#every plate spice blends

[saucdlownslow]

SAUC'D LOWNSLOW

Website: https://www.saucdlownslow.com

SAUC'D LOWNSLOW is a family-owned business specializing in all-natural, freshly ground spice blends, seasonings, salts, and Mayonnaise. Founded in 2020, they focus on providing high-quality, local, and affordable products. Their range includes unique blends like The Smoked Fennel Salt, The Not Chicken, Chicken Salt, and various spice rubs. They also offer private label blending services, catering to both businesses and individuals seeking customized products. Passionate about food education, SAUC'D LOWNSLOW aims to help customers create delicious food and find value in their culinary creations.

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[thewatcher727]

Writing Description Notes: Eating

Updated 12th July 2024 More description notes

John enjoyed each bite, the flavors bursting in his mouth like fireworks.

Jane skillfully twirled her fork, gathering a mix of flavors with every turn.

The smell of the freshly cooked meal surrounded them, exciting their taste buds before they took their first bites.

John closed his eyes in joy as he tasted the perfect blend of spices in the dish.

Jane's laughter mixed with the sound of clinking cutlery, creating a lively atmosphere at the dinner table.

The satisfying crunch filled the room as John bit into the crispy outside of the dish.

Jane's plate was colorful, with each ingredient adding to the beautiful meal.

The warm, inviting smell of home-cooked food filled the kitchen, drawing everyone to the table.

John's hunger grew with each bite, as the delicious meal celebrated great cooking.

Jane's eyes sparkled with happiness as she tasted the homemade dish, feeling transported to a place of culinary joy.

[bahrtofane]

jude helping you in the kitchen because you’re hosting his family for dinner and youre running around at 100 miles an hour trying to find that damn stick of butter, it was just in your hand come onn

all while jude is having the time of his life taking his time gingerly cutting potatoes into neat little squares (roasted potatoes are a must)

"am i doing good?" he pipes up, already done with 3 Potatoes, youre so proud of him

you scramble over to him with a pound of meat in your hand, "yes love youre doing great."

he beams, wiggling his shoulders happily, "what do i do with them?"

you set down the meat on the counter while grabbing what you can from the spice cabinet, "the potatoes? just put them into a big bowl and ill worry about them."

he hums, going to get said big bowl while you run back to the fridge. you need asparagus how could you forget!

he manages to get the squares off the cutting board and into the bowl without much hassle, and you’ve started getting your pans out for the meat and asparagus. the squash is in the oven all ready, you need to make room for your lamb when its time though, desert also needs to get started, oh your mini quiches you completely forgot.

you slide back over to the fridge, the dough you made this morning, grabbing it and some flour. the lamb can wait while you get the crusts in the oven.

by the time jude looks back over at you, your covered in flour.

he snorts, "looks like you lost a fight to a baker."

"very funny jude, get the asparagus in the pan please and keep an eye on the squash for me while i finish getting the dough ready."

he puts the cutting board to the side, wiping his hands on a paper towel "yes ma'am."

you feel like gordan ramsey, barking our orders and running around with enough stress to last a life time. and you tell people you love cooking. pfft. sure. poor jude only follows you, doing what you ask. hes even worm a silly apron with big red words "kiss the chef" plastered on them. he thought it was the funniest thing ever. it was pretty funny you admit.

you spend too much time balling up little wads of aluminum foil for the crusts but jude keeps everything else in order, and before you know it in they go, out the squash comes, and you get started on the meat.

you love lamb, you hate the amount of pans and pots it takes though. first you sear, then you transfer to the oven while you sear off vegetables in the same pot, in they go with the lamb, pull them out, blend them with left of lamb juice at the bottom of the pan, boom you have a little gravy.

jude gasps and for a moment you think he'd burned himself, but he turns around with a stick of butter in his hand.

you light up, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "i love you," taking the butter and adding it to the asparagus.

somehow, someway, all your courses get done just on time, the deserts in the fridge, jude cleaning up the last of the kitchen while you get changed.

you come back down to greet the family, plating their food and basking in the praises they sing after every bite.

you love cooking !

[crows-home]

A little fic about Vince the day before things went to hell. Warnings for mentions of cannibalism, murder, blood.

It will go like this:

[Un]

“What’s this?” Rody will ask, surprised as he looks down at the plate you present him with. You will keep him late, after all the chefs have left for the day. Just the both of you, so you can savor the reaction, all to yourself.

“It’s-” for you. It’s a gift. It’s that ex-girlfriend you can’t shut up about, but who will now nourish you in ways you could never return. It’s all your love, neatly presented. It’s my heart, bared before you. It’s yours. Take it.

“-leftovers.” you will say instead.

[Also on Ao3]

[Deux]

Rody will take the plate, equal parts confused and curious. Tilt his head to the side and hum, like some mutt. He’ll eat it here, in the restaurant, he won’t take it home like he’s been doing all week. You won’t give him the choice.

He’s so stupid- too uncultured to comment on the presentation, but that’s not what you will focus on. 

The fork will sink into the meat, into its pre-cut slices, nicely. You will note the way his lips wrap around the utensil, how his eyes will widen as the flavor seeps in. Pupils will dilate and his breath will catch, so clear and damning in the echoing kitchen. You’ll note the way his throat bobs around the swallow, and the way he will grin.

[Trois]

“Vince!” Rody will look at you. His eyes will shine, that warm honey golden brown that haunts your dreams. His gaze is admiring, reverent. “This is amazing!”

You won’t be able to stop the way your heart will thump in your chest, so loud you will wonder if he can hear it. You’ve never been able to so far. Maybe it will be more. Maybe it will beat so fast it’ll leave you feeling winded. How will you cope? You should prepare for that.

“I know.” you will respond, airily, after taking a deep breath.

He’ll dig in, clean his plate with a gusto, the way no one has ever done before. It will disgust you, the way he shoves food in his mouth. Uncultured pig. But beneath the disgust will be a bone deep satisfaction that you’ve never felt before, so you can’t imagine it now.

[Quatre]

While he eats, Rody will look up at you, every emotion clear as day on his face. Like it always is. He’ll be so clearly impressed and grateful and yes, happy. You will have made him happy.

And he would say:

“Whatever you did this time, it really worked. It’s so rich and the spices are blended so well! So moist and the baste is-”

Ah. No, not that. Rody’s not- he hasn’t got a sophisticated palate to have those opinions. He’d probably chew through half a boot without noticing anything wrong.

Maybe…

“They were so wrong about you,” he will look you in the eye. Trusting, honest, raw. Your mouth waters. “Those articles. The critics. You’ve always had it in you. This is just- it’s so good, Vince! I can taste the heart that went into this.”

Yes.

[Cinq]

He’ll ask if there are any more leftovers, desperate and hungry for more. You’ll say no, that’s all you had, just to delight in the disappointment that washes over him. Of course he will- it’s the best thing he’s ever had. He’ll be ruined, after this. He won’t be able to get the taste out of his mouth let alone settle for anything other than your cooking.

Now you know. Now you are able to- to touch people, like this. Touch him like this, in a way you will never experience. That’s a power that you’ll never give up.

So you will tell him no, sorry, that’s all that was left.

“What’s your favorite food, Rody?”

“Hm?”

I’ll make it for you next. There’s plenty of meat left.

“You never told me.”

“Still don’t have one…” He rubs his chin and looks up. Where will the two of you be then? Still in the kitchen? Or will you have this conversation outside, after the dishes are left and as you shut and lock the door behind you? Every thought about her will be so far from his mind as you both leave her- what’s left of her- in the freezer.

“Although,” he’ll smile at you, cheeks flushed and oh so happy. So alive. “I guess tonight my favorite is- whatever you make!”

--

“Shit!”

The knife slips out of Vincent’s hand and clinks against the tile floor.

He blinks back to himself, away from the daydream, and scowls. His breathing is labored and his face is flushed.

“Always distracting me, even when he’s not around…”

He bends down with a sigh and picks up the knife. He takes extra care to step around the puddles of blood to make it to the sink and rinse it off. Too much blood, so much more than he’s used to, is making things more slippery than he’s used to, but the general process is the same. Second nature for him.

It doesn’t disgust him- what he’s done. Who he’s done it to. Her eyes weren’t the familiar brown he ached for. Her hair was too light, too neat, not the wild, fiery ginger mess that’s been dashing around his dining room. Barely presentable for his job but- it’s soft. Vincent knows it’s soft. His hand remembers the way it felt underneath his skin when he dried Rody off.

Vincent shivers again, and realizes the tap water is still running.

Shutting it off, he makes his way back to the counter. There’s still much to prepare before the day begins.

—

The countdown doesn’t even begin; Rody just had to go snooping where he doesn’t belong. 

Now there’s blood, his blood, that fills your mouth. His cartilage, soft and squishy between your teeth. You swallow it down. A piece of him, inside you.

Rody staggers and screams, his expression growing more horrified, pained, disgusted by the second. His eyes go buggy and he brings his left hand up to his wound, he’s crying. No. No, no, no, no-

You think about his smile. His kind, soft, moronic, naive eyes were supposed to be fixed on you, were supposed to find you. It wasn’t supposed to be this way-

He’ll never love you now.

It’s- it’s his fault. All of this. Here you were, trying to do something nice, and he spits it back in your face. It’s not like you were ever going to tell him what [who] he was eating. He could have lived in blissful ignorance. Happy, content, with you-. He would have forgotten about her eventually.

He calls you insane, and he might be right, but he doesn’t have to be so dramatic about it.

Ugh- now he’s accusing you of being a fucking cannibal, Jesus Christ. Imbecile. Your eye almost twitches in annoyance. Of course he’d jump to that conclusion, it’s not like he uses his brain to think for more than two seconds. You ought to take the other ear, for that. Or a finger. A hand.

…An arm. A leg. Your eyes trace his body, slowly.

Did- did his ear taste like anything, going down? You can’t remember. It- maybe it did. Maybe what you need is something meatier.

The girl never would have tasted like anything to you and in hindsight, of course she wouldn’t have. Maybe not even to Rody either. You never loved her, and she never loved you. Rody, though… Rody would be made with all your love. That’s what people talk about, right? That’s what you needed all along.

He comes to the realization at the same time you do. Your eyes meet. Honey brown. Alive, alive, raw.

He’s what you needed all along.

[shadesoflsk]

Okay but imagine Leon having a hispanic/latino s/o? Like him being introduced to their family at parties and having to memorize all the cousins, him falling in love with all the aspects of their culture. Also i feel like he would love gustavo cerati???? Coming from a latina (boricua y dominicana) this has me kicking my feet and giggling!! Ly 💗!! - 🐚

Hi! This is the first time someone claimed an emoji! I feel so excited, hehe.

And I just noticed I often reply to these asks with just my thoughts not knowing if any of you want a whole fic 😭 If you want one let me know ‘cause I'm dense.

Regarding Gustavo Cerati… you're so real 🐚 anon. In fact, I'm preparing a post which is basically hispanic music I think Leon would like. And let me tell you, there are A LOT OF Cerati's songs. If you guys want to share your thoughts/suggest some artists or songs you're welcome to do so. 🙏🏻

Anyway, I could definitely see Leon being overjoyed dating someone hispanic/latino.

The term itself is really broad, so I'm going to leave the details of the culture as ambiguous as I can so everyone can imagine their own.

leon kennedy x gn reader (reader speaks spanish)

Leon himself isn't someone who actually got to spend his childhood and younger years next to a family, or at least a loving one. So, when he met you, he slowly discovered your upbringing and how beautiful your culture was.

It started with little things. When you first mentioned Leon where you come from, he'd search for one thing he really enjoys—music! He fully believes art is the door to a culture, so there's nothing better than getting to know your country by its artists and songs.

He'd need to translate them, though. He barely knows how to say hello in another language. But then again, he tries his best to actually engage in your culture and show genuine interest.

While he navigates through the songs, typical dances, and festivities, the next step is obvious. As your relationship gets more serious, you'd tell him that your family wants to meet him. He isn't scared, not all. He's actually really excited at the prospect of meeting your relatives and taking such a serious step with you.

However, he is nervous about something.You had previously told him that your family was big, and while it didn't bother him, he isn't confident about his ability to remember names.

Poor boy would be the target of your family's teasing. As soon as he enters your home, some of your relatives would give him a pat on his back, seeing how nervous he is. The whole experience would be overwhelming but in a good way.

You'd introduce him to every family member. He'd say his name as best as he could (He asked you to teach him a bit of Spanish, to at least impress some of your relatives).

Very basic and broken Spanish: “Hola yo me llamo Leon, ¿Cómo estás tú?” Baby is trying his best, and everyone could see how much respect he holds for their culture and language.

He's really respectful in every aspect you could think of. When the little mingling comes to an end and hunger starts to brim in each one of your relatives, Leon would be delighted to try everything.

As soon as he starts eating, there are two outcomes. A) He really likes the food. B) He doesn't like it. For the first scenario, he'd devour the plate. Having something prepared with so much seasoning and love was something foreign to him. He'd whisper and ask you to tell your mom if he could fetch himself another serving. He's too shy for his own good.

For the latter, he'd still remain as respectful as he could. It's okay not to like certain things, and while he tries to finish his plate your family would joke about how he couldn’t handle the spice (even if it wasn't spicy in the first place.)

His favorite activity to do with your family is to see your childhood photo album. They would pull out embarrassing photos of yourself, but he'd think you look lovely. In moments like these, he gets to bond with your family even more, feeling himself blending with them and being part of a family he always longed for.

Overall, Leon would find himself falling in love with you and your culture. No matter how different it's from his own upbringing, he'd be honored to share moments getting to know everything about your country.

[blkdaddie]

Buns in the Oven

The kitchen was a symphony of sizzling sounds and vibrant colors, each station brimming with an array of exotic ingredients and gleaming utensils. The contestants, an eclectic mix of expectant men from all walks of life, stood ready, their hands poised to create culinary magic. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement and camaraderie, their shared journey creating an unspoken bond.

"Welcome to another thrilling episode of 'Buns in the Oven!' I'm your host, Jeremy, and today, our talented dads-to-be will be whipping up some extraordinary dishes to satisfy those unique pregnancy cravings!" Jeremy's voice echoed through the studio, his enthusiasm infectious.

"Let’s get cooking, gentlemen!" Jeremy announced, signaling the start of the competition.

At Station One, Alex, a software engineer from Seattle, was busy chopping a selection of exotic fruits. "I’m going for a spicy mango-avocado tart with a hint of chili and lime. It’s got that sweet and savory kick," he explained, exchanging a confident smile with Carlos, the contestant at the next station.

Carlos, a dance instructor from Miami, grinned back. "Sounds amazing, Alex. I’m working on a sweet plantain and black bean empanada with a guava glaze. A little taste of home for me."

Station Three housed Ravi, a chef from New York City, meticulously arranging ingredients for his dish. "I’m making a curry-infused chocolate mousse with candied ginger. It’s a fusion of my Indian heritage and classic French technique," he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

The judges, seated at a long table, watched intently. "These combinations are wild! I can’t wait to taste them," said Chef Maria, a renowned culinary expert.

"Remember, guys, presentation is key. We eat with our eyes first," added Chef Luis, a pastry chef known for his avant-garde creations.

As the clock ticked down, the kitchen was a whirlwind of activity. The smell of freshly baked goods and exotic spices filled the air. The men worked with a blend of precision and passion, their bellies round and their smiles wide.

"Five minutes left!" Jeremy called out, pacing the kitchen and peeking over shoulders.

At Station Four, Malik, a jazz musician from New Orleans, was putting the finishing touches on his dish. "I’ve got a beignet with a spicy crawfish filling and a sweet bourbon glaze. It’s got a little bit of everything," he said, his voice smooth and melodic.

The camaraderie was palpable. "Malik, that smells divine," Ravi called out, plating his mousse with a flourish.

"Time's up! Step away from your stations, gentlemen," Jeremy announced. The contestants exchanged high-fives and knowing winks, the energy in the room electric.

The judges made their rounds, sampling each dish with thoughtful expressions. "Alex, your tart has a wonderful balance of flavors. The heat from the chili is perfect," Chef Maria praised.

"Carlos, your empanada is incredible. The guava glaze is a fantastic touch," Chef Luis commented, nodding appreciatively.

"Ravi, your mousse is sublime. The curry and chocolate work beautifully together," said Chef Maria, clearly impressed.

"And Malik, your beignet is a revelation. The spice and sweetness are in perfect harmony," Chef Luis added.

Jeremy took the stage once more, microphone in hand. "And the winner of today’s 'Buns in the Oven' is… Malik with his spicy crawfish beignet! Congratulations, Malik!" The room erupted in cheers and applause.

"Thanks, everyone. This was such an amazing experience," Malik said, his voice full of emotion as he accepted his prize—a basket filled with goodies for both him and his soon-to-arrive baby.

As the credits rolled, Jeremy’s voiceover captured the essence of the show. "Join us next week for more mouthwatering creations and heartwarming stories on 'Buns in the Oven.' Where every dish is a labor of love."

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter One

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon!Reader

Chapter One: One Hell of a College

Summary: Ciel is given a new assignment, and Sebastian and (Y/N) find a way to blend in at Weston College.

Mouse Note: We're jumping right into the plot! Also, MC and Sebastian as a couple looooove to, you know, be in love. Writing them makes me blush. But, welcome back to One Hell of a Love! I had a ton of fun writing the Public School Arc. I have no idea if my updates will get ahead of the anime so just be wary of that (I read the manga so sometimes I am unsure). But please enjoy, feel free to comment (it's encouraged because it helps me stay motivated), and welcome back to the series!

            “Hello, darling,” said Sebastian, smiling at (Y/N) as he finished plating Ciel’s afternoon tea. On the tray lay a letter from the Queen, the seal easily recognizable.

            “My love,” said (Y/N), letting him pull them in for a light kiss. “Sneaking kisses in the halls? How scandalous.”

            “But you tempt me so,” said Sebastian with a smirk. “How can I resist?”

            (Y/N) let out a light laugh before turning around to walk with him towards Ciel’s office. Since their confession, the pair of demons had been quite satisfied together. They doubted the humans knew they were together, but they didn’t care. Their connection was different than humans’, their relationship didn’t follow the rules set by the ruling class.

            Besides, (Y/N) and Sebastian were singularly minded demons. Sebastian still had a job to do, and (Y/N) was entertained enough to continue helping him. Having a relationship merely added to their enjoyment of existence together in the otherwise monotonous, dull living and contracts.

            What was a little fun with the demon they love if not adding spice to existence?

            Sebastian knocked lightly on Ciel’s office door, and Ciel acknowledged their arrival. (Y/N) opened the door, and Sebastian rolled in the cart. Pleased with himself as usual, Sebastian announced the day’s tea and cake combination. He also offered Ciel the letter from the Queen, but Ciel opted to eat his sweet treat before attending to business. Sebastian and (Y/N) suppressed amused smirks at Ciel pushing back work in favor of treats.

            Finaly, Ciel unsealed the letter.

            “ ‘To my dear boy,’ ” he read. “ ‘The Campania incident was a frightful calamity. Have you already recovered? Are you enjoying your Easter? For my part, though Easter is here at long last, I find myself unable to whole-heartedly enjoy the holiday as there is something that weighs upon my mind.

            “I am worried about Derrick, the son of my cousin Duke Clemens. Derrick is in the fifth form at Weston College. But for some reason, it seems he has not returned home since last summer. He used to write home every day, but his letters abruptly stopped as well…The anxious duchess has called at his house, but he refuses to return home and so on. If it was Derrick alone, we might chalk it up to a rebellious phase. However, other students have also not returned home. I wonder what in the world could have brought about this behavior.

            “Because his only son is acting thusly, Duke Clemens continues to lose heart…The whole affair has me very concerned indeed. I pray my loved ones can enjoy Easter in high, peaceful spirits as soon as possible. Victoria.’ ”

            Sebastian considered. “So, in short, Her Majesty has charged you to investigate the reason why students have failed to return home from Weston College.”

            Ciel nodded. “Public schools are independent institutions that refuse all government intervention, so it’s hard to lay a finger on them. Rather, those involved with the school don’t want to publicize their internal circumstances by making waves.”

            Sebastian raised a brow. “Worrying about appearances even at a time like this. My, my, this is why humans are so tiring.”

            “You understand vanity quite well,” said (Y/N), smirking.

            “I am one hell of a butler,” said Sebastian. “Of course I must act accordingly.”

            (Y/N) simply looked at him in amusement.

            Nearly rolling his eyes at their obvious flirting—Ciel was not nearly as oblivious as the other servants—Ciel spoke. “I’d like someone to infiltrate the school, but Weston usually only lets in the sons of aristocrats. Those with titles are few, and I’m acquainted with most of them. If it comes down to sneaking in, a disguise would be dangerous.”

            “So you will go as yourself?” said (Y/N), tilting their head.

            “I have no choice,” said Ciel, taking a sip of his tea. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind having the Queen in my debt. The problem lies not in whether or not there’s an open place at Weston.”

            “If there is none, you simply need to make one,” remarked Sebastian with a light smirk.

            “I’ll handle the investigation within the school,” said Ciel. “Sebastian, (Y/N), you will have to support me without being discovered yourself. How you go about it is up to you.”

            Sebastian and (Y/N) bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

            (Y/N) knew that that order—“up to you”—would be put to good, entertaining use.

l

            “What is our plan for assisting the Young Master?” said (Y/N), sitting down in the library of the Phantomhive Mansion.

            “You do not think we will simply lurk in the shadows until needed?” said Sebastian. “It would give us quite a few private moments.”

            “As lovely as that possibility is, I suspect you have more planned,” said (Y/N), leaning their head on their hand with a sharp grin.

            “Perceptive as ever,” said Sebastian, pleased at (Y/N)’s acumen. “I feel we can better keep an eye on the situation and gather our own information as housemasters.” As adults in the college, they would be able to go places at times students weren’t—imperative for investigations.

            “Playing professors?” (Y/N) considered. “I haven’t done that yet, and I rarely play a masculine role. It sounds fun.”

            “I’m certain you’ll do wonderfully,” said Sebastian. “And I look forward to seeing in a more masculine role.” He knew for damn sure he’d be just as attracted to them no matter what form they took—he loved who they were, not their appearance. That meant little to demons.

            He tilted his head. “However…we should try to craft the proper disguise for your role.” Sebastian put his hand on his chest. “I have the perfect outfit for myself, but we shall have to see how you look.”

            “I can look masculine,” said (Y/N).

            “You can,” agreed Sebastian. “But I want you to look dashing, not just masculine.” He smirked. “Come alone, darling.”

            “You’re doing this to play dress up,” said (Y/N), smirking as they stood to follow him.

            “Or to undress you,” said Sebastian.

            “You’re insatiable.”

            “Positively gluttonous~”

l

            “I think robes would add to the outfit,” said Sebastian as he finished buttoning (Y/N)’s vest.

            They rolled their eyes. “I can’t wear a professor’s robes until I am hired. This is enough, I’m sure.”

            They wore a dark grey button-up with black pants, a black vest, a tie, and a coat overtop (which would become robes if hired). Around (Y/N)’s neck hung a silver cross. Some religious figures would claim the demons wouldn’t be able to handle the holy symbol, but they would be wrong. Unless being used with some sort of religious or divine magic, they were fine wearing it. In fact, (Y/N) and Sebastian knew that being religious would help them get the jobs as housemaster and assistant—they’d be seen as intelligent, well-rounded individuals.

            “You do look quite handsome,” said Sebastian, brushing a hand over (Y/N)’s hair fondly. They had altered it slightly, too, in order to fall in a traditionally masculine style (the length would never matter, though, since men like Viscount Druitt were as respect as Lord Midford, it was just the styling to present more masculine). “However, we could run a test.”

            “Go on,” said (Y/N), smirking. They were looking forward to learning what Sebastian was suggesting.

            Sebastian stepped out of the room and called down the hall. “Mey-Rin, come here, please.”

            “Of course, Mr. Sebastian!” said Mey-Rin, running down the hall. She, unsurprisingly, tripped, but Sebastian caught her and set her upright before she could knock anything over.

            “Really, Mey-Rin, you must be more careful,” tutted Sebastian.

            “S-Sorry, I am,” said Mey-Rin sheepishly, red as usual.

            “Now that you’re here, I need you to see someone,” said Sebastian.

            “Is it a guest?” said Mey-Rin nervously.

            “If you’d like to classify them as so,” said Sebastian, his words avoiding a lie with practiced ease. He stepped to the side, and (Y/N) stepped into their masculine role.

            “Hello, Mey-Rin,” said (Y/N), smirking.

            Mey-Rin’s eyes widened, and a heavy blush appeared on her cheek’s like it did when she faced Sebastian. Obviously, she found this masc form of (Y/N)’s quite attractive (and who could blame her?)

            “Oh, uh, sir, uh, h-hello! Nice to meet you!” She bowed awkwardly and ran off.

            (Y/N) watched her in amusement. “I barely changed my form, and yet that’s the reaction I got.” They smirked at Sebastian. “I think this disguise will work perfectly. Humans always do love a nice face and figure~”

            “They do indeed,” said Sebastian.

            “And I know another being who likes to look at me,” teased (Y/N).

            Sebastian smirked with sharp teeth, not caring in the slightest to look away.

            “Now that we have our plans,” said (Y/N), continuing on, “We should ensure there are…job openings for us.” They glanced at Sebastian. “Don’t you agree?”

            “Indeed,” said Sebastian. “I’m sure there will be an opportunity quite soon.”

            They shared devilish grins which promised murder. They were going to have fun at Weston College.

l

            “Heave-ho!”

            The students of Sapphire Owl House threw their arms up, and Ciel was tossed up by the white sheet. It was an unusual welcome party (though Ciel had worried about hazing), but Weston College was already proving a bit…strange anyways.

            “Well, how do you like the traditional welcome of our house?” said Clayton, grinning. “Devote yourself to your studies all the more as a member of Sapphire Owl house, do you hear? Okay! Toss him higher next. One, two—”

            “What is the meaning of all this racket?” snapped an authoritative voice.

            “Dash it all!” cried one boy.

            “It’s the Housemasters!” said another, freezing as they realized they were caught.

            Ciel rolled haphazardly from the sheet to the ground with a yelp.

            “Clayton,” said a second calm, though commanding, voice. “An upperclassman such as you is involved in this? I’m ashamed.”

            “Explain yourself.”

            “Well, er, this is our house tradition…” said Clayton, formal as ever but a bit hesitant.

            “My, my, tradition is all well and good, but try not to overdo it.”

            Ciel looked up while someone knelt before him.

            “So you’re the new Phantomhive boy.” (Y/N) smiled at him with a hand outstretched. “Hello, I am Assistant Housemaster Noir.” Now their outfit was completed with robes instead of a jacket.

            “And I am Housemaster Michaelis,” said Sebastian, dressed in his own set of housemaster robes. His hair was pushed back, and glasses balanced on his face. He smiled. “Welcome to Sapphire Owl House.”

            Ciel’s eyebrow twitched. So this was how they planned to get in to Weston College. Ciel hated Sebastian as a teacher, and now he was stuck with him.

            Demons.

l

            Ciel, Sebastian, and (Y/N)’s time at Weston College commenced and was as British as it could be. It was a highly regulated school that raised its students into diligent workers and well-rounded men while also catering to aristocrats. Now, they tried to teach diligence by having the boys do certain chores occasionally, but when Ciel had to clean the dining hall…It of course became Sebastian and (Y/N)’s chores instead of Ciel’s.

            “Sebastian,” he called, pulling off his eyepatch.

            In an instant, Sebastian appeared beside him, and (Y/N) only took a moment longer to follow Sebastian.

            “Right here,” said Sebastian.

            “Already calling upon help? My, not even a day has passed,” said (Y/N).

            Ciel ignored the teasing and faced them with his hands on his hips. “It seems that Derrick has been transferred to another house.”

            “We did check the student roll and found the same information,” said Sebastian, flipping the clipboard paper over. “His name is on the list of Violet Wolf residents.”

            “An abrupt change,” said (Y/N). Their nose twitched. They didn’t trust it.

            “He should be at his house now,” said Ciel. “I’ll go there directly, so you tidy up here.”

            “Very good, sir,” said Sebastian, bowing as Ciel ran out of the room.

            “Now, then,” said (Y/N), taking off their long robes and surveying the mess in the dining room. “To work, Sebastian?”

            “To work,” confirmed Sebastian.

            He smirked. They were about to clean this room so well that it would be inhuman. (Poor Ciel was going to be heralded as an excellent cleaner and be asked to do it more often. He’d hate that, and what was Sebastian to do if not make some small irritation for his master?)

l

            Sure enough, once the dining room was spotless and Ciel had returned (unsuccessful) from Violet Wolf, he was giving great praise by Clayton at the amazing job he’d done cleaning.

            “Mr. Michaelis, Mr. Noir!” said Clayton as he spotted the housemasters. “Please feast your eyes on the dining hall! Phantomhive put it in order.” He patted an irritated, exhausted Ciel on the shoulder.”

            “Nice work, Phantomhive,” said Sebastian with an innocent smile while Ciel glared at him.

            “Truly an excellent job,” said (Y/N).

            “You, too, sirs,” said Ciel, gritting his teeth. Then, he paused. He could use this to his advantage. He needed to get close to the Prefects, and since Clayton was Bluewer’s Drudge…he needed to get close to Clayton.

            “I’m very glad to hear that my work pleases you so!” said Ciel, suddenly grinning brightly. He put on a performance of boyish gratitude and eagerness. “You see, I’m actually quite good at housekeeping and such!” He saluted. “So, please, Clayton, consider me at your service whenever you need aaanything done.”

            What a brat, offering up our services, thought (Y/N). That being said, his manipulation of others was entertaining. They supposed it was a fair tradeoff.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

@bellacastiel

@v1l-ismissing

@agentdedf1sh

@iamsexytrash

@oceansfloor

@sarkzjam

@temporarilyablog

@elaemae

@urlocalsabito

@roo024

@ittomain1

[kinkandkreep]

𝑨/𝑵: 𝑯𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒚'𝒂𝒍𝒍! 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 2 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆! 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚.(ᵔ.ᵔ) 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚'𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚❣︎ ᵃˡˢᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵖᵃⁿⁱˢʰ ᵗᵒʷᵃʳᵈˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵈ ⁱˢ ᵒᶠᶠ.

♡︎ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 1 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

♡︎ 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙼𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝙾'𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

♡︎ 𝙲𝚆: 𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍/𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚢

♡︎ "__" 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎

.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-.・ ✧ :-.・゜

When you awoke the next morning, it was to the enticing smell of blended spices. You could pick up the basics, like paprika and pepper, but also something more unique, like turmeric and dill. 

You inhaled deeply, a smile curling your lips at the warm, fragrant scent. It was…comforting. 

And then you remembered where you were.

‘Wait, I’m at Gigi’s. He can cook? Well, I suppose he does live alone and would need to know how.’

Shrugging to yourself, you stand, stretching until you hear several small pops sound from your back. With a quiet yawn, you made your way back into the en suite, going once again through your oral hygiene routine and splashing some water on your face to help you wake up. You check to see if Miguel has the room stocked with any facial cleanser, and finding there is none, you grab a clean washcloth and give your face a thorough, albeit gentle scrubbing. 

With that done, you shuffle your way back down the hall and around the corner into the kitchen, pausing at the sight that greets you. 

Miguel stands with his back to you, broad back bare and thick muscles shifting beneath tawny brown skin. He moves about the kitchen with practiced ease, picking and replacing ingredients as he goes. 

You notice there are two plates already set out, each with an empty glass and cutlery to accompany it.

Smiling to yourself at the domesticity of it all, you begin approaching, only to realize that Miguel is apparently speaking to someone. 

“Yeah, she’s here. Showed up last night bruised up pretty badly. Said she got into a fight with some thugs. She suspects they were using Lazarus. Perhaps this epidemic is becoming worse than we originally thought.”

Quietly taking a seat at the island, you continue listening, curious to see what else Miguel might say. 

“I suppose so. We’ll have to be more vigilant.” He’s silent for a moment as the other person speaks. “Alright, well if that’s all then. Let me know of any further developments.”

Once his call has ended, Miguel sighs, pausing in his movements momentarily before turning. 

“Good morning,” he greets, a little grin curving his lips. 

“Good morning,” you respond with a little smile of your own, slightly surprised that he’d apparently heard you.  

“I made omelets. I wasn’t sure how you liked yours, so I just added basic seasonings, cheese and flank steak.” He turns to lift the pan, sliding the steaming omelet out and directly onto your plate.

“I figured the extra protein would do you good. Contributes to accelerated wound healing, and all that.”

He turned back to the stove, speedily cracking six eggs and adding extra ingredients and spices into his own omelet.

You decided to wait until he was finished to begin eating, finding yourself content to just watch him move. As you watched him, your mind began to wonder. 

‘How nice it would be to have this all the time.’

You jerked slightly at the sudden thought. Where had that come from?

The more you thought about it however, the more you leaned into the notion.

How nice it would be indeed, to have a sexy man make you breakfast every morning. 

You giggled at the thought, causing Miguel to hum curiously. 

“Something funny?”

You waved your hand dismissively. “Oh nothing, just had a thought.”

Miguel hummed again, turning to dispense his own finished omelet onto his plate. Just before sitting, he poured himself a cup of freshly pressed coffee.

“Coffee or orange juice?” He presented both options to you. 

“Hmmm…orange juice.”

Nodding, Miguel filled your cup, placing the still mostly full pitcher on the counter in front of you. Taking his seat, the two of you began to eat in comfortable silence. 

The rain had since stopped, and the sky was a little overcast. This high up there weren’t many birds, but you could inevitably still hear the sounds of the city far below. 

“Gigi, can I ask you something?”

The man paused, curiosity swirling in his red irises. He’d stopped mid chew, leaving his cheeks adorably puffed. You laughed yet again at the sight, missing the way Miguel’s expression softened at the sound. 

“Yes?”

Stifling your remaining giggles, you leveled Miguel with a more serious look. 

“About last night-”

“Ok, I’m not sure how much you remember, but I can assure you we didn’t have sex.”

Your eyes widened, blinking once, twice, before collapsing into another fit of raucous laughter. 

“No, I know that Gigi. I was bleeding, not concussed. Thankfully.”

Miguel sighed, setting his fork down on his plate. 

“Ok good. So, what about last night?”

You took a moment, considering your words carefully. You didn’t want to startle Miguel into closing off, but you needed to get a straight answer. 

“Um, well, I heard you talking to Lyla last night.”

Miguel’s eyes began to widen, and you quickly threw up your hands, waving them in front of you. 

“No no no! Just wait. Before you shut down on me just…let me finish, ok?”

Silently, Miguel nodded, gaze still focused in on you. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you continued. “I heard you say that you didn’t know if I “felt the same way” about something.” 

Meeting Miguel’s eyes, you steeled yourself. “What did you mean by that?”

The man was quiet, almost unnervingly so as he just stared at you. You squirmed almost imperceptibly in your seat, trying not to appear intimidated. 

After quite a few moments, Miguel sighed yet again, and he averted his gaze. 

“Ah mierda. I was really hoping you hadn’t heard us.” His eyes were closed, until they snapped open and he turned to you, narrowed crimson gaze sharp and scrutinizing. 

“You were eavesdropping?”

Having been caught, you looked away, scratching your cheek nervously. “Sorta, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Rolling his eyes, Miguel turned his body towards you, propping his elbow onto the island and his head onto his now raised hand. 

“Hmm, how do I say this?” Miguel's expression was pensive. 

“After you showed up last night, all injured and bloody, it made me start thinking.”

You listened quietly, the beat of your heart beginning to pick up speed. 

“What we do is dangerous. Being vigilantes- heroes, whatever- does not come without risk. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but this is honestly what was on my mind.”

He paused again, and you took the opportunity to speak. 

“It wasn’t so serious Miguel. Just some contusions and a few scrapes.” You tried to downplay your injuries, but realized that was the wrong move as Miguel’s expression hardened.

“Maybe to you, __. But what if it hadn’t just been some “contusions and scrapes?” What if those thugs had broken your ribs, or given you a serious head injury and left you unconscious or…or worse?”

Though you knew he didn’t mean to sound condescending, a part of you couldn’t help but feel like Miguel doubted your abilities. This irritated you, and you scoffed, arms folded across your chest defensively.

“What, you actually think I would’ve let that happen? Shows just how much faith you have in me huh?”

Miguel’s stare narrowed once more. “You know that’s not what I meant, __.”

“Well that’s what it sounded like, Miguel.” You missed his visible wince at the emphasis you put on his birth name. 

Sighing, you stood, moving to the sink to rinse your dishes, then placing them in the empty dishwasher. Turning back to Miguel, you approached the opposite side of the island where you now stood, leaning your upper body against it. 

“Look Gigi, I understand what you’re getting at. What we do is dangerous. But that’s why we have the abilities we do, right? I can’t say with certainty that last night was a one off occurrence. If I continue down this path, I’m sure there’ll be plenty more fights and injuries and lots more blood to accompany them. But it’s ok. I know better than to get myself killed. And I don’t do this just for the fun of it. It’s my duty to protect. And it’s one I take very seriously.” 

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on Miguel’s shoulder. 

“Besides, I couldn’t leave my favorite guy behind, could I?” You smile brightly at him, eyes slipping closed. Your hand instinctively moves up, gently tussling Miguel’s hair. 

With your eyes closed, you don’t see Miguel’s soft, fond smile, or the way his eyes slightly mist over. 

Your eyes open when you feel him stand to his full height, and you blink up at him questioningly. 

“Gigi?”

He doesn’t respond, instead his breathing begins to pick up, and you worry he’s on the verge of a panic attack. 

“H-hey, Gigi! Are you ok? Do you need-...”

“I love you, __.”

You freeze, your entire body taut with shock. Miguel spoke so calmly, and you can feel heat blooming in your chest. 

“Y-yeah. Love you too,” you playfully punch his arm, tone awkward. “Bro.”

Miguel grabs your hand from his arm before you can move it away, instead bringing it to rest on his chest, right over his heart. 

“No, __. I mean I love you. And I know it’s sudden, but I’ve been contemplating this for quite some time.”

He steps closer to you, releasing your hand. You unconsciously keep it on his chest, feeling the calming rhythm of his heartbeat. 

With both hands free, Miguel lifts them to cradle your cheeks,  staring into your eyes intently. 

“You’re right, I was talking to Lyla about you last night. She was trying to convince me to be honest about my feelings with you. I thought at the time, I didn’t have it in me just yet, and right then wouldn’t have been appropriate anyway. But, I’m sort of glad you did bring it up, because now I can more easily tell you how I truly feel.”

Your lips have been parted this whole time, so entranced you were by Miguel and his words. You finally move your hand, now bringing both yours up to wrap around Miguel’s wrists. 

“Miguel-...”

“Ssshh.” He playfully shushes you, repeating your words back from earlier. “Just let me finish, ok?”

You nod, waiting for him to continue. 

Once he feels you won’t interrupt, Gigi sighs, shaking his head. 

“I may have seemed calm then, but seeing you last night in the state you were in sent me into an internal state of panic I don’t think I’ve felt before. Rage also built up in me, so angry I was at the thought that someone put their hands on you in such a way.” Miguel needed to take a deep breath, as he could feel the anger beginning to creep up again. 

“But I realized it was par for the course of being a hero, and me lashing out and being irrational would do you no good.” 

At this point, Miguel backed away, guiding you towards the couch. You sat facing each other, knees bumping and eyes still locked. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I know that I love you, __. But I’m so afraid to give my heart to you for fear that you’ll be snatched away from me one day. I don’t think I could handle something like that.” He placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. “It would feel like a part of me was missing.”

The man choked on the last few words, and you were taken aback as tears began slowly trickling down his cheeks. Snapping out of your reverie, you quickly leaned forward, tenderly wiping the tears away with your thumbs. 

“Hey, hey. It’s ok.” You cooed. “Thank you for telling me how you feel.”

Miguel nodded, trying to meet your eyes through his tears. You smiled at him, feeling something warm and fuzzy spread through your chest. 

“To be honest with you Gigi, I…have a little crush on you myself.”

At that, the man perked up, eyes widening. “You do?”

You nodded, feeling a bit bashful now. “I wasn’t going to say anything either, for fear of how you might receive me. But, I’m so glad that now we’ve gotten the opportunity to air everything out.”

You gave him an adorably crooked grin. 

Gigi didn’t respond immediately, his eyes focused on your lips. Without making eye contact, he spoke. 

“I hope this doesn’t seem too forward, but…can I kiss you?”

You were stunned for only a moment, before that grin morphed into a genuine, warm smile. 

“Yes Gigi, you’re welcome to kiss me.”

The end of your sentence was a bit muffled by Miguel’s lips crashing into yours. The kiss was prolonged, a sensual dance of tongue and buried feelings being brought to the surface. Miguel tasted like warm spice, courtesy of his omelet from earlier, but also something dark and sweet. 

You found yourself quickly becoming addicted. 

Lips still entangled, Miguel lifted you by your waist, sliding you into his lap as he rested against the back of the couch. Your hands found themselves tangled in his messy chestnut locks, pulling slightly on instinct. 

You were surprised by the low growl that sounded from Miguel, and for a second you worried you’d done something he didn’t like. 

“Pull my hair more.”

Unwilling to displease your new beau, you did as asked, very pleasantly surprised when the kiss became more intense as a result. 

The two of you stayed that way for quite a few minutes more, each simply savoring the taste of the other. 

Eventually, you were the first to pull away, giggling as Miguel’s lips desperately followed yours. 

“Where’d you learn how to kiss like that?” You lifted a quizzical brow. 

Miguel smirked. “I’d tell you, but then you’d probably want to kill me.”

Laughing, you nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Now sliding off of Miguel’s lap, you curled up next to him, one of his muscular arms moving to cradle you into his side. 

“Soooo…”

He hummed. “So what?”

“We’re officially dating now right?”

Miguel looked at you from the corner of his eye, smiling after a moment. “Yes __, we’re officially dating now.”

You grinned happily, placing a peppy kiss on his cheek. “Good.” 

It was quiet for a bit between you before you spoke again. 

“I love you, Miguel.”

“Yo también te amo, mi cariño.”

[callsigns-haze]

Short love: Prologue

Summary: The is about widowed father Bradley Bradshaw who enlists his brother-in-law Jake Seresin and childhood best friend Robert Floyd to help raise his three daughters, eldest Donna Jo Margaret (D.J for short), middle child Stephanie and youngest Michelle in his San Diego home. 

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Warning: Fluff

In the warm embrace of the morning sun, Y/n stood in Bradley's cozy kitchen, a sense of excitement bubbling within her as she prepared to whip up a batch of pancakes from scratch. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon that would soon infuse the fluffy pancakes.

With a deft hand, Y/n measured out flour, baking powder, and a pinch of salt into a mixing bowl, the ingredients coming together in a cloud of soft white powder. She cracked eggs into the bowl, their golden yolks adding richness to the batter, and poured in a splash of creamy milk.

As she whisked the ingredients together, Y/n's mind drifted back to fond memories of lazy Sunday mornings spent in her grandmother's kitchen, learning the art of pancake-making from the master herself. She smiled at the thought, grateful for the tradition that had been passed down through generations.

Adding a dollop of melted butter and a hint of pure maple syrup to the batter, Y/n stirred until it was smooth and silky, the mixture taking on a golden hue that promised deliciousness with every bite. With a satisfied nod, she set the bowl aside to rest, allowing the flavours to meld and develop while she heated up the griddle.

The sizzle of butter hitting the hot surface filled the kitchen as Y/n ladled spoonful's of batter onto the griddle, each one spreading out into perfect circles of golden goodness. She watched with anticipation as bubbles formed on the surface of the pancakes, signalling that it was time to flip them over to cook on the other side.

With a flick of her wrist, Y/n expertly flipped the pancakes, their edges turning crisp and golden as they cooked to perfection. The kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of caramelized sugar and warm spices, beckoning her nieces to the breakfast table with eager anticipation.

As Y/n finished up the last batch of pancakes, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway. Moments later, Stephanie and DJ, her two oldest nieces, appeared in the kitchen, their faces lighting up with surprise and delight at the sight of the delicious breakfast spread before them.

"Good morning, Aunt Y/n!" Stephanie exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "What's all this?"

Y/n turned to greet them, her smile widening at the sight of their eager expressions. "Good morning, girls!" she replied, her voice warm and jovial. "I thought I'd whip up a little breakfast treat for my favourite nieces."

DJ and Stephanie exchanged a look of disbelief, their eyes widening in astonishment. "You made all this?" DJ asked, her voice tinged with amazement.

Y/n nodded proudly, gesturing towards the table where plates of fluffy pancakes, bowls of fresh fruit, and pitchers of maple syrup awaited them. "All from scratch," she confirmed, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Stephanie and DJ wasted no time in helping themselves to the delicious spread, their mouths watering at the sight and smell of the pancakes. They piled their plates high with pancakes, drizzling them generously with syrup and adding a handful of fresh berries on the side.

As they dug into their breakfast, laughter and conversation filled the kitchen, the sound of their voices blending harmoniously with the clink of forks against plates. Y/n watched them with pride, her heart swelling with love for her nieces and the joy of being able to spoil them with a homemade breakfast. Together, they savoured each mouthful of pancakes, savouring the warmth and comfort of being together as a family.

As Y/n sat at the kitchen table with her two nieces, DJ and Stephanie, the aroma of freshly made pancakes filled the air, mingling with the excitement bubbling within her. With a warm smile, she decided to share with them stories of her recent geographic news reporting trip to Australia, a journey that had taken her to the far reaches of the continent.

"DJ, Stephanie, did I ever tell you about my recent trip to Australia for work?" Y/n began, her voice filled with anticipation.

The girls shook their heads, their eyes wide with curiosity as they eagerly dug into their pancakes.

"Well, let me tell you, it was an adventure unlike any other," Y/n continued, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she recounted her memories.

"As a geographic news reporter, I had the incredible opportunity to travel to some of the most remote and breath-taking locations in Australia. From the rugged Outback to the lush rainforests, I witnessed the stunning diversity of landscapes that make up this vast continent."

DJ and Stephanie listened intently, their pancake-filled mouths forgotten as they hung on Y/n's every word.

"I explored ancient Aboriginal sites, where rock art told the stories of generations past. I trekked through dense rainforests, where towering trees and cascading waterfalls created a sense of wonder and awe."

The girls gasped in amazement, their imaginations sparked by Y/n's vivid descriptions.

"But do you know what was truly remarkable?" Y/n asked, her voice filled with wonder.

"What?" DJ and Stephanie chimed in unison.

"The people," Y/n replied, her voice tinged with admiration. "I met incredible individuals who were deeply connected to the land and its rich cultural heritage. From Aboriginal elders sharing their wisdom to local communities welcoming me with open arms, I was constantly inspired by their resilience and strength."

As they finished their pancakes, DJ and Stephanie bombarded Y/n with questions about her trip, eager to learn more about the fascinating experiences she had encountered. And as Y/n shared more stories and answered their curious inquiries, she knew that her nieces were already dreaming of their own adventures, inspired by the tales of distant lands and faraway journeys.

In the bustling kitchen of the Bradshaw household, Y/n watched the clock anxiously as her two nieces, DJ and Stephanie, leisurely nibbled on their pancakes. With each passing second, her sense of urgency grew, knowing that they were perilously close to missing their school bus.

"Come on, girls, hurry up! You need to finish your pancakes quickly so we can get you to the bus stop on time," Y/n urged, her voice tinged with urgency.

DJ and Stephanie glanced at each other, their eyes widening with realization as they realized the gravity of the situation. With newfound determination, they began to eat with renewed speed, their pancakes disappearing in record time.

As Y/n bustled around the kitchen, packing their backpacks and gathering their coats, she couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration at the time ticking away. The school bus would be arriving any minute, and she dreaded the thought of having to drive them to school herself.

"Come on, girls, we need to go!" Y/n called out, her voice tinged with urgency as she ushered them out the door.

With a final gulp of orange juice and a hasty goodbye, DJ and Stephanie scrambled out of their chairs and raced to the front door, their backpacks slung over their shoulders.

As they hurried down the front steps and onto the sidewalk, Y/n breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that they had made it just in time. With a quick wave goodbye, she watched as they boarded the school bus, their faces flushed with excitement and the thrill of making it just in time.

As the bus pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the corner, Y/n couldn't help but smile. Despite the chaos and rush of the morning, she knew that she wouldn't have it any other way. After all, these were the moments that made being an aunt so special.

In the early morning hustle and bustle of the Bradshaw household, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the stairs as Bradley rushed into the kitchen, baby Michelle cradled in his arms. His face was a mix of determination and concern as he quickly scanned the room.

"Y/n, I'm running late for work," Bradley exclaimed, his voice filled with urgency as he handed Michelle over to his roommate. "Can you watch Michelle for me while I grab my briefcase?"

Y/n, caught off guard by her friend's sudden appearance, quickly adjusted to the situation, taking Michelle into her arms with practiced ease. "Of course, Bradley," she replied, her voice calm and reassuring. "I've got her. Don't worry."

With a grateful nod, Bradley dashed back up the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the house as he hurried to gather his belongings. Y/n watched him go, a fond smile playing on her lips as she cradled Michelle close.

As the minutes ticked by, Y/n soothed Michelle with gentle words and soft caresses, the baby content in her aunt's loving embrace. She hummed a soft lullaby, the melody filling the air with warmth and comfort.

Finally, Bradley reappeared in the kitchen, his briefcase in hand and a grateful smile on his face. "Thank you, Y/n," he said, his voice filled with gratitude as he leaned in to kiss Michelle on the forehead. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Y/n smiled back, her heart swelling with love for her friend and her precious niece. "Anytime, Brad," she replied, her voice filled with warmth. "You know I'm always here for you and Michelle."

With a quick goodbye, Bradley rushed out the door, his footsteps fading into the distance as he headed off to work. Left alone in the kitchen with Michelle, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfilment wash over her. Despite the chaos of the morning, moments like these reminded her of the bond that held their family together, strong and unbreakable.

With Bradley gone and the kitchen now quiet, Y/n cradled Michelle in her arms, the baby's warm weight a comforting presence against her chest. As she gazed down at her tiny niece, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the innocence and beauty of this small, precious life in her care.

With practiced ease, Y/n reached for a bottle of warm formula, prepared earlier in anticipation of moments like this. She settled into a cozy armchair by the window, the morning sunlight casting a gentle glow over the room, and carefully positioned the bottle for Michelle to latch onto.

Michelle, ever the eager eater, eagerly accepted the bottle, her hungry suckles filling the air with a soft rhythm. Y/n watched with a mixture of tenderness and awe as the baby drank, her heart swelling with love for this little bundle of joy.

As Michelle nursed, Y/n gently stroked her soft cheek, whispering words of love and reassurance. She marvelled at the bond that had formed between them, a connection that transcended words and filled her with a sense of purpose and belonging.

Time seemed to stand still as Y/n and Michelle shared this intimate moment, the outside world fading away as they basked in the warmth of each other's presence. In the quiet stillness of the morning, surrounded by love and tenderness, Y/n knew that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And as Michelle finished her bottle with a contented sigh, her eyelids growing heavy with drowsiness, Y/n held her close, savouring the precious moments of peace and quiet. In these simple moments, she found joy and fulfilment, knowing that she was fulfilling her role as both aunt and caregiver with all the love in her heart.

With baby Michelle nestled in her arms, her tiny fingers curling around Y/n's, the aunt couldn't resist engaging in a little conversation with her niece.

"You know, Michelle," Y/n began, her voice soft and gentle, "we're going to have some special visitors later today. Uncle Bob and Uncle Jake are moving in with us for a while."

Michelle's bright eyes blinked up at Y/n, her small mouth forming a curious O-shape. Y/n chuckled at the adorable expression, feeling a surge of affection for the little one in her arms.

"They're going to be staying with us for a little bit while they get settled," Y/n continued, her tone warm and reassuring. "It's going to be so much fun having them around. They're going to make you laugh and smile, just like they always do."

As Y/n spoke, Michelle cooed softly in response, her eyes fixed on her aunt's face as if trying to understand every word. Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the way Michelle seemed to be taking in everything around her, her innocence and curiosity a constant source of joy.

"I think you're going to love having them here, Michelle," Y/n said, her voice filled with excitement. "They're going to be the best uncles ever, I just know it."

With a contented sigh, Y/n hugged Michelle a little tighter, feeling grateful for the bond they shared and the adventures that lay ahead with their extended family. And as she rocked Michelle gently in her arms, she couldn't wait to see the smiles and laughter that Uncle Bob and Uncle Jake would bring into their lives once they arrived later that day.

tagging: @callsign-magnolia @shanimallina87 @callsign-dexter @rosiahills22 @horseslovers2016 @djs8891 @hookslove1592 @emma8895eb @hardballoonlove @kmc1989 @dempy @mamachasesmayhem @senawashere @buckysteveloki-me @sweetwhispersofchaos @itsmytimetoodream @jessicab1991 @ahh-chickens

[keehomania]

l’espoir (희망) – jung hoseok (정호석)

✧.* 18+

cooking had always been more than just a necessity; it was an art form, an expression of emotion, culture, and memory. each dish was a canvas, and the ingredients were the paints, their vibrant colors and textures inviting the imagination to run wild. the kitchen, with its warm, ambient light and the comforting hum of the stove, became a sanctuary where creativity flowed freely.

the process began with the careful selection of ingredients, each one chosen with purpose and care. the rich, earthy scent of freshly picked herbs mingled with the sweet aroma of ripe tomatoes, their skins still glistening with the morning dew. the produce, with its natural imperfections, held a rustic beauty that promised authenticity. the meats, marbled and tender, were selected with an understanding of their unique qualities, each cut a potential masterpiece waiting to be realized.

as the knife danced across the cutting board, there was a rhythm to the motion, a graceful precision that came with years of practice. the crisp snap of a carrot giving way under the blade, the soft thud of a tomato being sliced, and the aromatic release of a garlic clove being crushed—each sound was a note in the symphony of preparation. the senses were fully engaged; the eyes, tracing the vibrant colors that slowly melded together; the nose, inhaling the complex layers of scents that hinted at the flavors to come; the ears, catching the subtle sizzles and crackles as the heat worked its magic.

the heat of the stove brought everything to life, transforming raw ingredients into something greater than the sum of their parts. the onions caramelized slowly, their sharpness mellowing into a deep, golden sweetness. the meats seared to perfection, a satisfying sizzle filling the air as the juices locked in, creating a rich, savory crust. sauces reduced in a patient dance of evaporation and intensification, their once separate flavors now blending into a harmonious whole.

every movement in the kitchen was deliberate, yet there was room for spontaneity, a sudden dash of spice, a last-minute decision to add a touch of lemon zest. cooking was an intuitive dance between tradition and innovation, where recipes handed down through generations met the creative impulses of the moment. It was in this balance that true culinary artistry was born, where the cook's soul was infused into each dish. plating the food was the final act, a chance to present the creation as a visual feast before it was consumed. the vibrant colors of the vegetables, the artful arrangement of proteins, and the careful drizzle of sauces—all were carefully considered to make the dish as pleasing to the eyes as it was to the palate. the plate was the frame, and the food, the artwork, each detail telling a story, each bite an experience.

cooking was more than a task to be completed; it was a journey, a way to communicate without words, to share a part of oneself with others. it was an act of love, a gesture of care, and a celebration of the simple yet profound joy of nourishment. in the kitchen, every dish was a story waiting to be told, a story crafted with the hands, guided by the heart, and shared with those who gathered around the table.

you had never thought much about cooking. it seemed like a mundane task, something that simply had to be done to keep hunger at bay. eggs and instant noodles had always sufficed, their simplicity mirroring your indifference. you often wondered why anyone would spend hours in the kitchen when a meal could be whipped up in minutes. the aroma of a slowly simmering stew or the sight of a beautifully arranged plate held little meaning for you. but that was before everything changed, before your mother fell ill.

her illness crept up slowly, stealing her strength bit by bit until the vibrant woman who had always filled your home with the scent of home-cooked meals could no longer stand for more than a few minutes. the kitchen, once her domain, grew silent, the once lively space now cold and empty. it was then that you realized how much you had taken those meals for granted, how much they had been a part of your life without you even noticing.

with your mother unable to cook for herself, you were thrust into a role you had never imagined. you could have continued with the instant noodles, could have resigned yourself to the blandness of quick and easy meals. but something inside you resisted. you saw the way your mother looked at the untouched pots and pans, the sadness in her eyes as she realized she could no longer provide for you in the way she always had. it was then that you decided to try, to step into the kitchen and see if you could recreate even a fraction of what she used to make.

at first, it was a struggle. you were clumsy, your hands unfamiliar with the rhythm of chopping, stirring, and seasoning. the internet became your guide, recipes your lifeline as you navigated this new world. you searched for dishes she loved, simple at first—soups, stews, anything that might bring her comfort. the first few attempts were far from perfect. you burnt the rice, overcooked the vegetables, and the seasoning was always slightly off. but your mother never complained. she would smile as she tasted each dish, her eyes softening with pride, even when you knew it wasn’t quite right.

as the days turned into weeks, you began to notice a change in yourself. the kitchen, once an alien landscape, started to feel familiar. you learned to savor the process, to enjoy the way ingredients came together to form something new, something that brought a smile to your mother’s face. the care you put into each meal became a form of expression, a way to show her how much you loved her, how much you wanted to take care of her as she had taken care of you.

with time, your confidence grew. you experimented more, tried new techniques, and even began to create your own dishes. your mother’s reactions fueled your passion; the way she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly after the first bite, the way she would eagerly ask what was on the menu for the day. cooking became more than just a duty—it became a way to connect with her, to bring her joy in a time when there was so little of it left.

when she passed, the loss was unbearable. the kitchen, once filled with purpose, became a place of grief. But instead of abandoning it, you found yourself drawn to it, almost as if by instinct. cooking became a way to keep her memory alive, a way to honor the woman who had taught you to love food, even if she hadn’t done so intentionally. each meal was a tribute to her, a way to thank her for introducing you to something that brought you peace, something that made you feel closer to her even though she was gone.

it wasn’t long before you decided to take your passion further. culinary school was an intimidating prospect, but you felt ready. you entered with the same trepidation you had felt when you first stepped into the kitchen, but also with the same determination. the instructors taught you the finer points of the craft, but you always added a piece of yourself into each dish, just as you had done when cooking for your mother. your ideas were met with curiosity and admiration. you presented dishes that reflected your journey, from the humble grilled squid stew that reminded you of your early experiments to the bold korean barbecue sandwiches that showcased your creativity and confidence. each dish was crafted with care, infused with the love and respect you had for the process. you passed the program not just because of your skill, but because of the heart you put into every plate.

cooking had become more than just a way to feed yourself or others; it had become a way to tell your story, to express who you were and where you came from. every time you stood in the kitchen, you felt her presence, guiding your hands as you chopped, stirred, and seasoned. and as you watched others enjoy the food you prepared, their smiles reminded you of her, of the way she had once smiled at you, and you knew that you had found something truly special.

when the opportunity for an internship at l’espoir presented itself, you felt a mix of anticipation and curiosity. you had been through so much already, from your first fumbling steps in the kitchen to the rigorous challenges of culinary school. and now, here you were, standing on the brink of something new. the name of the restaurant itself resonated with you in a way that felt almost fated. l’espoir. hope. it was a simple word, yet it carried such profound meaning, especially for someone like you, who had found in cooking the one thing that kept you grounded, the one thing that still made you happy.

you had nothing against the idea of working there—on the contrary, you were drawn to it. there was something poetic about the name, something that spoke to your soul. cooking had always been more than just a means of sustenance; it was your connection to your past, your way of honoring your mother, and the very essence of hope. so when you accepted the offer, it wasn’t with trepidation or reluctance, but with a quiet, simmering excitement. this, you thought, could be your fresh start.

the day you walked through the doors of l’espoir for the first time, the air was thick with the mingling aromas of herbs, garlic, and roasting meats. the kitchen was a hive of activity, yet it was orchestrated with the precision of a symphony. there was a rhythm to the place, a kind of dance that the chefs performed with their knives, pans, and ladles. the hiss of oil in a hot pan, the clatter of plates being set down, the low hum of focused conversation—all of it combined to create a world that was at once chaotic and harmonious.

the chef in charge was a figure of quiet authority. you had heard of chef jung before, his reputation preceding him like the fragrant bouquet of a well-seasoned broth. he was not known for being flamboyant or loud, but rather for his meticulous attention to detail, his ability to coax the most delicate flavors from even the simplest ingredients. his presence commanded respect, not through fear, but through the sheer weight of his expertise and the dedication he inspired in those who worked under him.

when you were introduced, he looked at you with eyes that seemed to assess everything in a single glance. he was attractive, with brown threads running through his dark hair, and his chef’s whites were as crisp and clean as the linens in the dining room. there was a calmness about him, a confidence that came from years of experience, but also a warmth that hinted at a genuine love for his craft. he extended a hand, his grip firm but not crushing, and welcomed you to his kitchen.

“bienvenue à l’espoir,” he said, his voice steady and rich. “i trust you’re ready to work.” you nodded, feeling the weight of the moment. it was the start of something new, something that could shape the course of your life. the kitchen was no longer just a place to cook; it was a stage, and you were about to step into a role that would challenge you in ways you couldn’t yet imagine.

you learned quickly that chef jung hoseok was not the warm, encouraging figure you had once imagined. there was an air of severity about him, a sharpness that seemed to permeate every corner of the kitchen. from the moment you set foot in l’espoir, you were acutely aware that this place was not a haven of creativity and shared passion but rather a crucible, designed to burn away anything that wasn’t absolute perfection. hoseok was at the center of it all, a man whose entire being seemed devoted to the pursuit of culinary excellence, and nothing else.

his presence was commanding, but not in the way that inspires admiration or loyalty. Instead, it instilled a sense of dread, a fear of making even the smallest mistake. he had a way of watching you, his gaze sharp and unyielding, that made you question every movement, every decision you made. there was no room for error in his kitchen, no margin for anything less than flawless execution. his standards were exacting, his expectations clear in the curt, precise way he delivered instructions. any hope you might have had for guidance or mentorship was quickly dashed—there, you were expected to perform, and to perform perfectly.

as you followed his directives, each task assigned with a precision that bordered on obsession, you felt the weight of his scrutiny. the kitchen, once a place of solace and creativity for you, had become a place of tension, where every clatter of a pan or slip of a knife carried the potential for rebuke. there was no room for error, no space for growth; only the relentless pursuit of perfection under hoseok’s watchful eye.

you were immersed in your work, the steady rhythm of chopping vegetables the only thing keeping your nerves at bay, when you felt a presence beside you. a girl had approached, her demeanor bright and friendly, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere that hoseok cultivated. she leaned in slightly, peering over your shoulder with a curious expression that quickly melted into a warm smile. “your knife skills are really impressive,” she remarked, her voice light and genuine, a welcome relief in the otherwise tense environment.

you glanced up, meeting her gaze with a slight smile of your own. it was the first bit of kindness you had encountered since stepping into this kitchen, and it was enough to ease some of the tension that had been building in your chest. “thank you,” you replied, your voice tinged with gratitude. as you spoke, you noticed the meticulously arranged assortment of seasonings at her station. wach jar and container was perfectly aligned, the spices within organized by color and texture, a testament to her own care and precision. “your seasonings are beautifully arranged,” you added, genuinely impressed by her attention to detail.

she beamed at the compliment, a touch of pride in her expression. “i like to keep them organized. it makes experimenting with flavors a lot easier when everything’s in its place.” there was something infectious about her enthusiasm, a brightness that seemed to push back the shadows that hoseok’s presence cast over the kitchen. it was a small comfort, but in that place, even the smallest comfort felt like a lifeline.

“i’m park chaeyoung, by the way,” she said, extending a hand to you in a gesture that felt almost old-fashioned in its sincerity. you took her hand, finding her grip warm and reassuring. “it’s nice to meet you. i’m—”

before you could finish your introduction, she cut you off with a knowing look. “have you met chef jung yet?” she asked, her tone more serious now, as if she was preparing you for something you hadn’t yet understood. you nodded, the memory of your brief, formal introduction still fresh in your mind. “yeah, he welcomed me and then put me straight to work.”

chaeyoung let out a soft, almost derisive laugh, shaking her head slightly. “rhat sounds like him. work is all he cares about.” her voice held a hint of bitterness, the kind that comes from experience, from seeing too much and saying too little. she hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully, before leaning in slightly closer. “you need to be careful around him.”

The warning was subtle, almost whispered, but it struck you with an unexpected force. there was something in her tone, a depth of concern that went beyond the usual advice given to new interns. you could feel the weight of her words, the implication that there was more to hoseok than just his stern demeanor and strict standards. “what do you mean?” you began, your curiosity piqued, but before she could respond, the sound of a door opening interrupted the moment.

you turned just in time to see hoseok emerge from his office, his presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room. his expression was as unreadable as ever, his eyes scanning the kitchen with the precision of a hawk. every movement, every sound seemed to be registered, cataloged in his mind as he took stock of the ongoing work. there was a moment of stillness, the kitchen holding its collective breath as he surveyed the scene.

then his gaze locked onto one of the other cooks, a young woman named kim dahyun. she looked up at him, her face lighting up with a smile that was almost childlike in its adoration. it was as if his very presence was enough to make her day, her entire being focused on him as if nothing else mattered. “dahyun,” he said, his voice cutting through the air with the same precision as one of his knives. “come to my office.”

she practically leapt to her feet, her eagerness visible as she hurried over to him. there was something unsettling about the way she reacted to him, a kind of blind devotion that seemed out of place in a professional kitchen. she followed him into his office without a moment’s hesitation, the door closing behind them with a quiet finality. you couldn’t help but feel a chill run down your spine as you watched them go. there was something about the exchange that felt wrong, but you couldn’t quite place what it was. it wasn’t just the power dynamic at play—though that was certainly part of it—it was something more, something unspoken that lingered in the air long after they had disappeared from view.

chaeyoung’s voice broke through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to her. “do you see what i mean now?” she asked, her tone a mix of concern and resignation. there was a sadness in her eyes, a look that told you she had seen this play out before, that she knew where it would lead. but you shook your head, still unsure of what she was trying to convey. the confusion must have been evident on your face, because she sighed softly, her expression softening as she looked at you with a mixture of pity and understanding.

“you’ll find out soon enough,” she said quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow that made your heart sink. “just be careful. that’s all i’m saying.” with that, she turned back to her station, leaving you to grapple with the unease that had settled in your chest. the warmth and friendliness that had initially put you at ease were now overshadowed by a sense of foreboding, a feeling that there were things in this kitchen you had yet to understand, and that understanding them might cost you more than you were prepared to give.

the day had worn on relentlessly, each task blurring into the next until you lost track of time. the kitchen was a relentless machine, and you had been one of its many moving parts, a cog in the grand design orchestrated by chef jung. the relentless pace of service had demanded every ounce of your focus, leaving no room for distractions or second thoughts. each dish you plated, each garnish you placed, was an offering, a testament to the skill you had fought so hard to hone.

as the evening crept into night, the rush of orders began to slow, the once frantic energy in the kitchen tapering off into something quieter, more subdued. you found yourself still working, your hands moving on autopilot as you plated the last few dishes with the same care and precision you had started with. it wasn’t until you placed the final plate on the pass that you realized the noise had died down entirely.

you glanced around, noticing for the first time that the other chefs had finished their shifts and were long gone. the kitchen, once bustling with life, was now eerily silent, the only sounds the soft hum of the overhead lights and the faint clatter of pots and pans as you began to clear your station. you hadn’t even noticed that you were the last one standing, too absorbed in the rhythm of the work to register the passage of time.

with a quiet sigh, you began to return the ingredients to their proper places, meticulously ensuring that everything was as it should be. your movements were slow, almost practiced, as the exhaustion of the day finally began to catch up with you. every muscle in your body ached, but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that you had made it through your first day unscathed—or so you thought.

as you turned around to grab the plates from the counter, your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. there, standing in the dim light of the kitchen, was hoseok. he was so still, so silent, that you hadn’t noticed him at all, and the shock of his sudden presence nearly made the plates slip from your hands. you caught them just in time, fumbling slightly as you tried to regain your composure. his expression was unreadable, the same stoic mask he had worn all day. there was a heaviness in the air, a palpable tension that made your breath hitch in your throat. “chef jung,” you managed to say, your voice betraying the nervousness that you had tried so hard to keep at bay. “did you need anything?”

for a moment, he said nothing, simply observing you with that intense, unwavering gaze that you were beginning to find so unsettling. then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “you did a good job today,” he said, his tone flat, almost devoid of emotion. it was the closest thing to praise you had received all day, and yet it felt strangely hollow. you nodded, a nervous laugh escaping you as you turned back to put away the plates and tidy up what was left on the counter. your hands moved quickly, more out of a desire to escape the uncomfortable silence than anything else. but no matter how fast you worked, you could still feel his eyes on you, that penetrating stare that seemed to see through every facade you tried to put up.

it wasn’t until you heard the soft, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps that you realized he was moving closer. slowly, deliberately, he approached, each step measured and precise, like a predator closing in on its prey. the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, a sense of dread settling over you as you continued to work, pretending not to notice how close he was getting. but then, before you knew it, he was right in front of you, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of the kitchen. you froze, your hands stilling as the tension between you reached a boiling point. the counter behind you pressed into your lower back as you instinctively backed away, trying to put some distance between you and the chef who now towered over you.

your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering in your chest as you looked up at him, your mind racing to make sense of the situation. there was something different in his eyes now, something dark and unreadable, a flicker of something that made your skin prickle with unease. you couldn’t look away, trapped by his gaze, unable to move as the air seemed to thicken around you.

“i take good care of my employees,” hoseok said, his voice low, almost a whisper. the words hung in the air, heavy with implication. “especially the ones that know what they’re doing.”

he paused, letting the weight of his statement sink in. the smirk that followed was small, barely noticeable, but it sent a shiver down your spine nonetheless. there was a calculated cruelty in it, a reminder that you were playing a game whose rules you didn’t fully understand. the look of shock on your face must have amused him, because the smirk deepened, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a way that was anything but friendly. he held your gaze for a moment longer, letting the silence stretch out until it became unbearable, before finally turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

you stood there, rooted to the spot, your mind reeling from the encounter. the exhaustion that had weighed you down only moments ago was now replaced by a new kind of fatigue, one born of fear and uncertainty. his words echoed in your mind, a reminder that you had only just begun to scratch the surface of what it meant to work under a man like him. and as the silence of the kitchen closed in around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the real challenge lay ahead, hidden behind the inscrutable mask of the man who had just left you standing there in astonishment.

the next morning at l’espoir was a blur of activity, the kitchen bustling with the early rush of orders and the frenetic energy that came with the start of a new day. as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to the unnerving encounter with hoseok the night before. the more you thought about it, the more the details seemed to gnaw at you, leaving you with a gnawing sense of unease.

in a brief lull between the chaos, you seized the opportunity to speak with chaeyoung, hoping for some clarity. she was at her station, her focus entirely on the task at hand as she expertly wielded her knife. you approached her, the question weighing heavily on your mind. “chaeyoung,” you began, trying to keep your tone casual despite the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. “last night, hoseok—chef jung—he said something that really threw me off. he said he takes good care of his employees, especially the ones who know what they’re doing. what did he mean by that?”

her eyes widened in surprise, and she set her knife down with a decisive thud. her gaze was fixed on you, a mixture of shock and concern crossing her features. “that was faster than i thought,” she said, her voice laced with a gravity that made your stomach churn. desperation tinged your voice as you pleaded with her for an explanation. “what do you mean? please, just tell me what’s going on.”

she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could utter a single word, the same voice that had cut through the atmosphere the previous day filled the kitchen once more. chef hoseok’s presence was unmistakable, his authority evident even from a distance. he appeared in the doorway, his stance casual but his expression unreadable. “seo soojin,” he called out, his tone commanding and precise. the moment the name left his lips, the kitchen seemed to hold its breath.

you turned to see soojin, another fellow cook, visibly excited as she looked up at hoseok. her face lit up with a smile that was almost childlike, a contrast to the stern expression you had come to associate with him. without a moment’s hesitation, she followed him out of the kitchen, her steps light and eager. dahyun, who had been bustling around earlier with a beaming expression, now stood with a look of disappointed resignation. her eyes followed soojin and hoseok as they disappeared through the door, her shoulders slumping slightly as if she had expected something different.

as you watched the scene unfold, hoseok’s gaze met yours for a brief, unsettling moment. there was that smirk again, a fleeting expression that seemed to carry a weight of its own. he held your gaze just long enough to make you feel uncomfortable before turning back toward soojin, leaving you standing there with a knot of confusion in your chest. you turned back to chaeyoung, your confusion evident. “what’s going on? why does he keep doing this?”

chaeyoung let out a heavy sigh, turning to face you fully. her expression was one of resignation, her eyes filled with an emotion that was hard to decipher. “you will never be special no matter how good you are,” she said, her voice calm but carrying a weight that made your heart sink. there was no malice in her tone, but the words were stark and cold, cutting through the air with an unspoken finality. she paused, letting her words sink in before continuing. “don’t let him make you think you’re special. he has a way of making you believe you’re important, but it’s all a part of the game he plays. you’re just another cog in the machine.”

without waiting for a response, she turned back to her station, picking up her knife and resuming her work with a practiced efficiency. the clatter of the knife against the cutting board was the only sound that filled the silence that followed, the atmosphere in the kitchen heavy with the weight of her words. you stood there, rooted to the spot, your mind spinning with the implications of what she had said. the confusion that had settled over you was now compounded by a growing sense of foreboding.

the kitchen was a symphony of clattering pans, the hiss of flames, and the murmur of orders being called out and fulfilled with practiced precision. you moved through it all with a growing sense of unease, still rattled by the strange dynamics you had witnessed earlier. the incident with soojin played over in your mind, intertwining with chaeyoung's cryptic warnings, leaving you with a gnawing sense of dread.

hours passed in a blur of activity, the rhythm of the kitchen demanding your full attention, but even as you focused on your tasks, a part of you remained on edge. And then, just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the routine, the atmosphere in the kitchen shifted. the familiar presence of chef hoseok filled the room, his energy commanding and intense. you were used to him surveying the kitchen with a critical eye, but this time, he wasn’t simply observing.

to everyone’s astonishment, including your own, hoseok called out your name. the room seemed to freeze as he paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words hang in the air before continuing. “come to my office.”

a shiver ran down your spine, your blood running cold as chaeyoung’s eyes widened in shock. she turned to you with a look of apprehension, and you could see the fear reflected in her gaze, as though she had been waiting for this very moment and dreading it all the same. you nodded weakly, the motion almost imperceptible, as you tried to steady your breathing. with leaden feet, you followed him out of the kitchen, feeling the envious glares from many of the female cooks boring into your back. the intensity of their stares made your skin prickle with discomfort, but you swallowed your fear, forcing yourself to maintain some semblance of composure.

the walk to his office felt interminable, every step echoing in your mind with a sense of finality. when you finally reached his door, it creaked open with an ominous slowness, revealing the space within. the office was stark and minimalistic, a sharp contrast to the chaos of the kitchen. the walls were a cold, muted gray, devoid of any decoration save for a single, large window that overlooked the city. the desk was made of dark, polished wood, a few neatly stacked papers and a sleek laptop the only items adorning its surface. a single chair sat opposite his, the leather worn but comfortable, a place where countless others had sat before you.

hoseok moved behind his desk with a certain predatory grace, settling into his chair and fixing you with a smirk that sent another shiver down your spine. the silence in the room was heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that made your heart race. you stood there, feeling out of place, as though you were trespassing in a space where you didn’t belong. his eyes remained on you, studying your every move as you finally gathered the courage to speak. “why did you need to see me, chef jung?”

he was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering, and then, with a calculated slowness, he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “you’ve got a special gift, don’t you?” the question took you off guard, and you furrowed your brow in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“for cooking,” he clarified, though his tone carried an edge of something more. “you’re an outstanding chef.” you forced a nervous laugh, trying to downplay the compliment that felt more like a trap. “thank you, chef jung.”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were measuring your reaction, and then he continued, his voice smooth and deliberate. “performance means everything to me. in the kitchen, maybe even in the office.” the sound of his words hung in the air, and a sense of unease tightened your chest. you frowned, trying to keep your voice steady as you asked, “what do you mean by that?”

instead of answering, hoseok stood up from his chair with a fluid motion, his eyes never leaving yours. as he approached, you instinctively backed away, your heels hitting the wall behind you. the cold surface pressed into your back, trapping you as he moved closer, his presence overwhelming and suffocating. he was mere inches away from you now, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low purr. “you’re a pretty girl,” he murmured, his tone almost mocking. “a shy one too, it seems.”

your breath caught in your throat, your mind scrambling for a way out of this situation. his gaze was piercing, intense, and when you turned your head to avoid it, he quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “what’s this?” he asked, his voice laced with a cruel curiosity. “you really don’t want to sleep with me?”

his question hit you like a slap to the face, your eyes widening in shock as the reality of the situation clicked into place. the pieces of the puzzle—the office visits, the strange behavior of the female cooks, chaeyoung’s warnings—all fell together with a sickening clarity. a scoff escaped your lips, more out of disbelief than anything else. “why would i want to sleep with you?”

hoseok’s expression faltered, surprise flickering in his eyes as though he hadn’t expected such a response. you could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to reconcile your reaction with whatever twisted game he was playing. you pressed on, the anger rising in your chest as you confronted him. “do you bring all of your female cooks in here just to sleep with them? what kind of restaurant is this?”

the question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, the power dynamic between you shifted. his gaze hardened, the smirk fading as his expression turned cold. “watch what you say,” he warned, his tone icy. but the fear that had gripped you before was gone, replaced by a fiery determination. “or what?” you shot back, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. “you’ll fire me?”

he seemed genuinely taken aback, as if no one had ever dared to stand up to him before. his eyes searched yours, trying to find a crack in your resolve, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction. “no need to fire me,” you continued, your voice firm. “because i quit.”

the words were final, a declaration of your independence from whatever twisted game he had been playing. you could see the shock in his eyes, the disbelief that someone had dared to defy him. “you have some balls to think i’d sleep with you,” you added, your voice dripping with contempt. “and for what? you’re an asshole who takes advantage of women for the price of an overcooked steak.” his eyes were wide, his face a mask of astonishment as you slipped off your uniform coat jacket, the fabric heavy in your hands. with a final, defiant glare, you slammed it down on his desk, the sound reverberating through the silent office. without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out, leaving the door ajar behind you.

the night air was cool as you walked home, the city lights a blur of distant halos against the encroaching darkness. each step felt heavier than the last, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl of emotions as the gravity of what you had just done began to settle in. the confrontation with hoseok replayed in your mind on an endless loop—his smirk, his words, your defiance. In the moment, it had felt powerful, even righteous, but now, with the adrenaline fading, a different sensation began to take hold.

by the time you reached the front door of your small apartment, the realization of your actions had fully sunk in. you paused, your hand trembling slightly as you reached for the keys in your pocket. the quiet creak of the door as it swung open felt like the final sound before the storm. you stepped inside, the familiar scent of home offering a fleeting sense of comfort, but it wasn’t enough to quell the rising tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

the door closed behind you with a soft click, and suddenly, the weight of the evening pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket. you stood there, motionless, in the middle of your living room, the silence around you amplifying the chaos in your mind. the tears came slowly at first, a single drop trailing down your cheek as the full impact of what you had done crashed over you like a wave. you had just walked out on your internship, on the one opportunity that was supposed to be your stepping stone into the culinary world. hoseok was an asshole, yes, a man who clearly enjoyed taking advantage of his position, using his authority to charm his way into the beds of his female employees. but he hadn’t forced anyone—everything he did was consensual. so why had you been so angry, so furious that you had thrown away everything you had worked for?

you sank down onto the couch, your body trembling as the tears began to flow more freely. it wasn’t just about hoseok’s arrogance, his assumption that you would be willing to trade your dignity for his approval, though that stung deeply. it was the way he had discredited your culinary abilities entirely, reducing you to nothing more than a pretty face in his kitchen. the care and passion you had poured into your cooking, the countless hours spent honing your craft, all of it had been dismissed with a casual smirk and a lecherous comment.

you pressed your hands to your face, trying to stifle the sobs that wracked your body. it felt as though the ground beneath you had crumbled, leaving you adrift in a sea of doubt and regret. you had been so proud to land this internship, so eager to prove yourself, and now it was all slipping away. the memories of your mother flooded your mind—her gentle smile as she tasted your first attempts at cooking, the way she had encouraged you to follow your passion, the pride in her eyes when you were accepted into culinary school. all of it, you feared, was being tossed into the abyss along with your future.

your sobs grew louder, your chest heaving with the force of your despair. you had wanted so badly to succeed, to make your mother proud, and now it felt like you had failed her, failed yourself. you couldn’t imagine what would happen next—whether you would be blacklisted, your reputation tarnished, or if this was the end of your dreams altogether. the sound of your phone buzzing broke through your sobs, the sudden noise startling you. you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, your vision blurry as you fumbled to pull your phone from your pocket.

the screen glowed in the dim light, an unknown number displayed across it. for a moment, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as a flood of possibilities rushed through your mind. slowly, you unlocked the phone and opened the message. the words on the screen made your breath catch in your throat: “this is hoseok. be ready for work tomorrow. come on time.”

your eyes widened in shock, the tears still clinging to your lashes as you stared at the message in disbelief. you read it over and over, each time hoping that you hadn’t misread it, that it wasn’t some cruel joke. but the message remained the same, clear and concise, with no hint of the malice or arrogance you had come to expect from him. a fresh wave of tears welled up in your eyes, but this time they weren’t tears of despair. you cried out in a mixture of relief and gratitude, your voice breaking as you whispered, “thank you.” the words felt inadequate, too small to convey the whirlwind of emotions that surged through you—relief, disbelief, hope. you had been certain that you were finished, that you had burned the bridge beyond repair, but now, against all odds, hoseok was giving you another chance.

you clutched the phone to your chest, your tears flowing freely as you continued to murmur your thanks, as if by doing so you could somehow ensure that this second chance was real, that it wouldn’t slip away from you. the room around you was a blur, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and gratitude, but one thing was clear—you had been given an unexpected opportunity to prove yourself once more.

the early morning light filtered through the tall windows of the restaurant, casting a soft glow across the kitchen as you stepped inside. the space was quiet, the usual bustle of the day not yet begun, and the stillness allowed you a moment to steady yourself. the memory of last night was still fresh, the relief of hoseok’s message warring with the anxiety that had built up since then. you had come in early, determined to prove yourself, to show that you deserved the second chance he had inexplicably given you.

as you made your way through the kitchen, the faint sounds of someone already at work reached your ears—soft chopping, the gentle sizzle of something on the stove. you hesitated at the doorway, your eyes falling on hoseok, who stood alone at one of the stations. he moved with a kind of graceful precision, each action deliberate and practiced, as though he were conducting a symphony of flavors. his focus was entirely on the task before him, but even from this distance, you could see the ease with which he worked, the confidence in his every movement.

for a moment, you just watched him, awed by the skill that had made him such a formidable figure in the culinary world. he was the man whose name alone commanded respect, whose kitchen you had been so eager to join. and here he was, caramelizing onions with a level of care that spoke to a deep understanding of his craft. the rich, sweet scent filled the air, mingling with the subtle heat of the kitchen, and you found yourself momentarily entranced by the simplicity of the process.

it was then that you noticed something—he was stirring the onions more than you thought necessary. the instinctive urge to offer advice welled up inside you, but you fought it, knowing that you were in no position to critique a chef of his caliber. but before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out, almost without your permission. “chef, you shouldn’t stir so much,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but the sound carried in the quiet kitchen.

the moment the words left your lips, regret hit you like a wave. how could you be so foolish? he was the same man who had just given you a chance to redeem yourself, and here you were, criticizing his technique. your heart raced as you waited for the inevitable rebuke, the sharp reprimand that you were sure was coming. you had spoken out of turn, overstepping boundaries, and now you were certain that your second chance was about to be snatched away as quickly as it had been given.

but instead of anger, instead of the cold dismissal you had expected, hoseok paused. he stood still for a moment, as if considering your words, before he slowly turned to face you. his eyes met yours, and you felt a jolt of fear mixed with confusion at the look he gave you—calm, measured, and without a hint of the scorn you had braced yourself for. “you’re right,” he said, his voice carrying a tone of acknowledgment rather than irritation. “they’ll brown faster if i don’t stir so much.”

the surprise that washed over you was almost as strong as the initial fear. your eyes widened in disbelief, and you barely managed to stammer out a response. but before you could say anything, he smiled—a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips that softened the usually stern lines of his face. the expression was brief, gone as quickly as it had appeared, but it left you reeling. hoseok had not only accepted your advice but had done so with a humility that you hadn’t expected from someone of his stature.

he said nothing about the incident the previous day, and you knew better than to bring it up. the tension that had gripped you since last night eased slightly, but you still felt a lingering sense of unease. was it his way of testing you? or had he genuinely respected your input? the uncertainty gnawed at you, but you forced yourself to focus, reminding yourself that you were here to work, to prove yourself worthy of the opportunity he had extended.

his voice broke through your thoughts as he turned back to the onions, resuming his work with a quiet confidence. “i have an assignment for you,” he said, his tone suggesting that this was more than just a simple task. “since you seem to know so much.”

your heart skipped a beat at the words, a mix of anxiety and determination surging through you. you nodded, keeping your expression as neutral as possible, though inside you were mentally cursing yourself for speaking up earlier. you didn’t want him to think you were arrogant, or worse, insubordinate. but there was no turning back now. you had opened your mouth, and now you would have to see this through.

“i want a new product made to represent the restaurant,” he continued, his focus still on the onions but his words clearly meant for you. “something that embodies what we stand for here at l’espoir. you seem like you have some ideas, so i expect you’ll get right on it.”

the weight of the task settled over you like a heavy mantle, but you nodded again, your mind already racing with possibilities. it was no small request—creating a signature dish was a challenge that could define your place in the kitchen, perhaps even your future as a chef. you swallowed your nerves and replied with a quiet, “yes, chef,” your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. hoseok gave a small nod of acknowledgment, his attention once again on the stove as he continued to work. you stood there for a moment longer, watching as he moved with that same effortless grace, turning the now perfectly caramelized onions in the pan.

the kitchen became your safe spot as the hours slipped away, the clang of pots and the rhythmic sound of chopping filling the air. you were deep in the creative process, each movement purposeful, each decision calculated. the pressure of hoseok’s challenge weighed on you, but it was that very pressure that drove you, igniting the fire that had once fueled your passion for cooking. the thoughts of the previous day, the tension and confrontation, were pushed to the back of your mind as you focused on the task at hand.

you moved with an ease that came only from years of practice, your hands guiding the knife with precision as you sliced through vegetables and herbs. the familiar scent of garlic and onions filled the air as you sautéed them in a pan, the sizzling sound offering a comforting rhythm to your work. you experimented with various combinations, each one designed to evoke the flavors and essence that would truly represent the restaurant. the process was meticulous, each trial a step closer to finding the perfect dish that would encapsulate what l’espoir stood for.

but it wasn’t until your eyes landed on the jar of white kimchi that inspiration truly struck. the jar sat on the counter, seemingly forgotten amidst the array of ingredients scattered before you. the sight of it sparked a memory—an understanding of what this dish needed to be. kimchi was more than just a food; it was a symbol of resilience, diversity, and unity. the way it brought together a myriad of ingredients, each with its own distinct flavor, to create something harmonious and whole—it was the essence of what you wanted to capture.

qu'il y ait de l'espoir, let there be hope. the connection was undeniable, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. you worked quickly now, the energy flowing through you as you gathered ingredients. the white kimchi would be the star of the dish, its subtle flavors a delicate balance of sweetness and tang, with just the right amount of heat. it was different from the traditional red kimchi, yet it carried the same spirit. the idea of turning it into a ravioli—a fusion of korean and italian influences—felt like the perfect way to represent the blending of cultures, the melding of ideas that l’espoir sought to achieve.

unbeknownst to you, hoseok had entered the kitchen, his presence unnoticed as you became completely absorbed in your work. he lingered by the entrance, watching you with a mix of curiosity and something else—a hint of admiration, perhaps? he was drawn to the way you moved, the way your focus never wavered as you diced, sliced, and sautéed with unwavering determination. there was something about your dedication, the way you poured your heart into every step of the process, that intrigued him. a small smile played at the corner of his lips as he observed you in your element.

you began by preparing the filling for the ravioli, finely chopping the white kimchi and mixing it with sautéed garlic, onions, and a touch of ginger to enhance the flavors. the kimchi’s subtle acidity needed to be balanced, so you added a hint of honey to mellow the sharpness, allowing the natural sweetness of the fermented cabbage to shine through. the mixture was then combined with a smooth ricotta cheese, adding a creamy texture that would complement the crispness of the kimchi. you carefully tasted the filling, adjusting the seasoning with a pinch of salt and a sprinkle of black pepper, ensuring that each bite would carry the complexity of flavors you intended.

you moved on to making the pasta dough, your hands working methodically as you combined flour and eggs, kneading the mixture until it was smooth and elastic. the dough needed to rest, so you covered it with a damp cloth and set it aside, using the time to clean your station and prepare the rest of the components. hoseok watched as you moved around the kitchen, noting the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the way your fingers deftly handled the ingredients. there was a quiet confidence in the way you worked, a confidence that had been absent when you first started. he saw it in the way you now approached the tasks before you, with a sense of purpose and an understanding of what you wanted to achieve.

once the dough was ready, you rolled it out into thin sheets, the smooth surface gliding beneath your fingers. you carefully spooned the kimchi filling onto the dough, leaving enough space between each dollop to fold the dough over and seal the edges. your movements were precise as you pressed the edges together, forming delicate ravioli that held the promise of something unique. you then moved to the stove, bringing a pot of salted water to a gentle boil. the ravioli was carefully lowered into the water, and you watched as they floated to the surface, the dough turning tender and translucent as they cooked. the anticipation built within you, your mind racing with thoughts of how this dish would come together.

in a separate pan, you melted butter, allowing it to brown slightly to bring out a nutty aroma. you added sage leaves, their earthy scent mingling with the butter, creating a sauce that would coat the ravioli in a layer of rich flavor. as the ravioli finished cooking, you transferred them into the pan, gently tossing them in the butter sauce, ensuring that each piece was evenly coated. hoseok’s eyes never left you as you worked, his curiosity deepening as he saw the dish take shape. there was something different about you, something that set you apart from the others he had worked with. it wasn’t just your skill—it was the passion, the thoughtfulness that you put into each step of the process. he found himself drawn to it, intrigued by the way you had approached the challenge he had set for you.

you plated the ravioli with care, arranging them in a way that was both visually appealing and respectful of the dish’s simplicity. you finished with a sprinkle of toasted pine nuts for texture and a light drizzle of the remaining butter sauce, the golden liquid pooling around the edges of the plate. the dish was a delicate balance of flavors and textures, each element working in harmony to create something that was more than just food—it was a reflection of your creativity, your understanding of what it meant to cook with heart.

the air in the kitchen had been filled with a sense of anticipation. after your creation had come to life, it was impossible to keep the secret contained. other chefs and cooks, sensing the undercurrent of something new, began to trickle into the kitchen, their curiosity piqued. the atmosphere shifted as more and more of your colleagues gathered around the counter where your dish sat, its delicate aroma mingling with the scents of the day’s preparations. hoseok approached you first, his expression unreadable yet calm, his eyes glinting with a hint of interest. “tell me about this dish,” he asked, his tone firm but not unkind. it was a command wrapped in curiosity, one that invited you to share the thought process behind the creation that now held the attention of the entire kitchen.

taking a deep breath, you began to explain, your voice steady as you described the inspiration behind the dish. “i wanted to create something that reflects both the tradition and the innovation that this restaurant represents. white kimchi is often overshadowed by its red counterpart, but it’s just as rich in flavor, just as versatile. i thought, why not use it in a way that brings together different culinary worlds? the idea of combining it with something as classic as ravioli felt like the perfect way to bridge that gap. the tang of the kimchi, balanced with the creaminess of the ricotta, and then brought together by the sage butter—it’s a fusion that represents the diversity of our kitchen.”

as you spoke, you could sense the room’s mood shift. some of the chefs exchanged glances, their brows furrowed in skepticism. the idea of blending such distinct culinary traditions was, to many, a daring move. you could hear a few murmurs of disbelief—mixing korean and otalian cuisine in such an intimate way was almost sacrilegious to the purists. a chef from the back muttered something about the integrity of traditional dishes, and a few others nodded in agreement. but you stood your ground, explaining how the fusion wasn’t meant to diminish either culture, but rather to highlight the beauty in their union.

hoseok remained silent as you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. when you finished, the room fell into an uneasy silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. he didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps he didn’t care about—the unease among the other chefs. instead, his gaze dropped to the dish before him, and without a word, he picked up a fork, cutting through one of the ravioli with precision before bringing it to his mouth.

the room seemed to hold its breath as he chewed, his face a mask of concentration. you felt your heart pounding in your chest, the doubt from your peers weighing heavily on you, despite your best efforts to stay confident. the seconds stretched on, each one filled with an unbearable silence, until finally, hoseok’s expression shifted. a glint of something—was it surprise?—sparked in his eyes. slowly, he looked back at you, and to your utter astonishment, his lips curved into a smile. “this is amazing,” he said, his voice low but full of admiration. the tension in the room seemed to dissipate as his words sank in, and you could see the other chefs exchanging looks of surprise. “the balance of flavors, the creativity in combining these two culinary worlds—it’s exactly what i was hoping for. congratulations.”

a wave of relief washed over you, so powerful it almost brought tears to your eyes. the disbelief from your colleagues gave way to murmurs of approval as they began to gather closer, each one eager to taste the dish that had earned such high praise from chef jung. hoseok stepped back, allowing the others to try the ravioli, his smile lingering as he watched their reactions. he didn’t need to say more—his approval was enough to turn the tide of skepticism. as the chefs began to taste your creation, you could see their initial doubt melt away, replaced with genuine appreciation for the flavors you had brought together. it wasn’t long before the dish became the talk of the kitchen, its success spreading quickly through the restaurant’s staff. praise followed from all corners, each compliment fueling your sense of accomplishment. it was as though the entire kitchen had been given a new burst of energy, your dish acting as a catalyst for inspiration.

the next few days were a whirlwind of activity. news of the dish reached the restaurant’s management, and before you knew it, there was talk of adding it to the menu as the restaurant’s special. hoseok worked with you to fine-tune the presentation, ensuring that every detail was perfect. the dish quickly gained popularity among the patrons, its unique fusion of flavors creating a buzz that spread beyond the restaurant’s walls.

the recognition came swiftly. a local food critic wrote a glowing review, praising the dish for its innovative approach and its seamless blending of cultures. soon after, a food magazine reached out, requesting an interview with you and hoseok to discuss the inspiration behind the creation. but the pinnacle of the dish’s success came when the restaurant received a request to film a commercial, showcasing the process of creating the now-famous white kimchi ravioli.

the day of the shoot arrived, and the kitchen was abuzz with excitement. you felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration as you prepared for the filming, knowing that this was a rare opportunity to showcase your skills on such a large platform. hoseok introduced you to one of the chefs who would be working with you for the shoot—kim seokjin. he was tall and handsome, with an easy smile that instantly put you at ease. there was something about his demeanor that was both professional and friendly, a balance that made working with him feel natural.

“nice to meet you,” seokjin said with a grin, his hand outstretched. “i’ve heard a lot about your dish.” you shook his hand, smiling back. “likewise. i’m looking forward to working with you.”

hoseok, standing off to the side with the director, watched the exchange with a calm expression, but you could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. there was a tension in the way he stood, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed the interaction between you and seokjin. it was as though something about the easy camaraderie between you and the other chef rubbed him the wrong way, but he said nothing, his face a mask of professionalism.

the filming began, and you and seokjin worked together seamlessly, preparing the ingredients for the dish. the cameras rolled as you sliced through vegetables, your hands moving with the precision that had been honed through years of practice. he was skilled, his movements confident as he worked alongside you, but there was a moment when he began to cut the kimchi in a way that you knew could be improved.

“seokjin, let me show you something,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. you took his hands in yours, guiding the knife through the kimchi with a more efficient motion. your fingers brushed against his as you adjusted his grip, your eyes meeting his as you explained the technique. “of you cut it this way, it’ll keep the pieces more uniform and release the flavors more evenly.”

his gaze locked with yours, his smile widening as he nodded. “thanks, that’s really helpful,” he replied, his tone warm and appreciative. the moment was brief, but the connection between you and him was undeniable. it was a simple act of collaboration, but to hoseok, who stood watching from the sidelines, it seemed to be something more. his jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to suppress the surge of irritation that welled up within him. it was irrational, he knew that, but the sight of you working so closely with seokjin, the way your hands had lingered on his, sparked a jealousy that he struggled to control.

as the scene wrapped up, you turned to hoseok, eager to know if he was pleased with how the shoot had gone. “chef, how was it?” you asked, your voice laced with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. his response was clipped, his tone betraying the frustration he was trying to hide. “it was fine,” he said shortly, his eyes avoiding yours. without waiting for your reply, he turned on his heel and retreated back into the kitchen, leaving you standing there with a sense of unease.

seokjin, noticing the tension, turned to you with a soft smile. “it was nice meeting you,” he said, his voice sincere. “you did great today.”

“thanks, seokjin,” you replied, forcing a smile. “you too.” as he made his way back to his station, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. hoseok’s sudden coldness lingered in your mind, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself that you had done your best. still, the uncertainty gnawed at you as you followed him back into the kitchen, the familiar scents and sounds offering little comfort.

you hesitated at the entrance, unsure whether to approach him, but before you could decide, hoseok’s voice cut through the silence, cold and commanding. “kim yerim,” he called, the sound of the name causing your heart to skip a beat. “come to my office.”

the girl peered over, a smile gracing her face as she obliged, following hoseok out of the kitchen and toward his office. the sight made your stomach churn, as did the sound of silence. you didn't miss it, the look he gave you before slipping out of the station. it was a look that you couldn't quite define, but it was enough to make your blood run cold. no matter how supportive he was, old habits died hard. at the end of the day, he was still the same man who did as he pleased with the women willing to give him a piece of their dignity.

chaeyoung approached you not long after the tension-filled exchange in the kitchen. her eyes were bright with excitement, a wide grin spreading across her face. “you were amazing today!” she exclaimed, her voice full of genuine admiration. “the way you handled everything, from the dish to the filming, it was perfect.” you smiled at her praise, feeling a warmth spread through you. “thank you, chae,” you replied, your voice soft but appreciative. the validation from your peers meant as much as the recognition from hoseok.

she wasn’t done, though. she leaned in slightly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “and you and seokjin,” she began, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret, “seemed to have something going on there. the way he was looking at you—” you laughed, shaking your head at the implication. “no, no, there’s nothing going on,” you denied, though you couldn’t stop the slight blush that crept into your cheeks at the memory of seokjin’s warm smile.

she raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she continued, “the team is going out for celebratory drinks tonight. it’s all on your behalf, so you have to come.” you hesitated, the idea of joining everyone for drinks sounding appealing yet a little daunting. “i’ll think about it,” you said, not committing but leaving the door open.

before you could say more, another voice chimed in, the tone playful yet insistent. “you’ll be there.” you turned to see seokjin, a knowing smile on his lips as he looked at you expectantly. his presence was both reassuring and slightly unnerving, given how easily he seemed to be able to read your thoughts. you found yourself nodding, caught up in his easy charm. “okay, i’ll be there,” you agreed, pausing before adding with a bit of uncertainty, “are you coming too?”

he shrugged, his expression teasing. “only if you want me to,” he said, his tone light but laced with something more. chaeyoung couldn’t hold back her giggles, her support for the budding camaraderie between you two evident in the way she swooned slightly. “drinks at nine,” she reminded, her voice full of enthusiasm.

but before you could fully relax into the idea of a fun night out, another voice cut through the conversation, this one colder and more authoritative. “what drinks?”

the three of you turned to see hoseok standing a few feet away, his expression stoic, his eyes focused intently on the three of you. chaeyoung, caught off guard, fumbled over her words, her earlier confidence evaporating under Hoseok’s intense gaze. “uh, we were just, um, planning to go out for drinks to celebrate, and we were wondering if you’d like to come too?” she managed to get out, her voice faltering slightly with each word.

you inwardly winced at the thought of hoseok joining. the situation already felt complicated enough without adding his presence to the mix, especially after the way he’d been watching you and seokjin earlier. but to your dismay, his expression didn’t change as he responded, “of course, i’ll be coming.” there was a finality in his tone that left no room for argument. you avoided looking at him, unsure of how to navigate the sudden shift in the atmosphere. instead, you turned back to seokjin, who was still standing beside you. his warm smile hadn’t faltered, and the ease in his demeanor seemed unaffected by hoseok’s looming presence.

hoseok, however, seemed to notice the silent exchange between you and seokjin. his eyes narrowed slightly, and his voice took on an edge as he asked, “and seokjin, will you be coming too?” he met his gaze calmly, his smile never wavering. “yes, i’ll be there.”

a smirk played on hoseok’s lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “great,” he said, the word carrying a weight that seemed to linger in the air long after it was spoken.

the conversation ended as quickly as it had begun, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. chaeyoung glanced between you, seokjin, and hoseok, clearly sensing the undercurrent of tension but unsure how to address it. after a moment, she cleared her throat, forcing a cheerful tone as she said, “well, i’ll see you guys tonight, then!”

she quickly excused herself, leaving you alone with seokjin and hoseok. the latter’s eyes remained on you for a moment longer before he turned on his heel and walked away, heading back toward his office. aeokjin turned to you, his voice gentle as he said, “don’t worry about it. tonight will be fun, i promise.” you nodded, though the knot in your stomach didn’t entirely loosen.

getting ready for the evening felt different than it had for other nights out. the tension that had brewed all day still lingered, and as you stood before the mirror in your room, smoothing the floral dress you’d chosen, a part of you wondered if going was even a good idea. but you’d made a commitment, and besides, after everything that had happened, a part of you wanted to celebrate. you had achieved something noteworthy, and despite the awkwardness with hoseok, there was a sense of pride that you couldn’t ignore.

your hair, which you had usually kept tied up or tucked away beneath a chef’s hat, cascaded freely over your shoulders. the soft waves framed your face, and you had taken extra care with your makeup, applying just enough to enhance your features without overdoing it. you hardly recognized yourself as you gave one last glance in the mirror, but the reflection was a pleasant surprise. tonight, you weren’t just the diligent chef striving to prove herself—you were someone who could allow herself to feel beautiful.

when you finally walked into the barbecue bar, the warm, smoky scent of grilled meat filled the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of your peers. you were greeted enthusiastically by your colleagues, their smiles wide and their voices carrying over the lively buzz of the place. chaeyoung, already a bit tipsy, threw her arms around you, her eyes sparkling with delight. “you made it!” she cheered, pulling you into a tight hug. “and look at you, so pretty tonight!”

you smiled, trying to soak in the compliments, but your gaze drifted instinctively toward hoseok, who was seated at the end of the table. his eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his expression—something stern, something unreadable. you looked away quickly, the knot in your stomach tightening, only to catch seokjin’s gaze instead.

to your surprise, his face lit up when he saw you, and before you could react, he was closing the distance between you and pulling you into a warm hug. “you look prettier than usual,” he said, his tone playful but sincere. his eyes scanned your floral dress, taking in the way it flowed around you, your hair loose and soft, the faint makeup you had applied. your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you smiled, feeling a bit shy at his directness. “thank you,” you managed, the words coming out softer than you intended. “you don’t look so bad yourself.”

he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and released you from the hug. from the corner of your eye, you noticed the way hoseok’s hand tightened around his shot glass, his knuckles going white. a moment later, he downed the entire shot in one go, the glass hitting the table with a bit too much force.

you took a seat, finding yourself in the center of the group, seokjin to your left, chaeyoung to your right, with hoseok directly across from you. the conversation flowed easily, the drinks making everyone more relaxed, more willing to laugh and share stories. chaeyoung, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, leaned in closer to you at one point, her voice a bit louder than usual. “you and seokjin are so adorable together,” she teased, her words slightly slurred. you felt your face heat up, and you laughed nervously, waving a hand dismissively. “we’re not together,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, though you could feel the curious stares of your colleagues.

seokjin leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “for now,” he added, his voice low enough that only those closest to you could hear. the whole table erupted in laughter, everyone except hoseok. he didn’t laugh. Instead, his face hardened, and he slammed his glass on the table with enough force to silence the room. without a word, he pushed back his chair and stood, heading toward the bathroom, leaving the table in an uncomfortable silence.

seokjin was the first to break the awkwardness, his voice a bit softer this time as he leaned in toward you. “don’t worry about him,” he said, his tone reassuring. “he’s just—” he paused, searching for the right words, but ultimately shook his head. “it’s not your fault.” you nodded, but the uneasy feeling in your chest didn’t dissipate. the rest of the group tried to continue the conversation, but it was clear that hoseok’s sudden departure had put a damper on the mood.

when he finally returned, it was obvious he had been drinking too much. his steps were slightly unsteady, and there was a glazed look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. you watched him carefully, noticing how his hand shook slightly as he poured himself another drink. concerned, you leaned in closer to him, your voice low. “are you going to be able to make it home?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

he looked at you, his expression hard to read, his eyes clouded by the alcohol. “what’s it to you?” he slurred, his words coming out a bit harsher than he probably intended. you bit back a sigh, your patience starting to wear thin. turning away from him, you addressed the others at the table. “i’m sorry, but i think i’m going to have to call it a night,” you said, pausing to glance at hoseok, who was swaying slightly in his seat. “i’ll need to drive hoseok home.”

the group erupted in protests, insisting that you didn’t need to take responsibility, but seokjin, who had been quietly observing, stood up and hugged you. “if you need anything, call me,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. you nodded, appreciating his support, and helped hoseok to his feet. he was surprisingly heavy, leaning against you more than you expected as you guided him out of the bar. the night air was cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth inside the bar. hoseok mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t quite make out, but you were too focused on getting him to his car to ask him to repeat it.

when you finally reached his car, he fumbled for his keys, dropping them once before managing to hand them to you. “you’re mean,” he muttered, his voice petulant, catching you off guard. the change in his demeanor was startling—gone was the stern, composed chef you were used to, replaced by someone far more vulnerable and childlike. taken aback, you looked at him, your brow furrowed. “put your seatbelt on if you’re sober enough to know how,” you said, your voice firm but not unkind.

he scoffed, his expression challenging as he tried and failed to buckle his seatbelt. the buckle slipped from his grasp twice before you finally sighed and leaned over him to secure it yourself. as you clicked the seatbelt into place, you glanced up and found his eyes fixed on you. his gaze was softer now, the earlier harshness replaced with something else, something that made your heart skip a beat.

flustered, you quickly looked away, securing him in before retreating to the driver’s seat. you started the car, the engine purring softly as you pulled out of the parking lot. “where do you live?” you asked, glancing over at him. but there was no response. when you looked over, you saw that he had already fallen asleep, his head resting against the window. you couldn’t help but scoff quietly, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips. “lightweight,” you muttered under your breath.

with no other choice, you decided to drive him to your place. the drive was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from hoseok as he shifted in his sleep. by the time you pulled up to your apartment, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. but as you looked over at hoseok, still fast asleep in the passenger seat, you knew that this night wasn’t over yet. there was still the matter of getting him inside, of figuring out what to do next. and as much as you wanted to just let him sleep it off in the car, you knew you couldn’t leave him out there.

the night air was crisp as you pulled into your driveway, the headlights of your car slicing through the darkness. your heart pounded with an anxious rhythm, still reeling from the night’s events. hoseok was fast asleep in the passenger seat, his head slumped against the window, oblivious to the world around him. you killed the engine, the sudden silence in the car amplifying the sound of your breath as you gathered the courage to wake him.

“hoseok,” you murmured softly, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. he stirred slightly, but his eyes remained closed. you shook him a bit harder, and this time, his eyelids fluttered open, groggy and unfocused. “we’re here,” you added gently. he blinked up at you, disoriented. “where?” his voice was thick with sleep, the usual sharpness of his tone dulled by the alcohol.

you sighed, stepping out of the car and walking around to his side. opening the door, you leaned in, unbuckling his seatbelt. “you fell asleep before you could tell me where you live,” you explained, your voice laced with mild frustration as you hoisted him out of the car, his body heavy and uncooperative. as you helped him into the house, his steps were sluggish, his arm slung over your shoulders for support. he stumbled slightly as you led him to the couch, guiding him down as he collapsed onto the cushions with a weary sigh. the warmth of your home enveloped you both, a stark contrast to the cool night air outside.

“always been a lightweight?” you teased lightly, attempting to lighten the mood as you watched him sprawl out on the couch, his long limbs taking up most of the space. hoseok groaned, his hand coming up to rub his face. “i don’t drink,” he muttered, his voice muffled by his hand. he paused, glancing up at you with an expression that was oddly vulnerable. “it was my first time.”

your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “your first time? why on earth did you decide to drink tonight then?” the question slipped out before you could stop it, your curiosity piqued. he shifted on the couch, rolling onto his back so he could look at you directly. his gaze was intense, almost too much to bear. “because of you,” he said simply, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something that made your stomach twist with unease.

you blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “what do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. hoseok’s eyes darkened, a scowl tugging at his lips. “maybe you should ask seokjin,” he retorted, the mocking edge to his voice making you flinch.

the implication behind his words was clear, and it stung. you scoffed, shaking your head as you tried to dismiss it. “he’s just a friend,” you argued, but the pause before you added, “and even if he wasn’t, so what?” made the words feel hollow. you turned away, intending to retreat and give yourself some distance from the tension that had thickened the air. but before you could take a step, hoseok’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist in a firm grip. you gasped as he pulled you back, your body stumbling and falling against his, your back pressing into his chest as his arms encircled your waist.

“don’t,” he murmured into your shoulder, his voice low and almost pleading. you could feel his breath warm against your skin, the closeness of him making your heart race. “i don’t like you being so close to him.” his words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of shock and confusion rendering you silent. this was hoseok—strict, professional, always in control—yet here he was, holding onto you as if you might slip away.

he tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you closer as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “i only want you to be like this with me,” he confessed, the raw honesty in his voice making your breath hitch. you swallowed hard, your mind racing to catch up with what was happening. “you’re drunk,” you protested weakly, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

but he shook his head, the movement causing his hair to brush against your skin. “i know exactly what I’m talking about,” he insisted, his voice steady despite the alcohol in his system. he hesitated for a moment before continuing, his next words sending a jolt through you. “you brought the hope back to l’espoir.”

you didn’t know how to respond, your mind a whirlwind of emotions as you tried to process the weight of his confession. but before you could form a coherent thought, hoseok’s grip on you loosened, his body going slack as sleep claimed him once more. you were left there, sitting in stunned silence, your heart pounding in your chest as the reality of the situation settled over you. he had just bared his soul to you, and you didn’t know what to do with that.

when you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the warm, enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. it was a comforting scent, one that slowly coaxed you out of the remnants of sleep. you stretched lazily, the morning light filtering softly through the curtains, casting a golden hue across the room. for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to revel in the peace, before the memories of last night came rushing back—hoseok’s confession, the unexpected closeness, the weight of his words still lingering in your mind.

you rose from the bed, the soft padding of your feet on the cool floor the only sound in the quiet house. the scent of coffee grew stronger as you made your way to the kitchen, your heart fluttering with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. as you rounded the corner, you found him standing at the counter, his back to you as he poured steaming coffee into two mugs. he was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, though slightly rumpled from sleep, his hair tousled in a way that made him look more approachable than usual.

he turned at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes locking onto yours with an expression that was surprisingly gentle. “morning,” he greeted, his voice still carrying that low, warm timbre that had made your heart race the night before. “you want some coffee?”

you nodded, feeling a bit awkward in the face of his casual demeanor after everything that had happened. “yes, please,” you managed to reply, your voice coming out a bit softer than you intended. you moved to sit at the small kitchen table, the wooden chair creaking slightly as you settled into it. hoseok handed you a mug, and you took it with a quiet word of thanks. the rich, earthy scent of the coffee was even more intoxicating up close, and you noticed that it had been made using a french press—a sign of care and attention. you took a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through you like a comforting embrace. “thank you for this,” you said, gesturing to the coffee, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling back to the events of last night.

he leaned against the counter, cradling his own mug between his hands as he regarded you with a calm gaze. “it’s me who should be thanking you,” he replied, a hint of sincerity in his tone that you weren’t used to hearing from him. “for taking care of me when I was, well, not at my best.” you hesitated, swirling the coffee in your cup as you tried to find the right words. “are you feeling better? did you sober up?”

he nodded, taking a slow sip from his mug before setting it down on the counter. “yeah. i’m good now.” there was a moment of silence, the two of you just sipping your coffee, the unspoken tension between you almost palpable. your thoughts drifted back to the way he had pulled you close last night, the confession that had left you reeling. the memory of it made your cheeks flush, and you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to the implications of his words.

as if sensing the direction of your thoughts, hoseok’s lips curved into a smirk. he tilted his head slightly, his eyes sparkling with something that made your pulse quicken. “you’re thinking about what i said last night, aren’t you?” you nearly choked on your coffee, your eyes widening as you looked up at him, caught off guard by his straightforwardness. “i, well,” you stammered, trying to compose yourself as you fumbled for a response. the memory of him holding you, his breath warm against your skin as he confessed his feelings, was too vivid to ignore.

his smirk softened into a more serious expression, his gaze unwavering as he continued. “i meant every word of it.” his tone was resolute, leaving no room for doubt, and the intensity of his gaze made it clear that he was being completely honest. your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket. you opened your mouth to respond, but found yourself at a loss, your thoughts a jumble of confusion and emotions. “i, um, i have to get to work,” you finally managed to say, your voice a bit shaky as you clung to the one thing you could focus on—the need to be on time.

hoseok studied you for a moment, as if contemplating whether to press the matter further, before raising his hand in a gesture of understanding. “i’ll drive you,” he offered, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, reassuring smile. you shook your head, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. “you don’t have to, i can—”

but he cut you off with a gentle insistence. “i want to,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. realizing there was no point in protesting, you simply nodded, your thoughts still in a whirlwind as you finished your coffee in silence. the ride to work was quiet, but not uncomfortable. hoseok seemed to be in a much better mood, the tension from the previous night having dissipated, leaving behind a sense of calm. he hummed softly to the music playing on the radio, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel as he drove.

when you arrived at the restaurant, you turned to him, offering a small smile of gratitude. “thanks for the ride.” he smiled back, a genuine warmth in his eyes that made you feel a bit more at ease. “anytime.” you watched as he walked into the restaurant ahead of you, his posture relaxed, a stark contrast to the way he had been behaving recently. it didn’t take long for you to notice that his good mood seemed to linger throughout the day, a lightness in his steps that was unusual for him. he didn’t snap at anyone, didn’t call any of the girls into his office like he usually did. it was as if something had shifted within him, and the change left you stunned, unable to shake the feeling that something significant had occurred between the two of you.

the buzz of the kitchen hummed around you as you settled into your routine, the familiar clatter of pots and pans mingling with the sharp sizzle of ingredients hitting hot oil. there was an unspoken rhythm to the place, a steady flow of movement and sound that kept the energy high, but today, there was an undercurrent of tension. whispers had already started to circulate, the staff exchanging wary glances as they awaited the inevitable—hoseok’s arrival. it was almost a ritual by now, the way he’d sweep in with that cold, calculating gaze, ready to single out yet another unfortunate girl to pull into his office. the atmosphere would shift, voices would lower, and everyone would brace themselves for whatever mood he was in that day.

but when he finally stepped into the kitchen, something was different. the usual noise faded into an expectant silence, all eyes turning towards him as he made his way through the bustling space. you watched as he paused, his gaze sweeping over the room, and for a moment, you thought you caught a glimpse of the stern, unyielding expression that had become all too familiar. but then, to everyone’s shock, his lips curled into a smile—an actual, genuine smile—and he offered a simple, “thank you, everyone, for working hard today.”

the reaction was immediate and palpable. people exchanged stunned glances, the tension in the room dissolving into an almost disbelieving murmur. no one quite knew how to react, the abrupt change in his demeanor leaving everyone off-balance. it was as if they were waiting for the punchline to some elaborate joke, but instead, hoseok simply continued walking, his steps light, his mood shockingly bright.

your heart skipped a beat when he started moving in your direction, his gaze locked onto you with a strange mix of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place. you quickly turned back to your station, trying to steady your breathing as you busied yourself with your tasks, hoping he’d pass by without another word. but then he stopped right beside you, his presence looming, and you felt a prickle of anticipation at the base of your spine. “drop your shift,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

you froze, your hands stilling over the cutting board as his words registered. Slowly, you turned to face him, confusion knitting your brows together. “what do you mean?” you asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. hoseok met your gaze, his eyes glinting with that same determined look. “you have the rest of the day off,” he clarified, his tone leaving no room for argument.

the words hit you like a sudden breeze, your heart leaping at the unexpected reprieve. it was a rare gift, one that filled you with a rush of excitement. your mind immediately started racing with all the possibilities of what you could do with the extra time, a smile beginning to spread across your face as you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. but just as quickly as the excitement rose, it was tempered by his next words. “on one condition,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

you blinked, the smile faltering slightly as you processed his words. “what condition?” you asked, your tone cautious, though the curiosity was already beginning to seep in. he leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “you spend the rest of the day with me,” he said, the request both unexpected and strangely intimate.

your heart skipped again, this time with a mix of surprise and something that felt suspiciously like anticipation. you hesitated, your mind running through the implications of his request, but there was something in the way he looked at you—something earnest and sincere—that made it hard to refuse. and truthfully, part of you didn’t want to. “all right,” you found yourself saying, the word slipping out before you could overthink it.

hoseok’s smile widened, his expression softening with something that looked a lot like relief. “good,” he replied, his tone light, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something that hinted at how much this meant to him. “i’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.” with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your mind buzzing with questions. the kitchen slowly returned to its usual rhythm, but the earlier tension was replaced by a new kind of energy—one that left you both excited and apprehensive about what the rest of the day might hold.

as you quickly wrapped up your station and informed your supervisor of your unexpected early departure, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of anticipation settle over you. there was no telling what hoseok had in mind, but as you stepped out of the kitchen and made your way to the front of the restaurant, you knew one thing for certain—today was going to be different.

the day stretched out before you like a blank canvas, one that you never imagined would be spent alongside hoseok. as you stepped out of the restaurant, the warmth of the sun embraced your skin, the bustling sounds of the city creating a lively backdrop to your unexpected adventure. hoseok guided you toward the bus stop, the two of you walking in comfortable silence, the earlier events in the kitchen still buzzing in your mind.

when the bus arrived, packed with the usual weekday crowd, you hesitated at the door. he stepped in first, his eyes scanning the interior for an empty seat. finding none, you both prepared to stand, but then, just as you were about to grab hold of the nearest rail, he gently nudged a young man sitting close by. there was something firm yet polite in his tone as he asked the man to stand and let you sit. the young man, caught off guard, quickly obliged, and you found yourself looking up at hoseok in surprise. “take the seat,” he said, his voice soft but insistent.

you blinked, not used to such gestures from him—usually, his demeanor was all business, but today, he seemed different, more considerate, almost caring. you muttered a quiet “thank you” as you sat down, the unexpected kindness making your heart skip a beat. hoseok stood beside you, holding onto the overhead rail, his posture relaxed as he looked out of the window. the bus rumbled forward, carrying the two of you through the city streets, the vibrant blur of people and places passing by. you couldn’t help but glance up at him every now and then, curious about the change in his behavior, about what had prompted him to be so attentive. it wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of you.

“so, where are we going?” you asked, tilting your head to look up at him. hoseok smiled, a playful glint in his eyes. “it’s a surprise,” he said, leaving no room for further questions. you sighed in mock frustration, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your growing excitement. there was something thrilling about not knowing where the day would take you, something about being in the moment, just the two of you, that made you feel more alive than you had in a long time.

eventually, the bus came to a stop, and hoseok gestured for you to follow him. you stepped off the bus together, the cool breeze ruffling your hair as he led you through a series of winding streets. the further you walked, the more the hustle and bustle of the main roads faded away, replaced by quieter, narrower lanes lined with small shops and cozy cafés. finally, he slowed down, and you looked up to see a small, unassuming restaurant tucked between two taller buildings. the sign above the door was simple, the name “seong’s bistro” written in elegant script. It wasn’t anything grand, but there was a charm to it, a warmth that made you feel like you were about to step into someone’s home rather than a restaurant.

“this is it,” he said, turning to you with a smile. “come on, let’s go in.” he held the door open for you, and as you walked inside, you were greeted by the welcoming scent of home-cooked meals. the interior was just as cozy as the exterior, with wooden tables, soft lighting, and walls adorned with framed photographs of what appeared to be family gatherings and happy customers. there was a sense of history there, of stories shared over meals, and it made you feel instantly at ease.

a man in his late thirties, with a friendly smile and an apron tied around his waist, approached you both. his features bore a striking resemblance to hoseok’s, though his face was softer, more rounded, and his demeanor exuded warmth. “my cousin,” the man exclaimed, pulling hoseok into a quick hug before turning to you. “and you must be the famous chef I’ve heard so much about.” you blinked in surprise, taken aback by his words. “famous?” you repeated, a bit flustered.

the man nodded enthusiastically. “of course! i’ve heard all about your kimchi ravioli. it’s an honor to finally meet you in person.” you felt your cheeks flush at the compliment, not quite used to such praise. “thank you,” you said, smiling shyly. “but i’m not sure if i’m as famous as you think.”

“nonsense,” hoseok’s cousin replied, waving off your modesty. “your dish is incredible. in fact, i have a little surprise for both of you.” he exchanged a knowing glance with hoseok, who grinned and placed a hand on your back, gently guiding you toward a corner table. you sat down, your curiosity piqued, and watched as hoseok’s cousin disappeared into the kitchen. the restaurant was quiet, only a few other customers scattered about, their soft conversations blending with the faint music playing overhead.

after a few moments, the kitchen doors swung open, and two chefs emerged, each carrying a plate. as they approached, your breath caught in your throat. on each plate was a perfectly presented serving of your kimchi ravioli, the dish that had won over so many palates. the sight of it here, in this small, family-run restaurant, filled you with a sense of pride and disbelief.

“how did you—?” you began, turning to hoseok in astonishment. he simply smiled, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “i made sure to spread the word about your dish,” he said, his voice filled with genuine pride. “you’re a national hit now.”

your heart swelled with emotion, a mix of gratitude and disbelief washing over you. The fact that he had gone out of his way to do this for you, to share your creation with others, touched you deeply. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice thick with sincerity. “i can’t believe you did this.” hoseok’s smile softened, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than usual. “you deserve it,” he said simply.

the meal that followed was nothing short of perfect. the ravioli was just as you had imagined it would be, the flavors dancing on your tongue with each bite. it was a strange but wonderful experience, tasting your own creation in a setting like this, surrounded by people who appreciated it just as much as you did. every now and then, you would glance over at hoseok, and each time, he was watching you with a contented smile, as if seeing you enjoy the meal was satisfaction enough for him.

when the plates were finally empty, he paid the bill despite your protests, and the two of you stepped out into the cool afternoon air. the sun was beginning its descent, casting a golden glow over the city, and as you walked, the conversation flowed easily between you. you found yourself laughing more, the usual walls between you and hoseok slowly crumbling as the day went on.

at one point, you passed by a quaint little chocolate shop with a beautifully arranged display in the window. you stopped in your tracks, drawn to the sight of the delicately crafted chocolates, each one a tiny masterpiece. he noticed your interest and leaned in to peer at the display with you. “which one catches your eye?” he asked, his tone light. you pointed to a small box of chocolates dusted with cocoa powder, their rich, velvety appearance almost too tempting to resist. “those,” you said, a note of longing in your voice. “they look so soft and chewy.”

without another word, he pushed open the door to the shop and stepped inside. you watched from the window as he spoke to the shopkeeper, gesturing toward the chocolates you had pointed out. a few moments later, he emerged with a small box in hand, his smile wide as he extended it to you. “for you,” he said simply.

you took the box from him, your fingers brushing against his in the process. the gesture, though small, warmed your heart. “thank you,” you said, smiling up at him. you opened the box and took out a small pick, ready to try one of the chocolates. but instead of popping it into your own mouth, you surprised hoseok by holding it up to his lips, silently offering him the first taste. he looked at you, momentarily taken aback, before his lips parted slightly, allowing you to place the chocolate on his tongue.

his eyes widened as he savored the taste, a look of pure delight crossing his face. “wow,” he murmured, swallowing. “that’s really good.” you grinned, pleased by his reaction, and finally took a piece for yourself. the chocolate melted in your mouth, rich and smooth, the cocoa powder adding a subtle bitterness that balanced perfectly with the sweetness. it was a moment of shared indulgence, a small but meaningful exchange that seemed to bring the two of you even closer.

as you continued your walk, the conversation shifted to more personal topics. you asked him about his restaurant, about how he had come up with the name “l’espoir.” for a moment, hoseok hesitated, his usual confidence wavering. but then he sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “i’ve always been the one to bring joy to the people close to me,” he began, his voice quieter now. “but when my father was dying, i had to get serious. i had to take on responsibilities I wasn’t ready for, and after he passed, it was like i lost a part of myself. i lost hope.”

you felt a pang of sympathy, the memory of your own loss surfacing in your mind. “i know how that feels,” you said softly. “when my mother passed, i felt like i lost a part of myself too. everything seemed to lose its color, its meaning. cooking was the only thing that kept me going, the only way i could hold on to the memories i had with her.” hoseok’s eyes softened even more at your words, the weight of shared grief settling between you like a silent understanding. he nodded, as if acknowledging the invisible thread that now connected the two of you—one woven from loss, but also from the strength you both found in your passion for cooking.

“i started the restaurant because i wanted to bring that hope back,” he continued, his voice tinged with a quiet resolve. “for myself, and for others. i wanted to create a place where people could feel joy, where they could find comfort in food the way i did. that’s why I named it ‘l’espoir’—hope.” you walked in silence for a moment, absorbing the depth of his words, the sincerity behind them. there was a new layer to hoseok that you hadn’t seen before, a vulnerability that he had hidden behind his confident, sometimes stern exterior. it made you see him in a different light, not just as your superior or the chef who could command a kitchen with ease, but as someone who had faced the same kind of pain you had, someone who had chosen to turn that pain into something beautiful.

“i’m glad you did,” you finally said, your voice gentle but firm. “it’s a place where people can find more than just a meal. it’s a place where they can find a part of themselves, a piece of happiness, even if just for a moment.” he looked at you, his expression one of quiet gratitude. “thank you,” he said, his voice soft but full of emotion. “it means a lot to hear that from you.”

the rest of the walk to your house was filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. the bond between you felt stronger now, deeper, as if you had crossed an invisible line from mere colleagues to something more—friends, perhaps, or something that had the potential to grow even further. when you finally reached your door, you turned to him with a smile. “thank you for today, hoseok. it was unexpected, but in the best way.”

he returned your smile, but there was something more in his eyes now, a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “i should be the one thanking you,” he said, taking a step closer. “you gave me hope today.” his words sent a flutter through your chest, but before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing gently against your forehead. the kiss was soft, barely more than a whisper of a touch, but it sent a wave of warmth through you, leaving you momentarily stunned. your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding as you looked up at him.

when he pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, something tender and unspoken. “i’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice low, as if not to break the fragile moment between you. you nodded, unable to find the words to respond. your mind was still reeling from the feel of his lips on your skin, the unexpected intimacy of it. as you watched him walk away, your heart fluttered in your chest, a mix of emotions swirling within you—confusion, excitement, but most of all, a sense of anticipation for what might come next.

once he was out of sight, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your fingers lightly brushing the spot where he had kissed you. the warmth lingered, a reminder of the day’s unexpected turns, and as you stepped inside your home, you couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. the rest of the evening passed in a blur. You replayed the events of the day in your mind, each memory filled with vivid detail—the way hoseok had stood up for you on the bus, the pride in his voice when he introduced you to his cousin, the taste of the kimchi ravioli you had created, and finally, the soft, tender kiss he had left on your forehead. each moment felt significant, like pieces of a puzzle slowly coming together, forming a picture you had yet to fully understand.

the next few days with hoseok were like a dream, a soft, hazy blur of moments that felt too good to be true. he was always there—smiling, friendly, attentive in ways that made your heart skip a beat. whether it was a simple greeting in the morning or the way he’d casually ask if you needed anything during the day, his presence was a constant source of warmth and comfort. he had a way of making even the most mundane tasks feel special. if you were chopping vegetables, he’d find a reason to stand beside you, sometimes offering a quick tip on technique, other times just making light conversation that left you smiling. his laughter was infectious, filling the kitchen with a bright, cheerful energy that everyone seemed to notice.

it didn’t take long for the other chefs to start talking. chaeyoung, in particular, couldn’t help but ask you about it one day, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “hey, have you noticed anything different about chef jung lately?” she asked, her voice low as she leaned in closer. you felt your cheeks warm, but you played it cool, feigning innocence with a smile. “no, why do you ask?”

chaeyoung’s eyes narrowed playfully. “oh, come on! don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how he’s been around you lately. it’s like you’re his favorite or something.” your heart fluttered at the thought, but you shook your head, still maintaining the pretense. “i really haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary,” you replied, keeping your tone light. “maybe he’s just in a good mood lately.”

she gave you a knowing look, but before she could press further, hoseok entered the kitchen. as usual, his presence had an immediate effect on everyone—conversations stopped, eyes turned to him. there was an unspoken respect for him that filled the air whenever he walked in, a mix of admiration and a bit of fear. you had grown used to this silence, no longer feeling the same tension as before. Instead, you found yourself feeling at ease, knowing that his attention was likely to land on you with a smile or a kind word. but today was different.

“choi yongsun,” he called out, his voice cutting through the silence. the name took a moment to register. you were in the middle of organizing the ingredients for the day, your mind still half-focused on the conversation with chaeyoung. but when you finally registered the name, your heart stuttered in your chest. a pause followed. the kind of pause that feels like an eternity, stretching the moment out until it’s almost unbearable. you looked up, confusion washing over you as you turned to see another girl—choi yongsun—standing frozen, her eyes wide as she stared at hoseok. “come to my office,” he finished

your entire world stopped spinning. it felt as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. the warmth and comfort you had felt all week vanished, replaced by a cold, gnawing sensation in the pit of your stomach. you couldn’t move, couldn’t think, as the reality of what was happening slowly dawned on you. you were invisible again. hoseok’s attention, his kindness, the gentle smiles and lingering looks—they hadn’t meant what you thought they did. all of it had been a cruel illusion, a fleeting moment that had now passed, leaving you behind like a forgotten afterthought.

your heart shattered in your chest, the pieces scattering in a thousand directions. a dull, numbing pain spread through you, making it hard to focus, hard to keep your composure. you watched as yongsun hesitated, glancing around the room as if seeking reassurance. hoseok’s gaze softened as he met hers, and in that moment, it became clear—she was the one he was focused on now. not you.

blood rushed to your head, the heat of embarrassment and hurt rising until it felt like your skin was on fire. the kitchen, once a place of warmth and comfort, now felt like a cage, trapping you in a nightmare you hadn’t seen coming. you needed to get out. before anyone could notice the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you spun on your heel and bolted from the kitchen. your breath came in shallow gasps as you fled down the hallway, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. the walls blurred as you ran, the sting of tears clouding your vision.

you pushed open the door to the street outside, the cool air hitting your face like a slap. you didn’t stop. you couldn’t. not until you found a cab, your hands shaking as you flagged one down. the ride home was a blur of motion and suppressed sobs. the reality of what had just happened hit you in waves, each one more painful than the last. how had you been so naive? how had you let yourself believe, even for a second, that he saw you as more than just another chef in his kitchen?

the thoughts spiraled, tearing at your already fragile heart. by the time you reached your door, the dam broke. tears flowed freely now, your body shaking with the force of your sobs as you fumbled with your keys, the metal slipping in your trembling hands. finally inside, you collapsed against the door, the sobs wracking your body as you sank to the floor. the realization of how deeply you had let yourself fall, of how thoroughly you had been misled, was crushing. it wasn’t just about hoseok’s attention—it was about the hope you had allowed to bloom, the fragile seed of something more that you had nurtured, only to have it ripped away in an instant.

you had been so foolish to think that he could see you, truly see you, as anything more than just another girl in his life. all the moments you had shared, the laughter, the smiles, the tender words—they were nothing more than fleeting distractions to him, easily replaced the moment someone else caught his eye. and then, as you sat alone on your cold floor, the weight of your own heartbreak settling over you, the tears wouldn’t stop. they flowed endlessly, a river of pain that seemed to have no end, each sob tearing through you with a force that left you breathless.

your thoughts were a tangled mess of hurt, anger, and a deep, aching sadness that hollowed you out from the inside. you had wanted to believe in something more, something real, but now all you were left with was the bitter taste of disappointment. it was over. whatever connection you thought you had with him was nothing more than a cruel joke, a figment of your imagination that had shattered into a million pieces.

the sobs wracked your body, each one tearing through you with a force that left you trembling on the floor. you clutched at your chest as if trying to hold the pieces of your shattered heart together, but it was no use. the pain was too much, the disappointment too deep. tears blurred your vision, and the world around you became a distorted mess of shadows and light.

you didn’t hear the door open. you were too lost in your own anguish, too consumed by the despair that had wrapped itself around your heart like a vise. it wasn’t until you sensed a presence beside you that you looked up, your breath catching in your throat. hoseok stood in the doorway, his expression stricken, eyes filled with a mix of grief and concern. his usually confident stance was gone, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. he took a tentative step toward you, his voice gentle, almost pleading.

“why did you go home?” he asked, his tone filled with an aching sorrow that matched the hurt in your chest. you felt something snap inside you at his words, a flood of emotions rushing to the surface. anger, hurt, betrayal—all of it came pouring out in a torrent as you stared at him through tear-streaked eyes.

“why did i go home?” you repeated, your voice cracking as you tried to keep the sobs at bay. “i thought—i thought you had really changed, hoseok. i thought you were different, that you were finally done with the games. i opened my heart to you, and you just, you went back to the girls in your office like it meant nothing.” your voice broke, the words trembling with the force of your emotions. you didn’t care how vulnerable you sounded, didn’t care that your tears were still falling, staining your cheeks as you looked up at him. all you could think about was the pain of realizing you had been wrong, so very wrong, about him.

hoseok’s face twisted with grief, his eyes darkening with regret as he closed the distance between you. “you’ve got it all wrong,” he said softly, his voice pained as he reached out to you. but you shook your head, pulling away from him as fresh tears welled up in your eyes. “no, i don’t,” you cried, your voice thick with emotion. “you’re an asshole, hoseok. you made me believe in something that wasn’t real. you made me believe that you could be more, that we could be more, and then you just—threw it all away.”

your words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your heartache. hoseok stopped in his tracks, his expression filled with a kind of desperation you hadn’t seen in him before. his hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if he was trying to hold himself together. then, slowly, he crouched down in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours. he reached out again, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he was afraid you might shatter if he moved too quickly. his fingers gently wrapped around your hands, warm and comforting, even as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your sobs.

“listen to me,” he murmured, his voice low, soothing. “i did call yongsun into my office. but it wasn’t what you think.” you tried to pull your hands away, the pain in your chest still raw, but he held on, his grip firm yet gentle. he leaned in closer, his gaze searching yours, his voice tender as he continued.

“she was quitting,” he said softly, his breath brushing against your skin. “that’s why i called her in. to talk about her leaving. that’s all.” you froze, your breath catching in your throat as his words registered. the hurt, the anger—everything you had been feeling—wavered, uncertainty creeping in. you searched his eyes, looking for any sign that he might be lying, but all you saw was sincerity, a raw honesty that made your heart stutter in your chest.

“you—you really didn’t sleep with her?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if you were afraid to even ask. a small, sad smile tugged at the corners of hoseok’s lips. he shook his head, his thumb brushing gently across the back of your hand. “of course, i didn’t,” he murmured. “i could never do that to you.”

relief washed over you, a wave of emotion so strong it left you breathless. the tears that had been born of heartbreak now turned to something else—something softer, warmer. they slipped down your cheeks in quiet streams, and hoseok reached up, brushing them away with his fingertips. “it’s okay,” he whispered, pulling you closer. “i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.” you didn’t resist as he gathered you into his arms, his warmth seeping into you, chasing away the cold that had settled in your heart. he held you like you were something precious, something fragile, and the care in his touch only made the tears fall faster.

you buried your face in his shoulder, the scent of him—familiar, comforting—wrapping around you like a balm for your wounded heart. his hands moved up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, his presence grounding you, anchoring you in a moment that felt too real, too tender to be anything but the truth. for a long time, neither of you said anything. there were no words needed, no explanations to be given. all that mattered was the way he held you, the way he made you feel safe, cherished, loved.

and then, slowly, gently, hoseok pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft as they searched your face. his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears as he leaned in. the kiss was soft, tentative, a whisper of a touch that sent a shiver down your spine. his lips were warm against yours, his breath mingling with yours in a way that felt like coming home. there was no rush, no urgency—just a quiet, tender moment that spoke of all the things neither of you could put into words.

you leaned into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as the kiss grew deeper, more passionate. you could feel his heart racing against yours, the beat a frantic echo of the need that was building inside you. the taste of him was like a drug, something you hadn’t realized you’d been craving until now. your body responded, your nipples tightening against the fabric of your shirt, your pussy growing wet with desire.

his hands slipped down to your waist, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips before sliding around to the small of your back. he pulled you closer, aligning your bodies so that you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your stomach. you moaned into his mouth, the heat between you growing with every passing second. his touch grew bolder, more insistent, as he cupped your breasts, his thumbs playing with your nipples through the fabric. the sensation sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you arch into his touch.

you broke the kiss, panting, to look up at him. his eyes were dark with need, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. “i’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with want. “i’m sorry for hurting you. for making you doubt me. i’ll do anything to make it up to you, to show you how much you mean to me.” his words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the last of the raw edges of your heartache. you reached up, placing your hand on his cheek, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “make love to me, hoseok,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “show me that we’re okay.”

his eyes searched yours for a moment, looking for confirmation, for permission. and when you nodded, a soft smile curved his lips. he stood, pulling you to your feet, and then he was leading you to the bedroom, his hand warm and firm in yours. the room was bathed in soft, golden light from the setting sun, casting shadows across the bed that was already calling to you. you could feel your heart racing, your body thrumming with anticipation as he began to undress you, his eyes never leaving yours.

once you were naked, he took a moment to just look at you, his gaze roving over your body with a kind of reverence that made you feel beautiful, desired. his hands followed, tracing the lines of your collarbone, your ribs, the swell of your hips. he leaned down, his mouth following the path his hands had taken, placing kisses along the way. you shivered, your skin coming alive under his touch. when he finally reached your breasts, he took one nipple into his mouth, suckling gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you moan.

his hand moved between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, stroking it lightly, teasing it until you were begging for more. but hoseok was in no hurry. he took his time, exploring every inch of you, building the tension until you were on the edge, your body quivering with need. and when he finally slid into you, it was with a slow, deliberate movement that made you gasp. his cock was huge, stretching you in a way that was both painful and beautiful. you felt so full, so complete, as he filled you completely.

his strokes were gentle at first, almost tender, as if he was afraid of hurting you. but as you grew more and more desperate, he picked up the pace, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had you clinging to the edge of climax. he whispered dirty, filthy words in your ear, praising your body, your tightness, your beauty, and each one sent a fresh wave of heat through you. his attentiveness was intoxicating, his sensitivity to your needs surprising and arousing.

his thumb found your clit again, pressing down firmly as he fucked you harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. you could feel your orgasm building, a storm rising inside you, threatening to break. and when it did, it was like nothing you’d ever felt before—a white-hot explosion of pleasure that had you crying out his name, your body convulsing around his cock.

hoseok’s eyes never left yours, watching you intently as you rode out the waves of your climax. his own release followed closely, his hips jerking as he came deep inside you, his warmth filling you up. he collapsed against you, his chest heaving with the exertion. for a moment, you just lay there, tangled in the sheets, your bodies slick with sweat, hearts beating in sync.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him close, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you. he kissed you again, deep and slow, his tongue stroking yours in a gentle dance that spoke of a connection that went beyond the physical. it was a promise, a declaration of love and devotion, and it made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

once you’d both caught your breath, hoseok pulled out of you, his cock still hard and glistening. without a word, he reached for the box of condoms on the nightstand, his eyes never leaving yours. you watched as he rolled one on, his movements sure and practiced, and then he was back, pushing into you again. the feeling of him bare inside you was different this time, a thrill that sent shivers down your spine. you knew it was risky, but with hoseok, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

his strokes grew slower, more deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he made love to you with a kind of tenderness that was almost overwhelming. every thrust was a silent promise, every kiss a vow to never hurt you again. and as you came apart in his arms, your bodies melding together in a symphony of passion, you knew that that was where you were meant to be—right there, with hoseok, forever.

✧.*

a/n: this one was lowk ass

[buggyandthebartoclub]

Your Secret Recipe for Sanji A La Mode PT. 1 A gender neutral reader x Sanji fic Rated E: contains sexual content, oral, Sanji in lingerie, mentions of bondage/bdsm (no actual bondage/bdsm in this fic, will be in part 2), coming untouched, implied that reader is a bit of pervert for Sanji NO food involved sexually the title was just funny to me ok Word count: 2208 Summary: Sanji is WEAK for you, and you wanna see him in something sexy in your bed, good thing you have JUST the recipe for such a delicacy!

A/N: HUGE thank you to the heart pirate homie hoppers for helping me workship this fic ive been struggling with for like 2-3 weeks lol! Thank you @mandiemegatron & @guilty-sugar (I literally wouldnt have gotten this far w/o Mandie TT_TT tysm ilysm)

For a man who exuded strength and pride, your amusement was palpable when you marveled at how effortlessly Sanji succumbed to the delectable flavors of your charm

Whether it unfolded through the savory banter that rolled off your tongue like a well-prepared dish, the subtle graze of your hands during the exchange of your favorite drink, or the delight of your eyes meeting across the deck with a hint of spice in a cheeky wink, every interaction with you seemed to season his demeanor.

Like ingredients harmonizing in a perfect dish, each aspect of your presence had a transformative effect, turning the strong and proud man into a concoction of flavors, a delicious blend responding to the culinary symphony of your allure.

And you yearned to have him in your hands, cradled delicately like the soft dough kneaded under Sanji’s beautiful hands, glazed over with his tears from the sweetness of a heartfelt confession. You wanted to tie him up delicately and hold him together when he inevitably crumbles apart for you.

Thankfully the recipe for this delightful surprise only required a few careful steps, thoughtful timing around your next couple destinations, acquiring suitable bindings for an artful presentation, and of course, selecting the perfect gift for your delicious chef that compliments his profile like a fine wine with a meal.

When the opportune moment arrives, all it takes is a moment to ensure you stay behind with Sanji while the rest of the crew is off exploring the new island allowing you to saunter into the kitchen with the confidence of a skilled chef, Sanji’s gift hidden behind your back as you express a sudden craving for something sweet.

Your eyes sparkle with delight when Sanji jumps at the chance to cook something delectable just for you, his praises already sweetening the air before you even find a seat, discreetly hiding his gift like a secret ingredient.

Alone with him, the kitchen became a culinary stage, and he was already overwhelmed, the heat of flustered emotions rising as you watched him cook with undivided attention, something he often begged for from you but instantly felt overwhelmed by when given it.

By the time he was finished his heart was racing as he presented your favorite treat in an elegant display, a blush growing on his cheeks as he spoke with a smile,

“Something sweet, for my sweet, I hope you enjoy”

Laughing softly, you’d place a hand delicately on his wrist, leaving him simmering in anticipation as you spoke sweetly,

“I’d enjoy anything from you, Sanji”

He’s a bubbling pot of emotions when you withdraw your hand to taste the delicacy he prepared, made only sweeter by his reaction. You grinned and laughed a little as Sanji wobbled away in a daze, letting your eyes trail after him as he fluttered weakly about the kitchen, unable to calm himself down under your weight of your gaze eyeing him up and down like he was what you wanted to eat as he continued to clean up the kitchen.

He’s already light headed before making his way back to you just as you finish up your treat to clear away your plate when he asks,

“How was it, my dove?”

“Oh, dessert was delicious, I was hoping I could have you for the main course though” you'd say with a wink and slide the gift you wrapped so carefully onto the counter, lifting the lid for him to see the contents as he wibbles and wobbles, nose bleeding and flush running up his face as he stutters out a weak

“O-Of course m-mon amour” and promptly faints at your feet

Amused, you’d help prop him up, whether it’s in the kitchen or his room, and tend to the aftermath. Placing his gift gently in his arms, and taking your leave for him to wake up in his own time.

Your anticipation simmered in the air, much like a slow cooked dish, as you savored the prospect of the impending moment. After all, the most exquisite dishes demand patience, and you have been exceptionally patient.

Weeks of careful preparation had transpired to gather the necessary ingredients for this night, treating it like Sanji would a complex recipe, each component thoughtfully chosen and measured.

Returning to your room, you prepared for the real delicacy of the night, dressing in your most seductive outfit and draping yourself loosely with a robe. The ropes, painstakingly dyed blue for this occasion, a gag you tied the week prior, and lovely little blindfold, all laid out like ingredients for a culinary masterpiece before settling in the comfort of your bed to wait out your growing excitement.

The wait would be brief before Sanji was at your door in a panic. His frantic knocks echoed across your room as he poured out one rushed apology after another

“Y/N, I am deeply apologetic for the embarrassing display you had to clean up, I was so overcome with my emotions for you at the sight of such a gift! Please give me a chance to make it up to you, I-I’ll do anything please! It won’t happen again mon amour!”

Smirking as you close your book and set it aside, going to the door, opening to Sanji's pitiful gaze as he falls on his knees, gift in hand as he wraps his arms around your waist and rubs his face into you while you card a hand through his hair and spoke in a deceptively sweet tone

“Oh it’s alright Sanji kun, I was just worried you didn’t like my gift, I spent so long picking it out just for you” trailing off and letting him jerk his head up to look at you and squeeze you tighter, his nose already bleeding a little bit again from just being against your skin

“I’d love anything from you Y/N, I was simply overwhelmed from imagining you wearing something like this for me!”

You grin as you look down at him, “Although I’d be happy to wear something like this for you sometime, I got this for you, Sanji kun” savoring the way his face turns a brilliant red. He pulls back and looks down at the box in his hands, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the box

“This, mon cheri? A-are you sure you want me to wear this?”

Your eyes gleam when you nod, excitement flushing your skin as he takes a deep breath before giving a desperate “Anything you want mon amour!”

You can barely contain your excitement as you guide Sanji up onto his feet and let him into your room, letting your robe fall off your shoulders as you sit back down on your bed, letting the view of your outfit send tremors down Sanji’s entire body, his pants already lightly tented as you eye him up and down, watching him intently as comes to a stop in front of you.

His breathing is ragged and his pupils are dilated and he’s clearly already dying to reach out and touch you, you can tell by the way his hands tremble and he bites his lip, eager to please and hesitant to disappoint he eyes you up and down, licking his lips and shuffling on his feet, looking down at the gift in his hands then back at you, his face still a smoldering red as he clears his throat.

“S-so mon bijou, how would you like me to..?” trailing off uncertainly, fidgeting under your gaze

“Why don’t you try it on for me right now?” you give a cheeky grin, “If you’re shy I can close my eyes for you, my dear”

Sanji’s knees buckled a little and he let out a stuttering breath as he nods shakily “A-ah yes, of course,” stumbling a little when he steps forward to place the gift box beside you on the bed and straightening back out to undress.

You manage to keep your breathing even when he slides off his shoes and even when his jacket comes off, licking your lips as he loosens his tie and begins to expose his sculpted chest one undone button at a time. Tilting your head back to take in the view when he starts to tug off his belt, you bite your lips as he pushes down his pants to reveal miles of deliciously thick thighs.

Your mouth is watering by the time he’s freeing his erection and reaching over to grab the silky blue outfit you spent so long picking out. Grabbing the brilliant blue material of the stockings first, slipping them on with trembling fingers when he reaches for the thong next when reach over and stop him with an airy laugh,

“Actually have to put the garter on first love, here, let me help you”

You pull the garter out of the box and traded him pieces of fabric as he stepped into the piece, his flush growing further down his body and erection straining as you kneel down to clasp the straps to the stockings, you stand back up, handing the thong back to him as you lean in close to press a kiss to his cheek and whisper in his ear

“There you go handsome, you’re doing great”

Sanji’s breath is ragged as you step back, watching him slip on the underwear, barely able to contain his throbbing member like you can barely contain yourself as he pulls out the delicate bra top, slipping those sculpted arms through the straps. You can’t help yourself from putting your hands on them and turning him around to get a delicious view of his perfect ass as you hook the bra for him, turning him back around and stepping back to sit down and lean back on the bed to admire how perfectly the blue lingerie complimented his skin, contrasting brilliantly with the blush spread down his body, complimented further by the dribble of blood dripping down his face as he watches you with ragged breath, he tries to follow after you, going in for a kiss but you put a hand on his chest, leaving him leaning over you as you smirk, inches from his lips as you speak

“Ah- Ah, before you get to have anything from me, didn’t you say you’d make it up to me for having to clean up your mess earlier? Maybe you can start by tasting the treat I have for you, and you can use your tongue to clean up the mess you’ve made of me until I feel like you’ve made it up to me.”

Sanji groans and runs his hands down your sides as he shakes his head up and down like a bobble head “Anything for you mon cherie”

And he’s sliding down between your legs, his hands shaking as he grabs at your thighs, kissing and nipping up them till he reaches your underwear, moaning when he inhales your scent, unable to control himself as he licks you through your underwear, the sounds you make send him over the edge he was already straining at and he's coming untouched just from the faint taste of you.

He pants and groans through it, pulling your underwear down through the shudders and your hands are in his hair when starts eating you like a man starved. He’s all soft lips and warm tongue, you’re unable to stay quiet when you feel trembling fingers join his tongue, you’re pulling on his hair and you thrust your hips to ride his face, chasing your pleasure as Sanji drowns in it, completely overwhelmed by everything about you as he swirls his tongue and sucks gently on you.

You’re throwing your head back, eyes closed when you tell him in between gasps

“Yes, Sanji, just like that, good boy”

And he groans into your core, eyes rolling back as his hips stutter and he finds release untouched once again as he brings you to yours.

You let him rest his head on your thigh as you both catch your breath and your running a hand comforting through his hair, it takes you a minute before you’re sitting up, slipping a hand under Sanji’s chin tipping his head back to look at you as you lean forward to reward him with a deep, tender kiss, laughing at his dazed face when you pull back and say

“Did you enjoy your treat Sanji dear?”

He nods weakly in your hand and you make an obvious glance down at his mess and back to his eyes, smiling sweetly when you coo at him

“I’m so glad, but that wasn’t supposed to be about you getting off was it?” He gulps and shakes his head softly in your hand, “So how about you let me tie you up and we can focus on you for a bit, see how many times we need to make you come before you can focus on just me?”

His pupils are blown out and blood drips from his nose as he nods weakly in your hand again, whimpering when you put your lips to his and tell him to use his words, kissing him when he says “yes, please, anything you’ll give me mon amour.”

[adore-laur]

FOXTAIL

— two lovers being blissfully domestic while living in the countryside of france 🪴

——

LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE

The melodic humming of his wife faintly echoes throughout the greenhouse kitchen, her voice hidden under the more pronounced noises of glass jars clinking together and the faucet running.

As Harry hunches over the granite countertop and gingerly trims the miniature bonsai tree he proudly helped grow, his ears tune into Nadine's movements. He's acutely aware of the soft padding of her slippers against the tiles and the slight graze of her robe against his sweater vest whenever she passes by. It's as if she's some soundless angel who doesn't like to make her presence known yet can't help but enthrall everyone with her heavenly poise.

He will often glance up while snipping away with his garden shears and follow her figure as she gracefully floats around the kitchen and pickles various vegetables that will eventually be donated to the orphanage on the outskirts of town. The cucumber she's currently slicing is from one of his many gardens on the property. They are Harry's pride and joy. He plants abundant seeds every season, then tends to the soil and sprouts until he can harvest them. Their primary use is to be thrown into either jars or on dinner plates, resulting in whatever his wife wishes to cleverly concoct.

"Nadi, can you please fill this up for me?" Harry asks, fidgeting with the fragile pump of the plant mister in his hand.

In a second, she's by his side, carefully taking the empty glass bottle from his grasp. "Hot or cold water?"

He smiles dotingly at her lack of knowledge about succulent maintenance. She has more expertise relating to culinary uses for fruits, vegetables, herbs, and spices, while he takes care of the botanical aspect.

"Lukewarm since we've had sunny weather lately," he replies as he checks how dry the compacted soil in the pot is. "Thank you."

She nods and heads to the sink, turning the handle to the left. Harry pauses what he's doing and admires how her smooth, bronzed skin and silky black hair glimmer in the natural light pouring through the greenhouse panels. He often finds himself wanting to splay his hands on every part of her warm body and let his ceaseless love seep into her, sweet and absorbent like caramel drizzle on a dessert. Whenever she innately reacts to his touch, it melts him into a puddle of molasses the same color as the deep pools of her irises. And when the sun hits her brown eyes just right, he becomes entranced. She's his saccharine daydream.

Once Harry is satisfied with the trimming of his beloved bonsai, he moves on to the second task he planned to finish this morning. A woven basket sits beside him on the floor, holding a bundle of eucalyptus and myrtle leaves he broke off from the trees in the front yard. He had already cut a piece of gold wire to form the brittle blades around it, but he didn't know where to go from there. He wants to make a leaf crown for Nadine. However, he's never attempted a crown with leaves before, only with the lily of the valley and jasmine flowers he grows by the windowsill in their bedroom. The two white blossoms represent femininity and sensuality, a perfect blend of his wife's soul.

"You are standing so still, lover," Nadine says, setting down the filled plant mister. "What are you doing? What are those leaves for?"

"You ask too many questions," he teases with a prolonged kiss on her forehead.

She frowns halfheartedly. "Laisse-moi entrer dans ton jardin de secrets."

Harry's neck flushes from the way she effortlessly switched languages. "Seulement si tu me laisses entrer dans ton pot de secrets," he murmurs against her temple, jerking his chin toward her glass jars, all neatly arranged in a row.

"I'm making pickled cucumber and carrot salad for lunch since I have leftover scraps," she says enthusiastically.

Running his fingertips through her hair, he twirls the short strands and says, "I'm making a leaf crown for you."

"Why?"

"Why not? Are you worried it won't be as good as the ones the kids make you at the orphanage?"

Nadine doesn't answer and just stands on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him down for a slow kiss. Harry exhales blissfully and relaxes in her hold, placing his hands on her waist and moving his mouth against hers. He could kiss her lychee-colored lips for eternity if possible.

When she separates her lips from his with a wet pop, Harry begins swaying her to the mellifluous lullaby from the summer birds and wind chimes outside the greenhouse. He grabs her left hand and interlocks his fingers with hers, his other hand tenderly cupping her cheek. A sunrise dance happens frequently, whether it's in the kitchen, bedroom, or garden. Most of the time, they don't even involve music or the ambiance of nature; just their hushed voices and synchronized heartbeats fill the space.

"Are you planting anything new today?" Nadine asks quietly.

Harry smears another kiss on her lips. "Just some arugula and parsley."

What she doesn't know is that yesterday, while she took a trip down to the valley by herself, he planted her a bed of foxtail lilies in a concealed flower bed behind the tall grape trellises. He precisely calculated when they would bloom into tapered pink and yellow spikes so they could be her birthday surprise when late spring rolled around.

Nadine tilts her head to the side and smiles dreamily. "Can I watch you do it?"

"I'll let you if you smoke with me in the bath later."

She raises her thick eyebrows. "You want to get high before noon?"

"My body will be aching from crouching, and I want to relax before your family visits tomorrow."

"Of course, mon chéri."

Harry hums contently and strokes the pad of his thumb across her plump bottom lip. "Let me finish your crown, and then you can ogle at me in the garden, oui?"

——

"Sacré bleu, Nadi!" Harry shouts dramatically when she walks through the patio door, completely nude.

Her curves and soft skin look ravishing under the European sky, and the sunbeams gloriously cast upon every stretch mark and blemish. He notices she's wearing his misshapen leaf crown from where he sits naked in the outdoor bathtub, reading yesterday's newspaper with a lit joint perched between his fingertips. Thankfully, no neighbors can see them in their vulnerable state since the backyard is closed off with a high wooden fence shaded by clustering chestnut and poplar trees.

Nadine gasps and kneels next to the tub, stealing the joint from him and taking a quick hit. She beautifully exhales two rings of smoke before saying, "You started without me."

"Pardonne-moi, ma reine," Harry says lowly as he flings the newspaper onto the grass and grabs her wrist to help her into the warm water. He plucked some red petals off the nearby rose bush to let them float on the surface, and he also brought out some bars of natural soap that Nadine had handmade with excess fruit peels and herbs. She's craftier than him, but he thinks they make a good pair. He grows the plants, and she makes use of them.

Nadine's back meets his bare chest, and every muscle in his body instantly eases with the pure and healing touch of her skin. He spent hours in the sunlit garden planting autumn seeds and sneakily tending to the foxtail lilies, so the tendons in his shoulder blades feel inflamed and his hands are decorated with new calluses. The dirt under his fingernails had been scrubbed clean while he waited for Nadine, yet there were still scrapes and aching muscles he wanted her to take care of. He's not embarrassed to admit that he likes to be babied by her.

"I brought your razor and shaving cream," Nadine tells him, setting the two objects on the edge of the tub.

Harry's lips downturn with confusion. "For you or for me?"

She turns in his arms to face him, bending her legs crisscross applesauce style. "You, miteux."

"Translation, please."

"Scruffy," she whispers, like it's confidential.

A whiny laugh escapes his mouth. "I thought you liked it," he drawls, stroking circles onto her hips.

"It's too itchy when you kiss me." She takes another hit before passing the joint over to him.

"Like this?" he asks before leaning forward to rub his cheek against hers and puckering multiple kisses against her skin, making a high-pitched laugh bless his ears.

"Oui, like that!" she expresses through giggles and a wide smile.

He lightly nips her jaw and murmurs, "What do I get in return for letting you shave my face?"

Nadine chews on the inside of her cheek, her dark eyes dancing over his entire body. "I think," she says while placing a wet rose petal on his collarbone, "you know exactly what I'll give you."

Harry swallows, his eyes fluttering shut. "Is that right, my darling?"

"That's right. You need to behave right now, though, or I might nick you."

"What a shame that would be, hmm?" His hands flex on her hips. "Can't go ruining my pretty face."

She cups water in her palms and pours it over the petal on his skin until it delicately falls off. "Your reflection in the bathwater is turning you into Narcissus."

"That's funny, considering your crown makes you look like Echo," he says, tucking a loose eucalyptus leaf under the wire. Are you going to start repeating everything I say?"

"No, but I'm obsessed with you like she was.

Who knew mythology could be so erotic? Harry feels his cock throb and harden as he softly kisses her neck and mumbles, "Such a sweet girl."

Nadine has an amount of self-control beyond comprehension because she suddenly scoots back and picks up the razor and container of shaving cream without another word. She begins applying a layer of the foamy cream to his scruff, spreading it on his neck and Adam's apple.

After inhaling from the joint, Harry blows the smoke toward the afternoon sky and casually rests his arms on the tub's edge as his wife shaves the stubble above his lips. She looks adorable with a concentrated furrow to her eyebrows and her tongue poking out slightly. Her body leans close to him, the curve of her breasts touching his chest and the tip of her nose grazing his own every so often. Her unoccupied hand tilts his chin to the side so she can work on his cheek. The soothing nature of her movements and the warm water engulfing his sore body feel more delightful than the weed that permeates his lungs and senses.

"Don't fall asleep on me, moonflower."

Harry's eyes blink open and blearily focus on her. He didn't realize he nodded off. A lazy smile makes its way onto his face when he sees her eyes rimmed with red from the joint she apparently took for herself while he wasn't paying attention.

"Tu me rends le bon genre de somnolent," he replies with a slur of impeding tiredness.

Nadine washes off the remnants of shaving cream on the right side of his freshly smoothed cheek. "You ramble such nonsense when you're high," she says, quickly finishing shaving the rest of his face. "Excusez moi. I'm not high… yet."

"You are. Know how I can tell?"

Harry settles his hands on her thighs. "Humor me, sunflower."

"I know because you are hard, and I haven't even done anything yet," Nadine whispers in his ear.

She's not Echo; she's the goddess of love. His Aphrodite, ironically surrounded by rose petals and wearing a crown adorned with myrtle leaves, sets the razor in a safe place under the tub and then straddles his thighs. She knows exactly how to make him putty in her hands.

Extinguishing the lit end of the joint in the water, Harry flips his palms up in invitation and says, "Do your worst, dove."

——

The euphoric high reaches Harry's fingertips as he touches the blades of grass he lies on. To the touch, they feel as soft as a cloud. To the eye, they are feathery and verdant.

The blue and white striped shirt he put on after the bath warps due to his spinning mind, the lines bending and blurring until they make his eyes cross. He and Nadine went through three joints each. Maybe four. Either way, the aftermath of sex while high and then proceeding to get higher has Harry feeling like he's levitating outside of his body. Although he can't complain when Nadine lies beside him, laughing infectiously over something he doesn't remember saying mere seconds ago.

"What did I do?" he asks, his speech slower and more drawled from the weed that passed his tongue.

"You were going on about"—she pauses for a moment to regain her breath—"your dream that you had last night."

"Oh." He rubs his eyes and begins giggling over whatever is making her so happy. "Where did I… what part did I leave off at?"

"The part where, apparently, our thirty nonexistent children were blooming in the garden, and they were all wailing so much, but the only way to get them to stop was to water them."

"Shit, that's right. What a bizarre dream."

Nadine reaches over and pinches his stomach. "Could you imagine having to take care of thirty children? Oh, mon dieu!"

"We could do it," he says with faux confidence. "Babies are sort of like plants, right?"

She snorts and replies, "I would rethink that statement."

He's thinking ahead and can't stop the thought from crawling across the crevices of his brain like scandent stems. "One day, we'll have little snap peas running around the garden," he muses, the words sounding far away when he speaks them.

"Snap peas, like bébés?" Nadine asks for clarity.

Harry looks over at her, his heart melting like candle wax at the innocence that laces her question. "Oui. Tant de bébés."

"Where is my say in this?" she asks with a prod to his sock-covered foot.

He smirks, rubbing his eyes again. "You have all the say in the world, dove. Just tell me when, and I'll drop everything for you."

"When what?"

"When you're ready for bébés."

He sees it. He wants it. He needs it. He feels a deep yearning for the possibility of them having Nadine's eyes of maple syrup and heart of sweet honey. If they'll laugh in three caught breaths like her and have her lustrous hair, or if they'll cackle obnoxiously like him and inherit his wild curls. He'd like either outcome. A lot.

"I think I will be ready in the spring," Nadine says. "I do not want to be pregnant in the winter."

"How come?" Harry murmurs, dizzily rolling over and nuzzling his face into the velvety skin of her stomach, which is exposed below her cropped tank top.

"I don't thrive in the cold, so it would be a living nightmare for me," she says, tilting his face upwards. "And I wouldn't be able to show off my baby bump if it was cold all the time."

"Nadi baby," he says while letting her poke his dimples, "do you realize that if you get pregnant in the spring, you'll be ready to pop during wintertime?"

"I can't do math when I'm high. Too many months." She uses her strength to switch positions and lay on top of him, squishing his cheeks—her favorite thing to do. "But you have to promise me a bébé in the spring."

He hooks his right pinky with hers and says, "The foxtail lilies should be in full bloom by then. They'll be our good luck charm."

He didn't mean to say that out loud, and now he just utterly ruined the surprise. Damn those three or four joints.

"Hmm? Foxtail?" Nadine bemuses, tracing the slope of his nose with her pointer finger.

Sighing to himself, he knows there's no faultless way to dig himself out of the hole he created. "For you," Harry says shyly. "I planted a bed of foxtail lilies for you that will hopefully bloom in time for your birthday."

She goes silent, spreading her hand on his cheek and parting her lips. Harry wishes he could have kept the details of his romantic gesture locked away in his conscious mind, but the way she's looking at him right now makes the mistake worth it.

"My heart," she whispers sweetly, pressing a long and tender kiss to his lips. "My love. You did that for me?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says with cheeks the color of the peonies by the patio.

"Hey, listen. Don't fret about it, all right?"

"Okay. Oui."

Nadine rests her head on his chest. "Oui."

"Oui, oui, oui," he repeats with a ticklish breath in her ear during each staccato syllable.

"T'es chiant," she grumbles, pushing his face away.

Harry cradles the back of her head, resting his chin on top of it and soaking in her presence, which she graciously allows him to cherish. What a wonder to be able to hold a daydream in his arms.

Idyllic paintings could be inspired by her ethereal face and figure, especially when accented by her smile in the sunshine. She could be sculpted and hidden at the back of the most grandiose museum, yet Harry would always find her under the spotlight. She bears fruits of devotion that are seductive and sweet between his teeth, seeds from pomegranates and nectarines coated in aphrodisiacs.

His goddess of love will soon be surrounded by a bountiful bed of foxtails, and if the spring season is kind to him, little snap peas will grow alongside it.

——

[kitkabam]

The One With the Wyvern Toy - Part One.

[Summary: Comet, also known as our beloved Rook to the The Veilguard, decides that out of appreciation for his recent work on the field that she would make Lucanis a gift. There's just one small issue— how do you make a Wyvern plush?]

Written before the official release of Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

The Fade worked differently than the real world, this fact known to just about all citizens of Thedas who dabbled in the depths of magic and the workings of the veil that stirred in every corner of this world, and perhaps many others. One instance of the Fade not following the natural laws of reality was in regards to time— night and day did not simply exist. Perhaps the scenery could change according to the memories reflected in dreams, painting over the walls of the veil like vivid murals created from practiced and precise hands. But in the end it was all part of ones imagination if the dream captured a bright sunny day, or a muggy moonless night.

The Lighthouse itself was something still of a mystery to the those that currently occupied its vast space; the place was tucked into a corner of the Fade that could only be touched by its previous owner, who had used this as his hideout for all nine years before the present day. Before it was a clear reflection of the loneliness of the ancient god; a dining table that could fit well over eight seated only for one, a single plate and pair of cutlery at the ready. It lacked much for decorations, as if this place wasn't originally meant to really be a 'home' much less a refuge to more than a single being. Yet the Veilguard made due with what they could, adding what personal touches they wished, making this place livelier, filling it's quiet halls with unseen warmth.

Comet was proud to see what her companions have done with the place, on top of what they've accomplished so far with their mission. It made her heart swell with hope that things will be okay, that the consequences of her actions at the ritual sight would be properly cleaned up and Thedas can one day breathe a sigh of relief knowing it's people were closer once more to true peace. Maybe that was a little too optimistic, but as she passed the giggling pair of Harding and Neve that lounged on one of the sofas...well, perhaps their energy was contagious.

The elf did her best to remain as quiet as she could, her foot falls light upon the Fade woven floor, not wishing to disturb the moment between her two friends. Comet just wanted to grab a quick cup of something— water, maybe, or something warm like tea. Emmerich had gifted her a blend from Nevarra that he said promoted better sleep. 'You'll be so deep in your slumber that we might think you're dead! Er, that is to say of course, it won't kill you—' He had to reassure her almost immediately, since her features morphed into one of genuine fear at the idea that such a harmless brew might bring her end closer than she would like. And after ten minutes of breathing exercises lead by the old gentleman and another round of assurance, Comet believed he spoke the truth and promised to try it as soon as she found the opportunity.

It just wasn't on her agenda to have it be a month later. Oops.

Once she entered the threshold of the kitchen she was greeted with the smell of something covered in a perfect blend of spices and different to the young warden— especially since she had mostly lived off rations and the occasional tavern meal. The sounds of a busy kitchen filled her ears, making their pointed tips twitch in response; a sizzling pan, something being cut across the cutting board, and the low murmur of a flame kissing the edges of tools used solely for cooking great dishes. It was...comforting, making the ambience of the hideout even more homey. Comet could get lost in the atmosphere...if it weren't for the cook who had caught wind of her approach before she even had a chance to make her presence known.

After all, Lucanis Dellamorte had been trained to sharpen all five of his senses for his work— it was inevitable he would learn the exact way his newfound allies stepped around him, how to know when someone was nearby and who it was. He had heard her footsteps earlier, even when she tried to be more silent as she tread, and knew that she had the intent to be here. What she wanted....well, he could figure that out too.

Hence the kettle on the stovetop that was close to a boil.

"It'll be done in three minutes." He moved the chopped carrots into the pan where he surveyed the meat being cooked- just another minute before it needed to be flipped- before he placed celery onto the cutting board,"Do you need my assistance in pouring it again or can I trust you won't burn yourself?"

Comet jumped at his voice, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest to run back into the other room. A yelp left her, loud and pathetic, followed by a cringe as soon as she realized such a sound could be heard throughout the entire lighthouse. Her cheeks burned with immediate embarrassment; her bright teal eyes darted to her feet as her hands called into fists at her sides, her composure tense like a frightened cat.

"S..Sorry! I..I didn't meant to-" She gulped,"...I can pour it myself, I just need to remember where the rag is so- wait! H..How did you know I was gonna be here f..for tea?!"

"...Every night you drink it before going back to your room."

"O..Oh. Yeah, that does make sense then.."

The silence was much louder to the elf than it was to the crow who moved with quick precision as he placed the cut pieces of celery into the pan, smoothly flipping the juicy cut of meat over to cook the other side to his liking.

But...it wasn't anything uncomfortable. No, in truth, Comet found that Lucanis didn't really try to make things awkward— it just happened, mainly because that's how she was. Awkward, and terrible at keeping conversations with possibly good looking people.

"...What are you making?" Her voice came out a bit strained, but that was mostly due to nerves. Her hands shook a little as she fiddled with her fingers, making her way further into the kitchen,"...It...smells good."

"Antivan dish. If I want a good meal around these parts from home, have to make it myself." Lucanis looked at her from the corner of his eye— her hair was out of its usual messy updo; strawberry blonde curls pouring over her shoulders and backside like unruly springs. She drowned in her navy dyed tunic- she swore when he questioned it was more for comfort than appearance- half of it tucked into the leggings that left little to the imagination of the shapes and curves of her...- ahem, moving on.

Comet nodded, her attention glued to the tea kettle as she waited for it to whistle. Her palms started to sweat, the young woman quick to wipe them on the sides of her leggings.

"I hope you enjoy it..I know you're a great cook, so...! A..As I'm sure everyone else would agree!" The last bit was rushed out, a quick attempt to cover up any chance it might've been mistaken for something...more.

"Thanks."

Food sizzling, flames flickering...did Neve and Harding leave the next room, or were they suddenly just speaking quieter than before?

The kettle whistled. Before Comet could begin her search for the rag she used to protect her hands from the hot handle, it appeared right in front of her, dangled by the assassin's fingers like it were a treat meant to tantalize her. She took it with a quiet 'thank you' before wrapping it around the kettle handle, bringing it over to the counter.

"What kind of tea are you making yourself tonight? Chamomile? Jasmine?" Lucanis swooped in and turned off the flame that once boiled the tea kettles water, knowing she'd forget, she always did,"...I doubt you'd want black tea this late. Unless you are writing another report for the Wardens?"

"No, I plan on writing one tomorrow night. I want to try these tea leaves that Emmerich brought me from his home. He says they should help me sleep better at night." The tip of Comet's nose twitched,"I don't remember the flavor notes...he described them to me, but I..I might've zoned out a little."

"Emmerich...brought you tea?" Lucanis asked before he could bite his own tongue,"Careful. It might have 'hints of grinded bone from some undead Nevarran noble for richness' ,or just something dead related."

A giggle, like the gentle clinking of wind chimes in the spring breeze, left her. The corners of her eyes crinkled sweetly too— it quelled the pinch of something bitter that threatened to sour the Crow's mood.

"I doubt that detail would slip past me, even if I was lost in thought. He reassured me...several times in a row actually...that the tea is good and won't harm me. So I'm sure the leaves are a combination of your usual with, perhaps, a hint of some plant known only in Nevarra. Kinda like that one tea that Neve bought a few weeks ago. Said it was a Tevinter specialty, but the only difference that I remember was one ingredient." Comet rambled as she got herself a mug, poured the hot water (carefully, with as steady of a hand as she could) before she placed the kettle back on the stovetop (when did the flame get turned off?) and opened a cupboard to find the bag of tea leaves as well as a steeper,"Although the tea Neve got was definitely spiced...good for clearing up a clogged nose, not as a sleep aid."

Her eyes searched long and hard, eyebrows knitted together when she couldn't find exactly what she was looking for— especially because she remembered Emmerich precisely saying where he placed the bag of tea.

‘Oh, don't worry about putting that away! You look dreadfully exhausted and I'd hate to add to it further with such a small task. Allow me to do so- I'll place it in the cupboard to the right of the stove, on the top shelf!’

Ah…yes…the…top shelf. That would explain why she wasn't able to spot it so clearly from first glance. Comet strained her neck back to get a better view of at least the front of the highest shelf in the cupboard. Low and behold there it was; a velvet pouch, the fabric a beautiful verdant green, sitting peacefully besides some other herbs and spices. She had definitely forgotten that little detail in regards to the conversation between her and their neighborhood Mourn Watcher. Her eyebrows furrowed further, a frown on her lips. How was she going to reach all the way up there on her own…? She was almost as tall as a dwarf! Hells, only just a few mere inches taller than their own dearest scout! There was no way she would be able to reach it!

…But she wouldn't be a proper Grey Warden if she didn't give it her best shot, she supposed.

A short, mental, pep talk later Comet went to the very tips of her toes, her dominant arm- her left- stretching the furthest it was capable, strain visible on her face…only to brush against the exterior of the bag with the edges of her nails. She let out a defeat puff of air as she lowered herself back to standing flat on the ground, shoulders slumped downward in a pathetic display of what she considered immediate surrender. She can't believe that out of all the enemies she's faced so far this is what brings her down! Maybe she should suggest they find a durable step ladder or perhaps she could look into a spell that'd conjure one with the flick of her wrist.

Now that would be useful…why hadn't she thought to look into that one sooner…?

“Ahem, if I may?”

Oh, right, she wasn't alone in the kitchen.

“Last I checked, you weren't doing any better with reaching that shelf either.” Her eyes fully met Lucanis' own this time, fueled by the brief spark of adrenaline that pumped through her veins to voice such a playful remark aloud,”...Or are you calling Neve a liar?”

Lucanis feigned offense, though dropping it in favor of turning off the flame that fanned beneath his cooking pan so that he could step to stand closer to the elf without worrying he might accidentally overcook his homemade meal.

“Even a detective, who works to expose the truth about her cases, might fib now and again. But I digress, while at times I may struggle…I have a technique to help.” He flourished one of his daggers— always sharpened like new, hidden across his figure in places none may suspect—”Watch me.”

He didn't need to tell her twice.

With the quickness and precision of someone who has done this plenty of times to get it just right, Lucanis used what reach he had to get as close as he could before using the knife as an extension to his person, the tip of the blade catching to the rope that held the top of the velvet bag closed, careful as to not cut it clean in the process, and lowered the knife with the bag dangling helplessly. The corner of the antivans mouth twitched upward as he held the knife pierced bag to the speechless warden.

If anyone saw this, it looked as if Comet was truly starstruck by the assassin who accomplished such a great feat in her honor. The truth? He reached the top shelf without having pulled a single muscle whereas she would've given up after one single try.

“Unless you want me to steep the tea for you, I'd suggest taking the bag.”

“A-Ah! R..Right!”

She held out the palms of her hands, cupped with not a single finger leaving room for the slightest crack, and Lucanis pulled his blade out from the rope holding the bag closed, letting it fall gently into the young woman's waiting grasp. Comet gave him a small smile of thanks before she looked down to the bag; there was evidence of tampering from the knife, but she didn't mind. If the rope did end up eventually giving up before she could finish the bag full of leaves, well, she'd find a replacement.

“Do you also use that technique of yours to get jars…?” She asked as she prepared the tea leaves for steeping.

“...No. In truth, I have multiple methods. You have to, when you come to accept you won't be growing any taller.”

A chuckle filled the spice scented air before the kitchen fell silent, much to the dismay of the two eavesdroppers in the next room.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

It wasn't long after she finished preparing her tea that Comet made her way back to her own personal quarters. It was a space that was only now slightly decorated; her bed was a messy pile of blankets of various different fabrics, pillows of all sizes that looked to have only a bit of worn to their appearance, and a single handmade crow plush that sat in the center, as if the little fella was the proud owner of what a real bird may consider the coziest best to ever be created by feathery…wings. Not hands, because birds don't have hands…right? Right!

She placed the cup of tea on the wooden table beside her bed, allowing it to take a moment to cool down some more as her body melted into the mattress that welcomed her with open arms. Her nose was immediately buried into the biggest of all the pillows that encircled her, arms tucked beneath it to pull it closer as she inhaled the scent of ticklish lavender, refreshing pine, and a hint of cherry- most likely because of her favored perfume oil that she loved to apply after a much needed cleaning. A heavy exhale was let out into the pillow before Comet rolled to lay on her back, eyes facing up to the ceiling as her hands and legs remained outstretched to make her seem more like a harmless starfish in a sea of mix matched fabric.

In her mind swam the memories of several minutes prior— especially the times where she'd catch a peak of Lucanis’ tiny smile, the way his laughter filled the air, the hint of a twinkle in what she'd describe to be the most beautiful pair of eyes that she's ever seen…

Comet’s face burned, her heart swelled up at the mere thoughts that would best be compared to the writings in that one series Varric wrote— Swords and Shields. She never read it herself, really, she only heard some comments floating about in Weishaupt. Some of her comrades were romantics, always having their attention enraptured by the sappy words printed upon some page held together by thread and binded to a cover with greatly exaggerated art of the lovers. It was inevitable she'd end up hearing tidbits of some romance novels, and from what she gathered they were always over the top with the descriptions. Much like her own imagination, especially when she got too deep into her racing thoughts in moments where she needed a clear head.

Except…right now she didn't really mind the images her brain conjured for her since they were going to be memories she would never get tired of seeing played out behind her eyelids.

This silly crush was going to be the death of her.

Not that she thought it was horrible of such a thing to have developed; no, no, surely it was something that couldn't have been helped given that Lucanis had done so much- not just for her, but for the Veilguard as a whole. He was the one that brought darkness to the light, getting his hands messy where everyone else wouldn't have the heart to do the same. An Antivan Crow, whose death was falsified and identity kept hidden the best it could, decided to help their cause, even if by all means he didn't need to do so. Sure what they faced threatened the very state of the entire world, however Lucanis could've very well have passed up the offer to join to continue on his own way.

And the fact he didn't…was enough to draw forth feelings of appreciation alone. Comet had no idea what she would've even done had he rejected the invitation— crawl up in a hole and die in embarrassment maybe, mourn the loss of what could've no doubt been a great asset to the team. Of course she didn't really need to think about that coming to fruition , but it was still enough to make her wonder if, well…Lucanis knows how much his efforts were welcomed and appreciated.

Comet was aware that he viewed his work with the Crows to be…more like a job that paid well more than his life's passion. He was good at what he did- killing, obviously - but here he treated being a part of their ragtag group as more than just some duty he needed to uphold. Well maybe he didn't see it that way, but the mage did at least! So with that in mind…perhaps there was a way to show how much his time spent towards their goal meant to her- to everyone.

But what could that be? Think, Comet, think! What's something that Lucanis would like that he'd be a little touched to receive for his contributions thus far? Would he like flowers? No, no, with her luck he could be allergic. Or maybe she could cook something for him for a change! No…no wait she didn't know a thing about cooking…

A frown fell upon her lips— whatever could she possibly do? The idea of asking the others for their ideas embarrassed her, flushing her face an even deeper shade of red as the images of them poking fun at her flashed into her head. She shook them away, determined to not let herself get deterred!

That was when it hit her.

Wyverns…Lucanis likes them, right? Or he had a fascination with them at some point? What if…

Comet's eyes trailed down to her little crow- Caw. She's not as crafty as the Senior Warden who practically raised her, however if it was for him…for the opportunity to make him smile…it was worth a try!

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

[Writers Note: Hello! Thank you so much for reading part one of a one shot that was meant to be one huge part but ended up being so long I decided to separate it into two! I hope you all enjoyed reading! 🩵 I can't wait to continue writing more. Feel free to like, reblog & share! I appreciate the support.]

Link to my ko-fi if you want to tip, or even commission me 👇

[marumaruowl]

For the short fic request, could you write an Ar/genturine mutual stuffing fic, maybe with them feeding each other their favourite foods? I'm not really sure what Av/enturine's favourite food is, but I do know Ar/genti likes eating baguettes.

Sorry this took a while, but I just LOVED this so much and I had to write something more than just a little paragraph for this. Ohmygosh. I went with a headcanon of Av/enturine liking spicy food and also soup.

Arge/nti x Ave/nturine mutual stuffing/feeding below!

When Aventurine had accepted the Knight of Beauty's invitation to dine with him aboard his starship, he hadn't anticipated the practical feast that spread before him at the table now. It was elegantly decorated with small candlesticks and scattered rose petals. And a variety of delectable dishes were spaced all around, including a juicy, sauced steak, a bowl of fruits, a basket of baguettes, and a pot full of veggie noodle soup. For a moment, he could only glance around in awe.

Naturally, he'd attended fancy business banquets before, but this...it felt more intimate, warm, and inviting. For a second, he found himself wondering if this was supposed to be a date...but he didn't mind if it was.

Argenti was practically radiating joy, genuinely glad that he'd accepted, and of course, rambling on about how beautiful he looked today, how glorious it was to have him partake in these wonderful foods with him. It was always a little bit embarrassing...because unlike the petty praises and flattery Aventurine always put out, he could tell that these words...he actually believed them.

Nevertheless, he was genuine enough when he expressed how glad he was to join him, and how delicious everything looked. Argenti went on to extol each and every dish, and to encourage him to enjoy them to his heart's content.

It was...comfortable. Unlike at his typical business dinners, Aventurine felt secure in the Knight's presence, knowing that he wasn't under scrutiny. When he said he could have as much as he wished...he truly did mean that.

The gambler smiled and filled his plate with a little bit of everything, while Argenti took two entire baguettes from the basket, expertly slicing them in half and filling them with butter and jam. The two easily slipped into conversation, recounting their experiences from across the galaxy. There were so many stories they both had—encounters on distant worlds during the Knight's travels, and dangerous scrapes during tense IPC negotiations. Aventurine couldn't help becoming enraptured by Argenti's poetic storytelling, and before he'd even noticed, he'd cleaned his plate.

“Please, feel free to partake in as much of this bounty as you wish, honored guest,” Argenti urged, even as he served himself a large portion of the steak. “Our wonderful banquet ought to be savored to the utmost.”

And with those words, Aventurine almost felt obliged to have a little more. Under normal circumstances, he'd feel a bit greedy, self-conscious of the eyes on him as he moved to take more than his share. But to this man, consuming more food seemed to be the ultimate compliment.

Uttering a gracious platitude, he decided to try a full bowl of that soup It really was delicious. Soft noodles, blends of vegetables and spice, perfectly warm broth...unlike many of the other soups he'd lightly sipped at during dinners, it was anything but bland. The hot bursts of flavor filled his mouth, and his face softly flushed with pleasure as he made his way through the bowl. So perfect...had Argenti prepared it himself? And how could he have possibly known he'd enjoy such a thing?

But when Aventurine finally looked up, across the table at the flawless knight who'd rescued him, he noticed something. Argenti casually leaned back in his chair...and delicately untied the strings of his bodice, allowing a sigh of release to puff out of his lips. He looked...full. The cinching at his waist had obviously become too tight after eating so much...yet he showed no sign of being finished. He'd already removed his heavy gauntlets, leaving strong, soft hands to stroke over his belly...and reach for an apple from the fruit bowl. Yet the way he ate never seemed greedy or desperate...it was in reverence, much like the strings of admiration that issued so readily from his mouth.

Just watching him, Aventurine began to absorb a bit of that reverence himself. He immersed himself in the sensations of the delicious soup on his taste buds and the warmth of it settling inside his stomach. He hadn't really allowed himself to indulge in something like this since the first day he'd received a square meal at the IPC.

Suddenly, the bowl was empty, and he stifled a burp behind one hand. “I must say, this dish is excellent,” he spoke, attempting his own approving declaration. “I've never tasted anything so enchanting before. I'm so grateful to be here, to experience it.”

He'd meant it in the sense of “thank you for inviting me”...but Argenti pulled himself up in his seat and smiled with the radiance of seven suns. “Oh, and I am also filled with gladness that your brilliance lives on, to be here with me today.” Overcome with emotion, his arms spread open. “Come here, if you would, dear ambassador.”

It was ridiculous. But the sweet knight's glow was drawing him close, an aura of safety and love. And that was how Aventurine found himself moving, sliding another chair right up, inches away from his armored thigh. And how Argenti had taken the remainder of the soup pot, dipped a large spoon into it, and brought it delicately to Aventurine's lips. Gentle feeding...the ultimate offering of praise.

After two mouthfuls, Aventurine felt the need to give back in some way. And why not give back in equal measure? He slid the bread basket to his side—two baguettes remained—and broke off a chunk. Then, after dipping it briefly in melted butter, he held it to Argenti's mouth in return. He was all too eager to accept, cheeks once again aglow as he munched through the moistened bread.

Somehow, they'd become caught up in the pure indulgence and the intimate care of feeding each other. A spoonful of soup...another buttery piece of baguette...back and forth, bite for bite. The first baguette disappeared, and Aventurine noticed the softened little lump of Argenti's belly pushing out and rounding with fullness.

His body shuddered a little as Argenti's ungloved hands softly reached out, undoing the button of his vest...and caressing around his own little belly. For the first time, he really noticed how tight and slightly achy it felt, and glancing down, he could see it bulging into a stuffed, round bump as well. But it was too incredible...both the soup and this encounter. He didn't want to stop.

A bite, a sip, a munch, a slurp... Aventurine felt the warm, soothing caresses of Argenti's hands over his taut, rounding tummy, gently easing in each decadent spoonful. In turn, Argenti's own belly subtly puffed out further, pulling his undershirt tight over the roundness. So good...it was just so good.

Then, at last, after what seemed like a long dream, the bread and soup was entirely consumed. Both reclined further back in their chairs to give their overstuffed bellies more room, both softly flushing with contentment and just a bit of embarrassment. Except for a few grapes and one small piece of discarded steak, the entire feast had been packed away into the two of them, round tummies full to the brim.

Aventurine panted, unused to the weight inside him. “Are dinners--hic!--always like this with you?”

A lopsided grin graced Argenti's perfect face, and he rubbed circles into his own heavy stomach. “Not usually. But if they were, I would most certainly not be opposed.”

Aventurine let out a breathy chuckle, holding his aching belly steady. “Well...then I shall definitely have to come again sometime.”

[sicknessbysalem]

[ “He's gonna run himself into the ground if he keeps going on like this." | "He can't go to [work/class/any other obligation] when he's like this. I'm gonna call and let them know." | My stomach’s bothering me.” | “I don’t feel so hot.”] i know its a lot! feel free not to use all of them. But i would love to see one of your fics with these dialogues because i feel like they just go well together. i dont care if its male or female sickie! wherever the inspo hits!

decided on a female sickie instead because i miss my girl emi!

if you have any questions/comments/requests, send me an ask!

tw emeto, fever, overwork, underage (16) caretaker

Emiliene wiped the sweat from her brow, the heat of the kitchen intensifying with each passing hour. The clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of food on the grill, and the aromatic blend of spices filled the air of the bustling Italian restaurant where she worked as a line cook. It was just another evening in the chaotic rhythm of her life.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost time for her shift at the barista job to begin. Emiliene's mind raced with thoughts of the long night ahead—juggling orders, managing the kitchen, rushing to her next job—all while keeping an eye on her brother Camille.

Camille, a bright teenager with a passion for art and a knack for mischief, had been her responsibility since their parents passed away. Emiliene's heart swelled with love for her brother, but the weight of being his sole guardian was a constant presence in her mind.

As she plated another dish with practiced precision, Emiliene felt the fatigue settling in. Her body ached from hours of standing, her mind heavy with the worries of bills and responsibilities. But she pushed on, fueled by determination and love for Camille.

When her shift finally ended, Emiliene hurried to the barista job, exchanging her chef's apron for a barista's apron with swift efficiency. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her, and she forced a smile as she greeted customers and crafted their orders with care.

Throughout the night, Emiliene's weariness grew, but she never let it show. She juggled tasks effortlessly, pouring her energy into each job with unwavering dedication. She couldn't afford to falter, not when Camille depended on her.

Finally, as the night waned into early morning, Emiliene returned home to her small apartment, where Camille was asleep, unaware of the lengths his sister went to provide for them.

As Emiliene collapsed onto her bed, the weight of her exhaustion finally catching up to her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Despite the challenges, the fatigue, and the relentless pace of her life, she had never wavered in her commitment to her brother and her dreams.

She was going to be fine. She knew she would be fine. It was just a hard week. Or… maybe it had been a few weeks. She didn't know, she was exhausted.

The days blurred into nights, and Emiliene's exhaustion only deepened. The relentless pace of her three jobs took its toll, leaving her feeling drained and worn out. Her body protested with every movement, and even simple tasks felt like monumental challenges.

One evening, as Emiliene rushed from one job to another, her steps faltered, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She leaned against a nearby wall, trying to catch her breath and steady herself. The fatigue was becoming overwhelming, and a sense of nausea crept into her stomach.

It was during this moment of weakness that one of Emiliene's coworkers and friends, Maria, approached Camille, who had stopped by the restaurant to grab dinner, per Emiliene's request. Rather, Emiliene herself placed and paid for the order. Food for Camille, since she wouldn't be home until later.

"Hey, Camille," Maria said, her voice filled with concern as she noticed Emiliene's absence while she grabbed the food, "Where's your sister?"

Camille glanced around anxiously, worry etched on his face. "She's still at work. She's been working so much lately, and I'm worried about her."

Maria nodded, "She's a hard worker, no doubt about that. But she's pushing herself too hard, Camille. She's gonna run herself into the ground if she keeps going on like this."

Camille's concern deepened, his thoughts mirroring Maria's words. He knew Emiliene was doing everything she could to provide for them, but seeing her struggle was heartbreaking.

"I'll talk to her," Camille said determinedly, his worry fueling his resolve to make sure his sister took care of herself too.

-

The evening shift at the Italian restaurant was in full swing, and Emiliene found herself working alongside Enzo, the charming and slightly aggravating line cook who never failed to make her smile. Despite her best efforts to hide her exhaustion, Emiliene couldn't shake the weariness that weighed heavily on her shoulders.

As the night progressed, Enzo couldn't help but notice Emiliene's faltering energy and the way her usually vibrant demeanor seemed dimmed. He watched her move through the kitchen with a determined but strained expression, her movements slower than usual.

"Hey, Emi," Enzo said, taking a moment to step closer to her as they prepared orders. "You look like you're about to collapse. You okay?"

“If I didn’t know any better I would say you’re worried about me,” Emiliene said sarcastically, “But that would imply you could think with your heart and not your dick.”

“I have a heart!” Enzo insisted.

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” Emiliene chuckled.

“Okay, but, seriously,” Enzo said, “Are you feeling okay?”

Emiliene forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just a little tired, Enzo. Long day, you know?"

Enzo frowned, concern etched on his features. "You've been pushing yourself too hard lately. Maybe you should take a break, get some rest."

"I can't, Enzo," Emiliene replied, her voice tinged with frustration. "I have bills to pay, and Camille needs me. I can't afford to take a break."

Enzo's expression softened, understanding the weight of Emiliene's responsibilities. "I get it, Emi. But you can't keep running on empty like this. Let me help you, at least for tonight. I'll take you home after our shift."

“Seriously,” Emi sighed, “My stomach’s just acting up. I haven’t had a chance to breathe, let alone eat something.”

“Fine,” Enzo said, “Then take your lunch break and get something. We have fresh gnocchi soup.”

“Fine,” Emiliene shrugged, “That sounds good.”

As they made their way to the break area, Emiliene's steps felt heavier with each stride. The fatigue weighed down on her like a heavy cloak, and every movement was an effort. Enzo kept a supportive arm around her, silently urging her to take it easy.

For as much as they were at each other’s throats, he cared about her. And he knew that if he was feeling like shit, she’d do the same looking after him as he was to her. She would probably have more sarcastic one liners, and he would have some too. If only Emiliene didn’t look like she would collapse after taking a singular plate to the expediter.

Sitting down at a table, Emiliene tried to muster up an appetite. The aroma of the gnocchi soup filled the air, tempting her taste buds, but her stomach churned uneasily. It was her favorite. It always had been. Even before she started working here, even before she starting having her episodes, before everything.

But now, now Emiliene picked at her food, forcing herself to take a few spoonfuls, but each bite seemed to worsen her nausea.

"I don't think I can finish this," Emiliene admitted, pushing the bowl away. "My stomach's not having it."

Enzo's worry deepened as he watched Emiliene's condition deteriorate. "Maybe you should just relax for a bit. I'll cover for you."

Emiliene nodded weakly, grateful for Enzo's concern. "Thanks, Enzo. I hate to be a burden."

"You're not a burden, Emi," Enzo reassured her, his voice gentle. "You're just human. Let me take care of you."

As Emiliene closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, a sudden wave of nausea swept over her. She clutched her stomach, feeling the urge to vomit rising within her.

“Em..?” Enzo questioned.

"I'm not feeling so hot," Emiliene murmured, her voice strained.

Without hesitation, Enzo sprang into action, grabbing a nearby trash can and placing it in front of Emiliene just in time. She leaned over, retching as her stomach rebelled against the strain and exhaustion.

Enzo rubbed her back soothingly, his worry evident in his eyes. "Take it easy, Emi.”

Emi retched again. The waves were small, but every one was more painful than the last.

Emiliene was left gasping, spitting the taste from her mouth.

“You're not well. Let me take you home." Enzo said.

Emiliene nodded weakly, tears of frustration and fatigue welling up in her eyes. She was grateful for Enzo's support, knowing that she had pushed herself too far. She didn’t want to leave, but everything she knew about food safety told her she couldn’t stay. She could keep working, she didn’t mind how tired she was. But legally she had to. Unless all her training was a lie.

“Fine,” Emiliene said, “Just, just give me a second.”

-

As Enzo drove towards Emiliene's home, the quiet hum of the car and the rhythmic sound of the engine seemed to lull Emiliene deeper into slumber. She was completely knocked out, her body finally succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue that had plagued her for days.

When they arrived at Emiliene's small apartment, Enzo gently shook her shoulder to rouse her. "Hey, Emi, we're home."

Emiliene stirred slightly, blinking groggily as she slowly woke up. Enzo helped her out of the car, supporting her weight as they walked towards the front door. He knocked softly, waiting for Camille to open the door.

Emiliene was exhausted, and still half asleep. So much so she didnt even fight when Enzo opted to simply pick her up.

Camille appeared at the door, his eyes widening in concern when he saw Emiliene's condition. "Is she okay?"

Enzo nodded, his expression serious. "She's just exhausted. Can you open the door for me, Camille?"

Camille nodded quickly, fumbling with the keys to unlock the door. Enzo carried Emiliene inside, his footsteps quiet as he made his way to the living room. He gently laid her down on the couch, arranging a blanket patterned with sunflowers over her sleeping form with care.

He chuckled, “Emi loves sunflowers doesn’t she?”

Camille nodded, “She does. Very much. She says they make her happy.”

Enzo glanced around the apartment, noting the familiar touches of Emiliene's personality in the cozy space. He felt a pang of sadness at seeing her so worn out, realizing just how much she had been pushing herself to the limit.

"Take care of her, Camille," Enzo said softly, his eyes meeting Camille's with a mixture of concern and reassurance. "She needs rest."

Camille nodded, his expression serious as he watched over his sister. "I will, Enzo. Thank you for bringing her home."

Enzo gave a small smile, his worry easing slightly now that Emiliene was safely home. "Anytime, Camille. She really shouldn’t go to work like this tomorrow. I’ll call the places… her badges are hanging from her rearview.”

“I can get the car tomorrow,” Camille said.

“You want me to call the sch-“ Enzo started to ask. but he doesn’t even finish before Camille nodded.

-

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow into Emiliene's small apartment. She stirred on the couch, her eyes fluttering open as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. The events of the previous night came back to her in a haze, and she groaned softly, feeling the familiar nausea creeping back.

"Morning, Emi," Camille's voice came from the kitchen, filled with concern. "How are you feeling?"

Emiliene managed a weak smile as she sat up, the blanket slipping off her shoulders. "Not great, Cami. My stomach's still doing somersaults."

Camille appeared in the living room, a glass of water and some crackers in hand. He handed them to Emiliene, his expression worried. "Here, try to sip on some water and nibble on these crackers. It might help settle your stomach a bit."

Emiliene nodded gratefully, taking the water and crackers from Camille. She sipped on the water slowly, trying to calm the queasiness that churned in her stomach. However, as she attempted to eat a cracker, a sudden wave of nausea washed over her, and she had to rush to the bathroom.

Camille followed her, concern etched on his face. He held back her hair as she leaned over the toilet, retching as her body tried to expel whatever was causing her distress. Emiliene felt utterly miserable, tears welling up in her eyes from the combination of physical discomfort and exhaustion.

After a few minutes, Emiliene leaned back, wiping her mouth with a tissue. She looked up at Camille, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thanks, Cami. I hate that you have to see me like this."

Camille shook his head, his concern evident in his voice. "Don't worry about that, Emi. I just want you to feel better.

Emiliene hesitated, knowing that taking a day off meant losing valuable income. But the thought of continuing to push herself in her current state was unbearable. She nodded reluctantly, leaning against the bathroom wall tiredly.

"Yeah, maybe you're right, Cami," Emiliene admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just need some rest."

Camille nodded in agreement, his worry for Emiliene evident in his eyes. "Rest is exactly what you need, Emi. I'll take care of everything today, don't worry about a thing."

Emiliene managed a weak smile, grateful for her brother's understanding and support. "Thanks, Cami. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Camille helped Emiliene back to the couch, making sure she was comfortable before fetching a blanket and tucking it around her. He brought her a fresh glass of water and set it on the coffee table within reach.

"Just rest, Emi," Camille said gently, sitting beside her on the couch. "I'll make you some ginger tea to help settle your stomach. You'll feel better soon, I promise."

Emiliene closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the cushions. She could hear Camille moving around in the kitchen, the comforting sounds of him preparing the tea soothing her frayed nerves.

As Camille returned with the steaming mug of ginger tea, Emiliene took a grateful sip. The warmth spread through her body, easing some of the tension in her stomach. She felt a sense of relief knowing that she didn't have to struggle through the day alone.

"Thanks, Cami," Emiliene murmured, her eyes still closed. "You're the best brother."

Camille smiled warmly. "Anything for you, Emi. Just focus on getting better."

As the day passed, Camille took care of all the household chores and even prepared a simple soup for Emiliene's lunch. Emiliene drifted in and out of sleep, the exhaustion finally catching up with her as she allowed herself to rest without the weight of responsibilities on her shoulders.

By evening, Emiliene's stomach had settled, and she felt a bit stronger than earlier in the day.

“I do have good news,” Camille told her, braiding her hair back from her face, “I got a job. Downtown, at that thrift store Jackson’s aunt runs…”

“Oh? Really?” Emiliene asked. “That’s great.”

“Yeah… so maybe you wont have to work so much…” Camille told his sister, “And you won’t get sick so much.”

“Maybe,” Emiliene said, “Hopefully.”

The day was filled with a lot of sleeping. Emiliene hated every second of it. But, she also knew it was necessary.

"Feeling any better, Emi?" Camille asked, peeking into the living room where Emiliene was sitting up on the couch.

Emiliene nodded with a faint smile, hugging Camille from the side quickly before letting go. “Yeah, I think the rest helped. Thanks again, Cami."

Camille returned her smile. "Anytime, Emi. Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything."

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumperless Whump Event - Day 10

Borrowing Evritt's mentor, Thorin, from @whumpr!!

TWs: illness, workplace abuse, systemic abuse

Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”

Condition: Must find and keep gainful employment for the duration of supervision unless supervisor permits otherwise. Failure to do so will result in a punishment of imprisonment, a lengthened sentence, and a fine to be determined by the court.

Mariano shivered, the waves of heat rolling off the griddle in front of him not penetrating his skin. He had two masks on, and changed his gloves and washed his hands religiously. An ice pack was tied to his forehead with an extra bandana, beneath the one he used to secure his hair.

He had a cold that he just couldn't manage to shake. His boss wouldn't allow him to go home without losing his job. Thorin was his probation supervisor, sipping coffee and reading at the counter, like he did every night. He was stern. Strict.

Mariano couldn't afford to be sick.

He worked on autopilot, spreading more oil onto the griddle and spreading the pepper and onion mix onto it. They didn't have many customers this late, at least. The diced chicken came next, sizzling merrily as he doused it all in the spice blend the owner wanted them to use. Once everything was cooked through, the eggs came next, beaten and spread thin, before the fillings were placed in the middle and it was all folded together for a final sear along the seam.

The alarm for the fries went off. Mariano didn't remember plating it all or carrying it to the window. Only his manager's voice scolding him for walking away pulled him back to the present. "Ortiz! You know you're solo tonight. Run it, seat three."

Distantly, Mariano thought it was strange that she wouldn't run it herself.

He took off his gloves, washed his hands, put on new ones, then took the plate again. As he exited the kitchen, cold air rushed past him and he blinked in the harsh light. Thorin was the only customer there. Thorin was looking at him. His manager must have disappeared into the office.

They hadn't arrived together. At this point, Thorin trusted him enough to not need an escort to work. He'd just show up and check in with whoever the lead was to ensure that Mariano was there.

Mariano waved as he set Thorin's food in front of him.

"You're sick."

The statement was accusatory. Mariano couldn't think of a convincing lie. He nodded.

"I'm wearing two masks, and I wash my hands and put on fresh gloves every ten minutes and between tasks." He said. "And I'm taking medicine. You won't get sick."

"Why are you at work serving food if you're potentially contagious?" Thorin asked, voice still scolding.

It was a fair question.

"I...do not want to go back to prison." Mariano admitted. "I'll lose this job if I call in sick, and that will violate the conditions of my release."

Thorin's jaw tensed. "...I see. And they have copies of your paperwork?" Mariano nodded and saw Thorin's eyes narrow. "I see. Wait right here."

"I--Sir--" Mariano tried, but Thorin was already standing and walking to the back. He disappeared through the swinging door, and Mariano realized belatedly that he might not have had non-slip shoes.

There was no shout, though. No clatter. Not even an argument. Thorin was only gone for a few minutes, and then he emerged again with a takeout container in hand. "You're free to go home, Ortiz."

"...What?" Mariano asked, blinking in confusion.

"Come on, I'm giving you a ride home. You're in no state to drive. Have your roommate take you to the doctor tomorrow for a note." Thorin explained, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and setting down some money. "If they fire you, let me know. I'll take care of the paperwork."

Mariano felt his stomach turn. "No, no I can keep working, I don't--I don't want to go back, this isn't that bad, I promise--"

"Ortiz." Thorin cut through his panic, looking at him strangely as he packed up his food. "I'm not sending you back to prison over a cold. If it comes down it it, I'll fill out the paperwork explaining that you were fired for being sick. I know you're not faking.

"Now come on. You need to go get some sleep or you'll never get better."

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper

@bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125 @whumpr