front desk glanced at her with a mixture of suspicion and concern, likely wondering if she had escaped from a mental institution. And maybe, in a way, she had. She tried to explain, spilling out her words in a garbled mess of decades-old trauma. She told them about being taken, about Hydra, about the years spent in cryo. The officer raised a skeptical eyebrow and asked her to sit while he "sorted things out."

She knew they didn’t believe her. Not until one of the younger officers, fresh off patrol, walked in with a nasty road burn on his arm. She didn’t think, just acted. In seconds, the wound knitted itself back together under her glowing hands. The room fell silent, every set of eyes fixed on her in a mix of fear and awe.

From there, things moved quickly. The police dug into her story, and to everyone’s shock, her name and photo flagged a cold case from October 1962, a missing person report filed by her family. A woman who had disappeared without a trace, and presumed dead after two years of fruitless searching.

But what the police uncovered was too big for them to handle alone. They passed her case to federal authorities, and soon, she found herself in the hands of people who promised her a fresh start, though she quickly learned that nothing came without strings attached.

The feds helped her establish a new identity, gave her a place to live, and taught her how to navigate the modern world. In exchange, she worked for them using her mutant powers to heal injuries, aid covert operations, and clean up the messes no one else could.

Still, the past lingered in her mind, haunting her in the quiet moments. She often wondered what had become of the Winter Soldier, since freedom, she realized, was not the same as peace.

In the years that followed, she began piecing the fragments of her past into the puzzle of the present. The world had changed in ways she struggled to comprehend, yet she adapted, carving out a relatively ‘normal’ existence.

Then, one day, she heard his name.

James Buchanan Barnes.

She learned about him in bits and pieces from news reports and whispered conversations among the people she worked with. Steve Rogers' best friend. The Winter Soldier.

The details unfolded like a tragic epic: framed in a terrorist attack, slipping under the radar, fighting in Wakanda, only to vanish in the Blip. And then, five years later, he returned. His face, no longer the blank mask of the Soldat, appeared on screens everywhere as the government pardoned him under strict conditions: mandatory therapy and restricted accommodations, a leash that kept him just shy of true freedom.

She watched every news segment, every interview. He wasn’t the weapon she remembered. There was something different in his eyes. Half-masked pain, certainly, but also humanity. He was trying, struggling to reclaim himself, to exist in a world that only knew him as a ghost or a monster.

It wasn’t an obsession. At least, that’s what she told herself. It was curiosity, concern, a connection she couldn’t sever no matter how hard she tried. Because no one else could understand what they’d been through. No one else had seen the depths of his torment, or felt the same chains biting into their skin.

She hadn’t planned to ever contact him. The idea terrified her. For all she knew, his fractured mind might not even remember her. Worse, maybe he did and resented her for the role she’d played, for the way she’d prolonged his torment under Hydra’s commands. Those thoughts were enough to keep her at a distance, safely watching from the shadows of her new life.

But life and destiny had their ways of unraveling carefully laid plans.

-----

Her work with Sam Wilson had started as another government assignment, one of many designed to keep her powers useful and her secrets buried. Yet, somewhere along the way, it had turned into something more. A friendship. He didn’t know about her past -no one did, actually-. He only knew the version of her life the government had scripted, a fabricated identity polished to perfection.

Leaving that aside, she liked him. He had a way of making her feel less like a displaced ghost and more like a person. Sometimes, they hung out after missions, sharing laughs over beers or stories about the ridiculous situations they found themselves in. And when he came back from a mission bruised or limping, she always tried to help.

That friendship had led her here, to a bustling backyard party, with warm laughter and music filling the air. Sam’s birthday celebration. She had accepted his invitation without thinking much of it, expecting a relaxed evening with a few familiar faces. What she hadn’t expected was to see him.

Standing at the drinks table, not the Winter Soldier, not the cold, empty Soldat she remembered, but James. His shoulders were relaxed, his hair shorter, and his blue eyes clearer than she’d ever seen them. He looked... alive in a way that left her breathless. For a moment, she froze, and her stomach twisted into knots. But there was no turning back now.

Not when he lifted his face after grabbing a glass of soda, only to find her mere inches away, rooted in place and staring at him like a rabbit in the middle of the road.

Her breath caught, and the world around them seemed to fade into a blur of laughter and music as his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. The faintest flicker of something -recognition? confusion?- crossed his face. The glass in her hand suddenly felt heavy, and she tightened her grip around it as her heart raced.

“H-hi,” she managed to mutter, almost lost beneath the hum of the party.

He tilted his head slightly, deliberately, as if weighing her. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then his lips parted, and a single word escaped from them, low and hoarse.

“You.”

Her stomach dropped while her mind scrambled for a response. Did he remember her? Or was it just the way her face stirred a distant and fractured memory?

“I-” she started, but the words tangled in her throat.

His gaze darted over her, taking her in: the way she clutched the glass like a lifeline, the way her shoulders tensed, the way she made one step back as though retreating was an option.

Sam’s voice cut through the moment, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, Buck! Flirting already with one of my girls?”

Bucky flinched, the spell breaking as he snapped his gaze toward Sam, stiffening his posture. “I’m not f-”

“Don’t be a dick with her,” Sam interrupted, grinning as if he were the greatest matchmaker alive. “She’s good people. Y/n, this is Bucky, a pain in the ass but a good friend. Bucky, this is Y/n.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his expression still unreadable as his eyes flicked back to her. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer a hand or a smile, just narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was trying to solve a riddle only he could see.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her instincts screamed at her to move, to flee, to escape his scrutiny before his fractured memories pieced her together.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and forced her lips into what she hoped was a polite and not-too-awkward smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice much steadier than she felt.

Bucky studied her for a moment longer. Finally, he gave a slight nod, stepping back as though he’d decided she wasn’t worth the effort of figuring out. “Yeah. Same,” he muttered before turning to leave.

As he moved away, she exhaled, a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her grip on the glass trembled, the adrenaline coursing through her leaving her both relieved and strangely disappointed.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sam intervened, leaning in with a knowing smirk. “He specializes in a heterogeneous game of staring, brooding, and groaning. Dry comments here and there, too.”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, grateful for the break in tension. “Good to know,” she murmured, still gripping the glass tightly.

Sam patted her shoulder with the easy camaraderie of someone who had no idea the weight of the moment that had just passed. “He’s not so bad once you get past all the walls. Might take a while to crack that nut, but hey, who knows?”

-----

Two months later, Sam called her for a job.

“It’s a simple mission,” he’d explained. “Poland. The higher-ups want you to stay at the safehouse most of the time in case something goes wrong, but if we need someone to move unnoticed -play tourist, fetch intel- they figured you’re our best bet.”

She hesitated for a beat, her instincts screaming at her to say no this time. But she had never ditched a mission before and Sam will be there, so she agreed.

When she climbed aboard the military plane early the next morning, with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she almost turned around and fled.

Bucky was already sitting there, strapped into his seat, with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was as closed off as ever, and his gaze was fixed somewhere on the cabin wall. Her stomach dropped, and before her brain could process what she was doing, she turned sharply on her heel and headed straight for the cockpit.

The pilots greeted her with raised brows, clearly surprised to see her there before takeoff. She forced a nervous smile, chatting with them about flight logistics, weather conditions, anything to stretch the time and delay the inevitable.

“Shouldn’t you be back in the cabin?” one of them asked eventually, glancing at her curiously.

“Just thought I’d keep you company,” she replied, slightly strained.

The hum of the plane’s engines growing louder reminded her she couldn’t hide forever. She exhaled deeply, gripping the doorframe. Maybe, she could slip into some corner, unnoticed once the plane was in the air.

But life wasn’t so kind.

“Sam’s voice came loud and clear, calling her. “C’mon, you’re holding us up!”

Bucky’s head turned, locking his sharp gaze onto her the moment she entered. His expression didn’t shift -no frown, no surprise- but what she saw in those blue eyes made her knees threaten to buckle.

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. “Hi,” she greeted the two men quickly, her voice barely above a murmur, before moving to the furthest seat she could find.

Her hands fumbled as she pulled a book from her bag, flipping it open without even checking the page. She pretended to read, scanning the same line over and over as if the words might somehow shield her from the weight of Bucky’s stare.

Sam furrowed his brows, glancing between them with a mix of confusion and curiosity. He’d been prepared for the usual brooding and disagreements from Bucky -his default settings on most missions- but he’d expected her to be more engaged. She’d always been sharp and chatty, quick to offer solutions or crack a joke, but now she seemed... distant.

He leaned toward Bucky, “Did you scare her off already before I got here?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed sidelong glance. “I didn’t say a word.”

Sam, determined to break the awkward silence, leaned back in his seat and raised his voice. “Alright, we’re stuck in this tin can for the next few hours. Someone better start talking, or I’m gonna make us all play twenty questions.”

She forced a small smile, though her eyes remained glued to the book. “You win. I’m reading.”

He huffed dramatically, shaking his head. “Tough crowd.” Then he turned back to Bucky. “Guess it’s just you and me, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before settling on the wall ahead. His expression remained impassive, but his metal fingers tapped against his thigh, the only sign of some internal debate.

-----

After a while, Sam, ever persistent, leaned forward, and turned to her “So,” he started, casually but probing, “you ever been to Poland in other mission before? Got any recommendations for pierogi spots or are we flying blind here?”

She hesitated, tightening slightly her fingers on the edge of her book. Avoiding interaction had been her plan, but the pointed look Sam sent her way made it clear he wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

Finally, she closed the book with a soft sigh, forcing herself to meet his expectant gaze. “No, never been,” she replied, cautious. “Though I think I read somewhere Kraków’s old town is nice.”

Sam grinned, seizing the opportunity. “Kraków, huh? I’ll take that as a vote to play tourist if we get the chance. “Maybe you can even guide us, seeing as you’re good at blending in.”

“I doubt we’ll have time, Sammy,” she said quickly, trying to deflect.

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated grin. “You’re one of the friendliest people I know. You’ll probably charm us into some exclusive spots. Earn your keep!”

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, shaking her head. “I think you’ve mistaken ‘friendly’ for ‘quiet enough not to get in trouble.’”

Sam smirked, undeterred. “Nah, you’ve got that vibe. People trust you, and open up to you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you walk away with more intel than anyone else.”

Her fingers tensed slightly on the edge of her book, but she forced herself to smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment... I think.”

“It is,” Sam replied, his tone warm and easy. “And I’m just saying, if we do get downtime, we’re counting on you to find the good spots.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she managed to say, though her stomach churned under Bucky’s relentless stare.

He hadn’t said a word, but the weight of his gaze made every exchange feel heavier like he was dissecting her responses, searching for cracks in her calm facade. She refused to look at him, focusing instead on Sam’s cheerful grin.

Sam clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit. See, Buck? She’s already proving more useful than you.”

Bucky huffed, the barest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. “Yeah, well, let’s see if she’s still useful when things go south.”

Her stomach tightened at his words, though she kept her face carefully neutral. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the skepticism in his tone felt like a challenge, a warning wrapped in a dry comment.

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve gotta work on your people skills. Not everyone you meet is gonna double-cross you, you know.”

Bucky didn’t respond and bit his lower lip as he looked away, clearly done with the conversation.

She forced a small smile, trying to defuse the tension. “I think he’s just saying I should prove myself first.”

Sam shot her an encouraging look. “You don’t need to prove anything to him. Trust me, you’re good-”

“Sam,” Bucky intervened almost dryly. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. This isn’t sightseeing. It’s a mission. If she’s not-”

“I can handle myself,” she interrupted, managing to keep her voice steady despite the sudden rush of heat to her face.

The fact that she addressed directly to him got Bucky’s attention. He turned, locking his gaze onto hers, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavier than the thrum of the plane’s engines.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured, leaning back slightly in his seat. He kept staring at her sharply and unyielding. After a beat of silence, he added, “And, actually, what exactly do you do?”

Fuck.

The question wasn’t casual, she could see it in the way his eyes stayed fixed on her, a glint of something just beneath the surface. He knew. He was waiting for her to say it, to confirm what he already remembered but was pretending not to.

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking between them. “Bucky, come on. She’s solid, alright? I wouldn’t bring her along if she wasn’t.”

Bucky didn’t even glance at him. His attention stayed locked on her. “I didn’t say she wasn’t solid. Just curious what her... specialty is.”

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. If he wanted to play coy, fine. Two could play that game.

“I’m good at staying unnoticed,” she said, feigning a casual tone “Recon, blending in, getting intel…” She shrugged lightly, as though explaining her skill set was just a routine part of the job.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “That it?”

She gave him a polite smile, curling her fingers around the edge of the book on her lap. “Well, I’ve been told I’m handy in a pinch. Let’s just say I’ve got a knack for fixing things.”

His lips quirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fixing things, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied smoothly, ignoring the way her heart raced under his scrutiny. “Little cuts, scrapes, that kind of thing. Nothing too fancy.”

Sam, oblivious to the subtle tension between them, chuckled. “Don’t let her undersell it. She devours. Saved my ass more than once, you wouldn’t believe the absolute carnage I've seen her mend.”

“Good to know,” Bucky commented, with his gaze still locked on her. There was something in his eyes -something sharp-, almost daring her to break first, but she didn’t flinch.

“Just doing my job.” She added, her eyes still glued to the unreadable baby blues.

Bucky leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say more but decided against it.

Sam glanced between them. “It's pretty early for a staring contest.”

She didn’t answer; she just smiled at him and returned her focus to the book. He remembered, she was sure of it.

Still, if he wanted her to confirm it outright, he’d have to try harder. For now, she’d play his game, and she was determined to win.

-----

The safehouse was a two-bedroom apartment in an old building that groaned with every step. It was cramped but functional, the kind of place that wouldn’t draw attention. As they settled in, Sam tossed his bag onto one of the worn couches and stretched like a cat.

“Alright,” he said, grinning at her. “Do us all a favor and work your magic in the kitchen. I haven’t had a proper meal in weeks, and I can’t survive on takeout and those protein bars Bucky packs.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Cooking would give her something to focus on, and it was the perfect excuse to isolate for a couple of hours.

“Fine, let’s see what I can do,” she muttered, scurrying inside the kitchen.

“You’re the best!” Sam called, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll be back soon, gotta meet a contact nearby. You two... play nice.”

The sound of the door closing made her grimace. She exhaled slowly, tying an old apron on her waist as she dug through the sparse pantry and fridge. Within minutes, she was chopping some potatoes, humming Animals while she was at it, because fuck it all.

She felt the weight of his gaze pressed against her back like a physical thing before she heard him. He stood in the kitchen doorway, quiet and unmoving, a presence impossible to ignore.

Her grip on the knife tightened, but she didn’t turn around. “Need something?”

“No.” The simple word carried so much weight that it made her pause mid-cut.

She exhaled slowly and resumed her task. “Then why are you standing there?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.

“You’re good at it.”

Her hand froze. “At what?”

“Pretending.”

She forced herself to keep chopping, while her pulse hammered in her ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” His tone didn’t carry malice, but the words felt heavier than any accusation. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “I remember you.”

Her chest tightened, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “You’re mistaken,” she said flatly.

“I’m not.” He took another step forward. His tone was soft, but the words were unrelenting. “You were there. Hydra.”

Next Chapter ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky hurt/comfort #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

xoxolaw · 11 days ago

Text

+ HOW TO WIN A HEART

in which her friends challenged her to make the scariest guy in school fall in love with her — and she said, “easy.”

GEUM SEONG-JE X READER

CH 1 , CH 2 , CH 3

RULE 1 - MAKE THE FIRST MOVE

Y/N wasn’t just popular.

She was the kind of girl who made popularity look effortless. She wasn’t top of the class or president of any club. She didn’t need to be.

Y/N had that intangible something—a charisma that couldn’t be taught, only envied. Her walk was lazy but commanding, every hallway her runway.

A resting smirk hinted at mischief, bold eyes daring you to keep looking—and most did.

Boys sat up straighter when she passed. Girls checked their hair, tugged their skirts, though the uniforms were identical.

Teachers? They’d learned it was easier to look the other way. She was too clever to get caught, too charming to scold.She texted in lectures without blinking.

Her Instagram stories were mini-dramas, high-stakes, with dangerously good lighting.

She knew everyone worth knowing—and everyone knew her.

Chaos wrapped in lip gloss.

The kind of girl who’d ruin your life and have you thanking her for it.

The It Girl of Kanghak High.

---

“Y/N-sunbae!” A junior half-jogged up, voice cracking with nerves and too much hope.

She didn’t look up from her banana milk. “Don’t say it.”“Say what?”“That you like me. That I’m different. That you’d treat me right.”

He froze, a deer in headlights. “Wait—how did you…”

She glanced up. Eyes sharp, bored, amused. Then, with the warmth of a mercy kill, she patted his shoulder.“You’re sweet,” she said. “Just not my type.”

Her friends dissolved into giggles behind her.“That’s five this month,” Bora muttered, flipping a page in her imaginary stat book.

“At this point, we should charge entry fees,” Jina snorted. Y/N stretched, feline and unbothered. “Honestly, where’s the challenge? You smile once, and they’re planning the wedding.”

“It’s the way you flirt,” Bora said. “That whole ‘I’ll ruin your life and look good doing it’ vibe.”

Y/N winked. “They should know I bite.”

They laughed, lounging in the lazy hour after the final bell on a Friday. Sunlight slanted through the windows, the halls half-empty but buzzing with leftover energy.

Y/N leaned against the wall, banana milk finished, head tilted back, soaking in the golden calm. Bora leaned in. “Oh, right! Someone left something in your desk.”

Y/N groaned. “If it’s another scented letter, I’m filing for harassment.”

“No, really. Pink envelope. The guy looked nervous.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Boys need better immunity. This is tragic.”

Bora grinned. “If you’re so unimpressed, how about a real challenge?”

Y/N perked up. “Go on.”

“Make the next guy who walks around that corner fall for you.”

Jina cackled. “Bora, you’re a menace.”

“Easy,” Y/N said without missing a beat.

But Bora’s smirk vanished.“Wait—no. Never mind—”

Too late. Y/N turned, lips parted in slow curiosity. And there he was.

Geum Seong-je.

The air shifted sideways. Tousled dark hair. Sharp jaw. Expression unreadable—a mix of lazy boredom and quiet threat. One hand in his blazer pocket, the other swinging carelessly.

Two minions trailed him like shadows. The hallway parted like waves, students stepping back by instinct. He didn’t walk. He prowled.

His gaze landed on Y/N, and something flickered—amusement, maybe, or the thrill of something unpredictable.

Bora’s voice cracked in panic. “Y/N—no. Pick someone else. That guy’s not normal—”

But Y/N was already striding forward.Every student in the hall went silent.

Click. Click. Click.

Her heels tapped the tile like punctuation in a rising melody.

She cut across the corridor, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the secondhand fear. She didn’t break pace.

And Seong-je didn’t move. Their eyes locked. A suspended breath—challenge, curiosity, chaos. She stopped inches from him.

Grabbed his collar.

And kissed him.

Not shy.

Not sweet.

A kiss with purpose—bold, deliberate, a spark to ignite a fire. Gasps rippled through the hall. A water bottle hit the floor. Her lips pressed deeper for a heartbeat, her grip tight on his blazer. His scent was sharp and trouble.

She pulled back — just a little breathless — and locked eyes with him.

“You’re cute,” she whispered.

Then turned like nothing happened.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

how's the setting?? 😋😋 This is going to be fun trust me hehehe

#fanfic #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #weak hero webtoon #geum seong je #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #wolf keum

452 notes · View notes

internetdaddy98 · 2 months ago

Text

The Quiet Fury

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Your authority is tested by a cocky fourth-year med student who mistakes the ER for his personal playground.

Word Count: 1.3 K Content Warning: Medical procedures, blood, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times, unresolved tension.

By 1:14 p.m., the ER had the brittle, caffeinated energy of early afternoon. The trauma bay had been turned over twice, a stroke alert rerouted to neuro, and the stack of charts on your tablet had reached an aggressive number. Your hair was falling out of its clip. Your lunch remained unopened in the lounge fridge. And your intern was flirting with a nurse during rounds.

James Whitmore was a fourth-year med student on rotation, assigned to shadow you for the next four weeks. Technically still a student, practically a problem. He had the kind of polished smile that belonged on an alumni magazine cover and the overconfidence of someone who had never been truly scared in a code room. You could already feel it, that subtle entitlement, the lack of preparation, the empty glances when you gave instructions.

You had tried, the first two hours. Gently redirecting. Clarifying. Giving him room to prove he was more than charm and an upward trajectory. But he was more interested in chatting up the new ED nurse than examining his patient. More concerned with what you were doing later than documenting the rhythm strip you’d asked for.

“You know,” he said now, grinning like this was a meet-cute and not an ICU board, “you don’t look like someone who leads a trauma team. No offense.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look up.

Instead, you clicked through labs on the tablet and murmured, “ABG’s back. Go interpret it. Present to me in five.”

He lingered. “You always this serious, Dr. Sheridan?”

You finally met his eyes.

“Only when someone’s dying,” you said coldly. “Which is usually.”

He gave a half-laugh, unsure if it was a joke. You didn’t clarify. You moved past him and toward Bed 6, where a patient was vomiting blood into a basin while her mother cried softly in the corner. Your pulse recalibrated, not with nerves, but with necessity. You could be tired later.

Whitmore followed, his stethoscope still around his neck like a fashion statement, it was getting harder for you to not roll your eyes.

Later, as you updated notes in the hub, you caught a glimpse of him across the hall, leaned too casually against the counter near two of his intern friends. You weren’t listening. Not at first. But you felt it, a shift in the room. Dana stiffening behind the desk. A nurse's eyes narrowing. The slight drop in temperature that meant someone had said something wrong.

Across the floor, by the medication station, Robby was finishing up notes on a post-code debrief when he caught Whitmore’s voice, low and smirking, drifting toward the central hub.

“…yeah, she’s cute in that mean, icy way. You know, a challenge. I give it three shifts before she cracks. Bet she’s crazy once you get her to—"

He didn’t finish. Someone coughed, startled. A tech turned sharply. Robby’s hand paused mid-scroll over his tablet.

He blinked once. Then turned.

He was forty feet away, but he could already feel it like a fissure in the tile beneath them, the cold fury in your eyes, the way you were walking toward Whitmore with the unhurried precision of someone who had not yet decided whether to destroy a person publicly or in private. Your hands were calm. Your shoulders square. You didn’t yell.

You didn’t need to.

“Mr. Whitmore,” you said, voice flat as steel. “Step into the staff lounge. Now.”

The kid hesitated.

Wrong move.

Robby watched you disappear behind the door. Watched the team shift around the hub in respectful silence. No one said a word. Even the printers seemed quieter.

You closed the door behind you.

Then, still calm, still composed, you turned to your intern.

“I don’t know what kind of rotations you’ve done before,” you began, your voice quiet but sharp as frost. “But I am not here for your amusement. I’m not here to play games with you, or compete with your insecurities, or make your ego feel bigger when you get bored during rounds.”

He opened his mouth.

You raised a hand. He stopped.

“You are in an Emergency Department. You are a guest in my house, and if you can’t show basic respect to your patients or to your senior, then you can leave now. I’ll sign the damn form. But what you will not do is treat this place, or the people in it, like a frat party you wandered into by mistake.”

His face changed then. A flush of something like embarrassment, something like shock. You didn’t care which.

“I suggest,” you continued, eyes not wavering from his, “that you get with the program. Fast.”

He swallowed. “Yes, Dr. Sheridan.”

You nodded once. “Good. You’re on labs until further notice.”

You opened the door for him to leave, only to find Robby there, leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes flicked between you and Whitmore, unreadable.

The student mumbled something, not quite an apology, not quite coherent, and headed toward the lab station like a dog with its tail tucked.

You didn’t speak. You moved to close the door again and turn back toward the lounge room. He waited a beat, then two. Long enough to give the illusion of space. Long enough not to look like he’d been watching. Then he followed.

He knocked once on the edge of the lounge door before stepping in. You stood by the sink, filling a cup with water, back turned. Your grip on the plastic rim was too tight.

"You handled that well," he said quietly.

You didn’t turn around. “Thanks.”

A pause. You took a sip, then set the cup down, your shoulders rigid.

Robby moved to stand beside you, leaving a careful amount of space between them. The hum of the fridge filled the silence.

“He won’t do it again,” you said, eyes fixed on the sink.

“I know,” he said. “Not if he values his career.”

You gave a short, humorless exhale, not quite a laugh.

He glanced at you, then away. “You okay?”

Another pause.

Then you nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah. Just annoyed.”

“Okay,” he said. “But if that changes…”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then offered the faintest curve of your mouth, not a smile, but something close. Gratitude maybe. Recognition.

“Thanks, Dr. Robinavitch.”

He gave her a smile in return. “Anytime, Sher.”

And with that, he stepped out, leaving the door open behind him. Just a crack.

Enough for her to breathe.

Whitmore was alone at the lab station when Robby found him. Still cocky, despite it all. The kind of cocky that didn’t learn until the lesson was painful.

Robby approached quietly.

“You got a minute, Mr. Whitmore?”

The kid turned, startled, then nodded. “Yes, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Robby didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look angry. That was the worst part.

He just stepped closer, lowered his voice, and said, “You ever speak about Dr. Sheridan like that again, and I will personally end your chances of matching into anything but urgent care in rural Alaska. Are we clear?”

Whitmore blanched. “Sir, I didn’t—”

“You did,” Robby said, cool and clinical. “And I suggest you use your remaining days here wisely. Listen. Learn. Show some respect. Because you’re not the smartest man in this room. And you sure as hell aren’t the toughest.”

Whitmore swallowed. “Understood.”

“Good.” Robby offered him a smile that wasn’t really a smile. “Now go run the troponins.”

Robby didn’t move for a while. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching the chaos of the ER reassemble itself. His gaze flicked to the patient board. To the rooms. Then, finally, back to you.

You were at the end of the hallway now, instructing a nurse, your voice steady again. Calm. Efficient. But he could see it in the way your fingers tapped against the tablet. The way your jaw stayed locked.

——————————————

Two chapters in one day!

I couldn’t help myself bahhahah I needed y’all to read this one. My toxic trait is buying the people I love presents and needing to tell them what it is or I’ll explode.

I told myself I was going to pace myself but all chapters are sitting in my queue tempting me.

569 notes · View notes

lcatala · 2 months ago

Text

Inspired by this post by @thanergetic-hyperlinks, I present to you

Tessellations of the Nine Houses

(Or "I can't really draw figurative art so my Locked Tomb fanarts are geometrical vector drawings")

"A tessellation or tiling is the covering of a surface, often a plane, using one or more geometric shapes, called tiles, with no overlaps and no gaps." — Wikipedia.

Making tilings themed after each necromantic House seems obvious: for each House you pick a tile with the same number of sides as the number of the House; but this does present some challenges for some of the Houses.

note 1: this might give the impression that I first decided on the symbols and then found patterns to match them in a very organized and motivated manner; in practice it was much more chaotic and multidirectional, the patterns informing the symbols as much as the symbols informed the patterns; this is fine since symbolism is entirely associative and arbitrary anyway

note 2: I added alt-texts for all the images, but I have no idea of how to properly describe abstract geometric art; if you feel you can do a better job than I did, feel free to put your fingers where your mouth is--wait, hang on-- I mean feel free to provide better descriptions if you can

note 3: looking forward to the geometry nerds explaining to me how I got basic geometric details wrong, friggin nerds

The First House

The First House seems obvious, as a shape with one side is an ellipse (of which the circle is a special case). There's just one problem: ellipses do not tile the plane. No matter how much you stretch them and deform them, the very nature of ellipses means you'll always have gaps or overlaps.

So we cheat and we work with overlaps: turns out there is a history of tilings that use circles as a construction pattern, then turn the overlapping sections into the actual tiles. Such patterns have been used extensively in European and Middle Eastern art, and have also been associated with the New Age movement, so it fits Jod's style perfectly. And so we get this:

The different cells correspond to different House colors, with the resulting gothic stained-glass appearance quite in line with the Roman Catholic Empire vibe Jod is going for. The overlapping circles convey the intricacy of the relation between the First House and the eight other, both autonomous from it yet intrinsically part of it.

The Second House

There's a variety of geometrical shapes that have two sides, but most of them don't tile the plane, altho there is one that does — if we take a crescent shape and slightly thicken it so that the inner and outer curves are identical, we can do this:

The waving pattern is of course evocative of the flag of conquest which the Cohorts of the Second House have planted on many worlds.

The Third House

With the Third House things get a lot easier, because equilateral triangles are one of the three regular polygons (where all sides are the same length and all angles are identical) that tile the plane all by themselves without needing any other shape! Which however doesn't mean we have to be boring; we can have a little bit of fun:

Flowers for the beauty and ionizing radiation warning signs for the rancid vibes.

The Fourth House

Squares are the second regular polygons that tile the plane by themselves, so again our job is easy here, altho we still want to not go for the easiest option in order to be able to work in some symbolism:

The four big navy squares with a small white square at the center of course evoke the number five and the shadow of the Fifth House's regency over the Fourth.

The Fifth House

Regular pentagons do not tile the plane, so we have to use a more unusual shape — there are many options, but obviously we want to again pick one that offers some interesting numerical symbolism:

The cross-like patterns of course bring up the number four and the hold of the Fifth House over the Fourth. As for the crosses themselves and the fact that they appear to be made of wooden stakes, well uh… Abigail Pent, Vampire Hunter??? She does have Van Helsing vibes.

The Sixth House

Hexagons are the third and last regular polygons that tile the plane on their own. But this is the Sixth House we're talking about, things need to look orderly but in a convoluted way. So how about multiple levels of recursion:

The apparent complexity of the pattern is created by different orientations of a small number of elements, either 3 irregular hexagons, or 1 patterned regular hexagonal tile, depending on how you look at it, in line with the kind of hermetic scientism one imagines the Sixth House indulges in. The result is those apparent three-dimensional elements and emerging higher-order patterns, including that of ꙮ, the Multiocular O found in exactly one word of one 15th century Old Church Slavonic translation of the Book of Psalms ("серафими многоꙮчитїй" many-eyed seraphim).

The Seventh House

Regular heptagons do not tile the plane, but they don't need much tweaking to work, which is fine since for the Seventh House we want something deceptive yet simple (deceptively simple? deceptive in its simplicity?):

Hearts for the beauty, snake scales for the poison [the Seventh House is on Venus, the planet named after the Roman Goddess of love, but etymologically "Venus" is actually the same root as "venom", and of course "Septimus" resembles "septic" — tho in that case there's no etymological connection, it's just a happy coincidence].

The Eighth House

Octagons do not tile the plane, but they come pretty close, so we can give the Eighth House a simple, stern, but slightly threatening pattern:

Boring sterile bleached temple mosaic, with just a little bit of passive-agression, a perfect fit for Evangelical Christians Tumblr puritans the Eighth House.

The Ninth House

And so we reach the Ninth House. Now the thing about the Ninth House is that, even by imperial standards, they're huge freaks, like they're completely unhinged heretical weirdoes. So, when it comes to their tiling, we need to get weird, like, a lot weirder than we've been so far, and this will require some context, so get ready because now we're officially going on a wild tangent.

So far all the tilings we've seen were periodic. That is, they were drawing a pattern that repeats itself indefinitely in all directions.

But starting in the 1960s, mathematicians began to study aperiodic tilings, tilings that don't repeat; you can keep expanding them forever and never exactly find back the original pattern you started with. The first mathematical proof of such a pattern was made in 1964 and theoretically required 20,426 distinct tile prototypes… This was soon refined to just 104 tile prototypes, then a mere 40. By 1971, it was mathematically demonstrated that you could make such a pattern with just 6 tile prototypes.

Except that was a lie.

Note that I said mathematically demonstrated. As it turns out there was an aperiodic pattern with just 5 tile prototypes, known as Girih, that had been used in Islamic art… since at least the 13th century — but it had historically been treated merely as an element of architectural design, and its mathematical properties weren't studied until 2007.

Then in 1973 this guy Penrose came along and demonstrated you could make an aperiodic tiling with just 2 tile prototypes. So now the goal was to find the ultimate aperiodic tiling, the one that would use only one tile prototype. Given how fast the field had progressed so far, it seemed that this discovery was imminent.

It took 50 years.

Not only that, but it was the work of amateur mathematician David Smith who accidentally discovered a 13-sided polygon that could make an aperiodic tiling all by itself (he then had his discovery checked by and co-authored a paper with a number of professional mathematicians).

EXCEPT THAT WAS A LIE AGAIN.

In turns out an aperiodic tiling using only one tile prototype had already been found… in 1936. But since the study of aperiodic tilings only started in the 60s, its significance in that domain wasn't understood at the time. It was seen as significant, but for an entirely unrelated reason: it was the first demonstration of a polygonal shape that needed only two copies of itself to completely enclose the original one — many mathematicians before that point thought the minimum possible was 3 (think of the Triforce from Zelda, with one equilateral triangle completely enclosed between three other identical triangles).

And coincidently, that shape happens to be a highly-irregular nonagon [yes "enneagon" is """technically""" more correct but "nonagon" has been used since the 17th century and is more common and it has Nona in it and Nona loves you]. So here it is, the Voderberg tiling, the freakish freakish tessellation of the Ninth House:

Like you see this and you're like "what is this, what is that thing, that's not a tiling, what the fuck is that" — but it is, it is a tiling, you can keep adding the freaky polygon and it keeps expanding outward forever, with no gap, no overlap, and with an ever-changing pattern. A double-spiral radiating outward, for Anastasia and Samael, Anastasia and Alecto, Alecto and Harrowhark, Harrowhark and Gideon.

And if you were thinking that this last one must have been significantly harder to draw than the other ones, you would be correct.

#the locked tomb #the locked tomb fanart #tessellation #tiling #geometry #vector art

444 notes · View notes

ts19009 · 3 months ago

Text

A Recipe for Us I Part 1 | KMG

pairing: kim mingyu x reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, smut, coworkers-to-lovers, mean!oc, soft!niceguy!gyu, chef's(oui oui) warnings: NO SMUT IN THIS PART!! explicit unprotected sex, sexual innuendos, oral sex (female receiving), etc. words: 22,426 part 2: HERE!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're in my way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonwoo shot him a knowing look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu smirked. “Didn’t sleep much.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need help.”

“Never said you did.”

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

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

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

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

“The promotion.”

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

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

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

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

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

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu glanced at her and smirked. “Cold?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Wonwoo.

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

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

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

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

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

“No promises,” Wonwoo teased before hanging up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is Chwe Vernon?” Mingyu asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, no.” He said, moving around, “thanks though.”

Y/N nodded, but kept a close eye on Mingyu to make sure that if he was looking overwhelmed she could at least step in to take over the other dishes he was cooking. Mingyu moved swiftly around the kitchen, his movements precise but hurried, as if he could feel every second ticking away. His hands were steady, but his mind raced with the weight of the situation. He knew the fish and chips were his to handle, but the pressure of Vernon’s presence made him feel like he had to do everything perfectly.

Y/N kept her gaze on him, noticing the slight tension in his shoulders. She didn’t say anything, just continued working at her station, but kept an ear open for any sign that he might need help. She had worked with Mingyu long enough to know when he was approaching his limit, and she wasn’t about to let him sink under the pressure alone.

The sound of sizzling oil and clattering plates filled the air as the kitchen buzzed with energy, but beneath it all, there was a shared understanding: everyone was pulling their weight, and they weren’t about to let a critic ruin their night.

Mingyu glanced over at Y/N for a brief moment, catching her watching him, but the brief exchange of glances was enough to remind him he wasn’t alone. He exhaled and focused, moving faster, but with more purpose.

By the time the dish was ready, his nerves had settled slightly, the rhythm of the kitchen grounding him. “All set,” he said, plating the fish with a flourish. Y/N gave him a small nod, signaling her approval, and Mingyu took the dish to the pass, ready to serve.

As Chan took the fish and chips out, the kitchen paused for a moment, the usual clattering of pans and sizzling oil giving way to a brief, expectant silence. The dish was perfect—crispy golden fish paired with golden fries that looked like they came straight from a Michelin-star restaurant.

“Nice work, Mingyu,” Jihoon said, slapping him lightly on the back.

Jeonghan, ever the calm presence, gave him a satisfied nod. “You handled that like a pro.”

Joshua, still a bit jittery, couldn’t hide his relief. “Seriously, you saved us tonight.”

Mingyu smiled, though it was a little more exhausted than usual. "Just doing my part," he said, wiping his hands on his apron.

But Y/N's approval was what made him feel the most at ease. She gave him a quick, approving glance as she resumed her work. She didn’t need to say anything—her silence was enough.

As the evening continued, the energy in the kitchen remained high. The rest of the team kept their focus, but the tension had started to ease. Mingyu, now confident that he had proved himself in front of Vernon, let the compliment settle in his chest.

“So you basically could have caused the whole place to go belly up?” Wonwoo asked, as Mingyu chuckled and nodded, handing him the beer and a bag of gummy worms.

“Yep, but thankfully he wrote a really good review on it. Securing our spot as the best restaurant in New York city.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, popping a gummy worm into his mouth. "Well, damn. Good thing you pulled it off then." He took a sip of his beer and leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. "So, what's next? Are you going to try to outdo yourself next time he shows up?"

Mingyu shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe. But for now, I think I'll just enjoy the fact that we survived this one." He tossed a gummy worm into his mouth, savoring the sweet, tangy taste. "I'm not sure I want that kind of pressure again anytime soon."

Wonwoo laughed, clinking his bottle against Mingyu’s. "You say that now, but we both know you thrive in the chaos."

Mingyu leaned back against the couch, absentmindedly watching the show, but his mind kept drifting back to that moment in the kitchen. Y/N’s nod of approval, the way her eyes softened when she noticed he was managing the pressure. It had caught him off guard, in the best way.

He ran a hand through his hair, not realizing how much it had meant until now. He was used to working alone, used to being the one who had to prove himself, but when she looked at him like that, it felt different—like maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

"Focus, Mingyu," he muttered to himself, shaking his head and trying to return to the show. But every time he saw an empty space on the couch, or when the music swelled in a particularly tense scene, his thoughts would inevitably go back to her. He couldn’t remember the last time something—someone—had distracted him so much.

The episode continued, but his mind was far from the plot unfolding in front of him.

“Can you just make sure that this sauce doesn’t burn while I run out just for two minutes?” Y/N asked Mingyu as he nodded, but didn’t look up from his stove. She thanked him and ran out of the kitchen into the dining room, a big smile plastered on her face.

Mingyu finally looked up and out the kitchen window to see her approaching a man and giving him a big hug. He furrowed his brows, his hands still moving on autopilot as he stirred the sauce in front of him. He wasn’t sure why he even cared, but there was something about the way Y/N lit up when she saw the guy that caught his attention. She wasn’t usually the warm and affectionate type—not at work, at least.

He turned his focus back to the stove, but curiosity got the best of him, and he stole another glance through the window. The man was tall, well-dressed, and clearly familiar with Y/N. They exchanged a few words before she laughed, her smile not fading for even a second.

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at himself. Get a grip, he thought, forcing his attention back to his station.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder—who was he?

A few minutes later when she came back into the kitchen, with a big smile on her face, Mingyu turned away from her, but gave her a smile when she thanked him and continued stirring the sauce.

Something inside of him didn’t like seeing her with the guy.

Mingyu didn’t know why it bothered him. It wasn’t like Y/N owed him an explanation, and it definitely wasn’t his business who she hugged in the dining room. But something about the way she had smiled at that guy—so effortlessly, so brightly—nagged at him.

Mingyu hummed, keeping his eyes on the sauce. “Who was that?” he asked, aiming for casual, though the question sat heavier in his chest than he wanted to admit.

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly as she reached for a cutting board. “Just someone I know,” she said, her tone even but noticeably more reserved.

Mingyu nodded, pretending to accept the answer, but the way she brushed past the question only made his curiosity—and that unfamiliar, nagging feeling—grow stronger.

“Can you take on one of my dishes tonight?” Y/N asked, glancing toward the dining room before quickly looking back at Mingyu. “I just need a little time to catch up with someone.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. “Yeah, I got it,” he said, adjusting his grip on the pan.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, before slipping out of the kitchen again.

Mingyu watched her go, the uneasy feeling settling in his chest once more.His grip tightened around the spatula as he watched Y/N disappear into the dining room. His jaw clenched, irritation bubbling in his chest before he could push it down.

Of course, she wanted him to take over her dish. Of course, she needed a little extra time—for him.

He stirred the sauce a little too aggressively, barely registering the heat against his arm. It wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong, but the sight of her smiling like that, the way she’d dropped everything to rush out and greet the guy—it made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably.

It shouldn’t bother him. But it did.

Mingyu forced himself to focus on the dish in front of him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N and the guy in the dining room. The way she’d smiled—soft, genuine—was different from the usual work-focused expression she wore in the kitchen. He had seen her smile before, sure, but not like that. Not at him.

He exhaled sharply, tossing a handful of herbs into the pan with a little too much force. It wasn’t like they were anything more than coworkers. It wasn’t like she owed him an explanation.

Still, when she finally walked back in, her expression more neutral than before, Mingyu kept his gaze locked on the stove, stirring just to keep his hands busy. The irritation hadn’t fully settled, but he wasn’t about to let it show. Not when he wasn’t even sure why he felt this way in the first place.

"Who pissed in your cereal?" Dino asked, grabbing the dish Mingyu had just finished preparing. He’d been watching him for a while and had noticed the shift in his mood—tense, brooding, more clipped than usual.

"Nothing," Mingyu shot back, barely looking up. "Just busy."

Dino rolled his eyes but didn’t push it, taking the dish out to the dining room without another word.

Across the kitchen, Jeonghan leaned against his station, arms crossed. "Is this about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but knowing. It was one of the first times they'd really spoken, but Jeonghan had clearly been paying attention.

Mingyu's jaw tightened as he kept his focus on the pan in front of him, the sizzle of oil filling the silence between them.

"Why would it be about Y/N?" he muttered, flicking his wrist to turn the fish, his movements a little sharper than necessary.

Jeonghan smirked, unbothered. "I don't know. Maybe because you've been scowling ever since she ran off to see her friend?" He dragged out the last word just enough to make his point clear.

Mingyu didn’t respond right away, just exhaled through his nose. "I don’t care what she does," he finally said, though even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

"Right," Jeonghan hummed, clearly not buying it. "You should tell your face that, then."

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head as he plated the dish in front of him. "Drop it, Jeonghan."

Jeonghan only chuckled, leaning against his station as he lazily chopped herbs. "Look, I get it," he said, his voice just low enough that no one else could hear. "You two have been getting along more lately, and now she's smiling like that at some other guy. Stings a little, doesn't it?"

Mingyu gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the pan handle. "I said drop it."

Jeonghan shrugged, unfazed. "Fine, fine. Just don’t overcook the fish while you’re brooding."

Mingyu shot him a glare, but Jeonghan was already turning back to his own work, smirking to himself.

Still, the words stuck with him.

Because no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter, that she didn’t matter—he couldn’t shake the image of her smile, the way she’d rushed out without a second thought, like there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

And for some stupid reason, that bothered him way more than it should.

The kitchen had finally quieted down, the last orders sent out and the rush of service fading into the usual end-of-shift routine. Mingyu scrubbed down his station with more force than necessary, trying to work off the frustration still lingering in his chest.

He could hear Y/N laughing with Joshua near the back, their voices light and easy. He didn’t even have to look to know she was still in a good mood from earlier.

He should just go home. Clock out, grab his stuff, and pretend today never happened.

But instead, he found himself lingering, waiting for a reason to speak to her—or maybe just for her to acknowledge him first.

“Thanks for covering for me today,” Y/N called from across the kitchen.

Mingyu sighed before turning to face her, forcing a small smile.

“No problem,” he muttered.

Y/N exhaled, clearly picking up on his frustration.

“I know you’ve been wondering who he is.”

Mingyu froze for a moment. She wasn’t wrong—he did want to know.

Mingyu leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he stared at her. "I wasn’t exactly curious," he replied, his tone barely masking the irritation. "Just... surprised."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You sure about that?" She stepped closer, studying his expression with a knowing look.

Mingyu sighed, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I don’t like feeling out of the loop." He tried to brush it off with a casual shrug. "It’s not a big deal."

She tilted her head, looking at him more closely. "You sure it’s not?"

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting back to his station as he refocused on his work. But there was a lingering tension in the air. "It’s just weird," he muttered. "You don’t usually bring people in like that."

Y/N stayed silent for a moment, clearly thinking through her response. Then she finally spoke, softer than before. "It’s complicated."

Mingyu glanced over at her, curiosity tugging at him despite himself. "Complicated how?" he asked, before quickly adding, "Never mind. It’s not my business."

She studied him for a moment, the weight of her silence speaking volumes. Then she nodded slowly. "Yeah. It’s better left at that."

There was a slight awkwardness between them, but neither pushed further. Mingyu returned to his work, his thoughts swirling, while Y/N lingered for a beat longer before heading back to her station. The conversation had ended, but the questions remained.

As Mingyu walked home, the cool night air did little to clear his head. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his chest—the guilt of pushing into Y/N’s business when he had no right to. He had let his own feelings get the better of him, and now he wondered if he had overstepped.

She hadn’t seemed angry, but the way she had shut down at the end of their conversation stuck with him. Maybe he should’ve just let it go instead of prying. Maybe it wasn’t about him at all.

With a sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking, hoping that by the time he got home, the guilt would settle. But he had a feeling it wouldn’t.

As Y/N walked home, the night air felt heavier than usual. She wrapped her arms around herself, not from the cold, but from the lingering weight of her conversation with Mingyu.

She knew he had wanted to know who her friend was. She had seen the tension in his jaw, the way he barely met her eyes when he muttered, No problem. And yet, part of her had held back—not because she wanted to keep secrets, but because she wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him.

Did he think she owed him an explanation? Or was it something else?

Her thoughts twisted in circles, frustration creeping in. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but for some reason, guilt still tugged at her. Maybe it was because, despite everything, a part of her had wanted to reassure him. To tell him outright that there was nothing for him to be upset about.

But she hadn’t. Instead, she had let the silence stretch between them, unsure of what it meant.

She had felt guilty—though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she had done anything wrong. She had every right to step away for a few minutes, to see an old friend, to ask for a little help. But the way Mingyu had reacted, the stiffness in his voice, the way he barely looked at her—it unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Maybe it was because she had seen the flicker of something in his expression before he turned away. Disappointment? Annoyance? Jealousy? She didn’t know, and that uncertainty sat heavy in her chest.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she walked. If he had just asked, she wouldn’t have minded telling him. But he didn’t—he just pulled away, leaving an awkward tension lingering between them. Now, instead of settling whatever was left unsaid, they were both stuck in this uncomfortable silence, neither willing to be the first to break it.

It was another chaotic evening, and the kitchen buzzed with energy. Orders were flying in faster than they could be prepared, and the atmosphere was tense. Mingyu worked quickly, flipping the fish just right, his mind focused on the task at hand. He didn’t expect the night to be this busy, but he could feel the heat in the air as the orders kept coming in.

Just as he thought he had a handle on things, he saw Y/N near the counter, trying to juggle multiple orders at once. She looked at him with a quiet intensity, a subtle but unmistakable look of frustration in her eyes. Mingyu knew she hated showing that side of herself, especially during a rush, but it was clear she was feeling the pressure.

The air was thick with the sounds of sizzling pans, the clinking of plates, and the hurried chatter of the kitchen staff, but Mingyu’s attention was fixed on Y/N. For a split second, their eyes locked, and in that brief moment, something shifted. Without a word, she moved toward him.

“Can you cover the scallops for me while I take care of this?” Y/N’s voice was calm, but there was a hint of urgency underneath. She wasn’t asking, she was telling.

Mingyu didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” he said, his voice steady as he grabbed a pan to sear the delicate scallops. He gently placed them in the hot pan, the sizzle filling the air as the scallops started to brown on the outside.

Y/N didn’t need to explain further. She was already moving, her focus laser-sharp as she worked to keep up with the rest of the orders. Mingyu’s eyes followed her for a moment before he turned back to the stove. He carefully spooned the rich lemon herb butter sauce over the perfectly seared scallops and plated the dish with finesse. The mashed potatoes were smooth and creamy with a subtle hint of truffle, and the asparagus, delicately sautéed with almonds, added a perfect crunch.

As the orders came in, they found a rhythm together, an unspoken understanding between them. When Y/N needed him to grab a plate or set aside an ingredient, he did so without thinking. When Mingyu needed a hand with the finishing touches on the plate, Y/N was there, seamlessly working alongside him without a word of complaint.

For a brief moment, there was no tension between them. It was just the two of them, working together in the heat of the kitchen, and for the first time in days, Mingyu felt a flicker of something familiar—a connection. They had done this before, back when they were still learning the ropes together. But now, it was different. There was something in the way their movements aligned, in the way they read each other’s actions without needing to speak.

The orders slowed down, and the kitchen staff began to relax, each person taking a deep breath as the chaos began to settle. Mingyu wiped his brow, looking up to find Y/N already glancing in his direction. Her lips twitched in a small, appreciative smile.

“You did good,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Thanks for covering me.”

Mingyu nodded, feeling the weight of the night lift off his shoulders. “Of course,” he replied, though something in his chest tightened at the sincerity in her words. There was no tension, no hesitation. It was just teamwork. And for the first time in a while, he realized that working with her didn’t just feel like a task—it felt like they were in sync.

As the kitchen settled down the usual clattering of utensils and sizzling pans had a softer edge to it, almost as if the energy in the room had settled. Mingyu was trying to keep himself busy, getting ready for the end of the day, but his mind kept drifting back to the conversation he had with Y/N yesterday. The tension between them had been so palpable, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that lingered after he’d let his jealousy slip through. He didn’t want to mess things up, especially not now.

He glanced over to her, and as if on cue, Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his for the first time that morning. There was a brief moment of silence, before she wiped her hands on a towel and walked over.

“I, uh, I wanted to talk about yesterday,” she began, her voice uncharacteristically cautious. She looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction, and Mingyu immediately felt the weight of her gaze.

Mingyu set down the knife he had been using to chop vegetables, his expression softening. He could feel the heaviness between them too. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. I didn’t mean to... make you feel like I was crossing a line.”

Y/N paused, glancing down at the counter. “It’s not that. I just…” She trailed off for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I guess I didn’t like how I made you feel. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

Mingyu frowned, his hands instinctively clenching around the edge of the counter. “I know you didn’t,” he said quietly. “But I... I didn’t like the way I acted either. I shouldn’t have said what I did. You’re allowed to have your friends here, and I should have respected that.” He took a deep breath, his eyes briefly flickering to the side. “I guess I was just jealous. But that’s not an excuse for being a jerk.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I get that. It’s just... I don't really know how to balance everything sometimes.” She lifted her hands as if to emphasize her words. “You know? Work, friends, everything else. Sometimes I put all of that above what’s actually important to me.”

Mingyu’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to explain. I get it more than you think.”

Y/N glanced at him, a little surprised by his response. She gave a small, reluctant smile. “You do, don’t you?”

Mingyu smiled back, though it was a little more hesitant than usual. “Yeah. I do.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And... I’m sorry for pushing. I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

There was a small silence between them as the words settled. Y/N took a deep breath, pushing back the tension that had been building over the last day. “I appreciate that,” she said softly. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have let it get to that point.”

Mingyu gave a nod, a sense of relief washing over him. It wasn’t fixed yet, but it felt like they were on the right track. “So... friends?” he asked, his voice light, trying to ease the air.

Mingyu nodded, his smile a little tighter than usual, though he was glad to see the tension easing between them. “Yeah. Friends,” he echoed, but as the words left his mouth, something in him clenched.

It wasn’t that he was unhappy to be friends with Y/N. No, he appreciated their dynamic. She was smart, capable, and had a way of seeing things that made him respect her more than anyone else in the kitchen. But the way she said it, so casually, as if there was no possibility of anything more... It made something stir in him, a flicker of frustration he hadn’t realized was there until now.

As she turned away to handle something on the counter, Mingyu’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than he intended. He tried to shake it off, focusing back on the work in front of him, but it wasn’t that easy. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted something else—something more than just this platonic, professional relationship.

He’d spent enough time with her to know that she was someone he could trust, someone who didn’t make him feel like he had to put on a front. But as much as he wanted to be close to her, something about the way she spoke about them being “friends” made him feel like maybe he’d just been placed in a box he didn’t know how to escape from.

Mingyu was tired of being just the guy she shared a laugh with in the kitchen or the guy who covered for her when she needed a break. He wanted to be someone she could rely on, yes—but more than that. He wanted to be the one who made her smile in a way that wasn’t just professional. The one she’d call outside of work, the one she’d want to spend time with after a busy shift.

But for now, he was stuck. Stuck in the friend zone.

As much as he tried to push the thought away, it lingered, a gnawing feeling in his chest. He could deal with being just friends... for now. But he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending he didn’t want more.

“Is that the guy that you’ve been talking about?” Y/N’s best friend Yuna asked, shoving her phone into Y/N’s face as she blinked, trying to adjust her eyes, before looking at the picture of Mingyu in his chef clothes.

“Yeah, that’s Mingyu.”

“Bitch, why didn’t you tell me he was hot!” Yuna exclaimed, as Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’ve been working with him! How have you not jumped him yet?”

“Yuna!” Y/N gasped, gasped, snatching the phone from her friend’s hand. “It’s not like that.”

Yuna raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, come on. You’ve been talking about him nonstop for weeks. And now that I know he looks like that” she gestured wildly at the screen, “—I refuse to believe you’re not at least a little into him.”

Y/N sighed, setting the phone down. “He’s… complicated.”

Yuna scoffed. “Oh, please. Men are not that deep.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s not just him, it’s me too. We got off on the wrong foot, and things have been weird ever since. We work well together, but I don’t know if I’d ever go there with him.”

Yuna hummed, unconvinced. “And does he know that? Because if he’s got even half a brain, I bet he’s already thinking about it.”

Y/N wanted to argue, but the memory of Mingyu’s expression from the other day, when she’d called them friends—flashed in her mind. She had thought she was smoothing things over, making their dynamic easier, but had she actually done the opposite?

“Whatever,” she muttered, brushing off the thought. “It’s not happening.”

Yuna grinned, leaning back against the couch. “We’ll see.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Y/N asked, standing up from the couch and made her way to the kitchen.

“No, you never have any boy drama and the one time you do, you don’t want to talk to me about it! That’s what best friends are for!” Yuna sighed, dramatically throwing herself against the couch.

Y/N opened the fridge, pretending to be way more interested in its contents than she actually was. “It’s not boy drama,” she insisted, grabbing a bottle of water.

Yuna scoffed. “You’re avoiding talking about him. That means it’s absolutely boy drama.”

Y/N twisted the cap off and took a long sip, stalling. “It’s work drama.”

“Oh my God,” Yuna groaned. “You are so bad at this. Just admit that you like him a little bit.”

Y/N turned around, leaning against the counter. “I don’t like him like that.”

Yuna gave her a knowing look. “But you want to.”

That made Y/N pause. She frowned, gripping the bottle a little tighter. Did she?

She’d spent so much time keeping Mingyu at a distance, keeping things strictly professional (well, as professional as they could be). But now that the tension between them had finally eased, now that they were in a good place—did she really want more?

“I just… don’t want to mess things up,” Y/N admitted, looking down at the bottle in her hands.

Yuna softened, sitting up. “Then don’t.”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe it is,” Yuna said. “Maybe you’re just overthinking it.”

Y/N let out a short laugh. “You think I’m overthinking? Shocking.”

Yuna grinned. “I’m just saying, if you ever decide you want to stop overthinking and do something about it, I fully support you jumping his bones.”

Y/N groaned, tossing a dish towel at her. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Yuna just laughed.

The kitchen had grown quieter as the night wore on. The usual rush of orders had tapered off, leaving the staff to clean up the last of the dishes and prep for the next day. Y/N was lingering by the sink, wiping down the counter, but her mind wasn’t entirely focused on the task at hand.

She kept glancing at Mingyu, who was busy organizing a few things by the stove. There was something about him tonight—something that felt different. The usual distance between them had lessened, and the casual, almost playful banter they’d shared earlier was still hanging in the air.

But Y/N felt a twinge of something else, something deeper than she was used to feeling. Maybe it was the way he’d made her laugh so easily or how he had looked at her when she’d brought up the appraiser’s visit. It made her realize, with a little surprise, that she wanted to spend more time with him. Outside of work. Away from the chaos of the kitchen.

Her hand froze for a second as she wiped down the counter. The idea had been forming in her mind for a while, but now that it was out there, it felt a little more real—and a lot more daunting. Still, she took a deep breath, straightened up, and approached him.

“Mingyu,” she said, her voice cutting through the stillness in the kitchen.

He looked up from his task, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. She was used to keeping her work and personal life separate, and this—asking him out—felt like a big step. But she wasn’t going to chicken out now.

“I was thinking,” she started, her tone light but with a hint of uncertainty, “maybe we could, uh, grab dinner sometime. You know, outside of work.”

Mingyu’s brow furrowed for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. He set down the towel he had been holding and turned fully to face her. “Dinner?”

Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the growing flutter of nerves in her stomach. “Yeah, like… just the two of us. No work talk, no kitchen chaos. I thought it might be nice, you know? A chance to, um, actually talk and not just shout over orders.”

She managed a half-smile, hoping her words didn’t sound as awkward as they felt.

Mingyu seemed to be processing it, his gaze never leaving hers. There was something in his eyes—surprise, curiosity, maybe even a hint of excitement. After a beat, he broke into a small grin.

“You want to get dinner with me?” he asked, his voice teasing but with a soft edge that made her heart skip.

Y/N nodded again, her smile widening. “Yeah. I mean, unless you don’t want to. It’s fine if—”

“No,” Mingyu interrupted, a little too quickly. “I’d like that. A lot, actually.” His smile deepened as he added, “I think it sounds like a good idea.”

The moment of uncertainty between them seemed to dissolve, and Y/N could feel herself relax a little. The weight of the tension from earlier was starting to lift, replaced with a new kind of anticipation. She tried not to overthink it, not to read too much into the fact that he’d responded so eagerly.

“Great,” Y/N said, her voice a little more confident now. “How about Friday night, after work? We could just go to a place nearby, nothing fancy.”

Mingyu thought for a second, looking up as if mentally scanning his calendar. “Friday sounds perfect. I’ll be there,” he said with a wink, his tone easy and comfortable.

Y/N grinned, relieved and excited all at once. “Alright, Friday it is. See you then.”

As she turned to walk away, she felt a rush of excitement, though she kept her cool. She had no idea what to expect, but there was something about the prospect of spending time with Mingyu outside the kitchen that felt both exciting and a little terrifying.

Mingyu watched her walk toward the door, a faint smile on his lips. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, and then he turned back to the counter, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

Maybe this dinner thing would be exactly what they both needed—a chance to break down some walls, to see each other as more than just coworkers. Mingyu couldn’t quite put his finger on why the idea of spending time with her outside of work felt so important, but he wasn’t about to question it. He just hoped that when Friday came, they could both enjoy it for what it was—something new, something that felt right.

Friday evening arrived, and as Y/N entered the small, cozy restaurant she had picked out for the evening, she couldn’t help but feel a nervous flutter in her chest. She had been to this place a few times before—charming, low-key, and not at all flashy—but tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it was where she was meeting Mingyu, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just a casual meal.

The soft hum of background chatter filled the air as she approached the hostess stand, where a friendly woman greeted her with a warm smile. After confirming her reservation, Y/N was led to a corner booth near the back, bathed in soft, amber lighting. The booth was intimate but not too small, the kind of spot where you could have a conversation without feeling overheard. The dim lighting added to the relaxed atmosphere, giving the space a warm, welcoming vibe.

Y/N took a seat, smoothing the front of her jacket, still uncertain about the evening ahead. Her eyes wandered to the front door, where she expected Mingyu to walk through any moment now. She had barely processed the fact that they were here, about to have dinner together, until she found herself fidgeting with her glass of water.

The minutes seemed to stretch, and before she could start second-guessing herself, the sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up, her breath catching a little as Mingyu walked in. He was dressed in a dark, casual jacket and a simple shirt underneath, looking effortlessly stylish, though she knew his presence was what had her heart racing more than anything.

As soon as their eyes met, he smiled, that familiar, easy grin that always made her feel like everything was going to be alright. Y/N felt her shoulders relax as he made his way over, and she stood up, offering him a small but genuine smile. Mingyu greeted her with a warm “Hey,” before taking a seat across from her, settling in comfortably.

“So,” Mingyu began, leaning back slightly in his seat as the waitress handed them menus, “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Outside of work, I mean.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Yeah, it’s a little strange, isn’t it? Not having orders to fill or a kitchen to run."

She folded her menu in half and set it down on the table, now feeling more at ease. Mingyu was right. This was a different kind of conversation—a different kind of atmosphere. No pressures, no distractions. Just the two of them, sitting across from one another for the first time, with no agenda but to enjoy the evening.

Mingyu studied her for a moment, that usual playfulness in his eyes, but there was a softness there too. “Well, we don’t have to worry about burning anything tonight, right?” he teased, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

“No kitchen disasters,” she agreed, her voice light with amusement. She paused, the laughter dying down, and added, “I’m glad you could make it. I’ve been wanting to talk to you more—outside of work.”

The words were out before she could stop them, and she felt a faint blush creep up her neck. Mingyu raised an eyebrow, as if surprised, but the corners of his mouth curled upward.

“Me too,” he admitted, the sincerity in his tone not lost on her. “There’s... a lot I’ve been thinking about.”

Y/N’s heart beat a little faster as she leaned forward, intrigued. “Oh?” she asked, her voice dipping into curiosity.

“Yeah.” Mingyu’s expression softened, and his eyes held hers with an unexpected intensity. “You’re more than just the girl who works the line, you know.”

Her breath caught for a split second as she met his gaze, a flutter in her chest that she couldn’t quite explain. There was something in his words, something in the way he looked at her that made her wonder just where this night would lead.

As they both settled into their seats, the quiet hum of the restaurant around them, it became clear that this wasn’t just another dinner—it was the start of something new, something unexpected, and maybe something neither of them were prepared for.

“So, what made you decide to invite me here tonight?” Mingyu asked, his voice gentle, a teasing smile dancing on his lips.

Y/N paused, unsure how to answer at first. The question lingered in the air, a small but meaningful moment between them. She could feel his gaze on her, curious but kind, as though he was genuinely interested in what she had to say.

“I don’t know,” she replied slowly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot lately about… well, everything.” Her voice trailed off, but Mingyu waited patiently, not rushing her to elaborate. “About work, about us, and I realized we’ve never really just… talked, y'know? Outside of the chaos of the kitchen. I wanted to change that.”

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, his eyes softening. “I get that,” he said quietly, tapping his fingers on the table lightly. “It’s been all business, hasn’t it? Always so focused on the next dish, the next order. But I’ve been thinking about it too, about how we never seem to have a moment to just… stop.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating his understanding. It felt like he wasn’t just hearing her words but truly listening. The tension between them had already begun to shift, replaced with something softer, more genuine. The conversation felt natural, even comfortable.

“There’s a lot we’ve missed,” she continued, her eyes meeting his. “I think we both deserve a little more than just the rushed hellos and goodbyes in the kitchen.”

Mingyu’s smile widened, but this time, it wasn’t teasing. It was warm, sincere. “I agree. I’m glad you thought of this.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “I’ve wanted to get to know you more, Y/N. But I wasn’t sure if that was something you’d want too.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. His honesty was disarming, and for the first time, she realized how much she’d been trying to hide behind her own walls—how much she’d been holding back.

“I—" She started, then stopped herself. "I think... I think I’ve been holding back too. It’s easy to keep things surface-level when you're afraid of what might happen if you let someone in.”

There was a quiet pause as Mingyu studied her, as though trying to read between the lines. His eyes softened further. “I don’t want to push you into anything. But I’m glad we’re here. And I want you to know… I’m not going anywhere.”

The words hit her more than she expected. She’d been so caught up in her own reservations, in the fear of opening up to someone, but hearing him say that made everything feel just a little bit easier. Maybe she wasn’t alone in this after all.

“I’m not sure where this will go,” she admitted, her voice steady now, “but I’m willing to find out.”

Mingyu’s smile was gentle, understanding. “Me too.”

The waiter arrived just then, and they both shifted slightly as the conversation momentarily paused. The timing was perfect, offering them both a moment to breathe. But as their eyes met again, there was a quiet understanding between them, a shared recognition of something beginning to change.

After they both had ordered and the wine was served, a comfortable silence had fallen between them. Mingyu swirled his glass absentmindedly, watching the deep red liquid catch the light before glancing up at Y/N.

“So,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone, “are we finally going to talk about the elephant in the room, or should we just pretend this is a totally normal coworkers-having-dinner situation?”

Y/N raised a brow, tilting her head slightly. “And what exactly is the elephant in the room?”

Mingyu smirked, leaning forward just a bit. “You tell me.”

“Alright,” Y/N said, taking a sip of her drink, gathering her thoughts. “When you first started at the restaurant, I found you… a little overwhelming. You were confident but never arrogant, sharp but never unkind. You had this easy charm, like you belonged anywhere you walked into.” She exhaled softly, setting her glass down. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, you were different. Most of the men I’ve worked with made me prove myself before they treated me as an equal—but with you, that respect was just there from the start. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Mingyu was shocked at her words, he realized that she was complimenting him, but he couldn’t help but feel sad at what she was saying at the same time.

“I’m sorry you’ve always been treated that way,” he said, looking into her eyes.

Y/N offered a small, almost shy smile, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. “It’s just how it’s always been,” she admitted. “You get used to it, I guess.”

Mingyu frowned. “That doesn’t mean you should have to.”

She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe not. But I learned to stop expecting anything different.” She glanced up at him then, something unreadable in her gaze. “That’s why you threw me off so much.”

Mingyu tilted his head. “Because I wasn’t an asshole?”

Y/N huffed a laugh. “Because you were kind,” she corrected. “And not in a way that felt fake or calculated. You weren’t trying to prove anything—you just were.”

Mingyu hadn’t been sure what to expect when he first met Y/N. She was sharp, focused, and had an air of confidence that made it clear she didn’t tolerate nonsense. He respected that. But at the same time, there was something about her that made him want to push her buttons just to see if she’d let herself crack a little.

At first, he had assumed she was just another work-driven chef who saw emotions as distractions. She was direct, efficient, and kept to herself—someone who measured worth by skill and experience rather than charm. And honestly? He hadn’t been sure she even liked him.

But over time, as he paid attention, he noticed the subtleties. The way her eyes softened when she was teaching a younger cook. The way she covered for others without making a big deal about it. How she’d quietly adjust a station if someone was struggling, never saying a word but always making things easier.

He had admired her long before he realized it.

And now, sitting across from her, listening to her say that he was different, that he had surprised her—Mingyu felt something tighten in his chest.

Because the truth was, she had surprised him too. And the more he learned about her, the more he realized that admiration wasn’t all he felt.

“I’m really glad we’re here tonight,” he said softly.

“So am I,” she said softly, meeting his gaze for just a moment. There was something unspoken between them—an understanding, a shift in the air that neither of them was quite ready to acknowledge.

Before she could say anything else, the waiter arrived, carefully placing their meals in front of them. The moment broke, and they both leaned back slightly as the rich aroma of their dishes filled the space between them.

Mingyu picked up his fork, glancing at her with a small smile. “Well, let’s see if this place lives up to the hype.”

Y/N chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “You better not critique the chef too hard.”

He grinned. “No promises.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted, but the weight of what had just been said lingered in the background—waiting.

Mingyu could tell that something had shifted after his dinner with Y/N on Friday. The tension that once lingered between them had eased, replaced by a newfound sense of comfort. Even in the high-pressure environment of the restaurant, where stress was unavoidable, their interactions felt smoother—more natural.

“Do you need a hand with the sauce?” He asked her during a particular busy time during the dinner rush.

“Please!” She sighed, wiping some of the sweat off her forehead and handed him the pot.

Mingyu took over seamlessly, stirring with practiced ease as he adjusted the heat. The kitchen was a flurry of movement—chefs calling orders, the sizzle of pans, and the sharp clatter of knives against cutting boards. But in the midst of the chaos, there was something steady about working alongside Y/N.

“Salt?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Pinch more,” she responded, barely looking up as she plated a dish.

Mingyu did as she instructed, tasting the sauce before nodding in approval. “Perfect.”

Y/N shot him a quick, grateful smile, and for a brief moment, amidst the rush, they weren’t just colleagues—they were a team.

“Wow, you two are working together?” Jeonghan asked, stepping away from his station to witness the rare event that was Y/N accepting help.

“Just this once,” Y/N said, not giving Jeonghan a smile, but instead, giving Mingyu a playful one.

Mingyu felt a flicker of satisfaction at her expression—reserved but amused, a far cry from the guarded looks she used to give him.

"Just this once, huh?" he teased, stirring the sauce one last time before setting the pot down. "Guess I'll have to make it count."

Jeonghan smirked, clearly entertained by the shift in dynamic. "I'll believe it when I see it again."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she focused back on her station, her movements a little less tense than before.

Mingyu didn’t push, but he couldn’t ignore the way his chest felt a little lighter. Maybe things really were changing between them.

After the last of the plates were cleared and the kitchen had finally quieted down, only Mingyu and Y/N remained, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the now-empty restaurant. As they stepped out into the crisp night air, Mingyu turned to her with a gentle smile, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“I could walk you home, if you’d like,” he said, his voice warm, almost tentative.

Y/N paused, her gaze meeting his. A slight smile tugged at her lips, though there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. “That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to. I’m sure you’re tired too.”

Mingyu shrugged nonchalantly, though the glimmer in his eyes suggested a different sentiment. “It’s no trouble,” he insisted, his smile softening. “I’d prefer the company. Besides, I owe you one for all the help today.”

Y/N considered him for a moment before nodding, her smile widening just a fraction. “Alright then.”

Her apartment was just a short walk away—at most ten minutes—but with Mingyu by her side, it felt like the kind of walk that could stretch on forever. The summer was slipping away, its warmth receding into the past, and with it came the bite of early fall. Y/N tugged her coat a little tighter around her as the evening chill crept in, but she couldn't ignore the small shiver that ran down her spine when Mingyu, noticing, pulled his gloves from his pockets and extended them toward her.

“You sure?” she asked, glancing at his outstretched hands, unsure if she wanted to accept.

“Yeah,” Mingyu said with a soft chuckle, his voice warm despite the cool air. “I’m not going to need them. Plus, I wouldn’t want you freezing on me.”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before accepting the gloves, feeling the warmth of them instantly as she slid her hands into them. She glanced up at him, a small smile on her lips, thankful for his thoughtfulness.

“Thanks,” she murmured, the silence between them comfortable for the first time all evening.

As they continued walking, their footsteps syncing, Y/N felt a sudden tug in her chest. Without thinking, she reached out and brushed her fingers against his, and just as quickly, he responded, his fingers lacing with hers. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the gloves.

As they both approached Y/N’s apartment, she slowly pulled her hand away, the warmth of his touch still lingering on her skin. She turned to face him as they stopped in front of the building, a nervous tension hanging in the air between them.

“Thanks for walking me home,” Y/N said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she met his gaze. “I really appreciate it.”

Mingyu smiled, a little sheepish but genuine, his eyes lingering on her for just a moment longer than usual. "Of course, I’m glad I could do it. And I meant it—don’t hesitate to ask if you ever need anything."

Y/N looked up at him, her heart fluttering. "I’ll keep that in mind," she said softly, the words hanging in the air between them like an unspoken promise.

The atmosphere felt different now, charged in a way it hadn’t been before, and she wasn’t sure if it was just her or if he felt it too. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, but there was a flicker of uncertainty there, too, as if he was holding back something he wanted to say.

“Goodnight, Mingyu,” she added with a smile, trying to keep the moment light, even as her heart raced.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Mingyu replied, his tone soft but carrying an unspoken weight behind it. As she turned to walk inside, he lingered for a moment longer, watching her until she disappeared through the door. And for the first time in a while, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more between them than just a simple friendship.

“Yes!” He whispered under his breath, pumping his fist in the air in victory, a quiet but triumphant gesture. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he turned to head toward the bus station. The weight that had been hovering over him for days—weeks, even—felt lighter, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt like things were falling into place.

He was still riding the high from their walk together, from the small but meaningful connection that had bloomed between them. He couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something different now. Maybe it was the way their fingers had brushed together, or the soft look in her eyes when she’d smiled at him. Whatever it was, it had left him feeling like the future was full of possibilities.

As he made his way to the bus stop, his mind kept replaying the moment, over and over again. He had been holding his breath the entire time, unsure if she felt the same way—if she even thought of him the way he thought of her. But that little spark in her eyes had said more than words could.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, quickly reading the message from Jeonghan: “Don’t overthink it, man. You got this.”

Mingyu smiled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. Maybe he wasn’t overthinking it after all. Maybe this was just the beginning.

“Seriously, you’re telling me she just held your hand?” Wonwoo asked, sitting up from his lounging position on the living room couch, his voice laced with disbelief as he stared at Mingyu. He was trying to process what he was hearing.

Mingyu shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a small, smug grin playing at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. I offered her my gloves ‘cause it was cold, and she just grabbed my hand instead.”

Wonwoo blinked a couple of times, leaning back against the cushions in stunned silence. His mind was struggling to comprehend the sheer casualness with which Mingyu was telling the story. He knew Mingyu had his charm, but this was another level.

“You really know how to work your magic, huh?” Wonwoo said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I honestly don’t even know how you do it. You just... walk up to a girl and suddenly, you’re holding hands?”

Mingyu leaned back in his seat, his grin widening. “Well, it wasn’t like I planned it. It just kind of... happened. But yeah, she held my hand and, honestly, it felt pretty natural.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Natural? Dude, that sounds like a big deal. Are you sure you’re not reading too much into it?”

Mingyu sighed, his smile faltering slightly as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know, man. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It just felt different with her, you know? Like, I’m not sure how to explain it... but it felt like a step forward. But also, I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into it, either.”

Wonwoo nodded thoughtfully, his expression softening. “It’s not bad to feel like something’s different. But just don’t go overthinking every little thing, okay? Trust your gut. You two have been good friends, so maybe it’s just a matter of it slowly becoming something more. Just don’t rush it.”

Mingyu considered his words, his eyes drifting to the window. “Yeah... maybe. It’s just, with her, everything feels like it could be more. But, like I said, I don’t want to make things weird between us.”

Wonwoo gave him a reassuring grin. “Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t find these kinds of connections every day. Just take it easy. If she’s interested in you, it’ll show. And if she’s not, at least you know you tried.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, the weight of the conversation settling in. “Yeah. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Exactly,” Wonwoo said, leaning back again. “Now, how about we take a break from all this emotional drama and order some food? You look like you could use it.”

Mingyu chuckled softly, appreciative of Wonwoo’s ability to effortlessly break the tension. "You know," he said, leaning back into the couch, "you might be onto something there. A break from all this… emotional turmoil wouldn’t hurt."

Wonwoo gave him a knowing look, his lips curling into a sly grin. “Exactly. You’re overthinking it, as usual. Sometimes the simplest solution is to stuff your face and clear your head.”

Mingyu shook his head in amusement but pulled out his phone. “I guess you’re right. I need to step back and let things breathe for a bit. I’ll get us some dinner—something comforting.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, teasing, “Just make sure it's a feast. I can feel your brain overheating from all that pondering.”

A soft laugh escaped Mingyu as he selected their usual takeout. “I’ll make sure it's worth the calories. But for now, we forget about everything else, yeah?"

“Deal.” Wonwoo stretched out lazily, sinking back into the couch. “A little food and mindless conversation—just what the doctor ordered.”

As summer gradually surrendered to the crisp embrace of fall, a subtle shift occurred in the relationship between Y/N and Mingyu. What had once been a cordial camaraderie deepened into something undeniably more affectionate. The air around them, once filled with the usual banter of coworkers, now hummed with a quiet tension, a recognition of the feelings that had begun to unfurl like the autumn leaves surrounding them.

Their glances lingered longer than they used to—words exchanged now held an unspoken weight between them. After long shifts in the kitchen, Mingyu often found himself walking beside Y/N, their footsteps in sync as they navigated the bustling streets. And each time their hands brushed, the contact lingered just a beat too long, enough to send a wave of warmth through both of them.

As the evening air grew cooler, they walked side by side, the hum of the city around them almost forgotten. Mingyu stole a glance at Y/N, his thoughts racing, but he couldn’t quite find the right words. He cleared his throat, hesitating for a moment before speaking.

“You know,” he began, his voice casual but laced with something deeper, “I really enjoy these walks with you. More than I expected, honestly.”

Y/N looked over at him, her lips curling into a soft smile. She slowed her pace just slightly, letting the silence settle between them before replying.

“Yeah, me too,” she said quietly, her breath forming tiny clouds in the cool evening air. “It’s nice to unwind after a long shift, having someone to talk to.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, but the weight behind them was unmistakable. Mingyu glanced down at their hands, which had been brushing together with every other step. He swallowed, the connection between them so simple yet so significant.

“You ever think about how we’ve gone from barely talking to—this?” Mingyu asked, a playful edge in his voice, though his heart beat faster than he wanted to admit.

Y/N chuckled softly, her eyes meeting his. “Yeah,” she said, her voice quiet but warm, “it’s funny how things just kind of... shift, without either of us realizing it.”

Their hands brushed again, and this time neither of them pulled away. Y/N didn’t even seem to notice it at first, but when she did, she looked at Mingyu, her heart suddenly feeling like it might burst.

“Are we still just walking home?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, and Mingyu felt a flush creep up his neck.

“Guess so,” he said, his words hanging in the air between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities.

And for a long moment, they walked together, the cool breeze brushing against them as the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of their footsteps and the quiet certainty that something had shifted—for the better

"Are you wearing new makeup?" Yuna asked, walking over and lightly tracing her finger over the glossy nude stain on Y/N's lips.

Y/N jumped slightly, swatting her hand away. "No," she lied, quickly glancing in the mirror to make sure the gloss wasn’t smudged.

Yuna leaned in, narrowing her eyes. "You are! I can tell. Why are you wearing new makeup? You don't usually go for this look... I mean, it looks good on you, but I’m kind of confused."

Y/N sighed, giving up the charade as she dug through her purse. She pulled out a larger makeup bag, opening it to reveal the fresh products she'd just picked up earlier that week. "Okay, fine. Yes, it’s new makeup. I don’t know... I just thought it was time for a change. Something different, you know?"

Yuna's eyebrows shot up as she took the bag from Y/N and started rifling through it, clearly intrigued. "A change? Girl, you’re over here talking about change, but look at all this! You went all out! These brands are way fancier than the usual stuff you get."

Y/N shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. "I just wanted to try something new. Maybe freshen up my routine a bit."

Yuna chuckled, pulling out a highlighter. "Freshen up your routine? You went straight for the big leagues. I see you got the good stuff—look at this highlighter! You didn’t even tell me you were planning to glow like this."

"Yuna, stop," Y/N said, her cheeks flushing slightly as she took the highlighter from her and tucked it back into the bag. "It’s not that serious."

"Oh, it’s serious," Yuna teased, shaking her head. "The question is—who’s the lucky guy that’s got you changing up your look? You’ve never been one to put this much effort into your makeup before."

Y/N’s eyes widened as she quickly fumbled for an excuse, her voice quieter than usual. "I’m just trying something new. It’s nothing like that."

Yuna gave her a knowing look, but didn’t push further. Instead, she grabbed a lipstick and held it up to Y/N’s lips. "Well, whether it's for someone or just for you, it’s looking good. I’m just saying, you’ve got that glow now."

Y/N gave her a half-smile, still feeling a bit embarrassed but also somewhat pleased by the compliment. "Thanks, Yuna."

Yuna smirked. "Well, if you won’t tell me who it’s for, at least let me play makeup artist with your new stuff. Come on, let’s see how much more fabulous I can make you."

Y/N shook her head, trying to hold back a laugh. "You’re impossible."

"But you love me," Yuna said, winking as she started applying the lipstick to her friend's lips. "Now spill—it’s either a guy or a new level of self-care. Which one is it?"

Y/N just rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. "You’re never gonna let this go, huh?"

"Not a chance," Yuna grinned, already planning her next line of questioning. "Is it Mingyu?" Yuna asked, her voice teasing as she raised an eyebrow, noticing the silence that followed.

Y/N froze for a second, her mind racing. She hadn't intended for this to come up. The blush on her cheeks betrayed her, though, as it spread across her face like wildfire.

Yuna grinned, her smirk widening. "Oh my god, it is him, isn't it?"

Y/N quickly looked away, hoping the flush would subside, but her heart was already pounding in her chest. "I—it's not like that," she stammered, still avoiding Yuna's gaze.

Yuna's laughter filled the room, and she playfully nudged Y/N's shoulder. "Come on, don't try to hide it. I saw the way you were with him the other night, and now you’re changing up your look? He’s definitely got you thinking about him, huh?"

Y/N sighed, her hands instinctively reaching for the makeup bag to distract herself. "It's... complicated," she admitted quietly, biting her lower lip.

Yuna raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Complicated? In what way?"

Y/N took a deep breath, her mind spinning as she tried to figure out how to explain without giving too much away. "I don't know... we’ve been getting closer. It’s just... different now."

Yuna leaned in closer, her expression softening slightly. "Closer? That sounds like a good thing, Y/N. Maybe it’s time to see where this goes." She paused, a teasing gleam still in her eye. "I mean, he’s a good guy. Plus, you did just get all this new makeup for him, didn’t you?"

Y/N's blush deepened, but she gave a small smile. "Can we not talk about the makeup for him?" she muttered, feeling both flustered and oddly comforted by her friend’s teasing.

Yuna grinned wider, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Alright, alright, but I’m just saying, if you ever need someone to talk to about Mingyu—or about anything else—you know I’m here."

"Thanks, Yuna," Y/N said softly, her heart feeling a little lighter as she finally looked back at her friend.

Yuna winked. "Anytime. Just don’t take too long to figure out what's between you two. You deserve someone who makes you smile, and from what I can see, he might just be the one."

Thanks, Yuna,” Y/N said, meeting her friend’s gaze. “It means a lot to have someone to talk to about all this.”

Yuna grinned, giving her a playful shove. “Anytime. Now, let’s talk about your makeup again, because that’s the real mystery here.”

Y/N was slightly embarrassed that her friend had read her so easily, but a part of her was relieved. It felt good to finally share her thoughts with someone who understood without judgment. She had always been so private, especially when it came to matters of the heart, but Yuna’s lighthearted teasing made it seem less intimidating.

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes, but her heart felt lighter as she finally relaxed. She could do this. She just had to take things one step at a time.

The dinner rush hit like a storm, the clattering of plates and the ringing of the ticket printer blending into a cacophony of pressure. In the back, the kitchen was a frenzy of heat and noise. The team was already feeling the strain, and it was only getting worse.

Mingyu stood at the stove, his hand moving skillfully over the hot pan as he worked on the scallops. But in his haste to keep up with orders, he misjudged the timing. The scallops, delicate and prone to overcooking, began to blacken along the edges. His heart dropped when he realized his mistake.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the scallops off the heat just in time to stop them from becoming completely ruined. But the damage was done. The scallops had lost their delicate texture and now looked less than appetizing.

Over at the sauce station, Y/N was juggling multiple pans, keeping an eye on each one to ensure nothing burned. But then, as if on cue, the beurre blanc she had been carefully preparing suddenly started bubbling over, splattering across the stove and dripping onto the floor in a disastrous mess.

“Crap!” Y/N cursed, scrambling to grab a towel to stem the flow, but it was too late. The sauce had already scorched the burner and spilled across the kitchen. She wiped her hands frantically on her apron as she tried to contain the damage. “Not now,” she muttered to herself, panic rising in her chest. This wasn’t the time for things to go wrong.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan, who was in charge of the risotto, was experiencing his own crisis. The rice, which was meant to be creamy and tender, had somehow become a mushy, overcooked mess. He was stirring furiously, trying to salvage it, but each stir seemed to make it worse. The dish was supposed to be a signature item for the evening, and now it was quickly turning into a nightmare.

“Dammit!” Jeonghan hissed, shaking his head in frustration. “This is not how tonight was supposed to go.”

Dino, who was assigned to roast vegetables, had just pulled a tray of brussels sprouts out of the oven only to find they were charred black on one side. He quickly shoved them back in, hoping to salvage the other side, but there was no saving that batch. The oven had been on too high, and everything had cooked unevenly.

“Are you kidding me?” Dino groaned. The kitchen was a disaster, and it was clear to everyone that they were losing control.

As the pressure mounted, the kitchen was filled with a symphony of frustration—knives chopping, pans sizzling, and everyone speaking over one another. The orders were piling up, and each mistake felt like a snowball gaining momentum. Mingyu cursed under his breath as he pulled the ruined scallops aside, and Y/N wiped her brow, trying to steady herself as she assessed the damage to her sauce.

But it was when Jeonghan’s risotto began to burn that the atmosphere truly shifted. The heat, the noise, and the sheer chaos of it all seemed to consume the kitchen.

“Guys!” Y/N called over the commotion, her voice louder than it had been all night. “We need to pull it together. NOW.”

She moved quickly to Mingyu’s side, assessing the scallops. "You didn’t burn them completely, just give them a second to rest," she said calmly, despite her own rising panic. "I’ll take over the sauce, you focus on those."

Mingyu nodded, frustration still etched on his face. “I didn’t mean to mess up,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving the burnt edges of the scallops.

“I know, we’ve all had a moment,” she replied, her tone steady. “Let’s fix it. I’ll do the sauce. You do the scallops. We’ve got this.”

She turned to Jeonghan, who was standing frozen in front of the pot of ruined risotto. “Jeonghan, we need more stock. Stir slowly, and don’t panic. It’ll come together.”

Jeonghan met her eyes, nodding gratefully before returning to the pan. The calm in her voice was like a lifeline, and it was enough to snap him out of his daze.

Dino was already back to the vegetables, moving quickly this time, pulling a fresh tray of brussels sprouts from the oven and tossing them back in the oven at a slightly lower temperature. “These are going to be perfect,” he muttered under his breath, determined not to let his earlier mistake define the night.

As the team pulled together, Y/N felt a rush of adrenaline. The clock was ticking, and the orders kept coming in, but her mind had shifted into autopilot. She moved fluidly between stations, taking charge where necessary, offering reassurance where she could.

But just as it seemed they were getting a handle on the chaos, the pressure cooker that was the kitchen had one last surprise in store. The walk-in fridge door, which had been opened and closed multiple times in the midst of the frantic rush, was now jammed. Inside, they had the ingredients they needed to finish off several orders. But no one could get the door to budge.

“Of course,” Y/N muttered under her breath, banging her fist lightly against the door. “Why not?”

“We’ve got no choice,” Mingyu said, his tone resigned. “We’ll have to move fast and get what we need from the front cooler.”

Y/N nodded. “We’ll make it work.”

With Mingyu leading the way, they quickly gathered the necessary ingredients from the front. The frantic energy that had pervaded the kitchen turned into a united determination. They were in this together, and failure wasn’t an option.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the orders were out. Plates of perfectly seared scallops, velvety risotto, and roasted vegetables, all beautifully arranged and delivered. Everyone was covered in sweat, their clothes stained with sauce and oil, but the relief was palpable. The nightmare was over.

Y/N looked around at the team, catching Mingyu’s gaze for a split second. “We did it,” she said, the exhaustion and pride clear in her voice.

Mingyu, his expression tired but satisfied, nodded. “We did.”

Jeonghan, still breathing heavily, leaned against the counter. “That was a disaster,” he chuckled. “But it was a disaster we survived.”

Dino grinned, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, and now it’s time for a drink.”

The tension in the kitchen melted away, replaced by a shared sense of accomplishment. They had survived the storm, stronger as a team than they had ever been before.

In the chaos of the night, they had not only saved the dinner service, but they had learned to lean on one another. They had learned to trust, to adapt, and to push through even the toughest of moments. And as they stood together, catching their breath and sharing small smiles, Y/N knew that this disaster had only made them stronger.

As the night came to a wrap and Y/N and Mingyu started their walk back to Y/N’s place, the air between them felt different—charged, almost electric. The chill of the evening clung to the air, but neither of them seemed to mind. Their steps were slow, unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

“You really took charge back there,” Mingyu said, shoving his hands into his pockets, glancing at her with something close to admiration. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Jeonghan actually listen to someone in a crisis.”

Y/N huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t give me too much credit. I was just trying to keep us all from setting the place on fire.”

Mingyu chuckled, but he didn’t say anything else right away. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, comfortable but weighted. The city lights flickered against the pavement, casting long shadows as they walked side by side.

At some point, their hands brushed, the contact fleeting but enough to make Y/N’s breath hitch. She didn’t move away, and neither did he. Instead, Mingyu took a slow breath, gathering the courage that had been bubbling inside him all night.

“You’re something else, you know that?” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful.

Y/N turned to look at him, her steps faltering just slightly. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu stopped walking then, and Y/N, caught in the moment, did too. They stood there, just a few steps away from her apartment, the night wrapped around them like a secret.

“I mean,” Mingyu said, lifting a hand as if he was about to reach for her but hesitating at the last second. “You make me nervous, and that doesn’t happen often.” His lips curled into a soft smile, but there was something undeniably sincere in his eyes, something that made Y/N’s heart race in her chest.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, the warmth of his presence pulling her in. “You don’t seem nervous,” she whispered.

Mingyu huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I am,” he admitted. And then, before she could respond, he took the last step that closed the space between them.

Y/N’s breath caught as Mingyu lifted a hand, his fingertips brushing the side of her face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was featherlight, hesitant, like he was giving her a chance to step away—but she didn’t.

Instead, she tilted her head just slightly, her gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. Mingyu swallowed, his pulse hammering as he leaned in, so close now that she could feel his breath ghosting over her skin.

For a moment, time seemed to slow, the sounds of the city fading into the background. It was just them, standing in the dim glow of the streetlamp, hearts racing, breaths mingling, the weight of something unspoken hanging between them—waiting.

As their lips finally met, the world seemed to stop. The cool night air faded into the background, and for a moment, it was just the two of them—Y/N and Mingyu. The space between them that had once felt like an ocean now felt like nothing at all.

Mingyu’s hand found its way to her waist, pulling her slightly closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. Y/N’s breath hitched as she melted into the kiss, unsure where the nervous tension from earlier had gone. She felt the rush of warmth that surged through her, the flicker of something she couldn’t fully describe yet.

Her fingers brushed lightly against his chest, unsure of where to place them, and Mingyu’s other hand found the back of her neck, holding her gently, as though she might disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened, slow and searching, as if they were both savoring the newfound closeness.

When they finally broke apart, their faces were so close that their breath mingled in the space between them. Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest, unsure if she had just dreamt the entire moment. Her hand rested on his chest, feeling the quick rhythm of his heart as well.

Mingyu let out a quiet laugh, but his voice was hushed, almost reverent. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

Y/N smiled, trying to find her words, but she couldn’t quite get them out. She just let out a soft laugh, meeting his eyes. “Me too.”

And just as she thought the moment might slip away, she leaned in again, brushing her lips softly against his, as if asking for more. The kiss was gentle this time, but it carried with it the promise of something deeper, something neither of them were quite ready to define just yet.

It was a simple moment, but it felt like everything.

Mingyu reluctantly pulled away at a particularly harsh breeze and wrapped his arms around Y/N’s frame, “as much as I would like to continue, I can only imagine how cold you must be if I’m shivering.”

Y/N chuckled and wrapped her arms around his waist as nodded against him. Her place was in eyesight, if they got there soon, maybe they could continue the night and their previous activities.

Mingyu smiled softly, still holding her close, as if savoring the last bit of warmth from the kiss before reality crept back in. The chill in the air was undeniable, and he could feel the sharp wind cut through their clothes, but having Y/N in his arms made it almost bearable.

"I guess you're right," Y/N said, her voice quiet but warm, her breath mixing with his in the cold air. "We should probably get inside."

Reluctantly, Mingyu pulled back, his hands lingering on her arms for a moment longer, as if he didn’t want to let go just yet. Their eyes met, and for a split second, the weight of the unspoken words hung between them.

Y/N smiled softly, a small but knowing smile, before taking a step back and motioning toward the building. "Come on, we’re almost there."

They walked in comfortable silence, side by side, the occasional brush of their hands reminding them of the kiss they had just shared, still lingering like a sweet aftertaste.

When they reached her apartment, Y/N turned to face him, her fingers tracing the edges of his jacket. "Thanks for walking me home," she said, voice a little softer now, as if the night had shifted something between them.

Mingyu nodded, his thumb gently brushing her hand as it rested against his chest. "Anytime." His words came out more like a promise than anything else, as if he would walk her home every night if it meant he could stay close to her.

There was a pause, a moment of silence where everything felt suspended in time. Y/N glanced up at him, a glimmer of something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite read, but the closeness between them felt electric.

"Well..." she began, trailing off, her gaze shifting between his eyes and his lips.

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, his heart racing. "Well..." he repeated softly, his voice steady despite the rush of emotions he could feel building inside him.

And then, as if the distance between them could no longer be tolerated, Y/N leaned in again, this time with more intent, her lips brushing against his once more. The kiss was soft, but it carried the weight of everything they hadn’t said out loud. The world faded away again, leaving just the two of them—here, in this moment, with nothing but each other.

As their lips met again, Mingyu’s heart seemed to stop for just a moment, and everything else around him blurred. He could feel the warmth of her against him, her breath mingling with his, and he never wanted to let go. Every time their lips met, it felt like something shifted inside him, something he didn’t know he could feel until this moment.

His hand naturally moved to the back of her neck, holding her there, as if trying to pull her closer, as if he could keep her this close forever. The way her lips fit against his felt so right, and he couldn’t quite grasp why he felt so desperate to stay there, to not let the moment slip away. He had never felt this kind of pull before, like everything about him was tethered to her and every inch of space between them seemed unbearable.

It felt too good, too natural—this connection that was quickly becoming something he couldn’t easily walk away from. The cold air seemed irrelevant now, just a distant background to the warmth building between them. Mingyu could feel his pulse racing in his chest, and even though the air bit at his skin, he was lost in the warmth of her touch, the softness of her lips.

He didn’t want to pull away. He didn’t want this moment to end. But at the same time, there was this hesitation, this fear in the back of his mind—what if this was too much too soon? What if they were both walking too fast, leaning into something they weren’t ready for? Yet, every time he thought about pulling away, his heart screamed at him to stay, to keep feeling this, to keep tasting her lips, just a little longer.

But the world outside—the chilly night, the noise of the city just a few blocks away—eventually crept in. He reluctantly pulled back, not wanting to, but knowing it was probably for the best. The need to breathe, to take a step back, seemed so small in comparison to the overwhelming desire to remain in her arms.

And yet, even as he pulled away, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she made him feel. How easy it was to lose himself in her presence. Mingyu wasn’t sure what this all meant yet, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt too important, too real to just be a fleeting moment.

He just hoped she felt the same way.

“I don’t work tomorrow, but I can still come and walk you home?” He offered, watching her cheeks flush pink.

“No, that’s okay,” Y/N said with a small smile. “We’ve been pretty attached at the hip lately.”

Mingyu chuckled, tilting his head playfully. “Oh? You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “I didn’t say that.”

He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “So, you like having me around?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up her neck. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, chef. I just meant… a little space isn’t the worst thing.”

Mingyu grinned, stepping back dramatically. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you your space… for now.”

Y/N shook her head, but she couldn’t help but laugh. Somehow, even when he teased, he had a way of making her heart race.

“See you later, Chef Y/N,” Mingyu teased, his voice laced with affection. Before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Y/N felt her breath hitch, her cheeks instantly warming as he pulled away with that signature smirk of his. “Get inside before you freeze,” he murmured, his hand brushing hers for just a second longer than necessary before he finally stepped back.

She stood there, still caught in the moment, watching him walk away with a giddy feeling blooming in her chest.

“Shut up! You guys kissed?” Yuna shrieked, her voice loud enough to turn a few heads on the street.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she quickly reached out, smacking Yuna’s shoulder in warning. “Can you not announce it to the entire city?” she hissed, glancing around before sighing and nodding. “Yeah… twice.”

“Oh my god!” Yuna clutched her chest dramatically. “Twice? And you’re just telling me this now? When were you planning to share this life-altering information?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile creeping onto her lips. “I don’t know, maybe when you weren’t screaming about it in public?”

Yuna held up a hand, effectively silencing Y/N mid-ramble. "No, no, no—you're not about to brush past this like it's nothing," she said, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Was it like… fireworks? A slow burn? Did he cup your face? Oh my god, did he do the thing where he leans in all intense and makes you forget how to breathe?"

Y/N groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Yuna, I don’t know. It was—good. Really good. We were both still on edge from the kitchen disaster, emotions were high, and then suddenly… it just happened."

Yuna gasped. "So it was a heat-of-the-moment kiss? Passionate? Unexpected? Please tell me he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world before it happened."

Y/N's face warmed as she crossed her arms. "...Maybe."

Yuna let out a delighted squeal, bouncing on her heels. "Oh, you're doomed. Completely, hopelessly doomed."

Y/n sighed, but didn't say anything else not wanting to draw any more attention.

Yuna, however, was far from done. She grinned, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “So? Are you guys, like… a thing now?”

Y/N sighed, glancing around at the lingering stares from Yuna’s earlier outburst. “Can we not do this here?” she mumbled, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

Yuna smirked but relented, lowering her voice. “Fine, fine. But you owe me details. And don’t think I didn’t notice that dreamy little sigh you just did.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Maybe she was doomed.

Mingyu was stressed. He had been tasked with creating three new dishes for the restaurant—no easy feat. Fish and chips were a classic, but Joshua had insisted on something more refined, pushing him to craft three completely diverse plates: Lobster Bisque, Seared Scallops with Garlic Mashed Potatoes, and Lamb Loin with Smoked Eggplant and Squash Purée.

The kitchen was alive with movement, sizzling pans, and the rhythmic chop of knives against cutting boards. Mingyu moved between stirring a delicate sauce and carefully searing slices of eggplant, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Who started the fire?” Y/N called from across the kitchen, her voice cutting through the controlled chaos.

“Joshua.” Mingyu scoffed, flipping the eggplant with a little more force than necessary. “Decides to throw me into the deep end with no warning.”

Y/N smirked as she walked over, glancing at the plated scallops. “So, how does it feel being a fully initiated chef now?”

Mingyu let out a dry laugh. “Like I’m being hazed. You’d think after months of proving myself, I wouldn’t have to fight for my life every night.”

Y/N leaned against the counter, watching him drizzle sauce over the lamb loin. “It’s a test. He wouldn’t have given you this if he didn’t think you could handle it.”

Mingyu exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I’d like to have a conversation with past me about why I thought this career was a good idea.”

Y/N chuckled. “Because you love it. Even when you’re pissed off and running on fumes, you wouldn’t trade this for anything else.”

Mingyu stilled for a moment before sighing. “Damn it. You’re right.” He glanced at the bisque, giving it one last stir. “I hate when you do that.”

“I know,” Y/N said smugly. “Now, hurry up. Joshua’s coming, and if that bisque isn’t perfect, you’ll be redoing it in your sleep.”

Mingyu chuckled but nodded, focusing back on his work. A comfortable silence settled between them, the only sounds being the soft bubbling of sauces and the rhythmic sizzle from the pan.

After a few moments, Mingyu glanced up, stealing a quick look at Y/N before speaking.

“Why do you love cooking?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

Y/N hesitated for a second, eyes flickering toward the lamb he was carefully plating. “I don’t want to mess up your focus.”

Mingyu smirked, stirring the bisque without missing a beat. “I’m still going. I can multitask.”

“Okay, fine,” Y/N chuckled, shifting her weight slightly as she thought. “I guess... it feels like control. No matter how chaotic things get, if you follow the right steps, you get something good in the end.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, setting down his spoon. “So it’s about control for you?”

She shrugged. “Partly. But it’s also about creating something people actually enjoy. You can put effort into a lot of things in life and never see the payoff, but with food? You know right away if it’s good.”

Mingyu tilted his head, considering her words. “Huh.”

“What?”

He shook his head with a small smile. “Just didn’t expect you to sum it up so perfectly.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “What, you think I don’t think deeply about food?”

Mingyu chuckled. “No, I just remember mentioning how much I love the kitchen rush a while back, and you didn’t really say anything. I figured that was your way of saying you weren’t that into it.”

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Oh. No, that was just me being standoffish.”

Mingyu nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “I see. Well, I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to open up to me now.”

Y/N let out a soft chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah… I guess you kind of grew on me.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow playfully. “So, I wasn’t instantly charming?”

She smirked. “Not exactly. You were kind of annoying at first.”

Mingyu gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Annoying? I prefer the term ‘irresistibly charismatic.’”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her gaze gave her away. “Call it what you want. But yeah… I do feel more comfortable with you now.”

Mingyu’s expression softened, the teasing fading into something more genuine. “Good. I like this—us just talking like this.”

Y/N nodded, feeling the same unspoken ease settle between them.

“Are you guys flirting?” Jeonghan called out from his station, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Because if so, can you at least do it a little quieter? Some of us are actually working here.”

Laughter rippled through the kitchen, a few chefs throwing knowing glances their way. Y/N rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her.

Mingyu, unfazed, grinned as he tossed a towel over his shoulder. “Jeonghan, if you spent half as much time cooking as you do eavesdropping, maybe you’d finally impress Chef Lee.”

The laughter only grew louder, Jeonghan scoffing as he turned back to his work. The playful banter didn’t break the energy of the kitchen—it only made it feel lighter, more alive.

And maybe, just maybe, Mingyu and Y/N weren’t the only ones who felt the shift between them.

“How’s the extra dishes coming along?” Joshua asked, clapping Mingyu on the shoulder and snapping him out of his little daze.

Mingyu blinked, clearing his throat as he hastily turned back to the stove. “Good. Just, uh—getting down the garlic mashed potatoes,” he replied, stirring a little too intently.

Joshua chuckled, clearly not buying it. “Right. And were you planning to season them with longing stares, or...?”

Mingyu groaned, his cheeks tinged with a telltale blush. “Shut up, hyung,” he muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the pot, as if that would somehow erase the fact that he’d just been caught staring at Y/N—again.

Joshua only smirked, giving Mingyu another pat on the back before walking off. “Just don’t burn anything while you’re busy pinning.”

Mingyu’s head snapped toward Y/N, panic flashing in his eyes as he checked to see if she had heard Joshua’s teasing remark. To his relief, she was too focused on her own station to notice. Still, the mortification settled deep in his chest—if Joshua had caught on, who else had?

“Hyung, don’t say that out loud!” Mingyu hissed under his breath, glaring at Joshua.

Joshua only chuckled, unfazed. “Relax, Romeo. Your secret’s safe with me.” He shot Mingyu a playful wink before casually strolling back to his station.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned back to his mashed potatoes. Get it together, man. But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at his lips.

A/N: Wow guys! that's the first part! I'm ngl, I'm not done writing this, life has been busy, so it may be a little bit before it's done! But I won' drag it out to multiple parts. I hope everyone likes it ♥

taglist: @fancypeacepersona @lolawlolawlol @syluslittlecrows @alyssa19123456 @christinewithluv

#seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #kim mingyu #mingyu seventeen #mingyu x reader #seventeen imagines #mingyu angst #kim mingyu smut #mingyu smut #mingyu #mingyu oneshot #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu fanfic #svt x reader #svt mingyu #kim mingyu fluff #mingyu fluff

566 notes · View notes

cheolsbitch · 29 days ago

Text

“Three’s Not A Crowd”PT.2

-Continuation- Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

go to Pt.1 if you haven’t read it yet

Summary:

You’re just roommates—best friends, nothing more. But when you admit no man has ever made you cum, Minho and Jisung take it as a challenge. What starts as teasing turns into denial, control, and desperation as they make you beg for every touch—except the one thing you want most.

Content Warning:

Explicit sexual content, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, spanking, light humiliation, power dynamics, dominance/submission themes, possessiveness, psychological play, polyamory (m/m/f), bxb content, emotional manipulation in a sexual context, and intense teasing. All acts are fully consensual but heavily rooted in delayed gratification and power control.

Back to readers POV

You’re halfway through getting dressed when you hear it.

A faint sound.

Sharp. Muffled.

Something that makes your body pause mid-movement, one leg halfway in your shorts, heart thumping out of rhythm.

It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself.

Maybe the TV. Maybe your imagination.

Your brain’s just in overdrive after last night. The teasing, the touching, the way both of them practically draped themselves over you without ever doing anything explicit.

But then it happens again.

This time louder.

This time… unmistakable.

A moan.

High, broken, desperate.

Your breath catches.

No.

No way.

But your legs move before your brain can stop them — stepping out of your shorts and back toward your bed, where you sit on the edge like someone just pulled the floor out from under you.

It’s quiet for a second. Too quiet.

And then

Another moan.

Louder.

This time choked. Raw.

Jisung.

There’s no mistaking it now.

Not when his voice breaks like that. Not when you hear what sounds like the slap of skin on skin and the faintest grunt — lower, deeper — that can only be Minho.

Your throat goes dry.

Your pulse roars in your ears.

They’re in the bathroom.

Not even ten feet away.

The door is cracked. Not fully closed. And through that sliver of space, they’re—

Fuck.

You clench your thighs together, instinctively, trying to do something, feel something, not feel the way your body is suddenly betraying you.

Because you’re hot.

Burning.

Turned on in a way that’s so sharp it almost hurts.

You want to look away — want to turn up music, cover your ears, pretend you didn’t hear what you just heard.

But you don’t.

You stay frozen.

Listening.

One hand still gripping the edge of the bed, the other twitching slightly at your side.

Because you’re not delusional.

You weren’t imagining it.

And now?

You can’t deny it.

You’re soaking through your panties.

And it’s because of them.

————————————————————————

The mall is loud — kids yelling, music playing overhead, shoes squeaking against polished tile — but somehow, your heartbeat is still louder.

You’re walking between them.

Jisung to your left, Minho to your right.

Like always.

And like always, they’re too close.

Minho’s arm brushes yours every few steps, his fingers brushing your lower back when he wants to steer you toward a store. Jisung keeps leaning in to whisper things in your ear — dumb things, funny things, anything — but his hand never leaves your waist.

You’re trying to play it cool.

Trying to act like you didn’t spend the entire morning staring at the floor, sweating through your sheets, haunted by the memory of what you heard last night.

Jisung moaning Minho’s name.

Minho groaning.

Thrusts.

Slaps.

The wet sound of desperate bodies.

You can’t un-hear it.

And you definitely can’t un-see the faint red mark trailing down Jisung’s throat, or the light bruising on Minho’s collarbone fingerprints you didn’t leave, but definitely noticed the second they took their shirts off this morning like it was no big deal.

“Cute top,” Jisung had said. “Doesn’t cover anything, though.”

“Good,” Minho added, tugging it lower. “She should know how it feels to be teased.”

Now, in the middle of a Nike store, Jisung’s behind you holding two pairs of joggers.

“Which color makes my ass look better?” he asks, holding both up, clearly aware people are staring.

“Neither,” you mutter, taking a step forward.

Minho leans in with a smirk. “So you’ve looked.”

Your cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

But they don’t.

They keep pressing in close. Whispering. Brushing hands along your sides. Tugging on your sleeves like kids in need of attention.

And everyone is noticing.

Two girls walk past and whisper something not-so-quietly — “God, they’re gorgeous.”

A passing guy does a double take.

And someone behind you actually says out loud:

“Damn, that’s the hottest poly couple I’ve ever seen.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t correct them.

Because what would you even say?

No, I’m not with them. I’m just living with two guys who moan each other’s names while I sit alone in my bed trying not to touch myself about it?

Yeah. No thanks.

You pretend not to notice the stares.

Pretend not to feel Minho’s hand curl gently around your wrist, pulling you toward the mirror to “check the fit” when Jisung tries on a hoodie.

Pretend not to notice Jisung sliding up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder like it’s instinct like he always belongs on you.

You’re not delusional anymore.

But now?

You’re just trying to survive it.

—

You should’ve known something would go wrong the moment Jisung got too excited about the drink menu.

“I’m telling you,” he’d said, practically vibrating as he held his cup, “lychee jelly is elite—”

And then someone bumped into him.

And he bumped into you.

And the entire large milk tea exploded down the front of your shirt and all over your shorts.

Cold. Sticky. Immediate.

“Shit—!” you gasped, stepping back and frantically trying to brush it off.

Jisung stared at you with wide eyes, hands frozen mid-apology. “Oh my god, I swear I didn’t mean—Minho, help her—!”

Minho didn’t laugh. But he looked like he wanted to.

He handed you a stack of napkins with that infuriating smirk. “Guess it’s shopping time.”

You groaned, sticky and embarrassed. “I literally just put this on.”

“I’ll pay,” Jisung offered immediately, grabbing your wrist. “You’re going to change anyway. Come on, pick something. Something hot. Something you like.”

“Something we like,” Minho added.

You glared. But you let them drag you into the next clothing store.

Now you’re standing in front of the dressing room mirror, still damp and annoyed… and a little flushed.

Because what you picked — or maybe what they picked — is barely clothes.

A black cropped tank top that clings to your chest and stops just under your ribs. Thin straps. Tight fit. Bare skin.

And low-rise, distressed shorts that hug your hips and thighs, the hem riding up dangerously high.

Your thigh tattoo is completely visible now — the black bow on the back of your leg a dead giveaway.

And your back tattoo peeks out from under the cropped fabric, the ink trailing up your spine and disappearing behind your neck.

You look hot.

You know it.

And the boys?

They definitely know it.

The second you step out of the dressing room, Jisung almost drops his phone.

“Holy—”

Minho doesn’t speak. Just stares — eyes dragging slowly from your bare thighs to your inked back to your chest and collarbones, jaw flexing once.

You cross your arms. “You said pick something.”

“This isn’t something,” Jisung says, voice low. “This is everything.”

Minho’s voice is even lower. “Turn around.”

You raise a brow, but you turn.

Slowly.

And behind you, you can practically hear both of them aching.

Minho exhales hard. “Fuck.”

Jisung steps in behind you like he’s about to say something, but stops short — so close you feel his breath at your shoulder.

You’re not even sure they’re aware of the people walking past anymore.

Of the stares.

Of the way you keep squeezing your thighs together, subtly shifting your weight just to feel something.

Minho’s hand brushes the small of your back — casual, maybe. But his fingers linger right at the edge of the tattoo.

“You’re buying this,” he says, voice low and final.

You glance at them both in the mirror.

And you see it.

The control slipping.

The restraint cracking.

They’re aching.

And now?

You’re starting to wonder how much longer they’ll wait before they finally break.

“Say it”

The front door clicks shut behind you.

The apartment feels too quiet — too still — like the air itself is waiting for something to happen.

You toss your bag near the hallway, your head still spinning from the car ride. From Minho’s hand on your thigh. From Jisung’s voice in your ear.

They move around the kitchen like nothing happened.

Minho grabs water bottles.

Jisung leans against the counter, digging into the small bag of snacks you picked up from the mall.

And then, like instinct, they collapse onto the couch — side by side — arms pressed together, thighs touching.

You stay standing for a beat too long.

Then you sit across from them.

And that’s when it starts.

Minho drapes his arm over the back of the couch, letting his fingers rest way too low behind Jisung’s shoulder.

Jisung’s legs spread, lazy and open, his knee bumping Minho’s with every shift.

They’re talking about nothing at first — dumb comments, jokes about people at the mall, teasing each other now like you’re not even there.

And it’s… too much.

Watching them lean into each other.

Watching Minho casually touch Jisung’s thigh.

Watching Jisung curl his fingers around Minho’s wrist.

Watching them smile at each other like you’re not sitting there burning alive.

You squirm in your seat.

Cross your legs.

Uncross them.

Then try to sit still.

You’re sweating.

And they notice.

Jisung glances at you first, cocking his head. “You okay over there?”

You blink fast. “Fine.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “You look flushed.”

“Hot in here,” you mutter.

And that’s when Jisung — smiling, eyes glittering with that boyish mischief — says, “So… we never circled back to the whole ‘no guy’s ever made me cum’ thing.”

You freeze.

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, stretching his arms behind his head, “it’s kinda sad.”

Minho hums. “Honestly disrespectful. A waste.”

You stare at them. “Can we not—”

“No, no,” Minho interrupts, voice smooth as ever. “I want to get this right. Because if I remember correctly… we made every woman we’ve ever been with cum. Multiple times.”

“Begged for more,” Jisung adds.

“Clawed at us.”

“Cried, even.”

You roll your eyes hard. “You two are so full of shit.”

Minho smiles.

Jisung leans forward. “You sure?”

You glare. “You’re just saying that to sound cool.”

“You don’t believe us?”

You snort. “I know you’re lying. You’re like… delusional sex gods in your own heads.”

Minho sits up straighter now, tone calmer, sharper.

“You really think we’d lie about that?”

“I think,” you snap, “you’re both cocky as hell and obsessed with teasing me because you know I haven’t gotten off in months and it’s a fun little power trip for you.”

Silence.

Then Jisung laughs softly. “You’re not wrong.”

“But you are,” Minho says, eyes locked on yours, “if you think we can’t make you cum.”

You feel it — the shift.

The change in tone.

The way the air goes quiet, then thick.

Your stomach twists.

Your thighs clench again.

You’re so tired of pretending.

And before you can stop yourself—

“Prove it.”

The words hang in the air.

Louder than they should be.

Raw. Exposed.

You don’t take them back.

You can’t.

Minho’s mouth twitches.

Jisung’s eyes go wide. Then dark.

Minho leans in slowly, elbows on his knees.

“Say that again.”

You swallow. Breath shaky. Face burning.

“Prove it.”

Jisung grins like he’s just been handed a gift. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.”

Minho stands up.

And walks toward you.

Minho stops in front of you.

Not touching.

Just looking.

Like he’s reading your mind. Like he’s planning a hundred things you won’t be able to handle.

Jisung stands behind him, slower to move, lips parted slightly, like even he wasn’t expecting you to finally give in. But his eyes are dark now. Hungry.

“Prove it,” you had said.

And now?

Minho leans down, face level with yours, his voice calm and low.

“No, baby. You don’t get to drop that and go silent.”

He reaches forward, runs his fingers gently—dangerously—along the hem of your shorts.

“You’re gonna tell us exactly what you want.”

Your breath hitches. “You already know.”

Jisung steps closer, circling to your side, tone playful but firm. “That’s not how this works.”

Minho’s thumb dips just beneath the waistband. “Who do you want first?”

You clench your jaw.

Say nothing.

“Where do you want us?”

Still nothing.

“How bad do you need it?” Jisung whispers at your ear, lips barely brushing your skin.

You cross your arms over your chest. “You two are so dramatic.”

Minho hums. “Brat mode activated.”

You lift your chin. “I’m not giving you a fucking checklist.”

Jisung laughs softly, the sound breathless. “She’s fighting it. Still pretending.”

Minho’s fingers trail up your bare thigh — slow, hot, deliberate — until his hand rests firmly between your legs, palm pressing just enough to make you suck in a quiet breath.

“You’re already wet,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming. “And we haven’t even touched you properly.”

You try not to react.

But your hips twitch.

Minho grins.

Jisung crouches next to you now, fingertips brushing your bare arm. “C’mon, princess. Just say it. You want one of us between your thighs, or both?”

Minho squeezes your thigh again. “You want a mouth or fingers first?”

You hiss through your teeth. “Fuck both of you.”

Jisung smirks. “Kinda the plan.”

Minho leans in closer — so close your noses nearly touch.

“Last chance,” he whispers. “Tell us who, where, and how bad. Or we stop.”

You bite your lip.

Your body is screaming.

But your voice still comes out bratty, defiant, full of heat.

“Fine.”

You look at Jisung first. “I want your mouth.”

Then Minho. “Your fingers.”

You sit back, legs spreading slightly. Your smirk is full of challenge now.

“Right here. Right now. And if you can’t make me cum—don’t ever talk shit again.”

Minho’s eyes flash.

Jisung exhales like he’s starving.

And they both move at once.

They don’t pounce.

They don’t tear your clothes off or fall into chaos like some porno fantasy.

They move with purpose.

Minho steps in first, crowding your legs open with his knees as he reaches for the button of your shorts. He doesn’t ask permission this time—just pops it open, slow, and drags the zipper down with maddening ease.

Jisung’s hands curl around your hips from behind, warm and firm, helping you lift just enough for Minho to peel your shorts down your thighs and toss them to the floor like they were never needed.

The room feels colder without them.

Or maybe it’s just you—burning up from the inside out.

You’re left in your tank top and panties, legs bare, body thrumming with need, sprawled on the couch like they already own you.

But they haven’t even touched you yet.

Minho’s eyes drag slowly across your skin—up your thighs, your hips, the ink peeking out from your lower back, your stomach rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t move.

Jisung settles beside you on the couch, just close enough to let his thigh brush yours.

Still, nothing.

“Why’d you stop?” you breathe.

Minho tilts his head. “We’re waiting.”

You blink. “For what?”

Jisung’s voice is softer this time. “For you to ask nicely.”

You scoff. “I already said what I want.”

Minho leans down, his mouth a whisper at your ear. “Yeah. And it was hot. But now we want you to beg.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re fucking ridiculous—”

“You’re still trying to act like you’re in control,” Minho interrupts, smile sharp. “Even now. Legs spread. Soaking through your panties.”

You try to clench your thighs together.

Minho’s hand is there first.

“You’re not hiding anything, baby.”

Jisung leans over, kisses your jaw lightly. “You asked us to prove it, remember?”

Minho drags his fingers up your inner thigh—barely brushing, but enough to make you jolt.

“Then say it right,” he murmurs.

Silence.

You clench your fists into the couch cushions. Your pride’s already in shreds. Your body’s screaming for relief.

So when your voice comes out, it’s smaller.

But still defiant.

“Please.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Please what?”

You grit your teeth. “Please—touch me.”

“Who?” Jisung asks, eyes hungry now.

You look at him first.

“Jisung. I want your mouth.”

Then at Minho.

“And your fingers.”

They exchange one glance.

And then they move.

Minho reaches for your waistband.

Jisung slides off the couch to the floor between your legs.

And you already know—

You’re not walking tomorrow.

Minho hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and drags them down slowly — dragging the fabric between your legs with enough friction to make your breath catch.

He tosses them aside, exposing you completely.

You feel the cool air hit first.

Then their eyes.

Jisung’s settled between your thighs now, shoulders slotted comfortably against your inner legs, his hands resting on your hips like he’s done this a hundred times. Like he’s home.

His eyes flick up once — dark, full of heat — before he leans in and kisses the inside of your thigh. Not where you want him. Just above your tattoo. Slow. Wet. Messy.

Your hips twitch.

And Minho catches it.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he kneels behind you on the couch, his chest pressed to your back now, hands sliding up to cradle your ribs beneath your tank top. “You asked for this. Let us do it right.”

Jisung’s mouth trails higher, his lips brushing closer, closer — and then finally, his tongue licks a single stripe through your folds.

You let out a quiet, broken sound.

“Fuck—”

He doesn’t speak.

Just moans softly into you and goes back in — tongue stroking in slow, steady passes, building pressure with every lap. He’s taking his time. He’s savoring you.

And you feel everything.

Then Minho’s hand drifts down between your legs.

His fingers slide through the wetness Jisung’s coaxed out of you, and then he presses one inside.

Deep.

Smooth.

Deliberate.

You cry out, hips jerking again.

“Minho—”

“I said stay still,” he breathes against your ear, pressing a second finger in now. “Or I’ll stop.”

You whimper.

Jisung sucks your clit at the same time Minho curls his fingers inside you. The pleasure hits like lightning — quick, sharp, right behind your eyes.

But it’s not enough.

It’s perfect.

But it’s not enough.

They keep going — slowly. Coordinated. Cruel.

Minho’s fingers move in a steady rhythm, stroking your walls, curving with precision.

Jisung alternates between long, hot strokes of his tongue and gentle sucking that makes your legs shake.

You’re close.

Already.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time, and your body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Your breathing gets erratic.

Your hands claw at the cushions.

And just when you feel yourself tip forward—right there—

They stop.

Minho pulls his fingers out.

Jisung lifts his mouth from you, lips shining.

You stare down at him in shock. “What the—?”

Minho hums against your shoulder. “Not yet.”

“Are you—?” You gasp. “You said—”

“We said we’d prove it,” Minho interrupts smoothly. “We didn’t say we’d make it easy.”

Jisung grins. “Beg.”

You grit your teeth.

“No.”

Minho slides his fingers back through your folds—barely dipping in. Enough to make your entire body ache for more.

“Then you’re not cumming.”

You groan, forehead falling forward.

Minho waits.

Jisung kisses your thigh again.

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Come on, baby. Say please.”

Your whole body is trembling now.

And this time, your voice comes out broken. Raw.

“Please.”

Minho presses his fingers back inside you, slow and deep.

“Again.”

“Please… Minho…”

Jisung flattens his tongue against your clit.

Your back arches.

“Please, Jisung… I wanna cum—fuck, I need it—please, please—”

That’s when they devour you.

Jisung’s mouth never leaves your clit now — licking, sucking, feasting on you with sounds that make your toes curl.

Minho’s fingers thrust deep, curling perfectly, his palm grinding against your folds with every motion, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs filth.

“Good girl.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg.”

“You’re gonna cum so hard for us.”

And you do.

Your body explodes — back arching, thighs shaking, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as wave after wave crashes through you. You’re not even sure where you are anymore, only that you’re dripping, twitching, gasping through it.

And they don’t stop.

They ride it out with you.

Dragging you through every aftershock, every twitch, every cry.

You fall apart in their hands.

Exactly like they promised.

You’re still breathing hard, still twitching from the aftershocks, lips parted, thighs soaked, eyes fluttering as your body sinks deep into the couch cushions.

And they’re both just watching you.

Jisung swipes his thumb along his bottom lip like he just finished dessert.

Minho’s still got his fingers glistening with your slick, eyes fixed on your heaving chest.

“Look at her,” Jisung says, voice low and warm. “Already fucked out.”

Minho grins, smug and steady. “One orgasm, and she’s shaking.”

You blink up at them, lips parted. “I—shut up…”

Minho leans closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “But you said to prove it.”

He pulls back again, standing tall now, eyes gleaming like he’s just getting started.

“And baby, we’ve got so much more to prove.”

Then he reaches for you.

Effortlessly.

Scoops your body off the couch like you weigh nothing, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he lifts you.

You let out a breathy gasp, already melting into his hold.

“Minho—”

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “You’ll thank me later.”

He carries you down the hall.

Jisung follows, quiet, hungry, amused.

And then you’re in Minho’s room — cool sheets, dark lighting, the soft click of the door shutting behind them.

You’re laid out on the bed like an offering. Your tank top is bunched, your thighs still twitching from the last orgasm, your voice soft as you whisper—

“Can I have a kiss now?”

Minho leans over you, lips so close they ghost yours. His hand cradles your cheek.

You lift your chin, lips parting—

But he pulls away.

And kisses Jisung instead.

Your breath stutters.

Their mouths move together with ease — Minho’s hand gripping Jisung’s jaw, Jisung’s tongue flicking between Minho’s lips. It’s messy. Deep. Intimate.

And it’s not for you.

Your stomach twists. Heat pulses between your legs again.

“Please,” you whisper. “Just one…”

Jisung glances down at you, lips swollen, eyes gleaming.

“Oh? You want one too?”

You nod quickly. “Yes—please—just—”

He leans down.

So close.

So close you can feel the warmth of his mouth, the mint on his breath.

And then he smiles.

And kisses Minho again instead.

You make a soft, helpless sound — some combination of a whimper and a broken plea.

Minho pulls back from Jisung, dragging a thumb across his lip as he looks at you with wicked satisfaction.

“She’s so needy now.”

“She asked for this,” Jisung says, laughing softly.

Minho crawls onto the bed next to you, trailing a hand down your stomach, over your hip. “Thought you said we were full of shit.”

You gasp as Jisung climbs in on your other side, both of them touching you now — soft, slow, just enough to make your body spark all over again.

“Thought we couldn’t make you beg.”

You glare, eyes glassy. “I am begging.”

Minho leans in, lips near your jaw.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

And then?

They kiss each other again.

Lips pressed deep. Tongues sliding. Hands gripping.

While you lay there, desperate and trembling between them, begging for a taste that never comes.

And this?

This is just the beginning.

You’re on your back, flushed and ruined already, lips swollen from begging, thighs slick and twitching where they lay spread open across Minho’s sheets.

Minho sits at the edge of the bed, watching you like a predator with time to kill, while Jisung hovers above you — lips still wet from his earlier work, pupils blown wide with hunger.

Minho’s voice cuts through the tension, low and firm.

“All right, sweetheart. Who do you want first?”

Your breath catches.

You turn your head, eyes glassy as you look at Minho. “I—I want—”

But before you can finish, Minho lifts his hand. “No. Actually—never mind.”

You blink. “What—?”

“She gets you first,” he says, nodding at Jisung with a smirk. “You’ve been patient.”

Jisung lights up instantly, eyes sharp with delight as he leans in, gripping your hips like he’s about to devour you.

“Fuck yes,” he whispers, dragging his lips along your neck. “I’ve been dying to fuck you.”

Your stomach flips.

He lines himself up, slow and deliberate, one hand slipping under your thigh to hold it open, the other stroking gently over your waist.

“Jisung—” you breathe.

“Shhh, baby. I got you.”

And then he pushes in.

The stretch makes your mouth drop open instantly, back arching from the bed.

It’s not rushed — it’s slow, deep, thick and perfect. He slides in to the hilt with one long, smooth thrust that has you gasping for air.

He groans—loud, needy—his head dropping against your shoulder. “Holy fuck—feels so good, you feel so good—”

You cry out when he pulls back and thrusts in again, harder this time, hips snapping forward with more force.

He sets a steady pace — not rough, not too fast — but full. Filling you up completely with every stroke, every grind of his hips dragging against your clit just enough to make you moan louder each time.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers. “Tell me it feels good—please—I need to hear it—”

Your hands fly to his back, nails digging in as your body clenches around him.

“So good, Jisung—so deep—feels perfect—”

He moans, louder this time, like your words set him off.

“I could stay inside you forever,” he gasps, hips hitting harder now, rhythm starting to stutter.

You look up at him, dazed, lips parted. “Kiss me—please—just once—”

He hesitates.

His lips hover over yours, breath mingling, so close it makes your whole chest ache.

But then he groans and turns his head — buries his face in your neck instead, kissing the skin there as he fucks into you harder.

“Can’t,” he pants. “Minho said not to—fuck—don’t make me break that.”

You whine, eyes squeezing shut as your body trembles around him.

He keeps going — faster now, deeper — holding you down, chasing your next orgasm like he’s chasing his own sanity.

“Say my name,” he begs, breathless. “Say it again—please—tell me you want it—tell me I’m good—”

You’re gasping now, back arching under him.

“Jisung—please—I want it—I want you—I’m so close—”

“Say I’m good,” he whimpers.

“You’re so good—fuck—you’re making me cum—”

And you do.

You break under him, shaking, pulsing, crying out his name as he fucks you through it, moaning into your throat like he’s addicted to your sounds.

But he still doesn’t kiss you.

And that’s the worst part.

You’re still catching your breath.

Your body is limp, barely able to move, the sheets under you wrinkled and wet with sweat and slick. Jisung’s panting against your shoulder, still inside you, still twitching from how tight you got around him when you came.

And yet—

The ache in your chest burns.

Because he didn’t kiss you.

You tilt your head, voice hoarse, still trembling. “Please… just one…”

Jisung lifts his face slowly, flushed and wild-looking, lips swollen and so close.

“Hyung,” he gasps, looking past you now. “Can I? Just once please—let me kiss her—” panting.

Minho’s voice cuts in, smooth and cruel.

“No.”

Jisung freezes.

Your eyes flutter open, wide with disbelief. “What—why—?”

Minho’s smirk is pure sin as he slowly crawls up the bed, towering over you both.

“You begged for proof, baby. You didn’t beg for affection.”

He leans in — so close you can see every lash, every glint of sweat at his temples.

“You don’t get that yet.”

His hand slides to your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip.

You part your lips automatically — aching, breathless — and he just chuckles.

Then he turns.

And kisses Jisung.

Hard.

It’s slow but filthy, all tongue and heat, Minho’s hand gripping the back of Jisung’s neck while Jisung groans into it, hips still lightly pressed into yours as the kiss devours the space between them.

You’re frozen beneath them.

Dripping.

Hungry.

Jealous.

Minho finally pulls back, lips wet, eyes glowing with control.

And then he looks down at you — hair messy, chest heaving, still begging with your eyes.

“You still want a kiss?”

You nod, desperate. “Yes—please—”

He smiles.

“Too bad.”

And just like that, he shifts lower—settling between your thighs—like he’s already decided what happens next.

Not a kiss.

Not even eye contact.

Just—

“Open up for me,” he murmurs, gripping your thighs. “You’re not done yet.”

Minho sinks into you with one long, thick thrust — slow, deliberate, so deep it punches the air out of your lungs.

Your mouth drops open in a moan.

His hands grip your hips like he owns them, anchoring you beneath him, his rhythm unhurried but devastating.

Deep.

Precise.

Every thrust grinding right into that spot that makes your toes curl.

You reach up, breathless, fingers brushing his jaw. “Minho—kiss me—please—”

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand.

“No.”

“Please—”

“You’re still begging?” he laughs softly, pace never faltering. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

Your throat tightens.

The pressure in your gut is building again — slow and overwhelming — but the denial, the ache of not being kissed, not being wanted that way, only makes it worse.

You glare up at him, voice sharp through a moan. “You’re a fucking asshole—”

His hips stop moving.

You instantly regret it.

He stares down at you, chest heaving, cock buried to the hilt inside you.

“What was that?” he asks, voice calm — too calm.

You bite your lip, squirming under him.

“Say it again.”

You don’t.

He pulls out completely.

You gasp — wrecked and empty and furious.

Then he grabs your waist and flips you over effortlessly, shoving your face into the sheets and hauling your ass up in one swift motion. You’re on your knees now, arms weak, hair a mess, slick dripping between your thighs.

And then—

Thrust.

He’s back inside.

Deep and slow and brutal.

You cry out.

“That’s better,” he mutters, one hand pressing down on your lower back while the other wraps around your throat from behind — holding you there.

“Such a brat,” he growls against your ear. “Look at you. Pathetic. Still begging.”

You let out a broken whimper.

“Look up,” he commands.

You lift your head — dazed, lips parted.

And your eyes land on Jisung.

Sitting against the headboard.

Red-faced. Sweaty.

Hard again.

So hard it looks painful.

Minho chuckles low in your ear, hips grinding deep as he keeps fucking you slow and steady.

“See what you’re doing to him?”

You moan.

Minho tightens his grip on your throat. “He’s hard again. All because of you.”

Jisung groans softly, palming himself through his sweats now, lips parted as he watches your body bounce from every thrust.

“You gonna be a good girl?” Minho whispers. “Gonna do something about it while I fuck you like this?”

You nod — desperate, dizzy.

“Then show him,” Minho says, dragging his cock out just enough before slamming back in. “Be useful.”

You’re on your knees, arms trembling, Minho still fucking you from behind with slow, devastating thrusts. Every inch of him stretches you open and slams into your most sensitive spot like he knows exactly where to hit — because he does.

And in front of you now is Jisung.

He moves closer, standing at the edge of the bed, his cock flushed and dripping, throbbing just inches from your lips.

But instead of shoving it in your mouth like you expect — like you need — he stops.

He kneels down, one hand cradling your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip.

You look up at him, eyes wide, desperate.

“Ji,” you whimper. “Please. Just a kiss. I need—please—”

He looks heartbroken.

His thumb keeps brushing your mouth, breathing shaky, lips parted like he’s about to give in. “Fuck—I want to—I really do—”

He looks over you. Past you.

At Minho.

Still behind you. Still buried inside you. Still in charge.

“Hyung…”

Minho doesn’t stop thrusting — hips rolling slow, deep, filthy — but his voice is sharp.

“No.”

Jisung flinches. Your breath catches.

Minho’s pace doesn’t slow.

“You can fuck her mouth,” he says. “You can make her cry. But you don’t kiss her.”

Jisung swallows hard.

And then nods.

You let out a needy sound — a whimper half-buried in frustration and hunger.

But then Jisung stands up again, wraps his fingers into your hair, and gently guides your mouth to his cock.

“You’ll get something else, baby,” he whispers. “Be good for me.”

You open your mouth, lips wrapping around him as your eyes flutter shut.

And fuck, he tastes so good.

The moment your tongue touches him, he moans — head falling back, hips rocking forward slow and steady as you start to suck, lips sliding down his shaft, throat tightening around him.

And behind you—

Minho slams into you harder.

You cry out around Jisung’s cock, your moans vibrating along his length as Minho grabs your hips and sets a deeper rhythm, each thrust timed with the movement of your mouth.

The stimulation is insane.

You’re full at both ends. Fucked, used, throbbing.

Minho leans down, hand sliding over your back, guiding the arch of your spine.

Then—

SMACK.

His palm lands hard on your ass.

You jolt, moaning louder around Jisung.

Jisung whines above you, his hand tightening in your hair. “F-fuck—she’s perfect, hyung—her mouth is so warm—”

Then you hear it.

Kissing.

Wet, filthy, tongue-heavy kissing.

Right above you.

You glance up with glassy eyes, and see it:

Minho and Jisung.

Kissing each other over your back.

Gripping each other.

Moaning into each other’s mouths.

And you?

Still denied.

You let out a whine around Jisung’s cock — soft, muffled, needy — and Minho laughs.

“She hears it,” he says, still thrusting deep. “Poor baby wants it so bad.”

Jisung groans, breaking the kiss for a second to look down at you, cock twitching between your lips.

“She’s fucking drooling,” he pants. “I think she’s gonna cum just from this.”

Minho slaps your ass again, and your body jolts.

“She better.”

You’re already whimpering around Jisung’s cock when it hits.

That sharp, wild burst of heat behind your eyes.

Your body tensing so tight it aches.

Minho’s cock grinding deep, slow, full—right against that spot that breaks you completely.

You cum.

Hard.

Your thighs quake. Your moan is swallowed around Jisung’s length, making him gasp and jerk his hips. Your fingers dig into the sheets, back arching despite being on your knees, body trembling between them like you’re being shattered.

Minho groans behind you, hips grinding once more before he finally pulls out—slow, dragging, ruthless—leaving you twitching, dripping, and still empty.

Still no kiss.

Still denied.

Jisung pulls back from your mouth with shaky breath, hand gently wiping at the trail of spit and cum slicking your chin.

“You’re fucking insane,” he pants, eyes still wild. “You came so hard…”

Minho says nothing.

Just grabs your waist.

And flips you onto your back.

You let out a little sound — weak, surprised, your body too sensitive to move on its own now.

Minho crawls up over you slowly. Deliberately.

And he starts kissing you.

Not your lips.

Your body.

His mouth presses to your neck.

Your collarbone.

Your chest.

Your stomach.

Open-mouthed, wet, slow.

Worship.

“Still didn’t get your kiss,” he murmurs between licks, between trails of heat across your skin. “But you’re taking everything else like such a good girl.”

You gasp when his hands slide under your top.

He doesn’t ask.

He just lifts.

The tank top peels away from your body, and with one practiced flick behind your back, your bra follows.

Your tits spill out—soft, flushed, full.

Jisung lets out an honest-to-God groan.

“Fuck me—”

Minho hums against your chest as he cups them in both hands. His thumbs brush over your nipples, watching them pebble instantly.

Then—

He leans down.

And sucks one into his mouth.

You cry out.

His other hand squeezes the other, his tongue flicking and swirling, lips dragging heat across your skin.

Jisung’s hand is back in his lap, palming his cock slowly, eyes fixed on the way your back arches.

“She’s unreal,” he mumbles. “Minho, she’s—fuck—look at her—”

You’re panting now. Whimpering.

Tears gathering in your eyes from the overstimulation.

And your lips?

Still untouched.

You’re laid out on your back, tits bare, chest heaving, skin flushed and still trembling from the orgasm that tore through you moments ago. Your body’s soft, pliant, begging to be touched again — and Minho is right there.

Hovering over you.

His mouth brushes against your cheekbone.

Your temple.

The corner of your jaw.

Then lower.

Just beside your lips.

So close it steals your breath.

Your lips part, trembling. “Please—Minho—just one—please—”

He tilts his head like he’s considering it.

Then?

He doesn’t.

Instead, his mouth ghosts across the edge of your top lip — not quite touching — and then he pulls away completely.

You let out a cracked sob, hand flying up to grab his wrist. “Why—?”

But he’s already turning around.

He walks over to Jisung, who’s still sitting shirtless against the headboard, cock rock-hard and twitching, hand still slowly stroking himself from watching you unravel.

Minho climbs onto the bed—toward him.

He presses a hand to Jisung’s chest, pushing him flat to the mattress. Then leans in.

And kisses him.

Full.

Deep.

Hot.

Jisung moans into it, his hands flying to Minho’s waist as their mouths move together like muscle memory—messy, filthy, perfect.

You blink up at them, heart hammering in your chest.

Still no kiss for you.

Only the sound of them making out over your still-spread body.

Minho finally pulls back from Jisung, thumb brushing his lip.

“You were very, very good,” he murmurs. “Didn’t disobey once.”

Jisung nods quickly, breathless. “Tried so hard—”

“And good boys,” Minho says smoothly, “get rewards.”

He climbs over Jisung now, one hand wrapping around his cock, guiding it between Jisung’s thighs.

You gasp—sitting up slightly, dazed and wide-eyed as you watch Minho sink into him.

Jisung arches with a strangled moan, head rolling back, mouth open in a silent scream as Minho pushes in slow, thick, deep.

“Fuck, yes—hyung—please—”

Minho groans above him. “You take it so well.”

You stare.

Hot.

Soaked.

Throbbing.

You should look away.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

You reach between your legs with one shaking hand, fingers sliding through the mess they’ve already made of you, your body burning as you start to rub your clit in slow, desperate circles.

Watching.

Listening.

Jisung’s moans are beautiful.

High-pitched. Raw. Needy.

Minho’s pace is slow and deep — just like he gave you — hips grinding into Jisung while he whispers things you can’t hear, one hand wrapped around the back of Jisung’s neck, their foreheads pressed together.

You whimper.

Your fingers move faster.

And you realize—

You’re gonna cum again.

Just from watching.

Your fingers move faster between your thighs, slick sounds mixing with the low, filthy noises filling the room.

Minho’s fucking Jisung deep and slow on top of him, sweat slicking both their skin. Their mouths kiss between every moan and gasp, Minho’s hand firm on Jisung’s throat or hip, controlling everything.

And you?

You’re on the edge again.

Panting. Trembling. Staring with wide, glassy eyes while your fingers work your clit.

You can’t stop.

Can’t look away.

Especially when Minho suddenly shifts—pulling out of Jisung with one hand clenching his waist, the other guiding him around like he’s just a toy in his grip.

He flips him over.

Manhandles him.

Just like he did to you.

Pushes him to all fours, ass in the air, face flushed and dazed as Minho slides back in from behind.

And the sound Jisung makes?

Unholy.

High and wrecked and begging.

Minho grabs his hair, yanks him back, makes him face you.

“Eyes on her,” he growls, snapping his hips hard.

Jisung moans again, his whole body jerking forward with each thrust.

“Let her see how pretty you look like this.”

And you’re losing it.

Your fingers are flying over your clit now, thighs shaking, mouth open in gasping breaths, because the view—Minho fucking Jisung while Jisung moans your name between sobs—is too much.

You’re right there.

So close—

And then—

Smack.

Minho’s hand slaps yours away from between your legs.

You choke on a sob of frustration, jerking in place, your orgasm ripped away just seconds before it hits.

You look up, offended, your face flushed with fury and desperation. “Minho—what the fuck—”

He glares down at you, hips still pounding into Jisung with no mercy, cock disappearing inside him with every wet slap of skin.

“I didn’t tell you to touch yourself.”

You blink, chest heaving. “I—I thought—”

He leans forward over Jisung, voice a low growl. “You don’t think. You listen.”

Your lips tremble, breath catching.

“You watch,” he says. “You watch me give him everything.”

And then—

He grabs Jisung by the neck.

Not hard. Not hurting.

Just enough to own him.

He pulls him upright, makes him arch back into his chest — his cock still buried deep, still pounding into him — and kisses him.

Hard.

Open-mouthed. Messy. Tongue and teeth and praise.

And Jisung melts into it, moaning into Minho’s mouth like he’s made of need.

You’re still kneeling across from them, thighs clenched, cunt soaked, lips trembling with need and jealousy and aching want.

And all you can do is whimper.

Minho finishes with a low, sharp groan — his hips slamming deep into Jisung one final time before he spills inside him, his hand still tight around Jisung’s neck, the kiss between them slowing as they both ride out the high together.

You’re panting from where you kneel across from them, legs trembling, body coated in sweat and slick and denial.

Minho finally pulls out of Jisung and lays him down gently on the pillows, brushing damp hair off his flushed forehead.

Then he turns to you.

Brows raised.

“You tired?”

You blink at him.

He tilts his head. “Wanna stop?”

Your jaw tightens.

And your answer cuts through the thick, humid air.

“No.”

Minho’s brows lift slightly.

“I want to prove I deserve that kiss.”

He stares at you.

Then he leans back on the bed — arms spread behind him, chest glistening, legs open.

“You think riding me will do it?”

You nod.

He chuckles, deep and smug. “Then show me.”

You crawl into his lap without hesitation.

Straddle his hips.

Grip his cock and sink down onto it with a broken, gasping moan. He fills you so deep, stretching your already-overstimulated cunt to its limits, but it feels right.

Like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Minho doesn’t move.

Just watches you.

Watches.

And it ruins you.

His jaw is tight.

His eyes are hooded.

His lips — those fucking lips — are parted just barely, glistening from kissing Jisung, so close, and you can’t stop staring at them.

You start to move.

Rolling your hips slowly. Letting him feel all of you.

Letting yourself get drunk on the drag, the stretch, the fullness.

But your eyes?

Never leave his mouth.

Minho notices.

Of course he does.

He smirks — slow, knowing — like he sees right through your skin, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You gonna ride me like that and still pretend you’re not thinking about my mouth?”

You say nothing.

Just grind down harder, desperate, dizzy.

But your rhythm starts to falter.

Your thighs are shaking.

Your pace slows.

And Minho?

Smacks your ass — hard enough to sting, sharp enough to make your hips jolt.

“Don’t slack now, baby,” he murmurs. “You’re the one who said you could prove it.”

You whimper, hips snapping back into motion — riding him faster now, harder, trying not to fall apart all over again.

But it’s so much.

The way he’s watching you.

The way your body clenches with every bounce.

The way his lips stay right there, untouched, perfect.

So you lean forward.

Wrap your arms around his neck.

And sink your mouth into his.

Not his lips.

But his neck.

Your tongue drags over his soft spot — the one just beneath his ear, where his jaw meets his throat — and when you suck, hard and slow, you feel him twitch deep inside you.

Minho groans, head tilting back slightly, his grip on your waist tightening.

“That—fuck—that’s not fair.”

You keep going, licking and sucking, your hips grinding hard down into his lap now.

“I wanna kiss you,” you pant against his throat.

He growls.

Jisung, still sprawled on the bed beside you, groans as he watches.

“She’s gonna kill us,” he mutters, breathless. “You see her fucking move?”

Minho doesn’t answer.

Because right now?

He’s too busy trying not to kiss you.

You ride him hard now — hips rolling, body trembling, nails digging into his shoulders as you take every deep, perfect thrust Minho gives you from beneath.

He’s meeting you halfway, thrusting up into you now with deliberate force, making your whole body jerk each time your hips slap together. The sound is obscene. Wet. Endless.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, eyes burning into yours. “You feel so fucking good.”

You whimper, legs shaking. “Minho—please—”

He grabs your waist tighter, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper, driving into your spot so perfectly that your vision blurs.

You can barely hold yourself up.

You lean forward.

Desperate.

Needing.

Your lips part, hovering just above his. So close now. So fucking close.

Just one kiss.

Just one.

And then—

He turns his head.

Your mouth brushes his cheek instead.

You break.

A soft, wet sound escapes you — part sob, part moan.

“Why?” you whisper, voice cracked and raw. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

Minho stills for just a moment.

Just long enough for you to think he might say sorry.

He looks up at you, eyes softer for a second.

Then—his voice drops.

“Because you still don’t deserve it.”

He slams his hips up into you.

You cry out, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs, your body folding slightly as the pleasure shoots up your spine.

“Don’t stop now,” he growls. “You want that kiss so bad? Work for it.”

You start riding harder again, tears streaking down your cheeks, mouth trembling from being so close and still denied.

He watches your face. Your lips. Your desperation.

And then his hand slides between your legs.

Two fingers find your clit instantly—slick, swollen, desperate for friction.

He rubs tight, fast circles as he fucks up into you harder now, gritting his teeth, muscles tight beneath you.

“Cum for me,” he growls. “Cum on my cock again. Show me how bad you want it.”

Your eyes roll back.

The pressure snaps.

You scream his name as your orgasm crashes through you — harder, hotter, more overwhelming than anything before. Your walls clench tight around him, your thighs twitching, voice breaking as your whole body shakes.

Minho groans beneath you, hips stuttering. “F-fuck—gonna cum—shit—”

One more thrust—

And he cums deep.

You feel him spill inside you, warm and thick and endless, his hand still working your clit, dragging out every spasm, every wave until you’re falling limp against his chest, completely wrecked.

But his lips?

Still untouched.

———————————————————————-

The room is quiet now.

The air’s still thick with sweat and heat, but the chaos has faded. The only sound is the soft hum of the shower down the hall — Minho, finally cleaning up.

You’re curled up in bed, body warm and heavy under the weight of everything.

Minho’s shirt hangs off your frame — oversized, soft, smelling like his cologne and sweat and something undeniably him. Your skin’s clean-ish, sticky in places, but your bones feel like melted sugar.

Beside you, Jisung lies on his side in nothing but his boxers, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lazily across your stomach.

You trace his tattoos with your fingertip.

Slow.

Thoughtless.

First the delicate lines curling under his ribs.

Then the words etched into his side.

Then the little one on his hip that always makes you smile.

Jisung lets you touch without a word, chest rising and falling steady beneath your fingers.

And finally—

“Ji?”

He hums, eyes fluttering open a little. “Yeah?”

Your voice is soft. Barely a whisper.

“Can I… kiss you?”

His breath catches.

You see it happen — the way his chest pauses, the way his fingers twitch against your side.

You swallow.

“I know Minho said no but… he’s not here right now.”

You look up at him, blinking slowly, face still flushed and lips swollen.

“I just… I need to know what it feels like.”

Jisung stares at you for a long moment — eyes wide and soft and aching.

He’s so close. So warm. His mouth already parted.

He wants to.

God, he wants to.

But then he hesitates.

“Minho’ll kill me.”

You give him a tiny, sad smile. “You could just blame it on me.”

He lets out a breath — torn between fear and need — and then lifts his hand to your face.

Fingertips on your jaw.

His thumb brushes your lip.

And then—

(TO BE CONTINUED) …

353 notes · View notes

benignsnail · 1 year ago

Text

Here are the rules to my challenges I'm currently doing in case anyone wants to join:

Changeling Challenge

With mods and cheats-Make two fanilies and a duplex style house or apartment so each fanily has their own space. Bonus if you use the two way mirror window thingy. Make sure your Human Family is homeless and transfer their baby to your household. Place your Fairy Family in your duplex lot and add the human parents one at a time as Roommates (LittleMsSam has a mod for this). The human parents will have to be introduced to the Fairy baby (use MCC control and delte the relationship afterwards or just do it in setup and pretend it never happened.) Place the Fairy Baby on the human side of the lot and then lock the respective families out of each other's houses (LittleMsSam also has a mod for this) and you should be good to go.

Each family must never meet any member of the other family (including the children) until both kids are adults to succeed at the challenge

Autonomy must remain on the whole challenge

Bonus if you make the Changeling baby an alien (use trait cheats) and avoided being discovered by the human family

Bonus if you do the challenge in a tiny town lot

Without mods and cheats (Ultra Hard Level)- play with both families in your household but the same rules apply.

1 tile 100 babies

Trap a pregnant sim in a one tile house or fence. Add a door and lock it so only they can't leave but potential baby donors can enter. (Use Meet&Mingle or SimdaDating Mod to help get dates)

Start at zero simoleons

Make your sim immortal before they die

Every baby you have gets you 5 tiles (place them before your first pregnancy in the third trimester, or they won't go into labor)

You cannot leave the lot until you have all 100 babies

If a baby is taken away you lose 5 tiles

Bonus if you keep all the kids on the lot using mods/rental units

Optional: if you want to have the babies throughout legacies, you must start over in a 1 tile space each generation

Con Empire

Start at 0 simoleons and join the criminal career.

Make all your money through 'illegal' activities such as Swipe Object, Pickpocket, convince to give loan, etc.

Spend each day doing a slightly worse crime- for example Prank then Pickpocket, then Break In, etc. until you work your way up to Black Widowing

You complete the challenge when you buy a mansion

Run until you see _

Start in a fresh save file

Spin a wheel to get the emoji/subject you have to find in the sims

You cannot use Build/Buy or CAS to place the thing you must find such as a piano or a mustache.

Place your sim in the neighborhood you think will have the item you are searching for (you only get one chance so pick the neighborhood wisely)

Start jogging and insert yourself into 1st person camera

Scavenger Hunt (aka I miss Blues Clues)

Start at 0 simoleons

Spin a wheel or use a randomizer to choose three emojis/subjects you have to take a picture of

For example: Vlad, 👽, 🤖 would require my sim to hunt down Vlad and take a selfie (no checking from world view) then reveal and photograph an alien, and then make a Servo and take their photo

Once all three photos have been collected you have won the challenge

Coming Soon:

Tarot Legacy

#sims4 #sims challenge #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #100 baby challenge #1 tile challenge

0 notes

hollyoongs · 3 months ago

Text

⤷ THANK YOU, SPIDEY!

시놉시스 ┆ tasm!𝙟ake, ─────⠀f!reader 𓂅 𝑤.𝑐: +4.5k ꒰ ⌗ fluff, angst and an attempt of crack ꒱ ↷⠀ ℰditoral ! 𓂂

It was one of those days where everything seemed to conspire against you; you knew it was going to be a rough day since you actually fell off the bed when your fifth alarm sounded, alerting you that you were going to be late. You watched your left wrist as you trudged through the bustling streets of New York City, sighing in relief as you noticed you still had time to arrive just in time.

Your camera bag felt heavy on your shoulder, but you blamed it on the fact that you couldn't shake off the feeling of exhaustion that clung to you like a stubborn shadow, in addition to the sweltering heat of the summer sun that only added to your irritation as you made your way to the Daily Bugle, where you were interning as a photographer.

Now, you actually liked your internship, despite the chaos that often unfolded around you. You have always liked capturing moments with your one and only camera, one that was a gift from your grandfather before passing away; he always told you that those pictures will always tell a story, freezing time with just the press of a shutter. But days like today tested your patience.

You finally entered the building, slipping past the crowded desks and skillfully dodging reporters that were frantically typing away at their articles; you could already hear Jameson ranting about something—but this time, it was someone. The new and masked hero in town, Spider-Man, was doing as he had usually done for the past 2 weeks.

Your possible future boss, Mr. Jameson, was notorious for his gruff demeanor and demanding nature, and today seemed to be no exception, as he barked orders at the staff. You adjusted the strap of your camera bag, rolling your shoulders as you approached your friend, Jay, who looked one bad headline away from quitting. When you sat on his desk, which was thankfully next to each other, he gave you a tired smile while handing you a bagel.

You gave it a bite and rolled your eyes in delight. “Don’t say anything; I brought another extra because I also skipped breakfast today.”

"You’re an angel… Rough already?"

"And it's not even 9 a.m." Jay spat in anger; you opened your bag to give him some of the jelly you always carry around. He took them slightly happier, tearing the packaging off and licking his lips before talking again. "He's now decided to put stupid challenges on everyone here. I spoke with his secretary, and she says he's getting jealous of the other newspaper company since they took the #1 place from us."

Jameson's screams got louder, and your neck turned to take a look at how he was walking to the employee launch. “Speaking of the devil.”

"Good luck." You raised an eyebrow at his words, looking back and forth at him and Jameson. “Hide the bagel.”

“What do you mean by ‘good luck’?” You whispered, but your expression spoke louder of the panic you started to feel.

"Ah, there you are," Mr. Jameson said. You braced yourself before turning to face him, a small smile plastered on your lips.

“Good morning, Mr. Jameson.”

"I've got a special assignment for you."

The word “special” itself was already making your brain think about any crazy options, feeling your heart sink at his words, knowing that whatever task he had in store would likely be thankless unless it benefited his pockets, just like Jay said in the past. But you nodded, steeling yourself for whatever was to come.

“May I know what you have in mind?”

"I want you to get me a picture of Spider-Man," he said bluntly, with no filter and zero emotions whatsoever.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at his request. Spider-Man? The one that is the talk of the town? You opened and closed your mouth, struggling to form words that were nice. Jameson arched an impatient brow, his foot tapping against the tiled floor that was causing you a headache.

“Well? You got a problem with that?”

You glanced at Jay, who was suddenly very invested in his bagel, offering no help. Turning back to Jameson, you forced yourself to nod. “No, sir, just… How exactly do you expect me to find him? We have no—"

“You’re a photographer, aren’t you? Use your damn head! That wall-crawling menace shows up all over the damn city. He isn’t shy about swinging around like he owns the place!” After that screaming session, he rubbed his temple, as if you were the one giving him a headache when it was the complete opposite. “I don't care how you do it—just get me a photo clear enough for the front page, or you'll be out of your ear."

And just like that, he turned on his heel and stomped off, barking at another poor intern about coffee.

Jay let out a low whistle. “Damn, he really hit you with that assignment, huh?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “What am I supposed to do? Just wander the city with my camera and hope Spider-Man swings by? Or maybe make an attempt of suicide to see if he can save me?”

“Wow, let’s not go that far, shall we?” He said, rolling his chair to your desk with a concerned face after seeing you actually think about your last question to attract the hero. “But I do think you just have to wait on the streets.” Jay shrugged, shoving the rest of his bagel into his mouth.

Sure, you’d seen Spider-Man in grainy photos on social media and extremely blurry clips on the news, but actually tracking him down? Getting a clear shot? That made a wave of panic wash over you.

The hours passed slowly, and 7 o'clock of the night finally arrived, which made you fly to the only place you were sure that you would be comfortable at the moment, Jake’s place.

More than his place, Jake has always been your safe haven, ever since you were kids. You still remember the first time you met—he was sitting alone in the playground, sniffling quietly while being bullied by a group of kids; the sight alone made you leave your friends behind for a moment to march right up to the ringleader and sink your teeth into his arm. You still remembered how Jake looked at you like you had just saved his entire world.

Since that day, you two became inseparable. He was the first person you’d call when you had good news and the first to show up when you needed a shoulder to lean on. He knew all your quirks, and in return, you knew him just as well. You knew the way he would start biting the straw of a drink he was having unconsciously, the way he always made sure you walked on the inside of the sidewalk, the way he’d drop everything the second he felt you needed him. Just like you need right now.

Work was way more stressful than usual, and that was reflected in your tensed shoulders that were screaming for a massage, but that would need to wait; the elevator reached the floor you picked, and you pushed the button to announce yourself. To your surprise, you found yourself with Ni-Ki.

“The del—oh, it’s just Y/N.” Before you could speak, he closed it again, soon hearing your name louder with a surprised tone, He opened the door again with a smile. You blinked at Ni-Ki, still processing the interaction. “Y/N! Hey! What are you doing here?” He leaned on the doorframe like nothing happened.

You squinted at Ni-ki, arms crossed. “Did you just try to shut the door at me?”

Ni-Ki let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “What? No, no. That was just… muscle memory!”

“Muscle memory?” You deadpanned, and he nodded.

“Yeah! You know there are these random people knocking on the doors to bother, and I just always happen to be here when that happens, and I just… close the door.” He did some mimicry to what he said, but you weren’t buying it.

Your eyes flicked past him, trying to catch a glimpse inside, but Ni-Ki moved along his head. “Is Jake home?”

“Uh, nope! I mean, yeah, but, uh… he’s doing… something. You should probably come back later.”

“Right.” You took a step forward, but he quickly blocked your path, his leg and arm on the other side of the doorframe. You sighed. “Nishimura Ri-Ki!”

“Yes, ma’am?” He said, his voice clear like he was a soldier as he stood normally.

“I had a horrible day at work to the point that I will actually cry myself to sleep today due to the amount of work I have to do plus an almost impossible task Mr. Jameson gave to me. I just need to talk to you two to make this day less miserable.”

“And this is why we will go out for boba, my treat!”

Your eyes narrowed further. “Ni-Ki. Move.”

“No can do.” He leaned against the doorframe again, arms stretched wide.

“I’m literally just here to see both of you and to take a nap.”

“And I’m literally just making sure you don’t—uh, I mean, that you’re comfortable. Jake doesn’t want visitors right now, does he?”

You rubbed your forehead, already having enough. “I come over all the time, and Jake’s never cared before. What’s really going-”

“He’s touching himself!” Neither you nor he expected that sentence, your eyes opening wide at the statement, your cheeks getting warmer as seconds passed by. It was Ni-Ki’s turn to open his mouth, but before he could come up with another excuse, a loud thud echoed from inside the apartment, followed by a very familiar voice muttering a string of curses.

“Ni-Ki! I came!” Ni-Ki looked back and then at you, red in his face as he made a small dance.

“Good job, Jake! Glad you came! We will be right back!” His voice got a little higher, and with a panicked face and awkward laugh, he closed the door even harder than before, startling you. Soon, the noise of things falling, more curses, and somebody hitting himself with furniture was the only thing that actually kept you sane.

"Hold on a second!" A few seconds passed, and Jake was the one who opened the door. He had his hair messy; he had grey sweatpants on and a hoodie that was bigger than his usual size. "Hey lensgirl! Wow, you look tired."

“Yeah, no thanks to Mr. Jameson,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I swear he’s actually trying to kill me with work.”

Jake fully opened the door with concern written all over his face, and that’s when you went for a hug, this time with tears going down, noticeably crying.

Jake was taken aback by your sudden display of emotion, immediately wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, rubbing your back soothingly. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself as you entered the apartment. "It's just… work," you managed to choke out between sobs. "Mr. Jameson… He wants me to get a photo of Spider-Man for the front page, and I—I don't know how to do it. I'm so screwed, Jake."

Jake's expression softened with understanding, though you had no idea just how much he truly understood. "Hey, it's okay," he repeated, guiding you to sit on the couch. "We'll figure it out, okay? You're not alone in this."

“And you know what’s the most fucked-up part? Until this morning, I had 2 weeks to give the picture, and he randomly decided to change the deadline to Thursday. I have three fucking days.”

Ni-Ki, hearing the commotion, came to the living room, a package of donuts in his hands. He took one donut and placed the rest on the table in front of the three of you. It was a very brief moment of silence before Ni-Ki spoke after taking a bite of his dessert. "You know what? Jake can help,"

You looked up at Ni-Ki, the hand Jake had in your back getting tense. "What did you say?"

"Jake knows Spider-Man. You could get a picture like that." He snapped his fingers to emphasize the quickness, and that’s when you lost it.

"Since when?!" You practically shouted at him, and he gave a shy smile, which you loved, but not right now since your only thought at the moment was of him being friends with the hero and not telling you.

Jake shot Ni-Ki a deadly glare, but the younger boy just shrugged, taking another bite of his donut like he hadn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell of the evening after all the excuses. You looked at Jake, and for a moment, he got lost in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t say ‘best friends,’ but… yeah.” You sat properly; your hands were now on his shoulders.

“So you know Spider-Man?”

“Uh… yes?”

“And you never told me?”

“I—well—”

“Y/N, you don’t understand,” Ni-Ki cut in. “Jake and Spider-Man are like this—” He crossed his fingers. “—so the picture? You got it.”

"Hey, your face looks awful due to the crying; how about we continue this conversation right after you clean yourself? Go to the bathroom; we will go to my bedroom." As you were protesting, Jake obligated you to go inside. The boys went straight to the room and locked it, Jake basically punching Ni-Ki for opening his mouth.

"Are you being serious?! Why did you say that?"

"You know I'm fond of her, and I can't stand her crying. And also, I'm doing you a favor; you've liked her since forever, and with this, you can make a move. And you know that she loves Spider-Man. I consider this a win."

Jake's heart raced as he processed Ni-Ki's words. He couldn't deny the truth about them. He had developed feelings for you for what felt like forever, but he never found the courage to act on them, and because of the sudden powers he got after being bitten by a spider, the dangers were too much to the point he would rather die with the secret in order to keep you safe if they get to know you’re his… something. That's how much he loved you.

Jake groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “This is not a win, Ni-Ki! This is a disaster!”

Ni-Ki flopped onto Jake’s bed, unbothered. “You’re being dramatic.”

Jake paced the room. "Okay, okay," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "But we have to be careful. She doesn't know about this, Ni-Ki. It's too risky."

Ni-Ki nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I won't say anything else, I promise. Only you have to stay cool; you get too nervous around her. I'm surprised you're not right now," he assured Jake.

"Because someone opened his mouth."

"Stop crying and be grateful. I pulled a move that you couldn't make for the past 4 years."

The door of the bedroom opens to you with your face clean; you actually had to wash your face the moment you saw your mascara falling down your cheeks through the mirror. You took a seat next to Ni-Ki and once again looked at Jake.

“Please, Jake, I need to take a picture for the front page; otherwise, I’m fired. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me the name of the person, but please.”

Jake shot Ni-Ki a glare before sighing. He couldn’t say no to you, not when you looked at him like that. But he also couldn’t risk exposing anything.

“Fine,” he relented. “I will talk to him and text you later.”

Your face lit up, smiling right away and contagiously affecting Jake with it. “Thank you so much, Jake. Really.”

Ni-Ki smirked as he watched the exchange, mouthing a silent “you’re welcome” to Jake, who simply rolled his eyes with the smile on his face when he felt small kisses on his neck.

Two days have already passed since that weird conversation and the explanation of Jake being friends with Spider-Man. It was still so odd to you, although that didn’t matter anymore when you felt your phone vibrating because of a text he sent to you.

"He’s arriving in five minutes; be ready!"

And here you were, waiting next to the entrance of the alley that was near the agreed-upon spot; it was getting late, and you could feel your heart beating fast when you saw a few guys in there, cigars in their hands, their auras as bad as how they looked. You felt a presence behind you, and you tried to move, but a hand grabbed you with enough force to pull you inside the alley.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them said, his grip on your wrist tightened, making you wince.

“Let go of me!” You snapped, trying to yank your arm away, but another one of them stepped closer, blocking your escape.

“Shhh, relax,” another one chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke before blowing it into your face. “We just want to talk.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you ignored the leering comments from the men in the alley. You clutched your camera bag tightly, feeling a surge of unease as you realized just how vulnerable you were in this dimly lit space.

Just as panic threatened to overtake you, a familiar sound cut through the tension—a whoosh of air followed by the distinct thud of impact. Before you could even process what was happening, Spider-Man descended from the shadows, landing gracefully in front of you with his trademark agility.

"Hey there, fellas," Spider-Man said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "I don't think the lady appreciates your company."

The men scoffed, eyeing Spider-Man with defiance and uncertainty. "And who are you supposed to be, huh?" One of them sneered, taking a step forward. You started taking your camera out of your bag, setting it up for a good shot, and taking as many photos as you could as both men focused on the hero.

Spider-Man's demeanor shifted subtly, his stance becoming more assertive as he addressed the group. "Let's just say I'm the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and I'm not too keen on seeing people hassle innocent bystanders, especially this pretty girl," he replied, his tone firm.

The men hesitated, sizing up the masked vigilante before them. They could barely move as Spider-Man sprang into action, his movements a blur of speed. All his movements were well calculated, and so were his dodges; his combat skills were even more impressive up close than seeing them on TV; he was a superhero.

It didn’t take him five minutes to leave them groaning on the ground in defeat; he effortlessly dispatched the thugs, taking a deep breath before turning to you and lightly running to the place you hid yourself.

You watched in awe as Spider-Man, his masked eyes meeting yours—at least you think they did—with a sense of warmth and reassurance. You took your camera and looked at the pictures, so many good enough to be front-page material.

"Are you okay there?" he asked, his concern evident even behind the mask.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you in his presence and how he came to you for these pictures. "Yeah, I'm okay," you stammered, still trying to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded before you. You felt some drops of water falling on your face, looking up at the sky and wondering if more drops were falling. "Damn it, it's raining."

"Then let me take you out of here." Without a warning, his hand wrapped around your waist, both of your bodies covering the camera; you felt his grip tender. "Hold on tight, lensgirl," you frown at the nickname. There's only one person that could call you like that, but you couldn't think much of it as you held dear life to him as he swung you around places, screaming and closing your eyes due to the fear.

You ended up on your apartment building—on your balcony, to be more exact—and the roof kept both of you off the water. You went inside for a moment to leave the camera in your bed and return. He was hanging from the ceiling as you watched him, forcing you to believe that everything that happened in the past ten minutes was not a dream.

"Don't you want to stand up? So you don't get dizzy."

"I like it this way. Don't worry. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

"No problem; that's my job."

"Because you're a hero," the masked guy sighs in front of you. It was one of those that made you question if he was really tired of hearing the word or if he had something else on his mind.

"Some people don't think so." And it was true; all the articles were more fake rumors to paint him as a bad guy; even your boys wanted to paint him as an awful person, not even considering that they are writing about someone who just really wants to help everyone.

"But you are, at least I think that."

"It's nice to have a fan as pretty as you."

"Let me say thank you."

"But you already did."

"I meant the pictures, not you saving me and my job." You approached him more, feeling the raindrops falling on your face; the sound of the rain in the background gave the ambiance.

He didn’t stop you, giving you a green light and trusting you; you slowly took the mask, only revealing his lips. A shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold rain. Your breath hitched as you took in the sight before you—it was a shape you had seen countless times, normal, curved in a teasing smile and even forming words that had irritated and amused you several times.

Your fingers trembled as you traced his lower lip, your mind going wild. No wonder Ni-Ki and Jake got nervous; no wonder Jake was the only one that could help you with the hero; and there's no wonder why he called you "Lensgirl."

Your pulse quickened as you whispered a sentence with the name you had a sinking feeling was correct.

"Thank you, Jake," when you felt his body stiffen, you placed your lips on his. His tense body shortly after calmed, and he slowly kissed back the almost electrifying kiss, his lips moving against yours in a way that felt so familiar. His fingers touched your hand in a way to ground himself, as if this moment wasn’t real unless he could feel you.

Everything made sense; all that scandal was all because he was Spider-Man, the hero you had admired from afar, and now he was the man whose lips were pressed against yours.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss, the world fading away until it was just the two of you tangled together on that rooftop balcony. The rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm against the loud city, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the soft, almost shaky exhale Jake let out as he deepened the kiss.

The moment you decided to pull away, he rested his forehead against yours, your breath mingling in the space between you.

"Wait… how?" he steadied his voice before asking, his voice quieter now.

"You let out "Lensgirl," and I've stared at your lips too much to actually know the shape." Your lips curled into a small smirk; he finally dropped himself, taking off his mask completely, revealing his red cheeks and normal shy demeanor.

He actually searched your face for any sign of rejection. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "But I wanted to tell you, not in this way; I've got to learn to also be more careful."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up to cup his face in your hands, sinking in his words. "It’s okay, Jake," you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. "I just… I never imagined…"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jake leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss; this one was slower than the previous one. He pulled you closer with his hands on your waist; your hands rested on the back of his head. He pulled away this time, his gaze darting to the side like he used to do to gather his thoughts.

He went to your hands, holding them in front of his lips. “I wanted to tell you for a long time; I wanted to confess before all of this… Spider-Man thing. But then things changed. I changed.”

You stayed silent, giving him space to vent just like you were used to when it was your turn to be the shoulder he needed to lean on.

“I didn’t think being Spider-Man would be this big,” he continued, running a hand through his damp hair in frustration. “At first, it was just helping people—stopping small crimes, saving a cat from a tree. But then the bad guys started noticing, and suddenly, it wasn’t just me anymore. I’m part of the Avengers, and I had enemies. People who would do anything to get to me. And I would rather go to war than to put you in danger.”

“Jake…”

“You don’t know how many times I wanted to just blurt it out, but my mind simply remembered what could happen. What if they found out about you? What if they used you to get to me? What if they…” His voice cracked mid-sentence. Was he that terrified of you?

You forced yourself to let go of Jake's grip on your hands, this time putting your palms on his face and grabbing his face firmly. “I know what this means now, and I’m still here. I’ll be right next to you.”

“Are you sure? There’s no turning back.”

You nodded, “I don’t want to turn back.”

With a smile on your lips and love in your heart, you leaned into Jake's embrace, letting the warmth of his touch chase away the chill of the night as you watched the city skyline glitter in the rain.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You reached up, placing your hand against his chest, right on top of the spider in his suit. “You deserve to be loved, Jake. Not just as Spider-Man, but as you. And I’m glad that I love both of them.”

He gave you a smile before hugging you tightly. "Please write good news about me."

"Don’t worry, Jay is in charge of your paper, Spidey." You took the discarded Spider-Man mask on the floor and looked at it up close. “Wow, ‘Stark Industries.’ Fancy.”

“Give that back.” He tried to reach it; you were quick enough to put it behind your back teasingly.

“Come get it, Spidey,” you said, a smile on your face, not counting that his hand will go behind you to pull you closer for a quick peck. The sudden kiss caught you off guard, your breath hitching as Jake pulled away with a smug grin.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, snatching the mask from your hands before stepping back, twirling it around his finger.

“Cheater.”

He chuckles. “Nah, that was strategy. Plus I wanted to kiss you again.”

─── MY BABY IS OUT AND FREE! if you read something similar to this around april or may of last year, no worries, it was my work too and this version have way more stuff added (plus it's way better)

𓄴 𝐓aglist (mostly moots!): @hheeluv @awqken @taeghi @caratstick @021894s @hees-love @heechwe @intromortal @dollyyun @wwooyology @ja3yun @veilstqr @httpenhoon @firstclassjaylee

#𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗹𝑦𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠! ৎ ˚⋅#enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen soft hours #enhypen soft thoughts #enhypen jake #jake #jake sim #jake x reader #jake x you #jake fluff #jake imagines #jake fanfic #spiderman #spiderman au

419 notes · View notes