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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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circeyoru · 2 months

Text

Their Twist In Time

[Time-travelled Human!Alastor x Time User!Reader]

You were the only child born into this generation’s time masters. The pressure was always on you to do this well and do that well. Even more so when you had to hide your time-travelling powers. You mostly travel to the past and only for a short while so you don’t disturb the timeline and whatever nonsense your parents drilled into your little child mind

Perhaps you should have paid attention

The lack of siblings to carry the burden with you means all that power solely rest on your shoulders. Lose control and well, you can have dire consequences. This time being you bringing back some rando with you to the present

Big oops

So here Alastor was, strolling in the Bayou when suddenly, he was now in another place! People hold black metal things and something in their ears as they walk along. Oh, and the giant metal that would travel in the streets! Almost as big as a house, if not 3 times bigger! People gave him weird looks and he had to hide in an alleyway to wake himself up

Back to you, you were panicking. You obviously brought back someone, who? Probably a small time fry. But either way, you need to find them. Just your luck that your powers weren’t working, but there was enough residual to locate the person that was out of place or time

Double luck because you couldn’t exactly contact your parents or anyone else to ask about your situation until it was that period of the year (something like a witching hour but even rarer and is cater to time masters). You were on your own for a while, long while

First things first. Locate the target. Technology was on your side at least, there had been posts and pictures of a man out of the ordinary sighted around your area. How could you not notice this man behind or near you? He was holding a hunting gun, or shotgun? For crying out loud!

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Your voice boomed as you went forward and grabbed him by the wrist, nudging him to follow. He’s stronger than he looks, given his skinny build. “Friend, are you still upset we can’t play that new game?”

“What on Earth are you talking about? Release me or I’ll be forced—”

“I’m trying to get us out of the spotlight, so just follow along, I’ll explain things once we’re somewhere private.” You whispered as your eyes darted to the nosy people with their phones out. The man got the message and came up with some story on the fly, going along as you requested

Safely the two of you made it back to your rather secluded home and you sighed, exhausted. The man more so physically and you mentally. Before you could even move from your spot, the barrel of the man’s gun was pointed in your face, him threatening you for answers

You raised your hands and explained, there was honestly no way around it, you had to tell him that you accidentally brought him to ‘the future’ in his perspective with your powers over time. When he demanded you do the same in reverse, you shamefully and embarrassingly admitted you were still inexperienced and had to wait for your parents to teach the method to you

“Why can’t you do it now?”

“They’re dead and I need to wait for that time of the year to contact them.”

“...My condocenses.”

“Thanks.”

The first few days, after the introductions and the living situation was settled, the two of you avoided each other. Only talking when the man, Alastor, wanted to know where he could find things and the like while you were still busy with your college life

Both of you were glad you didn’t have to see the other majority of the time. Since you were outside with school and part-time job, Alastor had the place to himself. Your place was big, by modern standards, and he had plenty of space to roam around. All but your room and study were off-limits to him

Unspokenly, there was a routine. Alastor would have made food by the time you were back and you’d have restocked the necessities. Then there was Alastor’s constant checking of whether you found a way to bring him home on your own and your answer was always the same ‘No, sorry’

It took one minor incident to connect you two and start opening up: Home invasion

One reason or another, the burglar thought you were an easy and perfect target since you were the only one in and out of the house, plus your place was big

The burglar forced open your door when you were entering and pinned you to the door since the two of you were inside, a hand covering your mouth to avoid attention. Your nearest neighbour was far, still better safe than sorry, right? “Give me all your valuables and money and no one gets hurt.”

Your home was your sacred place, there were traps and spells all around to ensure no one would find out your family’s secret. In fact, why Alastor was allowed to just stay at your place alone when you were out was because of your charms and traps. Any suspicious action made, you’d know and it would be dealt with

Before you could activate one, however, the burglar’s eyes rolled to the back of their head and their hold over you loose. You were grabbed by the wrist and yanked away before the unconscious body of the burglar flattened you. You looked up to your rescuer, shocked to see Alastor with his gun

“You didn’t kill him, right?”

“Only knocked him unconscious, dear.”

The process was slow, but eventually you two were enjoying meals together instead of up in your respective rooms, Alastor even followed you out and stayed around your campus to explore while waiting for you to be done with your activities

You also learned about his fancy with radios and his job as a radio host in his time, again you expressed your blues about his situations, but unlike before, now he seemed happy. What made you blush was his flirtatious words, “My dear! I call it a lucky accident! If it weren’t for your mistake, I’d have never met a gal such as yourself. You’re truly one of a kind, dear.”

In modern times, you’d rarely hear these cheesy ‘dear’ or ‘darling’ name callings, it was mostly for dramas and novels. In a way, it suited him. If he wasn’t calling everyone (girl/lady) he met that, you’d have been head over heels for him

It puzzled the Radio Host to no end, his feelings towards you. He was going to watch and see if you could defend yourself against that burglar, not rescue you like a knight in shining armour. But something ached in his chest and heart when he saw you getting manhandled like that. He needed to put that no-good crook in his place

He didn’t even realize he took a hold of his hunting gun or what he did until he had you in his arms. You were supposed (and is) to be all-powerful. You control time for heaven’s sake. A trainee time master, but still powerful in your own right. You were no damsel and you deserved some misfortune for what you did to him

Yet he still protected you and held you close. Was it because you offered the best hospitality you could offer? Bring him meals with your hard-earned money? Buy him new clothes and daily necessities because he didn’t want to share yours? Catered to his wishes when you could have ignored it all? Maybe those play a part. But what took the cake was your efforts to correct your mistake behind closed doors

He noticed late into the night the noises from your room connected to the study. You were keeping quiet, but his trained hearing could catch you rummaging around to find anything to help your/his situation. The next morning, you’d have food ready for him and give him a smile to leave for school and work

Ah. It was that smile that slowly got the better of him. That’s why. A familiar smile to hide the troubles of the mind

Note: There's part 2~ Hehe ᕦ(ò‿óˇ)ᕤ

Will be updated to Masterlist when part 2 and the random moment is out as well~! Enjoy my other stories until then! Happy reading!

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel oneshots #Circe's Nighty Writings #Their Twist In Time #human alastor

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parasolemn · 2 months

Note

doodle of Authority? it is my fav skill...

ehe. whoopsies! sorry anon it's been. A Month. and no end in sight

anyways images for you

you can probably already tell some of these are. Older. but yea. there was a lot of "well it's just a doodle I don't need to go super hard on these" and then "this is awful we need to start over" so. there's. a lot of images. most I've drawn this freak ever actually

deserved though. big thanks to my New Buddy who made me see the light like two months ago. he [LONG RAMBLE I DELETED] 🤨 UUGHHH I can't go off on a ramble about authority rn I'm unnormal about him sadly but I have so many words in my brain about him and all the other skills ue ue ue

i should post images...

i did some doodles in my book too when i was working but. eeeh? wasn't really sure if this was what you were after either... also I always take an opportunity to draw encyclopedia hi ency hi. i love throwing ency at the other skills i love thinking about skill interactions

don't mind the date on the last image I accidentally dated it 1st jan instead of 1st feb and couldn't be fucked to fix it. as I said, Old (can i even say stuff is old if it's a month old. uhm. wll i changed my art style so it counts)

parcark: nobody else is autistic about DE skills like you are they won't want to see them blorbified in an ooc but funny way. also parcark:

this was not worth a month's wait. oops.

COUGHCOUGH BY THE WAY . volition design is from @tubrasko (this wasnt the image i asked you abt btw i'm doing a larger one than this RN!!!! grins) suggestion design is from @vesli1 sorry for butchering your boy a bit I only had a pen my pencil broke 💔 empathyyy i stole from @trialofasphodel waves at you Hi ! i know both of u have seen these imgs b4 btw srry for re @ ing you the auth and drama designs are froommmm spilledkaleidoscope I won't @ that's scary.cough

love him. ok bye anon !! i hope you don't mind i know these aren't the best quality o7

#i'm not really happy with any of this but if i don't post this now this ask will never get responded to so. shrugs. mh #i'll probably redeem myself some day when i get to auth for skill-quote-on-quote-tober. some day...#i'm going to punch myself in the face #parcark art tag #undescribed #disco elysium #doodle requests #art dump #de skills #disco elysium skills #<- which tag do you guys usually use for this ?? ive seen both...#This has been sitting in my drafts for so long I'm just going to post it and then crawl up into a ball and perishFUUUCK !!!!!

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splitster · 8 months

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answering more asks!!

featuring pom wraith, pingo, ocs?!, and older art check it out (three's some art 💖)↓↓

THANK you!! ohhh i do have old pikmin ocs... i actually revamped my old captain a while back, i can share him:

i had a whole crew of pikmin ocs who were a part of the S.S. Harmony, they were gonna be SUCH a nuisance to everyone they ran into...

i thought about making a rescue corps oc for fun. hrmm! maybe...

AHHH thank you!! i've seen a shocking number tags and asks from people saying that I'm apparently the reason they like Dingo now? and i have to say that is so mind boggling to me, because when i first played Pikmin 4 I didn't care about him at all!! he was a nothing sandwich to me... but then i drew him a few times... and started thinking... and then things went downhill and now i REALLY like him...

(referring to this post) i think dingo is better when he's withered

(referring to this comic) I HEAR YOU... I HEAR YOU... but if any tear at all would cause oxygen poisoning, i wouldn't be able to draw them all battered and cool :(

i imagine that there's a seal around the neck in case there's a breach in the suit's lining. so as long as their backpack (life-support) works and is connected to their helmets, then they can breathe✨

(referring to this post) Olimar would be horrified because he knows Louie, and if he sees that note there's only one thing it could mean! his coworker tried to eat pom!! if pom hasn't been outed as wraith and Olimar is questioning her, she'd just say Louie bit her and then refuse to answer any follow up questions 💖

Shepherd would be... concerned. she might think they have a weird fling going on and louie's talking about a kiss? she probably wouldn't realize Louie quite literally means he ate something from pom. oops!

that's a really good question... I'll be honest, with a lot of the "when and how did x happen" questions, there's not an official timeline or anything; the pom wraith au is sort of an umbrella with a bunch of different stories and what-ifs underneath it. although there was one story where louie does find out her secret!

louie and pom end up bridging their differences (with the help of olimar), and become good friends while pom is continuing the rescue effort. then there's a very unfortunate incident where pom and louie are away from the base and they're attacked... pom has to reveal herself to defend them and she accidentally hurts louie :(

its fine though, louie doesn't care what pom is. they're both freaks in his mind and that's all that really matters. he does end up having to defend pom from olimar (who's been made vindictive through his trauma with the plasm wraith) sometime later!! here's some older art:

sure

me too! they do NOT get along... louie's kinda pissed at her for chasing him around on PNF404 and beating him in dandori battles when he just wants to stay there and vibe. pom meanwhile doesn't understand him, he pisses her off too! she likes olimar a lot, and as an outsider it looks like louie doesn't appreciate the friendship olimar offers him. to someone who's trying to understand and participate in this whole friendship business, she thinks he's ungrateful and weird. they do not get along!! at the beginning at least...

AHHHH!!! THANK YOU!!! WAHH...🥺💖💖 i'm very glad you enjoy my silly little art style!! i want to make things very squishy so i appreciate that 💖

i don't think that man is going to live!

wait actually if you eat enough maybe you just turn into a wraith. that'd be scary! hopefully olimar's there to stop him

that's a fun thought! he would probably be able to sense that something is off about her. but he'd also probably just think "she's weird like me." honestly, the whole wraith thing doesn't really matter much to him -- the only thing it changes is that pom can now offer her tendrils as a skewer for his cooking at any time and location!

i think i'm gonna call her rose wraith!! and ohh, i didn't know that... i was just gonna call her rose wraith since she has a rose head. i'm creative i promise

(referring to this post i think) AHHH hehe... honestly, when Pom first learns about Dingo's fear of blood, she only tries to keep him from it because it's really annoying dealing with your coworker when they faint. he's like a sack of potatoes when he's knocked out. but yes, as they become actual friends pom will (subtly) do her best to keep blood away from dingo. it's fortunate she doesn't have any!

she might not get phobias, but she understands what its like to have a crippling fear, so she's empathetic!

THANK you. he has sunglasses. he's pretty cool

AHH THANK YOU... i like them a lot... 👉👈

let the marching pikmin give you the energy you need to practice🫡

#modpost #modask #pom wraith au #pingo #thank you for all the asks!!#i have more to get to so i'll make another post...

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interpolanticssuperfan · 8 months

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nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 3 | 18+ only

hii everyone! thank you SO much for the incredible kindness youve shown me and sweet words so far! and thank you all for reading. i accidentally made this chapter longer than i intended to.. oops. i hope i am doing a good job at slow burning because ive struggled with that in the past. warnings: reader goes outside to smoke a cigarette. lol. enjoy and as always feedback fuels me!!

also, i wanted to let you all know that you can listen to the playlist i have been listening to as i work on this fic which is sort of a mix of stuff that reminds me of ken and stuff i think he'd like. idk i love when authors share what they listen to, so you can check that out here.

you can also reply to my posts or message me if you want to be tagged for updates. i am posting a masterlist today for ease of access.

tags: @heyareyoulistening @itsametaphorbriansblog @alyeria

In the span of one hour, you absorbed more information and somehow became more confused the longer Ken spent investigating every inch of your apartment. You explained to him that you did not own this entire building, and that only one unit was allotted to you, but this still impressed Ken.

“Are you friends with all your neighbors?” He asked, squinting closely at the magnets on your fridge, touching them and flipping frantically through the notepad you used for grocery lists, like he needed to see more of your handwriting, more of the things you used every day. Ken murmured to himself as he took in the words: flour, one dozen eggs, croissants.

You’d reinstated yourself at your dining table with your work laptop, creating an elaborate lie for your supervisor as to why you missed the weekly team check in. My cousin’s dog was assaulted by a rabid possum and we had to take him to the emergency vet, please excuse my brief absence… I’m happy to work overtime to accommodate this inconvenience… He was only a puppy…

So on and so forth. You were confident you could schmooze your way out of a write up. Ken couldn’t stand still, couldn’t contain himself – had whizzed through the front door when you unlocked it, bouncing off the walls with questions and comments that flowed freely.

“No, I’m not friends with all my neighbors. There’s gotta be at least forty other people that live here. Are you?”

“I know all the Kens. We are not all friends. But I know all of them.”

“You’re all named Ken.”

“No. There’s Allans.”

“Right.”

Ken gleefully picked up each cookbook stacked on top of a low hanging shelf, tearing through each one and making tiny astonished faces at each new dish he was introduced to. Recipes on the sweeter side piqued his interest – cinnamon rolls, pastries, cookies. You had suspended disbelief long enough to just let Ken do this, let him touch everything even if he moved your belongings out of place. It wasn’t typical for you to have a man over, let alone one who was learning how the natural human world worked. (And had to ask you with stars in his eyes what ovens were for.)

“These pancakes look divine. They’re putting all kinds of stuff in these. I didn’t know you could put blueberries in them. They taste good, right?” You craned your neck to get a look at the recipe he was referring to.

“If you’re a decent cook! You just have to pay attention to what you’re doing, measuring, how long things stay on the stove. It’s like that for anything you cook. I’m not great with pancakes, for some reason I always tend to burn them.”

“So what’s your favorite food?” Ken asks, setting the book down and taking to the fridge, flinging the doors wide open and surveying each salad dressing, bottle of water, every can of cold brew coffee. He ran his fingers along the labels, as if reading braille, receiving telepathic information about these products from just handling them. It was an odd sight. Everything he held looked so small in his hands.

“Er… I guess I really like sushi. But I haven’t had it in awhile. Trying to save money, make a habit of eating at home. And I just like to make simple things.”

“What’s in sushi?” Ken’s rotating a banana in his hands, picking at the stem to see what it does.

“A lot of things. Usually raw fish. Rice that sticks together to make a shape, seaweed, different kinds of sauces.” It’s making you laugh, seeing Ken size up this banana with a puzzled look on his face. “Do you want to try eating that?”

He shifts uncomfortably, placing the fruit back down on the counter like it had offended him. “We have these in Barbieland but they are not nearly as squishy. Ours are rock hard. And not brown!”

Ken was right – that banana was probably past its prime, but you hadn’t cleaned out the fridge in a few days. You’d gotten sick of refreshing your inbox waiting for a reply from your supervisor, so you got up and pulled a knife from the drawer, setting the squishy banana on a paper towel to cut it.

“Here. Try this,” you cut through the peel and divide up a small end slice into two pieces, holding one out to Ken who seems frightened by it, squares his shoulders.

“There’s something inside that peel?”

“Go ahead, just take a bite! You might like it, how else will you find out what you like?”

“But (Y/N), I’m not… hungry.”

“That’s okay. It’s a very small slice, I promise it’ll be alright, Ken.”

His eyes flash with trust at the promise you’ve just made him, so he abandons his apprehension and plops the bit into his mouth. It’s like watching a baby bird clamor for its mother’s offering of regurgitated seed and berry mix. Ken doesn’t instinctively chew, he just lets it sit in his mouth like he’s waiting for the fruit to do something. You raise up the other banana slice, catch his eye and show him how to chew, slowly, and then swallow.

Ken nods, although his movements are strange and exaggerated, but eventually allows a smile. “That was pretty good. Mushy.” He searches your face to see if he’s given the correct answer, which is even funnier to you than him trying food for the first time.

“Did you like it? Bananas are on the sweet side.”

“Definitely. I think I really like them. Can I have the rest of it?”

“So you can taste!”

Ken grins to himself, gives you a proud stance and swaggers to the side, popping his hip out as he starts cutting up the rest of the fruit.

“Oh, yeah. I can taste everything. Nothing I can’t taste.”

“When I go to the store next I can get you some more sweet foods. But you can’t just eat sweets. Fruit is naturally sweet, but for example, you can’t just have ice cream and brownies all the time. Your body will hate you for that.”

“And I can make you pancakes with bananas.” Ken adds, cocky as ever, already physically spreading himself out in your kitchen like he owns the place, thighs open and easy and confident as he leans back. He adjusts quickly to new situations, you’re discovering, with none of the social anxiety most people might feel.

“Let’s save the cooking and… turning on the stovetop… for when I can teach you. It can be dangerous if you’re not familiar with what to do.”

“But what if I want to surprise you, (Y/N)? You wouldn’t want to ruin it, would you?”

“I’d rather ruin the breakfast than have you accidentally catch my apartment building on fire.”

Ken considers this, starts chewing at the rest of the banana slices while still committed to looking cool as he does so. “You’re so right. So, where do you think I should sleep?”

You put some distance between the two of you, since proximity to the blonde had begun to make you feel inexplicably self conscious, and sit back down at your laptop. You hadn’t gotten this far, hadn’t decided where Ken could stay and if he was even going to stay. Stay for what? A crash course in becoming a member of society? Turn him into the perfect roommate who’s convinced you’re dating now? And how in the hell were you qualified to teach him anything about life, fulfillment, health or success when you were far from the epitome of any of those?

“I thought you said you didn’t get tired.”

“There’s something I need to tell you about,” the sudden change in Ken’s tone caught you off guard, so after taking a brief glance at your emails again and confirming nothing of substance had arrived, you folded your hands in your lap and turned your body towards him, anticipatory and patient.

“When Barbie went to the real world, almost everything about her changed. She still looked like herself, but… it was different. She told us that she got a cold.” Ken gestured to his nose, crinkling it up in dismay. “Sniffling. She had to use tissues.”

“You’re worried about getting sick?”

“No, not… right now.” Ken tried again, attacking it from a different angle. “Barbie said the longer she was here, the more she kept changing. Barbies never got sick before. But she had to see a human doctor, and she started making her own food and eating it. Sandwiches. And her flat feet never went away.” Ken’s distress was evident, but you weren’t sure what he was getting at, couldn’t see what panicked him so much about this topic.

“I don’t understand. What are you saying, Ken?” You tried to keep yourself casual, so as not to freak him out even further; he’d already begun pacing, boots clacking against your kitchen tile with each step.

“I’m saying that the longer I stay here, the less I’m going to be like… how I was.” He sounded so unsure, on the precipice of a conclusion, fearful of what he might learn. “Don’t you get it? I’ll have to brush my hair. Call the dentist. Pay taxes. Wear deodorant. I might get a breakout on my chin, just like Barbie did.” The last part sounded like the nail in the coffin for Ken, who looked weak just recalling the memory.

“Taxes? But you don’t have a job, do you? For all the city knows, you don’t even exist.”

“That’s not the point, (Y/N)! I’ll have to get a job.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. So… it sounds like you’ll become less like a doll?”

“Exactly. And I’ll have to do it alone.” Ken was silent, pensive as you let his confession settle. Perhaps it wasn’t the changes that he dreaded.

It was doing it without any support.

“I see. So you’ll have to sleep. You’ll have to eat. Is that scaring you?” Your intention was to minimize these facts of daily human life, shrink them down to manageable tasks, not to trivialize his valid concerns.

Ken hollowed his cheek, bit the skin in between his teeth and looked around for something to focus on while he reflected on what you asked. Noticing the cage you had set up for your guinea pig, Ken crouched in front of it without so much as a knee crack, raising his eyebrows up inquisitively.

“Who’s this?”

“I should’ve introduced you to her earlier. She’s my guinea pig, her name’s Willa. See her long hair? It’s really beautiful, but she’s pretty high maintenance.”

Sounds like someone else in this room.

Being so close to Willa appeared to calm Ken down, and you watched his shoulders drop slightly, saw the veins in his neck depress, growing less agitated. “Does she have to brush her hair?”

The cookbooks, grocery lists, the banana had inspired Ken to ask countless questions, but meeting Willa, Ken merely watched in quiet awe.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his purported jab. “I help her with it every day. She’s got a special little brush.”

“Hers is longer than mine. At least she gets some assistance.”

Ken sighs deeply, not taking his eyes off tiny caramel colored Willa, who has no idea what’s happening, just lounges in the paper substrate fleece and wiggles her nose up at the blonde staring her down. He rubs meager circles on his knees as if to soothe himself, then sighs again, long and dramatic. From minute to minute, Ken’s moods shift so drastically – he could be lovingly describing his newfound obsession with bananas and then just as easily pivot to jealousy over a guinea pig receiving grooming services from its owner. Decoding him was like whiplash.

“Ken?”

“I’ve been putting off thinking about this part.”

“You mean losing your doll-ness?”

“Yeah.” Ken’s voice is small, terrified, unbefitting of how he presented himself. Put together, well dressed, toned, tanned, oozing with charm. It all dissipated with his answer.

With your foot, you push out the dining table chair adjacent to you, the scrape spooking Ken as he jumps. “Why don’t you come sit here and talk with me? You can bring Willa, she likes making friends. Just be mindful of her.” Nervous, Ken obliges, sticks a hand into her enclosure and waits for Willa to crawl over to him.

To your shock, she comes without a moment’s hesitation, nosing at his palm and blinking at him. Willa ardently disapproved of your last boyfriend, and she never seemed to like the odd hookup you’d bring over after your explosive breakup. She’d ignore any man in the apartment for the most part, but you couldn’t believe how easy it had been for her to warm up to Ken, snuggling up to him already.

“Wow. She normally doesn’t like strangers.”

“Looks like she prefers your friends. She’s so soft,” Ken notes, temporarily forgetting about the needling anxiety he’d been expressing to you, and sits down. At your table Ken seemed larger than life, so full of color and irresistible personality. The most interesting irregularity you had ever entertained. He flattened the backs of his hands on the placemat and smiled down shyly at Willa, gentle like he was convinced the tiniest movement could hurt her.

(A smile that had the power to devastate – could ruin your life, could make you want to throw it all away just to know him; a smile that Ken saved specifically for a defenseless creature that nibbed at his thumbnail.)

“Go ahead and pet her! They like that,” you encouraged Ken, denying the lump in your throat, who obeys and brings a steady forefinger to Willa’s back, warily petting her in one stunted action. Willa rustles, but doesn’t flee or make any noises contesting his presence. “She might try to run away, so just make sure you keep an eye on her.”

“I promise I will, (Y/N). How old is she?”

“She’s two and a half.” You raise your eyes to Ken, who’s entranced by the small animal and her lustrous coat, indifferent to his surroundings now that he’s connected with this hairy comrade. “How old are you?”

“I have no idea. How old are you?”

This shouldn’t have surprised you at this point. Nothing could catch you off guard now as you went down the list, dedicating yourself wholly to figuring out what to do with this guy. Given how unadjusted he is to the world, is Ken your responsibility now? What would happen to him if he went out, unprepared, unassimilated, and tried to do things like get a job, buy something from the store? Had he ever seen currency before?

Would you have to teach Ken math? You failed calculus. More than once. This wasn’t boding well.

“I’m twenty five. You don’t have a birthday?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s how you keep track of your age. Could you look at me for a second? Maybe I can try and guess.” Ken’s reluctant to stop looking at Willa, but does as you say, and it strikes you to admire him overtly like this, free from the guise of contrived modesty, not hiding how strongly you want to see him. He’s open, almost tranquil, those wide eyes continuously following yours, every single aspect of his demeanor softening the more you drink him in.

You couldn’t help but freeze. Pinning him. You could hear the robins chirping outside on the patio. Buses shuttling along on the road outside. Your blood pumping in your fingers, the hot curl of desire in your stomach. At once, everything felt vibrant, felt… exceptional.

Because of him.

Blonde angel, almost porcelain. Kind with your pet. Enthralled with the simplest items you owned. Eager to assist you with any task, however minor. Naively trusting.

Blind to the ways this world could twist and chew you up. Brand new.

You wouldn’t ever be the source of pain for Ken. In that moment, searching his stark blue eyes for an answer to a question you couldn’t articulate, you wrote it on your heart, that no matter what happened – whether Ken stayed in your life, as a friend or something more – you would never hurt him.

You don’t even remember what you were trying to do with him. Mesmerized, you simply just enjoyed the sight, at a loss for words. What was there to say that wouldn’t fizzle out and die on your lips?

How are you real? (He wasn’t.)

How did you get here? (He’d waited for you.)

Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

“(Y/N)? Did you calculate it yet? Maybe it’ll be easier if I unbutton my jacket. Willa, stay put, I need to do something,” It flew over your head, you couldn’t hear what he said, just gawked and felt your pulse thrum as Ken started to undo the top of his denim jacket. Deft fingers working, you had to be aware of how affected you looked. You couldn’t hide it.

To see more of Ken’s chest physically pained you – it hurt to look, hurt to squirm and act like it wasn’t overwhelming, burning you up. He showed off his defined, carved muscle, smooth and enticing like a joke or something.

Willa sniffed the salt and pepper shaker, not moving even a millimeter away from Ken as he undid the last button with a muffled pop.

Where wisps of blonde hair would’ve led down to the tip of Ken’s waistband, there was nothing, just more of that milky white skin, blameless and pure and teasing. Where ribs should have anatomically been, his chest expanded then deflated, ripples of flesh rolling, then relaxing.

All of him on display. All of him so… bare.

Well – not all of him. Not yet.

You hadn’t felt anything like this before, not ever. You were experienced – you weren’t uneducated when it came to sex, or… pleasure. Yet it was impossible that you’d felt true desire in the past, even for the man you’d fallen in love with and been betrayed by, because those memories shriveled in comparison to what you felt in this moment, seeing Ken like this, expectant and unrestrained and so fiercely magnetizing. You saw your future, you saw his body, you saw Ken’s long eyelashes fluttering and pretty like a girl’s, and it was too fucking much, louder than your heart slamming inside your chest.

You began to question if you were even real. If this was happening. Maybe you were the lifeless doll. Harsh stings peppered out along the slope of your neckline – for the second time since meeting Ken, did that really just happen today? – and you made the horrible mistake of telling him the truth just as he was starting to visibly fidget, awaiting your reply.

“(Y/N)? Is this helping? If not, I can –”

“You’re so goddamned gorgeous. Fuck.”

“What?” Ken blinked, taken aback. He looked like he wanted to say more, to press you, but he couldn’t form a response.

“I’m. Jesus. I am so sorry, Ken. That wasn’t appropriate at all. I’m… supposed to be helping you. I’m sorry.” Dizzyingly, you shot to your feet, dug your heels against the floor just to feel grounded, and reached over the table for your purse.

Weren’t you the one supposed to be in charge of boundaries? Teaching Ken how to act, how not to rush things when you met someone you wanted to get to know?

Ken had flushed a deep shade of peach, an obvious blush that mottled his neck and spread out to his clavicles, nearly reaching his shoulder tips.

“Did I do something wrong? Can you please tell me what it was?” Ken urged, pupils the size of saucers and still dancing to follow your every move. His face was frantic, lips parted revealing more of his perfect teeth, just another element of his perfect face, everything so perfect about him, and your headache threatened to return in full force.

“No – no, you didn’t, Ken. I promise. I just need to go outside and smoke, it’s not your fault, okay? Can you please stay here with Willa? I’ll only be a minute.”

Ken clearly didn’t know what you meant, or what smoking entailed, but he stayed fused to the chair, biting at his lip again in fragile confusion and not daring to abandon Willa. Fumbling for your lighter through the fabric, you caught the unmistakable downturn of rejection swimming across his features, and the notion that you might have inadvertently let him down made you sicker than the intense wave of lust that had just crashed over you, almost crumbling you, reducing you to nothing but a star cursed to orbit a bigger, more important planet.

#ken #ryan gosling #ken barbie #barbie movie #ken x reader #ken x fem reader #ryan gosling ken #female reader

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ppangjae · 2 years

Text

FIVE PLUS ONE | JAEHYUN

SYNOPSIS. Five times world-renowned chef Jeong Jaehyun tried to end your journey to be a chef because you weren’t ‘qualified enough to be a chef’ and that one time you proved him wrong.

—or: your villain story quite literally

PAIRING. jaehyun x fem!reader

GENRE. fluff | angst | enemies to lovers!au | chef!jaehyun | aspiring chef!reader

WORD COUNT. 28.8k+ words (is this my new record? omg)

author's note. i posted a long time ago about how i must write a chef!jae fic and now, here she is. i'm so sorry for such a long wait (and all those postponements oop) but i'm glad that she's finally done and posted for you to enjoy reading! i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it :-) also pls reading the author’s note at the end for all my thoughts about writing this fic! happy reading~

THE FIRST TIME.

The first time you and world-renowned chef Jeong Jaehyun crossed paths was when you were doing your culinary internship at Enoteca Pinchiorri in Florence, Italy. In fact, you had no idea who Jeong Jaehyun was. It was your second day of internship at the Michelin-starred restaurant and because you needed a bit more time to adjust to the new working environment, you worked as a waitress. You had no customer complaints about working as a waitress for the first week and had agreed it was the best way for you to get accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. While you had no idea who Jeong Jaehyun was at the time, he made sure you knew who exactly he was when you had accidentally stumbled over your two feet and spilled his glass of Barolo all over his cream-coloured button-up shirt.

“I’m so sorry!” You exclaim, looking at him with extreme horror all over your face. Your knees were planted onto the red carpet floors, and you were too horrified and embarrassed to bring yourself back up onto your own two feet. You would rather be sucked into the red carpet floors and the pits of darkness, never to be seen again. Slowly looking up at him, he stares down at his stained shirt before meeting your gaze.

Your blood has never run cold until that very moment. He reads your name on your name tag with a piercing gaze before muttering. “Please get back up. You’re just creating a scene and humiliating yourself even more by gathering attention from other customers—”

“Oh, mi dispiace! Here’s a napkin, Mr. Jeong!” The executive chef, Alessandro, rushes over to the two of you with a large napkin. You’re not sure if you should be relieved to have Alessandro come in to save yourself from the embarrassment, especially with Mr. Jeong staring straight at you with eyes like shooting daggers. You’ve settled on standing behind Alessandro, feeling completely ashamed and embarrassed of yourself.

“Is she new?” Mr. Jeong asks, burning two holes through your forehead with his dark brown eyes. With your head hanging low, you could only momentarily distract yourself by noticing that the heel of your two-inch black high heels has completely broken off.

Great. You had just bought these high heels, and they've already broken. You’re left with no choice but to glue the broken heel back on.

“Yes, she’s new. I apologize, Mr. Jeong. She’s still in training, and thus, she’s a little flustered," Alessandro explains. You don’t have the strength to look at any of them, but the damage has already been done. You’re no superhero with the power to turn back time and undo mistakes. Although, you wish you did have those superpowers at this very moment.

Your conscience forces you to do what you’re supposed to do. First, apologize. Second, make an offer to clean up the spill. Three, offer compensation after consulting Alessandro with ideas. Four, scan the tables around and apologize for the commotion. You learned this in culinary school. You draw in a deep breath, stepping towards Alessandro’s side and forcing yourself to look at Mr. Jeong.

That piercing gaze… that stone-cold face… You wonder who did him so dirty to be so cold-hearted.

“I apologize, Mr. Jeong. The mess will be cleaned up and we’ll get you a new glass of Barolo. In compensation—” You begin until Alessandro decides to finish it for you.

“In compensation, your main course will be on the house. We deeply apologize, Mr. Jeong.” Alessandro bows and you take it as your cue to bow with him.

Mr. Jeong slowly nods his head. You can still feel his burning stare. Who is he? Why is he being acknowledged with such high regard? Mr. Jeong mumbles, “no worries, do you mind showing me where the washroom is?”

“Yes, Mr. Jeong. It’s right this way.” Alessandro takes over and leads Mr. Jeong to the washroom. As they’re walking away, Alessandro flashes you a look. It’s not a warning look. But with his gaze, you can tell that he’s telling you to head to the storage room to clean up the spill before Mr. Jeong comes back to his table.

As you head to the storage room to grab hot towels, you bump into one of the other waitresses, Stella, who looks just as horrified as you are. Your legs almost give out at the sight of her.

“Stella, do you mind taking over his table? I don’t think I can—”

“No, yeah, sure, I’ll take over that table for you. Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks with a face filled with concern. She bites her lip. “You do know who that man is, right?”

You slowly shake your head. “I have no idea who he is—”

“Oh mio dio!” Stella gasps in shock. “Bella, that is Mr. Jeong Jaehyun. Chef Jaehyun. He is a world-renowned chef. He owns five three-Michelin-starred restaurants in the world—”

“World… renowned… chef…” You trail off, growing more horrified by what you’ve done.

“He’s won almost every cooking competition you could think of. He’s a legend. Both of his parents are culinary chefs too. His parents also teach at one of the most prestigious universities in South Korea for its culinary arts program. He started cooking when he was only ten years old—” She continues to hammer it into your head that the man you have spilled expensive wine all over is a living legend that cannot be messed with.

And you… have messed with him.

Unknowingly.

“A legend… started at ten years old… won every competition…”

You’re going to pass out. You feel faint. Your legs feel like jello. You’re surprised that you still haven’t been sucked into the red carpet floors. Maybe fate wanted you to experience this humiliation. Did you do something horribly wrong in your past life to deserve this? It’s only been the second day of your internship and you already want to go home. Hell, you haven’t even started cooking—which is why this culinary internship is for—and you already want to go home to your parents and cry your eyes out.

“Yeah. He’s a big deal, Y/N. But don’t worry, I got you covered. I’ll take over his table. In the meantime, you stay here and get yourself together, alright?” Stella reassures you.

You slowly nod your head, falling back against the stool. Stella grabs some towels and leaves you in the storage room all by yourself. Complete shock and embarrassment, you’ve really dug yourself a huge hole. After you’ve gathered yourself together, you head towards the door to look out the small round window that peeks into the restaurant. You could see Stella wiping up Mr. Jeong’s—or should you say Chef Jaehyun’s—table. When Chef Jaehyun returns, she greets him with a wide, pearly-white smile. He returns the same energy as her, almost mirroring her warm and bright aura. It’s a complete one-eighty from how he was with you. You can’t help but feel small. You can’t help but feel miserable.

Maybe you’re not fit to be working in a restaurant. Maybe you’re not fit to be working in a kitchen.

If you can’t even handle guests on the floor, what makes you think you could handle cooking meals in a kitchen? What makes you think you could even step foot in a kitchen? As a chef?

Maybe you’re just not fit to be a chef at all.

As you clock out of your shift, you kick off your high heels to replace them with a pair of running shoes. It’s almost midnight, and you’ve spent the closing hours cleaning up the dining area and the kitchen. It’s been hours since your encounter with Chef Jaehyun but it still feels fresh in your mind. You don’t think it’ll ever leave your mind for a while.

You hear Stella call out your name as you put on your sweater. Looking over your shoulder, you spot her entering the room with a box in her hands. You quirk an eyebrow out of curiosity.

“Hey, bella. This is for you.”

She hands you the box, and you take off the cover to see a new pair of high heels. They look just like the ones you had on earlier, but it has a shiny finish. It’s an expensive brand as well. You place the cover back on, shaking your head and returning it to her.

“Oh, no, Stella, I don’t think I can take this.” You hand back the heels to her.

She shakes her head. “Oh, no, bella, this is not from me. These heels are truly for you. I was just told to hand this over to you.”

“Oh…” You mumble softly. “Alright, then. Thanks, Stella. Thank you for having my back.”

“No worries, beautiful.” She smiles. “Now, forget about what happened today because tomorrow will be a new day! I don’t want to see your frown tomorrow morning when you clock in, alright? Promise?”

You chuckle. “I promise. By the way, do you know who gave the heels?”

She waves it off. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about who gave them.”

“What secrets are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding any secrets from you, beautiful. In fact, I have no idea who gave them. Alessandro just told me to give them to you.”

“I should probably thank Alessandro for these,” you mumble softly.

“Oh, no, these aren’t from Alessandro. He just told me that someone dropped by to give these heels to you and then he asked me to give them to you before you leave.”

THE SECOND TIME.

You didn’t think Mr. World-Renowned Chef would come back, especially on the last day of your culinary internship. Ever since your full experience of a nightmare with Chef Jaehyun, you were quite surprised that the restaurant made you stay. You were expecting them to kick you out and let you find your way on your own. The first time you encountered Chef Jaehyun, you were a waitress. But this time… you’re a line cook.

And you’re cooking two dishes for him.

“Bella, is the filet mignon and gnocchi Sorrento ready?” Alessandro asks when he pops into the kitchen.

Ever since Alessandro announced and acknowledged Chef Jaehyun’s presence in the restaurant, you’ve been a jittery, nervous mess. This is all because you want to prove Chef Jaehyun wrong. You want to see him sit in his chair and dig into the dishes you’ve made for him, appreciating every single second of your hard work and effort. There are many dishes in the hot sanitizing bath; most of them are yours because they haven’t turned out the way you want them to be. You’ve been assigned two dishes; the filet mignon and gnocchi Sorrento and tiramisu. Two completely different dishes, one is the main course while the other is a dessert.

“It’s ready.” You answer, placing the dish of filet mignon and gnocchi Sorrento over the counter for Stella to serve the intimidating chef sitting right outside of the door. In terms of what happens beyond that door leading to the dining area, you hope it’s everything but a repeated nightmare.

You take a step back and wait for Stella to return to the kitchen with Chef Jaehyun’s input on your dishes. A couple of minutes later, Stella returns to the kitchen with not a single trace of a smile spread across her lips. You wait in absolute terror.

It’s almost as if you’re experiencing a real-life Kitchen Nightmares episode. But the chef tasting the food is not Gordon Ramsay (fortunately). It’s Jeong Jaehyun (unfortunately).

“He doesn’t like it,” she mumbles softly. She draws in a deep breath, eyes finding yours. “He actually wants to have a word with the chef who made it.”

“Oh god,” you groan, rubbing at the temples of your head. You’re feeling a migraine beginning to throb every single angle of your head. It feels like your head is becoming a construction site, pulsing and pounding painfully every thirty seconds. “I’m going to pass out.”

When you step out of the kitchen, you nervously make your way toward Chef Jaehyun’s table. He’s sitting there, eyes shooting daggers right through your head. He definitely remembers you. There’s no doubt about it. There it is… the same piercing gaze he gave you the first time you encountered him. But that piercing gaze that he gives you is for a similar reason.

You messed up.

And he’s going to grill you for it.

You clear your throat and muster up a small smile as you reach his table. “Hi, Chef Jaehyun, I’m—”

“Y/N.” He cuts you off. You clamp your mouth shut. You were hoping he would be a bit nicer this time around. With the way he shuts you down, you’re starting to learn that you shouldn’t hope for better outcomes in your miserable situations. He tilts his head. “You’re the one who worked as a waitress for my table during my first visit. It’s quite surprising to see you in a chef’s apron. So… tell me, are you actually a culinary intern?”

You slowly nod your head. “Yes, chef.”

“Well, you have many things yet to learn. I’m surprised Enoteca Pinchiorri even considered taking you in as a culinary intern because the dish you had sent out to me is quite… disappointing.” One by one, his comments throw axes at your weak heart. “Take a good look at the gnocchi. Is this hand-made?”

“Yes, chef—”

“It’s rubbery. You’ve added too much flour.”

“I apologize, chef—”

“And I asked for a medium-rare for the filet mignon. It’s well-done.” He points at the filet mignon that he’s sliced with a fork and knife. You feel defeated yet again. You’re not sure if you would rather have the same person or a group of people criticize your cooking. “You should be grateful to be an intern here at this restaurant. This isn’t something you should be taking for granted. It’s not something that should be taken lightly. Other aspiring chefs desire to be in your shoes but don’t have the resources for it.”

“Again, I apologize, Chef Jaehyun.” You bow at him. “I’ll work harder.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your co-chefs. You are lacking in many skills, Y/N. Take this and my comments as a way to improve, or else you will never make it as a chef in this industry.”

That night, you barge into your bedroom with red, swollen eyes and a heavy heart. There must be a reason you keep fucking up in front of Chef Jaehyun. But you’re not sure if you’re courageous enough to be able to withstand such embarrassment. You want to go home. You want to stop your journey of becoming a chef. If the world’s most renowned chef thinks your cooking is horrible, how different would it be for a regular customer?

You feel crushed.

Just like your dreams of becoming a chef.

THE THIRD TIME.

When you told your father that you would take a chance at MasterChef, he didn’t believe you until he saw you on his TV screen. Ever since you signed up to be a part of the competition, you’ve worked diligently to create the perfect dish to cook and present to the chefs. But when you stand behind the curtains that lead into the kitchen, you can’t help but grow afraid that all you’ve tried to remember and keep note of has completely vanished from your brain. You can’t afford to mess up.

You can’t afford to lose this chance, this opportunity.

It’s been years since your mother passed away due to cancer. She had run a diner, Mina’s Place. She named it after her. It was the only diner in the city that had good reviews. The reviews were a reflection of her passion for cooking. She loved cooking for others but mostly for herself. She had many skills. She perfected many dishes. The university nearby had a highly reputable culinary program, and the professors of that program had frequented the diner from time to time. They would always tell her that there was something special about the diner and that it was surely on its road to something even bigger.

But before your mother had seen the highest success of her dream, her diner, she fell ill and was diagnosed with cancer. In a short time, her health deteriorated, and she eventually succumbed to her illness, leaving the diner and bringing all its light with her.

If there was something you wanted to get out of this competition, it was a reputation. It was another chance to continue your mother’s dream. You know that this is something your mother would have wanted if she was still alive, to see her diner up until its end. But she was the one who let go first. Your dream is to bring back the diner, and you’re not sure how, but all you want is to fulfill her dream.

Your mother’s dream has become yours.

“Let’s welcome the next potential contestant, Chef Y/N. She’s interned at many restaurants in Florence and wants to open up a restaurant of her own someday.” The host introduces you as you wheel your cart into the kitchen.

When you reach the workstation situated right in the middle of the room, you place your things down before looking up to introduce yourself to the judges. As you look up, the first person you meet eyes with is Chef Taeyong. Chef Taeyong is known for being the co-owner of a three-Michelin-starred restaurant in Florence. You’ve always wanted to become a culinary intern at his restaurant, but you always chickened out. Standing right next to him is Chef Doyoung, who nods his head at you. Chef Doyoung is known for being a world-renowned chef in the making. He was the winner of MasterChef four years ago and since then has opened a lot of successful restaurants, all of them with Michelin stars. And standing right next to Chef Doyoung is—Chef Jaehyun?!

When Jaehyun’s eyes land on you for the first time in years, his eyebrows raise with surprise. Seeing you for the third time cannot be a pure coincidence. He tries to compose himself and get himself together when you finally acknowledge his presence. From the corner of his eye, he could see Taeyong glance at him. His shoulders tense up, but he feels them slowly relax when you look away from him.

“Plans to open up a restaurant, huh?” Chef Doyoung smiles and you bite your lip, nodding your head in reply. “You know, that was my plan when I started my journey here in MasterChef. My plan worked out in the end! That means you can fulfill whatever your heart desires, as long as you put your mind to it.”

“I truly believe that if you put your mind into something, it'll be easily attainable if you put in the work and effort.” Chef Taeyong agrees with his co-judge. “Do you have anything planned for today?”

You clear your throat. “I’m planning on baking up a dish that my mother used to make for me. Well, it’s a dessert among many desserts that my mom used to make for the family.”

“But will this dish be enough to give you a spot in MasterChef?” You almost choke on your spit when you hear his voice for the first time in years. Chef Jaehyun. His voice still sends shivers down your spine. As you slowly look up from the stove, you find him already looking back at you with the same piercing gaze that you never seemed to forget.

You gather yourself together. You nod. You like to believe that you’ve learned to handle your nervousness and anxiousness. “More than enough, chef.”

“You seem to have a close relationship with your mother,” Chef Doyoung begins. While you’re conversing with the chefs, you’re preparing your dish. You start by dipping the truffles in melted chocolate. “Is she the one who inspired you to join MasterChef?”

You smile at the thought of your mother. You answer as you place each chocolate-covered pumpkin pecan truffle onto the plate. “Yes, chef. She’s very special to me. I just want to make her proud.”

“Well, what are you making us for today?” Chef Doyoung questions. You’re placing the spiced pumpkin roulade next to the truffles and adjusting them to make the dish look presentable overall.

“I’ll serve you a spiced pumpkin roulade with pecan maple truffles. It’s something my mom used to make every Thanksgiving.” You answer. “It’s also my dad’s favourite dessert, and because it’s his favourite, my mom would make it for him every now and then. I would have to sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night to get a bite because the whole thing would be gone the next day.”

Chef Taeyong chuckles. “Sounds sweet, spicy, and delicious. It also sounds like it brings warm memories. You have five minutes left, Y/N.”

Five minutes later, your dish is ready. You place it right in front of you at your station. Chef Taeyong is the first one to taste your dish. He heads over to you and picks up his spoon. He scoops a spoonful of everything in your dish underneath the warm spotlights that shine over your station. Pumpkin pecan truffles… spiced pumpkin roulade…

“Do you mind walking me through this dish?” Chef Taeyong asks.

“What you have on this side are the truffles… the pumpkin pecan truffles, to be exact. It’s glazed with maple syrup.” You explain before pointing to the sliced pumpkin roulade on the other side of the dish. “And on the other side of the dish is a spiced pumpkin roulade.”

“You seem nervous,” he says softly.

You let out a shaky laugh. “I am indeed quite nervous, chef.”

“How bad do you want this, Y/N?” He asks.

“So bad.” You answer simply. “You don’t even know how bad I want this.”

“Let’s see if this dish is enough to earn you a spot in the competition.” He tastes your dish.

You study and observe him as he tastes the hints of pumpkin and pecan, all punched deep with some spice. You fiddle with your fingers nervously. It’s a bad habit of yours. If there’s one thing that you wanted to get out of this audition, it was at least one yes. One yes is enough for you to be satisfied. But oh, how you want this so badly.

“Wow.” He tilts his head with surprise. It’s almost as if he’s caught off guard. “It’s delicious.”

“R-Really?” You blurt out before shaking your head. “I mean—thank you. Thank you, chef, that means so much to me.”

“It tastes amazing.” He smiles before heading back to his seat.

You’re starting off strong. You like what’s happening. Two more chefs and your fate will be determined. You hope fate is on your side this time. You know you deserve a break from all of your horrible chances with luck and fate. You deserve this. You’ve worked so hard for it. It would be a huge disappointment if you didn’t earn a spot in the competition.

Next up is Chef Doyoung, who grabs his spoon and digs into your dish without uttering a single word. Once he’s finished tasting your dish, he folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Y/N, are you satisfied with how your dish turned out today?”

“More than satisfied, chef.” You mumble softly, but there’s a hint of a lack of confidence in your voice. You’re sure the chefs could pick up your low self-esteem. Chef Doyoung purses his lips into a tight line.

“Are you a perfectionist?” He asks.

“I try to be, chef.” You answer.

“Well, perfectionism is one of the best qualities to have as a chef.” He adds. He clasps his hands together and sucks in a deep breath. “I taste a light hint of lemon, but I am immediately kicked with the spices. I could taste the hint of cloves that burst right through the hints of lemon. I think you have a great sense of flavours. You have a great sense of spices. This dish has the perfect balance of sweet, spicy, and savoury.”

“Thank you, chef.” You smile, not sure how to contain your happiness.

“Well done,” he complements you before heading back to his seat.

Last is Chef Jaehyun, who walks up to your station. Your smile immediately vanishes from your face and is replaced with horror. You’re especially nervous around him. With all the horrible encounters you’ve had with him, you wish he had a poor memory because you wouldn’t want someone like him to remember you. You’re looking everywhere but him.

“I’m not a fan of sweets and desserts.” He says flat out. You wince. “That should be more than enough to make you nervous.”

“I hope that with this dish, you’ll start to appreciate desserts more, chef.” You mumble softly. It’s just barely above a whisper. You sound like a guilty child admitting fault after being caught lying. But you’re not lying, not at all. You’re just nervous.

“is this dish going to change my mind? Is this dish going to be enough to change my mind about desserts?” He continues to grill you, and you let your head hang low.

“I just… want to impress you, chef.” More like prove you wrong.

“I hope this dish doesn’t disappoint me.” His low voice sends shivers down your spine. He takes a spoonful of the cake and the truffle before shoving them into his mouth.

It feels like it’s just the two of you at that very moment. It doesn’t feel like Chef Taeyong and Chef Doyoung are there. Your entire body feels tense just standing within his line of sight. He folds his arms and looks down at your dish. “It’s good. But it’s not good enough. There’s something that’s lacking in this dish. Do you know what that is?”

“What is it, chef?” You ask.

“The presentation.” He answers. “Look at how you presented this dish to us. It does not look MasterChef-worthy. The presentation of this dish, I might say, is predictable. The presentation of a dish that you make is something you must pay attention to because if it doesn’t visibly look good, your customers would assume that it doesn’t taste good.”

“I understand, chef.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Chef Jaehyun definitely remembers you. Why? Because he loves nitpicking every single lacking detail of your cooking. He truly never changed. He’s still the same cold-hearted, selfish, rude prick.

The three chefs discuss their decision. You continue to fiddle nervously with your fingers to calm yourself down, to distract you from what’s about to come. You’re so sure that you’re not going to get a spot in the competition, and it’s all going to be because of Chef Jae—

“Y/N?”

“Yes, chef?” You blurt out with surprised, caught off guard eyes.

“It’s a yes for me,” Chef Taeyong smiles.

“It’s a no for me,” Chef Jaehyun says. “Simply because you’re lacking in presenting your dishes. I think that is very crucial to becoming a chef. I was not impressed with your dish simply because I’m not a fan of desserts. I was hoping you would change my mind, but I guess it just fell short.”

“I understand, chef. I agree that I could’ve paid more attention to the plating.” You nod your head in agreement. For the first time, you agree with Chef Jaehyun.

“Now, that leaves the pressure on me.” Chef Doyoung smirks. “If I say no, you won’t have a spot in the competition. But if I say yes, you will advance in the competition, and you will have your own MasterChef apron.”

“You won’t regret giving me a chance, chef. I want this so bad.”

Tension continues to fill the air. Chef Doyoung’s touch gaze softens, and you feel your tense posture relax. He clasps his hands together before saying, “it’s a yes for me. Congratulations, Y/N.”

“Please come up and take your MasterChef apron.” Chef Taeyong gestures for you to come up to the front.

“Oh my gosh,” you sigh with relief. “I promise I’ll do my best, chef. Thank you so much for taking a huge risk on me.”

As you near the three chef judges, you stand in front of Chef Taeyong, who helps you put your apron on. You smile, taking his hand that he extends out to you to shake. Moving onto Chef Doyoung, you shake his hand, thanking him many times for giving you a chance. Last but not least, your eyes meet Chef Jaehyun. You’ve never been up close to Chef Jaehyun like this. He’s quite handsome, you think to yourself, but it’s also a shame that he’s such a rude, cold-hearted person. He extends his hand out to you for you to shake. When your hands interlock, you can’t help but notice how warm and soft his hands are. The both of you exchange such intense looks. You’re the first one to break away, pulling back your hand.

“Long time no see. Congratulations, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Chef Jaehyun.”

THE FOURTH TIME.

On a quest to become MasterChef, you are expected to learn how to work with a team of chefs. The round that awaits you is a team challenge, where you and a couple of other contestants will work together to cook up a full course meal. The team challenge usually occurs after the first mystery box challenge and elimination round. Sitting at the front of the kitchen is a box filled with two different coloured aprons, red and blue. These aprons will split everyone into two teams based on their apron colour. From the corner of your eye, you can see your station mate, Taeil, gawking at the box at the front.

He turns towards you and whispers, “I hope we’re on the same team.”

You flash him a small smile. “I hope so too.”

Ever since the competition began, you have learned how to become a competitive chef. You’ve also learned how to make connections and new friendships. It’s what you have learned to value the most, especially working in an industry that relies heavily on networking and connections. Two rounds into the competition, you became friends with Taeil simply because he cooked up his dishes right next to you, and, over time, he also looked out for you and helped you with your dishes. He’s completely different from you. You’d like to think that he’s the complete opposite. But somehow, you both work in tune with each other. You wouldn’t have asked for a better station mate. Both of your different personalities shined the most in your cooked dishes.

“Y/N, please step up to the front and pick your apron for the team challenge.” Chef Jaehyun calls out to you, and your heart beats out of your chest. You share a look with Taeil.

As you make it to the front of the kitchen, you stick your hand into the black box to pull out a red apron. You avoid eye contact with Chef Jaehyun like you always do, but you could still feel his burning gaze. You always feel insecure and nervous around him. How embarrassing it must seem to him.

“Taeil, your turn has arrived. Come up and pick your apron.” Chef Taeyong smiles.

You wish Chef Jaehyun was like Chef Taeyong. Nice… sweet… genuine. He genuinely wanted every contestant to be successful, whether it be in their dishes or their confidence. You wish Chef Jaehyun would forget about all the horrible encounters you’ve had with him. You wish Chef Jaehyun would break out of his shell and turn his cold personality into a personality similar to his co-chef.

When Taeil arrives at the front and sticks his hand into the box, he pulls out not a red apron but… a blue one. The both of you share looks, and a pout can’t help but form across your lips. Chef Jaehyun notices your slight pout, and you immediately let it drop from your face. Taeil returns to his station, and you begin to overthink. Who are you going to work with? You’ve only become acquaintances with the rest of the contestants. Taeil is the only contestant you’ve become close to and the only contestant you consider a good friend. He’s the only contestant you see having a friendship with even after the competition ends.

After all the contestants have been called up to choose their team, the chef judges have you gather together. You and Taeil wave goodbye as you both part to your own assigned teams, you with the red team and him with the blue team. As you walk over to your team, you can’t help but notice how you’re the only woman. Your teammates are Junhwa, Jay, Mason, and Euntae.

“Today’s challenge will be quite different because you’re all expected to work together as a team with your teammates.” Chef Doyoung announces. “For today’s team challenge, we will be headed to the beach to cater for a wedding.”

Your head shoots up. You’re doomed. You know that your team is done for even before the team challenge begins. Junhwa was just saved from the elimination test the other day because he had messed up his dish for the mystery box challenge. Jay hasn’t been up to par with his dishes and has yet to cook up his best dish in the competition. Like Junhwa, Mason had messed up his dish for the mystery box challenge but was saved from the elimination test by Chef Doyoung. Euntae, however, is the only one on the team that’s been performing well in the competition. But as for you… you’re not sure where you stand in this competition.

“Let’s all head to the location and we’ll explain more about the team challenge.”

It’s the perfect day to have a wedding on the beach. The wind currents aren’t strong, but they bring a light warm breeze. The wedding takes place on a weekday which explains the small number of people hanging out at the beach. When you all arrive at the beach, the first thing you spot is two different cooking stations, differentiated by your respective team colours. You draw in a deep breath. This is going to be a long day.

“Everyone, please gather around as we begin today’s challenge.”

Everyone gathers around the three young world-renowned chefs following the producer's command. You can see Chef Jaehyun staring right at you from the corner of your eye. He’s drilling two holes through the side of your head. It’s almost as if he’s praying and manifesting for you to mess up in the team challenge. You wouldn’t be surprised if you mess up and his prayers and manifestations were served right to him on a golden platter because his intensity and strive for perfection always cause you to do so.

“Today, you will be cooking up a three-course meal for wedding guests at the beach. The couple that will be wedded later on today has laid out their menu and their expectations.” Chef Doyoung explains.

You have learned one thing so far; never have a team of aspiring chefs competing in competition be in charge of cooking and serving your guests’ food. Why? Because there’s huge room for failure. Food poisoning? Traumatizing. Undercooked food? Horrifying. You wouldn’t imagine getting married and having scared chefs-in-the-making cater to your guests at the reception. To you, it sounded like a nightmare waiting to unfold right before your two eyes. And here you are now, living out that nightmare in disguise.

“The menu consists of cranberry and brie bites for the appetizer, roasted pork loin on wild mushroom risotto for the main course, and a spiced carrot cake for the dessert.” Chef Taeyong reads off the menu that the wedding couple has put together for their guests.

You hold in a sigh of relief. You think you could handle doing the appetizer and dessert. Baking is your expertise. It’s something your mother loved doing the most. Baking up a dessert can be daunting and taxing, but once you’ve mastered the basics, everything you pop into the oven will come out beautifully. You’ve spent most of your childhood sitting in the kitchen helping her make the desserts. You’ve spent most of your childhood sitting in the kitchen and breathing in the aroma of sweet desserts.

You just hope that your team leader assigns you the appetizer or dessert. If not… you’re not sure how you’re going to put up a good performance. Will you be eliminated? Is this going to put you at risk for elimination?

“Have you all picked a team leader?” Chef Jaehyun asks.

On the blue team, Taeil raises his hand. You smile. Taeil is quite the introvert, but you know that he’ll be able to bring his team together and make the most out of it. On your team, Euntae raises his hand. It was predetermined that he would be the team leader mainly because he’s the only one who’s been doing well in the competition.

“Taeil for team red and Euntae for team blue.” Chef Jaehyun notes it down on his notepad. “Alright. Let’s have you go over to your stations to start prepping for the service.”

“You will have one hour and thirty minutes to complete your three-course meal.” Chef Doyoung announces.

“Please use your time wisely because regardless of whether your dishes are done, they will be served to the guests.” Chef Taeyong warns you. Everyone falls silent. “Your two goals are one, to make sure that there is food on the table for every single guest and two, that the food you serve has been cooked to perfection.”

“Yes, chef.” Everyone says in unison.

“Alright. Get ready because your time starts in three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“Go!”

Thankfully, you’ve been assigned to work on the spiced carrot cake. Euntae and Jay will work on the roasted pork loin on wild mushroom risotto. Euntae will work specifically on the roasted pork loin, and Jay will work specifically on the wild mushroom risotto. Mason and Junhwa will work together on the cranberry and brie bites. It’s been about twenty minutes since the timer started, and you’re almost done mixing the batter for the cake. You’ve added carrot bits and slices in the cake batter to make the carrot stand out when someone takes a slice out of it. You’re also planning on making a cream cheese frosting to drizzle on top of the cake.

“Y/N, make sure you don’t go off track with the cake, alright? I know you’re excited, but we don’t have much time left.” Euntae commands, and you nod your head.

Euntae is such a perfectionist. It’s been obvious since the start of the competition. He’s been winning almost every challenge. If he wasn’t the winner of the challenge, he would most likely be second. Carrying your team must be difficult for him because most of his teammates have been performing poorly.

“Yes, I’ll work faster.”

“And make sure you follow the demo recipe.” He adds. “I don’t want you making something completely different from what we’re asked to do.”

You like to think of your dishes as an experiment. Most of the time, you depend heavily on your sense of taste and extensive knowledge of spices. Thus, this results in you neglecting recipe books and instructions. You like experimenting in your cooking because there’s a thrill when something turns out delicious. There’s a sense of excitement and surprise when two unlikely ingredients somehow pair well with each other.

Euntae probably notices your experimental way of approaching your dishes. He doesn’t want you to fuck everything up. You can’t blame him for playing it safe. You would do the same thing.

“This look different to you?” You ask, pointing to your cake batter.

He dips his fingers into the batter and tastes it. “Put more clove. I don’t taste the kick. I thought spices were your thing?”

You purse your lips into a tight line. He looks taken aback by your confused gaze. If there was one thing you wish you could change about yourself, it’s how you are easily readable through your facial expressions. Your emotions are easy to detect because they’re spread across your entire face. Knitted or raised eyebrows, jutted chin, pouty lips, you’re very expressive with your emotions.

“It is. I did put in clove. Is it not enough?” You dip your finger into the batter to taste it yourself. Indeed, you taste the kick. Your gut tells you not to add any more of the spices because it will be too spicy for the guests if you add more. “I don’t think we should add more. I think it’s enough—”

“I don’t taste the spices, Y/N—”

“Well, I do—”

“But I’m the team leader, right?” He reminds you. You clamp your mouth shut. Where is all of this coming from? How could he talk to you like this? You could feel your gaze hardening at him. “Do you want me to save you a spot in the competition? You do, right? So follow what I tell you to do, and everything will be fine.”

You squint your eyes at him before shaking your head. “No way. I’m not letting you sabotage my cake.”

“And I am not letting you bring the entire team down. We cannot afford to lose.” Jay butts in as he shoves you aside to place a pan on the stove. You almost stumble back, and you’re on the verge of tears.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous.” You mutter to yourself, grabbing your bowl of cake batter and moving to a different table in your station to work. You’re standing alone as the rest of your team gathers together to talk about how they will prepare the dishes. You feel left out. You feel like an outcast. You wish you were on Taeil’s team.

You feel like this is planned.

You feel like they’re planning to sabotage you.

“Y/N?” Chef Doyoung calls out to you.

You look over your shoulder to see him waving you over. You dust your hands off before heading up to him. You don’t know that Euntae walks over to your bowl of cake batter and puts in a couple of more teaspoons of clove and cinnamon behind your back. He adds a bit more than what is required. Chef Doyoung folds his arms at you.

“Yes, chef?” You mumble.

“Why aren’t you being included in your team?” He asks. He noticed, and that’s all that matters to you.

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m not quite sure, chef. We have different opinions on how we should make the spiced carrot cake. Euntae thinks there’s not enough spice, while I think there’s more than enough.

“Trust your gut. But you should also keep in mind that this is a team challenge. You’re all supposed to work together as a team.” He reminds you. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thank you, chef.”

Suddenly, Chef Jaehyun yells out. “Your spiced carrot cakes should be in the oven right now or will be undercooked!”

Upon returning to your station, you grab your bowl of cake batter to pour it into a baking pan. Hurriedly, you place it into the preheated oven. You do not want to mess this up. You can’t mess this up. If your team fails the challenge, you are at risk of being eliminated.

You can’t afford to lose the competition.

You can’t go home.

You’re not surprised that the cranberry and brie bites were almost burnt out of the oven. You’re not surprised that your two teammates were running behind on time with the roasted pork loin and wild mushroom risotto. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if your team were unable to put out your dishes on time.

When you pull out the tray of cranberry and brie bites, you place them on the table. One by one, you place the burnt ones aside and the good ones on the serving trays. Standing behind you, Mason and Junhwa continue to panic, not even bothering to help you save their dish that they’ve been assigned to do.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” You feel yourself stiffen. Chef Jaehyun stands next to you and looks at the burnt and unburnt cranberry and brie bites. He clicks his tongue and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Were you the one assigned to do the bites?”

You shake your head. “No, chef.”

“Who was assigned for the cranberry and brie bites?” He asks your teammates.

“Us, chef.” Mason answers.

Chef Jaehyun points at you while looking at Mason. “And why is Y/N taking over your task?”

“Because she likes getting into everyone’s business—” You hear Euntae mutter underneath his breath. You’ve confirmed it: Euntae is plotting your elimination. He hates you.

“She said she would help us salvage some of the cranberry and brie bites for the guests. She’s picking it out for us while we make another batch.” Junhwa explains.

“And you’re both just standing there and watching her?” Chef Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows with anger. “Where’s your team leader?”

“Here, chef.” Euntae walks over.

“Where is the direction, Euntae?” Chef Jaehyun frowns. You could see steam coming out of Chef Jaehyun’s nostrils. “Your teammates are lost. They’re panicking, and you’re just standing in front of your pan doing your own thing. You’re in your own little world, Euntae. It’s time to wake up.”

“Excuse me, I have to take out the carrot cake.” You mumble softly as you excuse yourself to head to the oven. You take a quick peek before putting on your oven mittens to take the cake pans out.

It comes out beautifully. They’ve baked and risen to perfection. You can smell the strong aroma of spices. Hidden within the sponge cake are the grated bites of carrot, giving it a beautiful orange colour. From your periphery, you see Chef Jaehyun walking over to you. You hold in your breath.

“Can I have a taste of the cake?” He asks.

You slowly nodded your head. “Yes, chef.”

Chef Jaehyun digs into the cake with a small teaspoon while your teammates gather around to watch. He winces, and you wish you could disappear. You’ve noticed that he always winces and grimaces with disappointment whenever you mess up. It’s like you could tell what’s about to come before it even happens.

“You were in charge of the cake, right, Y/N?”

“Yes, chef.” You mumble.

Clatter. He tosses the teaspoon onto the table and frustratingly runs a hand through his hair. “You can’t serve that. It’s too spicy. You’ve put too much clove and cinnamon.”

You look at him confusedly. Completely flabbergasted, you take a bite from the cake yourself and indeed, it’s too spicy. It’s overpowering the sweetness of the carrot and sugar. But wait—you never added any more clove or cinnamon.

“You can’t serve this. This entire team is set up for failure. You cannot save yourselves from this challenge. Take off your aprons. You don’t have any more time to send out any dishes. You’ve completely failed the team challenge.”

You glance at Euntae, who avoids your gaze. He turns around and walks back to his pork loin and mushroom risotto pan. He tosses the pans into the sink out of frustration and anger.

Euntae sabotaged you.

At the end of the team challenge, you and your teammates find yourselves standing in front of the three disappointed chefs. You’re too ashamed of yourself to look at them. You distract yourself by fiddling with your fingers. You were thinking of all the ‘what if’s’. What if you were on the blue team? What if you paid more attention to your teammates that were plotting your failure? What if you worked harder? What if—

“As you are all aware of what happened today, your team lost the challenge. This only means that not one, not two, but four of you will be eliminated from the competition.” Chef Doyoung says.

“But first, we are going to tell you what you did wrong and where you all went wrong.” Chef Taeyong frowns, “as a team.”

“The first thing that went wrong were the cranberry and brie bites. They were overcooked to the point that they were burnt. You had only realized that they were burnt when you took them out of the oven too late, leaving you no time to make another batch.” Chef Doyoung explains.

“We are aware of that, chef.” Mason and Junhwa speak in unison.

“The second thing that went wrong was the spiced carrot cake. I was surprised that Y/N put too much clove and cinnamon into the batter. From your audition, Y/N, you had a good sense of the spices, so I figured this task wouldn’t be difficult to do.” Chef Taeyong outlines the second mistake of the team.

“The third thing that went wrong had completely gone over our heads.” Chef Jaehyun begins. “We were wondering why out of all the dishes you were assigned, the roasted pork loin and mushroom risotto turned out fine.”

“It was because we—” Euntae begins.

“It was because you wanted to sabotage your own teammates. Am I right, Euntae?” Chef Jaehyun catches him red-handed. “Don’t try to lie to us. Don’t you dare try to lie to me because I saw it myself.”

“I did not sabotage any of my teammates—”

“Y/N, you know why your spiced carrot cake was too spicy?” Chef Jaehyun asks you.

You courageously look into his eyes. “Why, chef?”

“Because your own teammate, Euntae, sabotaged your cake and added three tablespoons more of clove and cinnamon, which is way more than what we asked for in our demo.” Chef Jaehyun reveals. “I saw it happen right before my eyes. Euntae, if you were going to sabotage your teammate, you should’ve made sure that none of us chef judges would see it.”

“Chef, I—Y/N has always been doing her own thing in the competition, and I didn’t want her to sabotage our team by doing things the way she wants to,” Euntae explains.

“You’re supposed to work together as a team.” Chef Taeyong shakes his head in disbelief. “Did you plan this all out so that Y/N would be eliminated from the competition? Don’t lie to us because I overheard you planning this out with the rest of your teammates.”

“I—”

“Okay. That’s enough.” Chef Doyoung raises up his hand to shut him up. “We have made up our minds on who will be leaving the competition.”

“The first contestant that will be saying goodbye is…”

You clench your eyes shut as you wait for your name to be called out. You hate everything that’s happening right now. You’ve never been so careless. Now, you pay the consequences.

“Jay. Please say goodbye to your teammates.”

You feel your heart drop.

“The second contestant that will be saying goodbye is…”

Your heartbeat begins to pick up its pace once again. Once your name is called out, you’re going to have to pack your things and head back home.

“Junhwa. Please say goodbye to your teammates.”

You hold in your breath.

“That leaves Y/N, Euntae, and Mason.”

You close your eyes again, praying that your name wouldn’t be called out. You’re already thinking about what you would say to your father if you’re eliminated from the competition.

“Y/N, please say goodbye to your teammates…”

Your eyes flutter open. This is it. You’re officially eliminated from the competition. You shake hands with your two teammates who have completely sabotaged you. You’re keeping yourself together. You’re holding yourself back from bursting out into anger.

“Because you will advance to the next round of the competition. Euntae and Mason, you are both eliminated from MasterChef, please take off your aprons.”

Your heart stops. Wait.

“Wait, what?” You look at the chefs in shock.

“Y/N, you are the only one that will stay in the competition.” Chef Taeyong smiles.

“It was a tough decision.” Chef Doyoung adds.

“But we do not tolerate cheaters in this competition. You are innocent and had no bad intentions, Y/N, which is why you are safe from elimination.” Chef Jaehyun confirms everything for you. “But that does not mean you are safe from the remainder of the competition. What this means is that we will all be putting more pressure on you to be the best chef you say you are.”

“I will do my best, chef. I am confident that I will win MasterChef.”

Chef Jaehyun purses his lips into a tight line.

You feel your blood run cold.

“Don’t make us regret choosing to save you from elimination.”

THE FIFTH TIME.

“Don’t make us regret choosing to save you from elimination.”

The pressure is all on you. Chef Jaehyun’s voice echoes throughout your head the entire hour that you’re granted to create a dish. In this round, all of the contestants are given a mystery box filled with random ingredients. In your mystery box, you were given beetroot, beef tenderloin, and blackberries. They are three completely different ingredients that you’re not quite sure will mesh well together.

Five minutes before the timer started, you decided to make beef tenderloin with roasted beetroot, all covered by a blackberry sauce. And now here you are, thirty minutes in, and you just hope that your dish turns out well.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Chef Jaehyun.” You mumble softly, checking up on your beef tenderloin to see if it’s being cooked correctly on the skillet pan. You’re hoping to cook the tenderloin medium-rare to keep the monochrome colour of your dish.

“What are you making for us today?” He asks.

He’s distracting you. Whether it’s intentional or not, it’s breaking your focus. You clear your throat as you answer, “beef tenderloin with beetroot, all covered by a blackberry sauce.”

“Are you sure this is going to work out well? It seems quite… difficult to pull off.” He grabs a spoon and digs into the blackberry sauce that you have boiling in a saucepan. He tastes it and steps back, tilting his head as he loses himself in thought. “Interesting. You’re truly making this difficult for us, huh?”

What is he trying to say? You bite your lip, pretending to ignore him. “It should work out well. It is a mystery box challenge, after all. I’ve been given three ingredients that you never truly see together in a dish, but here we are.”

“The blackberry sauce is perfect. But regarding whether this blackberry sauce will complement your beef tenderloin and beetroot… you’ll have to prove that to us.” He gently places his spoon into your sink and moves on to the next contestant.

“You have fifteen minutes left! In about five minutes, you should all be plating your food!”

You turn off the stove to cool down your blackberry sauce. With fifteen minutes left, you need at least five minutes to let the beef tenderloin rest. You’re still not sure if it’s cooked medium-rare. It’s a risk you’re willing to take. You take the skillet pan off of the stove and transfer the beef tenderloin onto a wire rack for it to rest. As for your beetroot, you take each slice out to begin plating them.

“I’m not going to lie, that looks incredible, Y/N.” Taeil compliments you. You almost jump in surprise. You’ve been so focused on making sure you do well in this challenge that you forgot about Taeil. As you glance at him, he lets out a low chuckle. “Sorry for scaring you. I’ll shut up now.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I just hope it’s edible.” You crack a joke to ease your nervousness. He snorts.

“I’m sure it’s edible. You’ve made it this far, Y/N. You should give yourself more credit for your hard work.” He reassures you.

One minute left on the timer, and you’re placing the beef tenderloin right in between two slices of beetroot. To complete your dish, you drizzle blackberry sauce all over the dish. To amplify your dish even further, you take a couple of blackberries and scatter them across your dish. Overall, your dish is a dark magenta colour. Monochromatic.

“Five…”

“Four…”

“Three… Two…”

“One! Time’s up!”

“Y/N, please bring up your dish.”

With shaky hands, you grab your plate and head up to the front. You place your dish down onto the table that stands right in front of the chef judges. Each one of them looks surprised to see what you have presented to them. Chef Doyoung is the first one to take a bite. He steps forward and grabs a knife and fork, slicing himself a bit of beetroot before poking at the beef tenderloin.

“How did you cook the beef tenderloin?” He asks.

You bite your lip. “I was hoping to cook it medium-rare. But I didn’t have enough time to let it rest, so I’m not quite sure if it turned out that way.”

“Well, let’s take a look, shall we?” He insists. You slowly nod your head. Standing behind him, you can see Chef Jaehyun standing on his tiptoes to get a look at the tenderloin. As Chef Doyoung slices through the tenderloin and you sigh with relief. “It’s perfect. You doubt yourself a bit too much, Y/N. The tenderloin is indeed medium-rare.”

“Thank goodness.” You let out another sigh of relief.

He takes a bite. As he chews, you study him and wait for his reaction. When he finishes eating, he clasps his hands together and breaks out into a smile. “I think it’s quite delicious. I would definitely serve something like this in my restaurant.”

“Really? Oh wow… thank you, chef.” You beam.

“Blackberries, beef tenderloin, and beetroot. These three ingredients seem hard to cook together, but you balance them beautifully. The plating is amazing. You’ve improved your plating skills since the start of the competition. Overall, this dish is my favourite.” He places his cutlery down and flashes you one last smile. He heads back to stand next to Chef Taeyong, who’s the next one to step forward and taste your dish.

“First off, the dish looks lovely. I love the monochrome theme you have going on here. It amplifies your dish. But as for the taste, we shall find out.” Chef Taeyong takes a bite of the beetroot and tenderloin, making sure he dips it in the blackberry sauce. He tilts his head and lets out a chuckle. “That’s… amazing. You truly have a great sense of your spices. I wouldn’t even have thought of making a dish like this with these three ingredients. Well done, Y/N. You continue to perform well in this competition. I also see Chef Doyoung serving something like this at his restaurant.”

“Thank you, chef.” You hold in a happy sigh.

Next up is Chef Jaehyun, who barely waits for Chef Taeyong to step aside for him. He quirks an eyebrow at you before digging into your dish. “After we spoke earlier, I wondered how you could pull off a sour blackberry sauce with savoury beef tenderloin and beetroot. They are two unlikely tastes that should not be paired together.”

“It is a mystery box, so I just tried to work with what I was given. I hope it tastes good for you, Chef Jaehyun.” You avoid his eyes. But you could see him trying to look into them.

He takes a bite. He chews and swallows. He places his cutlery down and purses his lips into a tight line. “I’m going to be quite honest. I don’t like it. The sour blackberry sauce completely overpowers the savoury tenderloin and beetroot. However, I could definitely see why others may like it. This dish is catered for people with a specific palette. I’m not one of those people. The plating looks beautiful, however.”

“Thank you, chef.” You whisper.

“As I’ve said time and time again,” he says sternly, “you are making this extremely difficult for us, Y/N. You need to step up to the plate. I know you can do it. You have the tools and the talents to do it. You just need to use them.”

As he turns his back to you, you can feel your eyes well up with tears. Throughout this entire competition, you’ve learned that you not only want to win it, but you want to prove Chef Jaehyun wrong. He’s ignited a fire within you, a burning passion. His brutal honesty truly gets the best of you.

If you can’t prove him wrong, what’s the point of continuing your journey?

He’s a world-renowned chef. He knows what tastes good and what doesn’t. He knows whether a chef will be successful in the field. He knows everything about the cooking and food industry. If he thinks you’re not fit enough, then maybe you’re truly not fit to be a chef.

You’ve already tried to step up to the plate, but he thinks it’s not enough.

You’ve already used all of your tools and talents, but he thinks it’s not enough.

You’re not enough.

What is considered enough?

He looks over his shoulder, and you hear him mutter.

“We saved you from elimination. You must prove to us that saving you was the best decision. You must prove to us that you are more worthy of winning than your teammates that were eliminated. Remember that.”

A tear almost slips from your eye.

You give up.

THE ONE TIME YOU PROVE HIM WRONG.

“I have come to the decision to withdraw from the competition.”

“If that’s your decision, then so be it. We regret seeing you go. Thank you for showing us your talent. You may go and pack your things because your journey at MasterChef ends here.”

Upon entering the huge kitchen, you head towards the light switches to turn on the spotlight for your workstation. The kitchen has never been so quiet nor has it been so peaceful. You feel your feet being glued to the ground, almost as if they’re keeping you from leaving. When you were a kid, you loved ditching your homework to spend time with your mother in the kitchen. You would even take a stool from the dining room to place it right next to her to have a full view of how she cooked your meals. Your home kitchen was your safe haven, your safe space, where you could truly be yourself. It was what brought you closer to your mother. It was what reminded you of your mother.

But you had no choice. You force yourself, trudging your way towards your station to pack up all of your utensils. From cooking knives to ladles, you packed them away in a moving box. From your favorite fine China dishes to your custom-made chopsticks, you admired them one last time underneath the spotlight before tucking them away. You turn on the sink to dampen your towel. You wipe down your station one last time before wringing the towel out. Letting out a sigh, you wipe the beads of sweat that are forming on your forehead. This is it. Your journey at MasterChef ends here—

“What on earth are you doing?”

Looking up from your counter, you spot Jaehyun walking along the front of the space. He’s the last person you want to see. He’s the last person you want to talk to, especially right now. He has his hands tucked into his pockets as he makes his way towards you.

“I’m packing up my things.” You answer simply with a blank face.

“Why are you packing up your things? The competition isn’t over yet.” He finally makes it to your counter. Underneath the spotlight, he notices how bloodshot red your eyes are. You’ve cried all night over this competition and it brought you to your decision of withdrawing.

“The competition isn’t over yet for my fellow contestants,” you begin, “but the competition is over for me.”

“I’m not sure if I understand what you’re saying—”

“I’ve withdrawn from the competition.” You make it make sense for him. Jaehyun takes a couple of seconds for your words to sink in. Once he’s processes your words, his eyebrows furrow in confusion and frustration.

“What?” He blurts out. “W-Why?”

You grow confused. That’s his reaction? “Shouldn’t you be happy that I’m leaving the competition? It’s one less thing to worry about, right? Your decision in choosing chefs to advance to the next round won’t be hard anymore because I’m leaving. Everything will be better without me—”

“Why would I be happy over a contestant’s voluntary withdrawal from the competition?” He cuts you off.

You fall silent. Suddenly, you have no energy trying to defend yourself. With everything piling up, you’ve decided to give up. Everything that has happened to you in the past has led you to this moment. From spilling wine all over Jaehyun’s drink to messing up Jaehyun’s dish at your internship in Florence to your time here at MasterChef, it has brought you to the conclusion that maybe Jaehyun was right: you’re not fit or qualified enough to be a chef.

“In a competition, you should not associate your emotions with your overall performance. Whatever you create here in the kitchen is what we judge.” He says sternly with his hands placed on top of the marble of your countertop. “You and I are both aware that this is a competition. You are aware that your performance and the dishes you create are going to be commented on by judges. But as judges, we make those comments, good or bad, are to help you improve.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like comments to me. I don’t feel like you’re helping me improve. I feel stuck with no direction given. I just feel like you have this predisposed idea of who I am after all those negative encounters we’ve had in the past which is why you treat me like this.” You finally get it off of your chest. You feel extremely vulnerable in front of Jaehyun. All of your emotions that you’ve held in for so long are beginning to hit the surface. “And this is why I’ve decided to do everyone all a favor and withdraw.”

He pushes himself off of the countertop and holds in a sigh. You let your head hang low. His eyes land on the cardboard box sitting on the floor. It’s filled with all of your cooking utensils. He sees an old washed out apron sitting right on top of all the pans and dishes. Stitched right near the upper corner of the apron is a name. It’s not your name, but your mother’s name. The apron has been through a lot. It’s been through a lot of washes. It’s been through a lot of spills. But you have never once thought of throwing it out because it was the only thing you had left of your mother. Aside from all the memories you have of and with her, of course.

“Well, withdrawing from the competition means that you’re aware that you have no confidence in yourself.”

“I hope you’re hearing yourself right now.” You mutter softly.

“Do you really think you’re not fit to be a chef?” He questions.

“Well, you sure make me feel like it—” You scoff.

“Cook me your best dish, then. If I think it’s horrible, then maybe withdrawing is the best decision.”

“I thought you’ve already made it clear that I’m not fit or qualified enough to be a chef—”

“You have sixty minutes.”

“Chef—”

“Your time starts now.”

Before you could protest, Jaehyun turns his back towards you and walks away. You’re trying so hard not to burst out into flames. The urgency to flip him off makes your blood boil. As he takes his seat at the front behind the judges’ table, you bend down to finish packing up your things. Jaehyun seems to pick up that you’re not taking up the challenge.

“You claim that I was discouraging you this entire competition. You said that you have potential. You want to prove me wrong, right?”

You stop in your tracks. You sure do. You want to prove Jaehyun wrong so badly. With a burning passion. When he sees that you’ve stopped, he knows that he’s slowly changing your mind.

“This is your chance to prove me wrong. Prove to me that you deserve to stay in this competition.”

You will yourself back up, fiery eyes meeting him. He knows that he’s turned the gears in your head. After you’ve given it much thought, you decided that if you were going to withdraw from the competition, you might as well show him what kind of aspiring chef they’re going to regret letting go of. You guess it was a pride thing. But you’ve never wanted to prove Jeong Jaehyun wrong so badly until now.

Jaehyun stares at you as you walk away from your station and into the large pantry with all the fresh ingredients. A smirk slowly begins to spread across his lips. You’re grabbing many ingredients from the pantry. There are some questionable pairs but ever since the start of the competition, you’ve always been experimental with your dishes. Surprisingly, they always turn out delicious no matter how ambiguous the ingredients are relative to each other. You finally return to your workstation to begin cooking your dish.

“Fifty-five minutes left,” he yells out to you.

You slightly jump. It’s just the two of you in the kitchen. If you were quite honest, it felt a bit intimate. But you felt a lot of pressure on your shoulders. Here you are, cooking for a world-renowned chef, after voluntarily withdrawing from a competition that he judges for. Here you are, cooking for a world-renowned chef who asked you to cook him a dish to prove him wrong.

A deconstructed pie. That is what you have in mind.

There are two ingredients that you’ve never paired together before; grapefruit and basil. You’re planning on making a deconstructed raspberry and basil pie. The pie will consist of basil jelly and grapefruit curd, topping it all off with Italian meringue.

“What are you making?” Jaehyun asks when he walks up to your station.

“A pie.”

“In an hour?” Jaehyun questions. You slowly nod your head, trying to keep yourself focused on your work. “Pies usually take more than one hour to make.”

“It’s going to be a deconstructed pie. Grapefruit and basil. Instead of using the crust, I’ll be using graham cracker crumbles.” You explain while juicing your grapefruits.

“Grapefruit and basil? Don’t you think that those two together would be a bit… risky?”

You shake your head. “Basil goes well with lots of fruits. I wouldn’t be surprised if basil went well with grapefruit.”

“I’ve tried a grapefruit and basil pie once. I don’t remember where, but it was delicious. I have high expectations for this. Yours will be the second grapefruit and basil pie that I have ever had in my entire life.” He comments. What a way to put the pressure on you. You don’t say anything. “Alright, then I guess—”

“You’re distracting me.” You cut him off. “Do you mind going back to the front and sitting there while I continue doing whatever it is that I need to do?”

“Sassy,” he grins. “Fine. I’ll be up at the front. You have forty-five minutes left.”

Forty-five minutes left to prove yourself. At this point, you’re not trying to prove you are worthy of staying in the competition. You’re trying to prove that you are nothing what Jaehyun thinks of you. You’re trying to prove Jaehyun that you are fit and qualified enough to be a chef and that this is made for you. It is something you love doing. It is your passion.

Jaehyun plops his butt down onto his seat and watches you cook up your dish. You’re making grapefruit zest while making sure the grapefruit curd isn’t being overcooked. He finds himself staring at you with awe.

When Jaehyun met you for the first time, he didn’t like you. You ruined his shirt. His favorite shirt. But another reason why he didn’t like you was because you didn’t look confident enough. When Jaehyun met you for the first time, you were hiding behind the executive chef, too humiliated by your own actions. He saw right through you at that moment. You had an inferiority complex. You were not confident enough in yourself. You were shy. You always doubted yourself. But when his eyes met yours, he saw a fire ignite within them.

When Jaehyun met you for the second time, you weren’t a waitress. You were a line cook. A culinary intern. You ruined his dish. When Jaehyun met you for the second time, he still didn’t like you. It was because after all the months that have passed by, you still don’t look confident enough in yourself. It made him uneasy. But the only difference that time around is that although he still didn’t like you, he knew that eventually, he would, because he saw potential. Leaving the restaurant that day after tasting your subpar dish made him uneasy, knowing that he could’ve done something to lift your spirits up. He knew that he had to do something to make you learn how to be confident in your cooking because that was the first step to making perfect dishes. If you were confident to cook, your dishes would reflect it. When Jaehyun met you for the second time, he realized that he didn’t like you because you reminded him of himself.

When Jaehyun met you for the third time, you were taking a chance at MasterChef. It was a year since the last time he saw you. On your first and second encounters with Jaehyun, the both of you were in Florence. But the third time, the both of you are in Seoul. It almost seemed fated. When Jaehyun boarded the plane in Florence going back to Seoul, he couldn’t get you off his mind. What if he tried to lift you up? What was it that he could’ve done to encourage you? He regretted being cold to you. He knew that if he had just been a bit nicer, a bit more sincere, it would’ve further ignited the flame that was already lit within you. It was like the heavens had heard him and sent you to him for a third time.

He knew this was his third and final chance to make things right.

“Twenty minutes!” He yells.

“I heard you loud and clear, geez.” You place a hand over your heart as you continue your work.

You’re working on your Italian meringue. It was something you learned how to do while you were doing your culinary internship in Florence. Making Italian meringue is completely different from making regular meringue. It requires more precision and accuracy. It requires more attention to detail. If you mess up the meringue, you’re practically messing up the entire dish.

You don’t want that happening. That’s the last thing you want.

While you’re waiting for the sugar water to boil at an ideal temperature, you’re beginning to plate your dish. Gently and slowly, you place a layer of grapefruit curd at the bottom of the bowl. It acts almost like a bed for the basil jelly and Italian meringue. At perfect timing, the sugar water has reached its ideal temperature and you immediately take it off of the stove. You walk over to your stand mixer, turning it on and gradually pouring in the sugar mixture into the egg whites. The egg whites slowly turn into a beautiful meringue. Sweet. Fluffy. Almost like marshmallows. Once you’ve poured the entire sugar mixture, you continue to mix the meringue until the bottom of the bowl runs cold to the touch.

“Fifteen minutes!”

Jaehyun waits for you to say something but nothing comes out. He checks up on you and realizes you’re too focused on placing the meringue into a piping bag. He never knew how pretty someone could look under the harsh light of the stage kitchen. The brightness only highlighted your features that were solely focused on creating the perfect deconstructed pie.

This was a first for Jaehyun—being mesmerized by a contestant under his wing. And as his heart caught on fire, much like the gas stove he used to use when he learned to cook all those years ago, Jaehyun also hoped it would be the last.

Having the chance to see you again is definitely a chance given by fate. The idea that you could be gone from the competition out of your own will absolutely terrifies him. It’s the last thing he wants. He wants you to realize how much talent you have. He wants you to realize that you have a lot of potential. He wants to be close to you. He wants to get to know you more. He’s only been able to do that through your dishes. Lately, it’s been hard to look directly into your eyes because it makes him grow nervous. While you’re the only contestant that’s around his age, he’s never felt more connected to someone until he met you. You most likely feel the complete opposite of him, but this is because he has the tendency to push people away. He pushes you away because he’s scared that once he screws up this chance to make things right, he might not forgive himself. It’ll be all his fault.

“Ten minutes!”

You’re piping the Italian meringue onto the bed of grapefruit curd. After that, you’re slicing up the basil jelly into small cubes. You place the basil jelly cubes on top of the grapefruit curd along the Italian meringue. Lastly, you’re grabbing a handful of graham crumbles and scattering them carefully on top of the Italian meringue, basil jelly cubes, and the grapefruit curd. Your deconstructed pie is almost done. You rummage through the drawers to find a torch. You light the torch on to slightly toast the Italian meringue. You don’t want it to burn, you want a nice toast on the top.

“Five minutes!”

You fix up your dish one last time with roughly four minutes to spare. You slowly head up to the front of the kitchen with your deconstructed pie. Jaehyun meets your gaze and he smiles. Oh, how you wish you could wipe that smile off of his face. Placing the dish right in front of him, you step back for him to taste it.

“Do you mind going through how you prepared this dish?” Jaehyun asks as he opens one of the drawers to pull out a spoon.

You clear your throat. “It is a deconstructed grapefruit and basil pie. It consists of grapefruit curd as a bed layer with basil jelly, graham crumbles, and Italian meringue.”

“Why did you choose to make Italian meringue instead of the usual meringue?” He asks.

“I chose to use Italian meringue for this dish because Italian meringue has a more marshmallowy, soft, fluffy consistency in comparison to ordinary meringue.” You explain. “I think the soft, fluffy texture of Italian meringue fits perfectly with the creamy grapefruit curd and basil jelly.”

“I’m going to take a spoonful of everything.” Jaehyun begins as he scoops a little bit of grapefruit curd mixed with graham crumbles, a single basil jelly, and a single Italian meringue. The both of you meet eyes and he puts the spoon into his mouth.

As he’s taking a moment to savor the flavors, you let your head hang low. You’re expecting him to let out a frustrated sigh. You’re expecting him to come up with the rudest comment on your dish. It’s horrible. It tastes horrible. You’re waiting for those words to come out of his mouth—

“It’s… delicious.”

Your head shoots up. He digs in for another spoonful of your deconstructed pie. “Sorry… what?”

“I said,” he says, “it’s delicious.”

You let out a breathless laugh. Were you hearing things right? Jaehyun quirks an eyebrow at you and you straighten up your posture. “Sorry, I just—this is the first time I’ve ever heard something nice coming from you.”

“It not only tastes delicious but it tastes familiar.” He mumbles softly. “It reminds me of this diner my parents used to take me to after basketball practice. The diner was somewhere near Yonsei University where my parents used to teach. That diner served grapefruit and basil pie. I think I was about twelve or thirteen years old. It’s been a while since I’ve had it but I could still remember it so vividly—”

“Mina’s Place?” You whisper.

Jaehyun’s eyebrows raise with surprise and his face is overcome with realization. Mina’s Place. The reason why he hasn’t been to the diner in a while is because it closed down when he made a visit. It was a sudden shutdown and his family never knew what happened to the owners. They were unique and both of his parents’ favorite place to wind down after a day of teaching culinary students. That diner’s grapefruit and basil pie had inspired him to follow the footsteps of his parents. It was the unusual pairing of basil and fruit that made him curious, it was what drove him to start cooking.

“Yeah… Mina’s Place.” He mumbles softly. “It’s too bad it closed down too soon.”

Your head hangs low again. Mina’s Place was your mother’s product of hardwork and dedication. Your late mother had bought the space and created it into a diner where she was able to cook up whatever she wanted for her guests. It was what made her happy. But when your mother started to grow sick, it was your father that took over the diner in hopes that she would return. But your mother’s health continued to deteriorate until she passed away at an early age of forty-seven. Ever since her passing, the diner wasn’t the same. Your father had decided to sell the diner to a young couple who were looking to start their own restaurant.

Your mother’s best-selling item on the menu was the grapefruit and basil pie. Until this day, you are grateful that she managed to pass the recipe down to you. You had loved and admired your mother’s love for cooking. You would spend most of your days watching her cook. You would ditch everything to learn how to cook, especially from your mother. The deconstructed pie that you had made for Jaehyun is a representation of how much you miss her and how much she inspired you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Jaehyun looks at you confusedly. “Thank you for cherishing my mother’s passion, for cherishing her love of cooking. She would be thrilled to know that there was someone who loved her grapefruit and basil pie.”

“Y-You’re joking,” he shakes his head. “She’s your mother?”

You purse your lips into a tight line, nodding. “We closed down the place because she died of cancer. It didn’t make sense to take on the diner after her passing. My father had no idea how to cook.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry—”

“I decided to study culinary arts because it’s the only thing that reminds me of her. It’s the only thing that brings me closer to her. I also wanted to open up a diner in her honor, to celebrate her life. I think that’s what she truly wanted… to spend most of her life with her family and at the diner.” You chuckle, wiping away a tear that slides down your cheek. “And don’t apologize. You had no idea.”

“But still, I—”

“I’ve decided to stick with my decision regardless of whether you enjoyed my dish or not. I’m going to withdraw from the competition.” You clasp your hands together.

Jaehyun watches you as you carefully take off your apron. You place the apron right next to your dish before bowing to him. “Y/N, no—”

“Thank you for everything, chef. It was an honor cooking for you and I’m glad you enjoyed the pie.”

“Y/N, no, please. Stay here with—” Me. That’s what he wants to say. It almost terrifies him that this is the first thing that crosses his mind. It catches him off guard. He’s never had the urge to let you stay. He’s never been afraid of losing you. He’s never been terrified of slowly realizing your importance and your effect on him. “The other contestants. You’re worthy of the chance. Just like them.”

“I’ve already told the producers—”

“We can always take it back. You can always take it back.” He cuts you off. “Don’t withdraw. You have so many more things to accomplish, to conquer, to show off. You have talent, Y/N. Withdrawing from the competition will be the biggest mistake of your life—”

“Please don’t say all of that if you don’t even mean it—”

“I mean it. Stay.” He’s so close to begging. “Your mother was one of the few driving forces that led me to becoming a chef. If it weren’t for your mother, I probably wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now.”

“You’re lying,” you shake your head in disbelief. “You’re just making this hard for me.”

“Stay for your mother. I’m sure she would want you to finish the competition regardless of whether you win or not—”

“But you wanted me gone since the first round—” Never. He never wanted you to leave. He wanted you to stay. He wanted to help you. He wanted to encourage you to work hard for your dreams.

“Do it for her. Do it for Mina’s Place.”

You fall silent. For a moment, you could hear your mother’s voice chanting you on. You could hear her giggles and laughter. You could see her bright smile. It makes your eyes glassy. Your eyes trail down towards the pie that you made. As you fixate on the pie, you wipe away a few more tears.

“Yes, chef. I’ll stay.”

“How did you change her mind?”

Taeyong stands next to Jaehyun and watches you as you return your things back into their respective drawers at your station. Taeyong, along with Doyoung, had expected your station to be empty the following morning. But there you were, absolutely present, setting up your station before the next round of the competition begins. Jaehyun shoves his hands into his pockets and watches you intently, not being able to tear his gaze away from you.

“Let’s just say I worked my magic,” he answers softly.

Doyoung glances at his co-judge, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. He follows Jaehyun’s line of sight and it lands on you. Taeyong seems to pick it up as well and a cheeky grin spreads across his lips. Taeyong has worked with Jaehyun for many years. They opened up one three-Michelin starred restaurant in Florence together and they ran the restaurant for many years. From Jaehyun’s inner thoughts to his feelings, Taeyong knows him so well. In fact, Taeyong hasn’t seen Jaehyun like this in so long.

Work has been the main priority for Jaehyun. Taeyong was always trying to get his best friend to loosen up and meet some people while they were in Italy. But Jaehyun was always closed up and always stayed back in the kitchen. It was sad for Taeyong to see his best friend have a lack of social life—moreover, a dating life. Jaehyun’s last relationship was a couple of years ago and it ended on horrible terms. In particular, his breakup happened right before he boarded his flight to Italy. Taeyong knows that it left such a negative impact on his best friend. Jaehyun had promised to never fall in love again after his breakup, devoting his entire life to cooking and being in the kitchen… never leaving it once.

But seeing how Jaehyun looks at you, Taeyong is starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Alright, chefs! We’ll be starting in ten minutes! Relax, grab a drink, and we’ll regroup.” Doyoung announces.

You suck in a deep breath, heading towards the water dispenser to get yourself a cup of water. Taeil follows behind you, grabbing himself a cup of water too. He tilts his head in confusion, analyzing your every move. You seem to notice and when the two of you finally make it up to the balcony that oversees the entire kitchen, you face him.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask.

Taeil shakes his head. “No! No, not at all. I was just—I thought you said you were going to withdraw from the competition.”

You take a swig of your water. “I did. But… I changed my mind. I decided to stay.”

“What changed your mind?” Taeil questions. Everyone’s beginning to gather at the balcony before the new round of the competition begins.

Before you could even answer Taeil’s question, Chef Jaehyun stands in the space between you two. He leans over the railing of the balcony. You and Taeil share a look. You clear your throat, adding a bit more distance between you and Chef Jaehyun. Taeil studies your body language and it’s almost as if he reads your mind. Ah, Chef Jaehyun changed your mind.

“Ah, I see.” Taeil slowly nods his head. “Well, good luck, Y/N. I’m sure you’ll do well in the next round.”

Taeil leaves you and Chef Jaehyun alone to talk with other contestants. You’re looking everywhere but at Chef Jaehyun, busying yourself by the water in your cup.

Jaehyun can’t comprehend what’s going on with him. He can’t find the courage to look at you. But when he does, he can’t seem to breathe because his heartbeat picks up its pace. He clears his throat. “Are you ready for the next round?”

You finally look at him. You straighten up your posture. “Yes, chef.”

“Y/N, no, please. Stay here with—the other contestants. You’re worthy of the chance. Just like them.”

“Don’t withdraw. You have so many more things to accomplish, to conquer, to show off. You have talent, Y/N. Withdrawing from the competition will be the biggest mistake of your life.”

“I mean it. Stay. Your mother was one of the few driving forces that led me to becoming a chef. If it weren’t for your mother, I probably wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now.”

It’s hard to get rid of Chef Jaehyun’s voice out of your head. Whatever happened a couple of nights ago in the kitchen felt a bit too intimate. You were cooking one of your best dishes, a dish that meant a lot to you, for one of the most famous chefs in the world. It was just the two of you in the kitchen. Chef Jaehyun had begged you to stay in the competition. All of those events that night were driving you crazy.

What Chef Jaehyun does next snaps you out of your thoughts. He places his hand on your head and ruffles your hair. Your eyes slightly widen and you freeze. “Good luck.”

When he leaves to speak with the other contestants, you’re left all alone by the balcony with a heart beating so fast. You almost drop your cup of water but you catch yourself just in time. You place a hand over your heart as if it’ll help it stop beating so fast.

There’s been a shift between you and Chef Jaehyun ever since that night.

You’ve always despised Chef Jaehyun. You didn’t even like him to begin with. Not one single bit.

But now… you’re not quite sure anymore.

“There are only two more rounds left in the competition. But this round determines who has a chance to be the next MasterChef. Who will make it to the final round of MasterChef? We shall find out! For today’s challenge, the three of you will be paired up with one of us to cook up a special meal for your own friends.”

There are three contestants left in the competition. Those contestants are you, Taeil, and Seokjin. Each one of you is called up to the front to pick a slip of paper from a box. The chef that’s on your chosen slip of paper will be the chef that you will be paired up to cook with. Whoever you end up with wouldn’t matter because the three of them are perfect in their own way.

Chef Jaehyun is a perfectionist. He’s also competitive. He loves making sure that the food he puts out is more than perfect. It gives him relief and satisfaction knowing that his customers love the food that he makes for them. He’s surely known all over the world for being overly meticulous. He’s also known for running many successful restaurants. He has strong ties with restaurants in Florence. Being paired up with Chef Jaehyun means that you are guaranteed to make a successful dish.

Chef Taeyong is also a perfectionist but not as competitive as Chef Jaehyun. He always makes sure that he thoroughly enjoys the process of cooking. He’s almost like a mother. He cooks for people because he genuinely enjoys doing it. It’s a hobby that he enjoys doing and somehow, it brings him fortune and success. Being paired up with Chef Taeyong means that you’ll not only make a perfect dish, but you’ll also have fun making it and create a story along with it.

Chef Doyoung is not a perfectionist, but he has a great sense of his ingredients. He knows the compatibility of ingredients, which is something every chef wants to have. It’s a trait that is rare to find in chefs. This trait had led him to win MasterChef when he was a contestant. To others, his dishes might be ambiguous but once people try it, they would have never imagined such a dish to work out. Being paired up with Chef Doyoung means that you are willing to take risks that will elevate your dish and bring out uniqueness.

When you open your slip of paper, you almost let out a laugh.

Chef Jaehyun.

Fate loves playing games with you.

“I got Chef Jaehyun,” you hold up your slip of paper. You and Taeil exchange looks.

When your eyes meet Chef Jaehyun’s, he bites back a smile that’s threatening to spread across his lips. The two other chefs can’t seem to hold back their smiles either. You look down, growing too shy with all of the attention on you.

“I got Chef Taeyong.” Taeil shows his slip of paper.

“And that means I got Chef Doyoung.” Seokjin finishes, holding up his slip of paper.

“Perfect. We’ll start in five minutes. During these five minutes, we will all discuss with our partners and plan out our dishes accordingly.” Chef Taeyong announces.

When Chef Jaehyun heads over to your workstation, you can’t seem to compose yourself. Your mind is going insane. You’re not sure if you’re going to end up regretting having Chef Jaehyun as your partner or be grateful that he could help you secure a spot in the finals.

“I’m surprised you’re not sick and tired of me yet,” he mumbles. “It’s just always gonna be you and me, huh?”

“I’m surprised you’re not sick and tired of me yet either,” you shrug your shoulders.

“I guess fate likes the two of us together.” He says, avoiding your gaze.

“I’m sure fate hates me and is punishing me by pairing me up with you.” You mutter underneath your breath.

“I heard that.”

“You were supposed to.”

Working together with Chef Jaehyun is a pain in the ass.

“The sashimi should be cut like this!”

“Yeah, I know! I can see it!”

It’s been non-stop bickering for the past fifteen minutes. There’s forty-five minutes left before you have to send out your dishes to your friends. With the grin planted across Chef Jaehyun’s lips, you’re not sure if he’s doing this for fun or if he’s genuinely being strict and serious.

“You’re in the way.” You nudge him aside to grab the bottle of Japanese mayonnaise. “Do you mind checking on my rolls?”

“They look good—”

“You didn’t even look at them!” You look at him as if he had ten heads.

“I don’t need to look at them to know if they look good or not.” He rolls his California rolls. “You need to be more confident in yourself. Do you think they look good?”

“Of course, because I made them.” You fold your arms.

“Then they look good! You have to trust yourself, Y/N.” He slices through the California roll before rolling each of them into Panko. “I feel like you don’t trust yourself enough.”

Chef Jaehyun’s right. You don’t trust yourself enough. When he notices how silent you’ve gotten, he finally takes a look at your California rolls. He analyzes the contents of your roll before smiling. “It looks perfect to me. You see, I didn’t need to look at them to tell you that they’re good. You put the right amount of crab meat. There’s a balance between the crab meat and rice. The roll is consistent. The rice is sticky enough. It’s perfect, Y/N, stop doubting yourself.”

“Really…?”

“Really. Now, get back to work because we don’t have much time left.”

As the two of you both get back to work, Jaehyun can’t seem to stop himself from smiling. If there was one thing he wanted to do with someone special to him, it was to make a meal together. He learns more about someone through the art of cooking. You’re an expert at baking and inherited those skills from your mother. You know your spices so well that they come to you so naturally. You know how to balance your ingredients. You know when two ingredients work and when it doesn’t.

You’re the complete opposite of him. Jaehyun is an expert at everything but baking. He doesn’t have a great sense of spices and would often plan out his dishes carefully. Making a perfect dish doesn’t come naturally to him. He’s more on the practical side of cooking. Jaehyun thinks you’re the perfect match for him. Whether it be in the kitchen or as someone he’d like to pursue… he’s not sure.

It would be a huge lie if Jaehyun wasn’t attracted to you. He doesn’t know when the switch happened. Maybe he liked you from the start.

It’s almost as if fate had you written in his stars. When Jaehyun had been dumped by his ex-girlfriend right before he boarded his plane to Florence, he was devastated. He was devastated knowing that his ex-girlfriend whom he was planning on proposing to was cheating on him that entire time. He was devastated knowing that he lost one of his few passions; the love of his life. Heartbroken. Closed off. Focus on working. Focus on hustle culture. Never falling in love again. That was Jaehyun’s mindset.

But now that he thinks about it and all the encounters you’ve had with him, meeting you for the first time in Florence must be a fateful encounter. From spilling expensive wine all over his shirt to serving him a horrible dish as a culinary intern, no matter how embarrassing those experiences were, it must be fate. You make him worry about you. You make him think about you a bit too often. He goes out of his way to make sure nothing horrible happens to you. He doesn’t want you to be hurt.

Meeting you may be a special event that has happened in his life.

“Chef? Chef…?”

He snaps out of his thoughts. You’re giving him a funny look.

“You were saying?”

“You have some seaweed on your face, chef.”

“I-I do? Where—”

Before he could even wipe his face with his hands, you’re already reaching up to rub off the seaweed crumbs off of his face. He freezes in his spot. His eyes look down to meet yours. When you finally brush the seaweed crumbs off of his crimson red cheeks, your eyes shift to his. It’s your turn to freeze. Out of instinct, Jaehyun gently holds your arms. He holds you so carefully… almost cautiously. Somehow, he can’t speak. Somehow, everything that surrounds the two of you becomes nothing but white noise. His eyes slowly trail down to your lips.

“You have fifteen minutes left! Fifteen minutes!”

You both are startled, repelling from each other. To calm your unsteady heart, you focus on finishing your last few sushi rolls before you begin plating them. Jaehyun stands more than a meter away from you, not making any sort of conversation with you for the remainder of the fifteen minutes. His heart is beating so fast that he’s afraid you could hear it ramming out of his chest.

It’s all starting to make sense. To him, at least.

He’s slowly—but surely—falling in love with you.

The morning of the final round of MasterChef, you wake up still in disbelief that you’re one step closer to becoming the champion. In the semi-finals, your great teamwork with Chef Jaehyun has secured you a spot in the finals, giving you a bigger chance of winning the entire competition. There’s no backing down for you. The possibility that your dreams can come true is still surreal for you and now you’re willing to put in all the effort to make sure that possibility becomes reality.

As soon as you enter the kitchen, you spot none other than Taeil, who’s already setting up his station. You and Taeil both find it funny how although you’re both closest to each other and have become good friends in the competition, here you both are, competing against each other to become the champion of MasterChef. It’s a friendly competition. You can’t imagine finishing the entire competition with anyone else.

“Hello, chef.” You greet him.

“Good morning, Y/N. Today is the day.” He smiles. “Good luck. Let the MasterChef win.”

Everyone begins to gather around. Your friends and family and Taeil’s friends and family. The three chef judges make their ways to the front after getting their hair and makeup done. The kitchen is set up differently this time around. Instead of the normal rectangular work stations, the station is set up as a circle that surrounds both you and Taeil. The two of you will work on opposite sides of the circle.

As you and Taeil get settled and wait for filming to start, your eyes catch Chef Jaehyun’s. You’re almost surprised and a bit taken aback to catch him already looking at you. He’s dressed up quite nice today. He’s wearing an indigo suit with his hair styled back. He has such prominent eyebrows, you notice, since he’s always had his hair down. He’s… handsome.

And he smiles at you.

Not knowing what to do in return, you flash him a small, timid smile before looking away. In just a few minutes, the final round will begin and your fate will be determined. You spot your father who’s wiping away tears with his handkerchief. Sitting in his arms is a framed picture of your mother. Your eyes slowly tear up but you blink them away.

“We will start in three… two… one… action!”

“Welcome everyone, to the final round of MasterChef.”

“Today, we will find out who is this season’s MasterChef.”

“Will it be Taeil? Or Y/N? We shall find out!”

For the final round of MasterChef, you and Taeil will be cooking up three dishes for the chef judges. The first dish will be the appetizer. Following the first dish is the entree. The third and final dish is the dessert. You and Taeil were given a week to figure out what you’re going to serve the chef judges. You have decided to base your dishes around the theme of apples. All three of your dishes contain apples.

The first round of three begins and you’re cooking up your first dish. For your first dish, you’re creating a scotch quail egg that will rest on top of a bed of parsnips and potatoes. You envision this dish to replicate a bird’s nest, where the bed of parsnips and potatoes act as the nest that protects the scotch quail egg. The scotch quail egg is different, however, because you will incorporate apples into the coating that surrounds it.

“Your time starts now!”

You and Taeil busy yourselves at your own sides of the circle. You’re beginning your dish by boiling a pot of water for your quail eggs. At the same time, you’re bringing out the ground pork and a couple of red gala apples. As you’re cutting the gala apples, you make sure to cut them into cubes to make them stand out in the scotch egg. From the corner of your eye, you can see Chef Jaehyun step off of the stage to head towards you.

“Hello, Y/N.” He greets you as he approaches your side of the station. “What are you making for us?”

“A scotch quail egg,” you mumble.

“With apples?” You hum in reply. “And what are you going to do with the potatoes?”

“I’m going to slice them up to replicate a nest for the quail eggs to rest on.” You answer.

“That seems like a bit of an easy dish, don’t you think?” He purses his lips into a tight line. “Do you think it’ll be enough to impress us?”

“Yes,” you mumble, trying your best not to let him distract you.

“Are you sure your quail eggs are going to be cooked properly? They shouldn’t be—”

“Overcooked, yes, I am very much aware of that, Chef Jaehyun.” You cut him off.

He chuckles. Your ears perk up. “It seems like you don’t want me around. Am I distracting you?”

“Yes,” you answer and everyone around you laughs. “I guess you’ll just have to see what I have planned for you when I serve it to you later.”

“Sounds good. I’m excited to see what you bring to the table, Y/N.” He searches for your eyes, but they’re busy looking at other things. In reality, you’re just too shy to look at him. “Good luck, Y/N.”

“Thanks, chef.”

Returning to your station, you keep the judges’ comments on your appetizer in your thoughts to improve on the next dish. The next dish that you’re going to cook up for them is the entree. Because your appetizer was easy to make, this left you ample time to begin preparing for your entree. You plan to serve the chef judges an entree dish that you call, rabbit two ways, in which you will serve them two different kinds of rabbit meat while incorporating bursts of apple flavors into it. The timer starts and you and Taeil get to work.

“I like how you presented this dish. It looks like a bird’s nest!”

Chef Taeyong’s comments on your dish had given you the motivation and desire to win the competition. From the start of the competition all the way to the final round, Chef Taeyong has been nothing but encouraging and genuine. All of his comments and advice shaped you into who you are as a chef today, at this very moment.

“Although there are some burnt potatoes and parsnips in my dish, I think that it surprisingly complemented the sweet flavors of the apple in the scotch egg.”

Chef Doyoung, a MasterChef champion, is someone you always looked up to. You remember watching the season that he was competing in and having a gut feeling that he would make it to the final round. There was something special about Chef Doyoung and his dishes. Every dish he created had its own story, and of course, it would always look and taste delicious. Hearing his comments throughout your journey in the competition has also helped you learn and create a chef’s mindset.

“I think I would definitely serve something like this as an appetizer at one of my restaurants. The presentation is spot on. I couldn’t have imagined a scotch egg to be presented in any other way. It’s almost as if you’re recreating nature, mother nature I would say, through your dishes. The flavors balance so well, which is not surprising because you’ve always had a good sense of your spices. Very well done, Y/N.”

Chef Jaehyun, although you disliked him at first, has truly been the one who wanted to see you succeed. Ever since he had tried to change your mind about withdrawing from the competition you couldn’t help but think that he was the one who truly liked you and your performance in the competition all along. If he didn’t try to change your mind, you would have probably withdrawn from the competition and returned back to the starting position of your journey. Chef Jaehyun has made you realize that if you truly want something, you have to work extremely hard for it. He made you realize that you’re better than what you think and most of the time, you’re just being hard on yourself. Someday, you plan on thanking him for being tough on you because it helped you on your journey to becoming a chef.

As you heat up the pan on the stove, you slice and dice up your apples to fuse them with the rabbit meat. Placing them onto the pan, you begin creating your artichoke puree that will amplify the flavors of the dish. From time to time, you could check up on the rabbit meat to make sure that you weren’t overcooking it. Overcooking rabbit meat would be horrifying because it would only mean that you would have to cook a new batch in so little time. It is extremely crucial to your dish.

“You have fifteen minutes left!”

You spent the remaining fifteen minutes focusing on the rabbit meat since you have finished making the artichoke puree. After already beginning to plate your dish with the puree, you place the rabbit meat onto a frying rack to drain out the oil. Your hands are shaking out of complete nervousness. You want this so bad. But the fact that you’re serving a dish that you haven’t even tasted is such a huge risk to take.

“Five minutes left!”

Drizzling a bit more of the artichoke puree on top of the rabbit meat, your nervous hands cause you to drizzle a bit more than needed. Pulling out a clean towel, you wipe off some of the puree that scattered on the sides of the dish. Glancing up at the time, you have one minute left to spare. You take these last few seconds to make sure everything looks good before handing them over to the servers.

“Time’s up! Hands up! Servers, please head to the back to serve the dishes.”

The last and final dish you are going to serve the chef judges is dessert. Dessert is your expertise. Everyone is aware that if there was one thing you excelled at as a chef, it would be through your desserts. You would like to thank your mother for exposing you to the world of baking at such a young age. It truly helped you later on in life, especially in this competition. For this dish, you decided to create a dish that represented a fallen apple or an apple that has fallen from an apple tree. The dish is simply an apple panna cotta, but you will be presenting it in such a way that it looks like an apple that has fallen onto the ground. This dish is going to tie up your ‘apple’ series and hopefully help you win the competition.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m back.” Chef Jaehyun smiles as he visits you at your station once again.

You smile back at him. “Hi, Chef Jaehyun. Is there anything I could help you with?”

“You could help me by letting me know what you’re planning on serving us for dessert.” He grins.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” you mumble softly.

“Mysterious.” He nods his head as he begins to move on to Taeil’s station. “You’re going to surprise us?”

“Yes, chef.” You reply.

“Well, I hope it’ll be worth the surprise! Good luck, Y/N.”

“Thanks, chef!”

For your dish, you’re not planning on serving them a whole apple. You’re going to recreate the apple by making apple jelly. The apple jelly will be shaped like an apple by pouring the mixture into a silicone tray. Since an apple has seeds in the middle, you are going to toast up some pine nut seeds and place them into the middle of the jelly mixture once it’s set. To recreate the red color of an apple, you are going to place a red glaze all over the jelly. Since this dish is going to replicate a fallen apple, you are going to recreate soil by grinding up a mixture of nuts and raisins. This will act as the bed for the fallen apple. Lastly, you are going to recreate the leaves of the apple tree by using sugar and water, and the twigs of the branches with a sweet dough.

“You have twenty minutes left!”

You pull out your silicone trays and you nearly have a heart attack. The jelly is not completely set but you don’t have much time left to keep it in the fridge. You still have to plate the entire dish. Taking the toasted pine nut seeds off the stove, you place them onto a tray to cool down. One by one, you shove pine nut seeds into the apple jelly. The seeds keep popping back up, which confirms that your apple jelly still isn’t set properly. But with the time you have left, you have to take this risk.

“Ten minutes left!”

You begin plating your dish. To plate your apple-themed dessert, you grab the bowl of fake soil that you created with an assortment of nuts and raisins and scoop out two spoons to create a bed for the fallen apple. After you do that on three plates, you carefully pop out the apple jelly from the silicone tray and place it on top of the soil. Then, to decorate the apple jelly, you stick your fake twigs into the jelly and place sugar leaves on top. As you grab the pot of red glaze, you stop in your tracks.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Chef Jaehyun looking at you as you freeze in your spot. You look deep in thought. Suddenly, you shake your head and place the pot of red glaze back onto the countertop. He tilts his head in confusion.

“Ten seconds left!”

Everyone is beginning to count down and you’re making final touches to your dish. Taeil, on the other hand, already has his hands up to indicate that he’s already done.

“Time’s up! Hands up! Servers, please take the dishes to the back.”

“Alright, Y/N, please tell us what you have served for us.”

Stepping forward, you clear your throat. Each one of them looks at you with anticipation, but it makes you grow even more nervous. You feel more nervous than how you were at the start of the competition. When your eyes meet Chef Jaehyun’s, your mind can’t help but go blank. He gives you an encouraging smile and it’s enough for you to snap back to your senses.

“For dessert, I’ve recreated a fallen apple by making an apple panna cotta. The fallen apple is supported by a bed of soil which is recreated with an assortment of nuts and raisins. To replicate the twigs and leaves of the apple tree, I’ve made a dough for the twigs and used a sugar glaze for the leaves.” You describe your dish. All of their eyebrows raise. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“I saw you holding a pot of red glaze earlier and I assumed that you were going to use that to glaze over the apple jelly. But I see that you’ve decided not to use it. Is there a particular reason why you decided to do that?” Chef Jaehyun asks as he’s digging into your dessert by taking a bit of everything onto his spoon.

“I decided not to use red glaze for this dish because I felt like it would look a little bit too fake. I also think that it wouldn’t match the overall colors of the dish.” You explain.

Chef Jaehyun smiles. “I think that was good judgment on your part. If it doesn’t look like it belongs on your dish, then don’t add it. Well done, Y/N.”

“Let’s all dig in.” Chef Doyoung insists.

As they all taste your dish, you nervously fiddle with your fingers. After they have all finished tasting the different components of your dish, they look back up at you.

“I think this is a unique dish, Y/N.” Chef Taeyong begins. He’s the first one to make a comment on your dessert. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The presentation is spot on again. I really like the balance of sweetness from the apple jelly and the richness of the soil. I enjoyed this dish. Thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, chef.” You mumble.

“I agree with Chef Taeyong.” Chef Doyoung smiles. “I really like how the jelly melts in your mouth and how this is counteracted by the crunchy texture of the nuts. The presentation of the dish is executed very well, it looks like a fallen apple. You’ve done a beautiful job, Y/N.”

“Thank you so much, chef.”

“I agree with all of them.” Chef Jaehyun chuckles. “I see why you decided not to add red glaze to this dish. It would have completely ruined it. I am not one who likes desserts, but this has completely changed it for me. I love how it has the right amount of sweetness. The nuts balance well with the sweetness due to it being so rich in flavor. I would also serve something like this at my restaurant. You’ve come a long way, Y/N. You’ve done an excellent job in finishing up your three-course apple menu.”

“Wow, that means a lot, thank you so much.” You sigh with relief.

“Alright, we’re going to have a bit of a meeting now.” Chef Doyoung chuckles. “The two of you can go back and meet with your family while we go over your dishes and choose this season’s MasterChef.”

“Good luck, Y/N and Taeil.”

“We have finally come to a decision.”

Everyone is gathered near the front of the kitchen. The three judges are standing right in front of you. You and Taeil share glances. Taeil flashes you a huge smile that you mirror back at him. It feels like a dream standing in front of the three chef judges, waiting for them to announce the winner of MasterChef. The journey that you took on this competition is one that you will never forget and one that will change your life forever.

“It was hard to choose a winner for this season’s MasterChef.” Chef Taeyong begins. “Because the two of you have come such a long way since the start of the competition. The two of you have been through tough challenges and elimination tests, but you persevered, and that’s why you’re standing here today.”

“You have both improved and learned a lot since you started your journey here at MasterChef, and your journey continues even after the competition.” Chef Jaehyun clasps his hands together. “I personally think this season is my favorite. This final round has been special. You both served dishes that we have never even seen in the previous seasons of MasterChef. The both of you should be extremely proud of yourselves for making it this far.”

“But we do have to choose one MasterChef winner. The winner will be getting the first prize and a chance to open up their own restaurant or catering service. This will put you out into the field of cuisine and culinary arts, something that we’re all sure that you both came here for.” Chef Doyoung smiles. “Shall we announce the winner?”

“I think we should.” Chef Taeyong chuckles. “It was such a hard decision but…”

“But we have finally chosen this season’s MasterChef.” Chef Doyoung finishes it for him. “Y/N, Taeil, could you please step up to the front?”

You and Taeil head towards the front, hand in hand. Taeil gives your hand a tight, reassuring squeeze. Standing right behind him is his own family. Standing behind you are your relatives and your father, but also your mother, who’s looking down at you from the sky.

“This season’s MasterChef is…”

You close your eyes. Your heart begins to beat faster than horsepower. You would feel like the only woman in the world if you hear your name being called out. Standing right here, with Taeil, in front of three world-renowned chefs, is another reminder of how much you wanted this, why you started this journey, and what you want out of it. It’s not only for you, but for your mother, who would always chase her dreams.

“Congratulations, because you are this season’s MasterChef…”

“Y/N! Congratulations, you are this season’s MasterChef!”

It’s all a blur. Confetti shoots up into the air and falls down like snowflakes. You open your eyes when you feel yourself being attacked by your family with hugs. Taeil’s hand never lets go of yours and he pulls you into a tight, celebratory hug. Your eyes well up with tears.

You can’t believe it.

If only your mother was here to celebrate your win with you. But you’re sure that she’s up in the skies, cheering you on, celebrating your achievement. It’s hard to breathe because it all feels so surreal. When you blink away your tears, your vision becomes clear again and you see the three chef judges coming in to join the big hug. Chef Jaehyun falls within sight and you share gazes.

He flashes you a wide, warm, genuine smile while mouthing ‘congratulations’.

Your heart skips a beat but you pay no attention to it.

You mouth back a ‘thank you, chef’.

AFTER MASTERCHEF.

It’s been a couple of months since you won MasterChef and you’ve been assigned to work alongside Chef Doyoung at one of his new branch locations. You’ve been assigned this job in the meantime while you renovate your new diner that you’ve always wished of running.

If Jaehyun were to be honest, he was quite sad (or should he say, jealous, but he will never admit it) that you were assigned to work with Doyoung. The days after MasterChef have been uneventful and boring. Everywhere he looks, it reminds him of you. Everything he does, it reminds him of you. Stubborn to admit it, he misses it. He misses you.

And so when he steps inside of Doyoung’s new branch location of his restaurant, Doie, he hopes that he could catch you there. Why? Because finding you has been extremely difficult these days.

As he steps into the restaurant, he heads straight to the front desk. The woman working at the front slowly looks up and upon realizing who’s standing right in front of her, her posture straightens.

He flashes her a warm smile. “Is Chef Y/N here?”

“O-Oh! You’re Chef Jaehyun!” She exclaims.

He smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yes, that’s me. I decided to drop by and check this place out. I had only found out that Chef Y/N was assigned to work here in the meantime before the opening of Mina’s Place.”

“Unfortunately, Chef Y/N already left. She left a couple of hours ago to attend to some personal matters.” The woman frowns, spinning a pen in between her fingers.

“Oh, is that so?” He’s trying so hard to hide the disappointment in his eyes. “I guess I was a bit too late.”

“Do you want me to pass a message on to her, chef?” She asks insistently.

“Oh, there’s no need. I guess I’ll just drop by tomorrow.” He says with defeat.

Why is it that it used to be so easy to bump into you? Why is it that it’s become so difficult to bump into you now? Why is it so hard to cross paths with you now? It’s been so easy to find you before. But now, when he tries to find you, he can’t. It’s grown into a difficult game of hide and seek.

“Actually—” Jaehyun begins before cutting himself off. “I’ll be right back.”

He rushes out of the restaurant and spots a flower shop right across the road. Stepping inside of the flower shop, he’s greeted by an elderly woman who’s watering a fresh batch of tulips. She places the pail of water back onto the black and white tiled floor.

“Hello, young man, how can I help you?”

He lets his eyes wander around the shop. He can’t seem to figure out what to get.

“I’ve been wanting to get a bouquet of flowers, but I’m not quite sure which flowers to put together.” He scratches the back of his head.

She giggles sheepishly. “Is it for a young lady that’s taken your interest?”

He’s caught off guard by the question. He lets out a shaky, breathy laugh. There’s no way he could be feeling this way for you. Even if he does feel like you’re someone special to him, it’s something that will take a while for him to understand. Liking you is one thing but falling in love with you is another.

“I—I mean—Yeah, I guess so?” He sounds confused.

She tilts her head. “You guess so? Well, young man, the fact that you’ve stepped foot into my shop to get a lovely lady a bouquet of flowers must mean something. She must be someone special.”

The old woman has a point. He wouldn’t be going out of his way to do all of this for you. He wouldn’t be trying to find you. He wouldn’t have the urge to talk to you, to get to know you more.

“I guess you’re right,” he slowly nods his head when everything slowly becomes clear for him. “Alright. Do you mind putting a bouquet together for a young woman that I’ve taken interest in? I want her to like me just as much as I like her.”

The old woman breaks out into a wide smile.

“Right away, sir.”

When the bouquet of white daisies and red tulips is wrapped and bundled together with a plastic wrap, Jaehyun pays for the old woman’s efforts and time before heading back to the restaurant across the road. But before he leaves the flower shop, the old woman gives him words of encouragement. He gives her two thumbs up and heads back.

The woman standing at the front eyes the bouquet of flowers in his hands when he enters. He places the bouquet on top of the counter. “I’m back.”

“You’re back, indeed.”

“Do you mind giving Y/N these flowers when he comes in tomorrow? You could place them in a vase to keep them fresh too.” He asks.

She nods her head. “Will do, chef.”

“Alright, thank you so much. I’ll head on out now—”

“Chef Jaehyun, are you sure you’re just going to give her the bouquet of flowers without a note?”

Shoot. He turns back around. “You’re right, I didn’t write a note.”

She slides over a stack of sticky notes and her own pen. “Here you go, chef.”

He grabs the stack of sticky notes and walks over to one of the tables for two. He plops his butt down onto one of the chairs and thinks about what to write and what type of note he wants to leave you. To him, it seems like he’s been sitting there for hours. There are so many things he wants to tell you, but he’ll have to say them one by one.

To Y/N,

I dropped by Doie in hopes of seeing you. Would love to meet and catch up with you over a cup of coffee. I miss hope that we could get in touch soon. On the back of the note is my number. Hope to hear from you soon.

Jaehyun

“A short video?”

The production team exchanges looks before nodding their head. Jaehyun has been called to have a meeting with one of the food companies that he helps endorse. The company is popular for their gluten-free food products. From gluten-free flour to gluten-free bread, the company most likely carries it. It was the first brand that Jaehyun endorsed mainly because he’s always been picky with his food, especially since his mother’s allergic to gluten.

“Yes! With Chef Y/N! It’s a promotion video for one of the new brands we’re carrying here at the supermarket. We’re planning on having the both of you shop around one of our supermarkets and use the groceries to create a dessert for Valentine’s Day.” One of the PR managers explains.

“Did Chef Y/N agree to do the video?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, she just got back to us this morning. She’s interested in doing the video.” Another PR joins the conversation.

“Great. I’ll do the video.”

Everyone looks at each other weirdly. That was such a fast response. They always had trouble negotiating with Jaehyun mainly because of his busy life. But this time, it was different.

“O-Oh? That’s perfect, chef!”

“When do we start?”

A couple of weeks later, you arrive at a supermarket that’s been closed off to the public until noon. It’s been a while since you last saw Chef Jaehyun. You were quite surprised to hear that he had decided to do the cooking video with you. You were even more surprised when the PR team had told you that the MasterChef viewers had voted for the two of you to collaborate for the video. As for the reasons why the viewers voted for the two of you specifically… you still have no idea.

“Chef Jaehyun will be arriving in a bit, he’s running late because of traffic.” The videographer informs you.

“No worries, I’ll keep myself busy in the meantime.” You smile, heading inside of the supermarket to take a look at the groceries.

You start off in the produce section, trying to see what you can come up with for the video. There are fresh large strawberries that you think would be perfect for chocolate-covered strawberries. After all, you and Chef Jaehyun are supposed to create a dish that would be perfect for Valentine’s Day. You try to look for other alternatives, steering away from doing the basics.

“Miss Y/N? Chef Jaehyun has arrived. He’s just outside of the supermarket.” One of the PR interns approaches you, almost startling you.

“Oh! Yes, alright, I’ll head on over with you right now.” You join her as you both walk back outside of the supermarket.

As you walk through the automatic doors, the first thing you spot is a tall figure standing a few meters away. He’s talking to the videographers and the PR interns who are telling him what they have planned for the video. You hesitantly approach them, mumbling a soft, “hello.”

When Chef Jaehyun turns towards you, you see his eyes slightly widen before a flame ignites within them. For a brief moment, you get lost in his eyes because you find yourself focusing more on trying to steady your fast heartbeat. When you come back to your senses, you’re the first to look away.

He clears his throat and you feel his shoulder brush against yours. “Nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

“Nice seeing you too, chef.” You mumble softly. Why do you feel shy?

“Are the two of you ready to start filming? From the scripts that we sent you, it’s going to be a casual type of video.” The videographer explains. “Just to briefly brush over what we have planned for the video, the two of you will be shopping for groceries that the company carries and sells and you will both cook up a dish together. It will be Valentine’s Day themed.”

The both of you slowly nod. “Are you ready?”

You look up to see Chef Jaehyun already looking down at you. You flash him a small, timid smile. “Ready, chef.”

“Perfect! Let’s start with the filming. Be yourselves and of course, have fun!” The videographer clasps his hands together and he pulls out his camera.

You brace yourself.

It’s going to be a long day, that’s for sure.

“Hello everyone, I’m Chef Jaehyun.”

“And I’m Chef Y/N.”

“And today, we’ll be shopping around for ingredients to cook up a meal that you could cook for your loved ones this Valentine’s Day.”

Chef Jaehyun pushes the cart while you look for some fresh fruits in the produce section. The two of you have agreed to cook two different dishes, a dessert and a main course. Chef Jaehyun will be in charge of the main course dish while you will be in charge of the dessert.

“To spice things up, we have a couple of questions to answer while we shop.” You begin while you’re grabbing a bag of raspberries.

“You’re going to play the couple game!” One of the PR interns says from her script. Your eyes almost bulge out of its sockets. You don’t remember a couple game written in the script. From the surprised look on Chef Jaehyun’s face, you don’t think he remembers it either. “We will give you two options and the both of you will answer on the count of three. Think of it as a compatibility game!”

“C-Couple game? Compatibility game?” Chef Jaehyun chuckles sheepishly.

“First question! Fried chicken or pizza? One… two… three!”

“Chicken.” You both answer in unison.

“Wow, the compatibility is strong right off the bat.” The PR intern giggles. “Next question! Snow or rain? One… two… three!”

“Snow.” You both answer in unison again.

“Wow, this must be fate.” The PR intern swoons. “Third question! Ice cream or cake? One… two… three!”

“Ice cream.” Chef Jaehyun answers.

“Cake.” You answer.

“The last few questions will only get interesting from here. Next question!” The PR exclaims. “Fall in love with your childhood best friend or fall in love with a celebrity! One… two… three!”

“Fall in love with your childhood best friend.” You both answer.

“Interesting. Next question!” The PR continues to read off of her list of questions. “Choose the one who likes me or choose the one I like the most? One… two… three!”

“The one that I like the most.” You both answer. The PR intern grins as if her mission was accomplished successfully.

After all of your horrible encounters with Chef Jaehyun, this was one of the few times that you were actually on the same page as him. The only times that you felt like he was on your side was when he begged you to stay in the competition and when he was your partner for semi-finals. You were slowly starting to forget about cold-hearted Chef Jaehyun, the perfectionist that loved to nitpick every single detail of yours. This side of Chef Jaehyun… is a side that you want to see often.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if you fell in love with him.

“Last question before we let you finish grocery shopping,” the PR intern snaps you out of your thoughts. “What are your ideal types?”

“I like someone who is easy to talk to, someone that I can communicate with without feeling embarrassed. It’s nice to have someone who’s transparent.” Chef Jaehyun is the first to answer the question.

“How about you, Chef Y/N?”

You think about it for a moment. You hum to yourself before shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t think I have an ideal type.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because I think that no matter what you like in a certain person, when you actually fall in love with someone, that person could be completely different.” You explain.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, Y/N.” Chef Jaehyun nudges you.

It’s an odd gesture, coming from him. You bite your lip, nudging him back.

“If there’s a hopeless romantic out of the two of us, it would be you, Chef Jaehyun.”

The PR intern chuckles.

“It would definitely be you, Chef Jaehyun, since you were born on Valentine’s Day!”

At the end of the shoot, you and Chef Jaehyun had insisted on cleaning up the kitchen before leaving the set. You’re busy washing the dishes and he’s busy putting the ingredients back into the cupboards and fridge. From the corner of your eye, you can see Chef Jaehyun leaning against the countertop, watching you. You almost drop the dishes into the sink, catching yourself right in time.

“How have you been?” You hear him ask.

You bite your lip. “I’ve been well, chef. You?”

“Better now that I’ve seen you again.”

You clear your throat, letting out a lighthearted chuckle. “I’m not sure how you want me to react to that, chef.”

“Did you… get them?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Get the…?”

“The flowers…?”

“Flowers…?” You place the dishes back into the hot bath before gasping. “Oh, right! The flowers! Yes, I got them. Thank you, Chef Jaehyun. You didn’t really need to.”

“I wanted to give you a gift since I heard that you’re planning on opening a diner,” he mumbles softly. Is he… blushing?

“It’s true.” You smile. “I’m going to make my mother’s dreams come true.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you.” He flashes you a smile. It’s a different smile. This time, you can feel the genuinity he’s expressing. It feels sincere. “Have you finalized a grand opening date?”

You turn off the faucet and wipe your hands with a towel. As you turn towards Chef Jaehyun, you don’t realize how close he’s been standing to you. You almost stumble back. Gulping nervously, you nod your head. “Sometime in July.”

“I’ll keep my schedules flexible in July, then. I’d love to join you for the grand opening.”

“Oh, you don’t need to, chef. I’m sure you’re busy with other things.”

“If it’s for you, why not?”

The two of you stare at each other. His eyes slowly trail down to your lips. You lick them out of instinct, frozen with your feet glued to the floor. As you fake a cough, he regains his focus and is the first to pull away from you.

“Jaehyun? We have to get going for your next schedule.” His manager calls out to him.

The two of you glance at each other. He gives you a look you can’t seem to read. Jaehyun doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay with you. He wants to spend more time with you. He’s aching to get to know you more. There’s a sense of urgency and neediness.

“You should get going, chef.” You mumble shyly. “Wouldn’t want to be late to your next schedule.”

What Chef Jaehyun does next completely catches you off guard. He ruffles your hair before caressing your cheek with the same hand. With widened and surprised eyes, your heartbeat picks up its pace. He smiles. It feels warm. He feels warm.

“I won’t be able to see you for a while but Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N. You don’t know how happy I am to see you again.”

When Chef Jaehyun’s figure gets smaller and smaller, your heart feels tighter and tighter. You’re not sure how Chef Jaehyun feels about you. But what you’re sure of is that you no longer despise Chef Jaehyun.

You’re slowly falling in love with him.

[NEW] COOK UP HEARTWARMING VALENTINE’S DAY DISHES W/ CHEF JAEHYUN AND MASTERCHEF CHAMPION Y/N 1.2m views | 56k+ likes | two days ago

COMMENTS:

[pinned comment] Chef Jaehyun Official: Happy Valentine’s Day everyone~ #chefjaehyunxYN should we do another video together?

pastrychef_amy21: omg is it just me or does anyone feel like chef jaehyun has a crush on chef y/n?? doggolover312 replied: omg I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE THAT NOTICED. luminescencexx replied: the way he looks at her >> get you a man like chef jaehyun ugh he’s handsome AND he cooks??? perfect package kjhdskjfh

galaxiesandstarsxo: they act like an old married couple sobs i always found their bickering cute since masterchef doggolover312 replied: but doesn’t chef jaehyun have a gf? i swear he did galaxiesandstarsxo replied: i think they broke up a long time ago? they were supposed to get married apparently… but something happened. they even unfollowed each other on socials doggolover312 replied: omg if that’s the case… chef y/n you still have a chance!!

It’s your last day helping out at Doie and it feels bittersweet to be leaving. Here, you close a chapter to open another one. You’ve been helping out in the kitchen at Doie for months, right after you had won MasterChef. The time you were at Doie is something you’ll cherish. But you’re moving on to make bigger moves, making you and your mother’s dreams come true as one of them.

On your last day of work, Chef Taeyong decides to surprise you with a visit. You’re in the middle of cooking up a dish when he arrives and asks you if the two of you could have a chat. You both find yourselves sitting in the loft that’s been closed to customers for the season.

“How have you been?” He asks.

You smile. “I’ve been well, chef. I’ve been enjoying every single day.”

He chuckles. “I can definitely see that you’re enjoying every passing day. You’re a MasterChef, after all.”

You cut right to the chase. “Am I in trouble, chef?”

“No, not at all. Far from it, actually.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to talk to you about something… or should I say, about someone.”

“Who?”

He snorts. “Jaehyun, of course. Have you seen him recently?”

“Yes, chef. We filmed a video together for Valentine’s Day with one of his sponsors—”

“Now that makes sense!” He exclaims. He sighs with relief. “He’s been acting incredibly weird lately. In fact, he’s been acting weird for the longest time, since MasterChef, and it’s been driving me nuts.”

“Chef Jaehyun? Acting weirdly?” You ask confusedly.

“How do I put this?” He sighs. “He likes you, Y/N. You may not think he does and he may not think he does either, but I see it. It’s crystal clear. It’s as clear as day.”

You fold over, bursting out into laughter. It’s the reaction he expected from you. He got the same exact reaction from Jaehyun. Complete disbelief. Complete obliviousness.

“Oh no, chef. I don’t think he likes me—”

“He does, Y/N.” Chef Taeyong cuts you off. “Listen, before his flight to Florence, his ex-girlfriend dumped him because she was cheating on him. Ever since then, Jaehyun has been such a cold-hearted person and worked his ass off. But I always felt that there was something off about him.”

“He got dumped before flying out to Florence?” You purse your lips into a tight line. “Maybe that’s why he was such in a bad mood when I spilled wine all over his shirt—”

“You both met each other before MasterChef?” Chef Taeyong flips out, eyes rounding like saucers. “In Florence, too?!”

“Yes…?”

“Makes sense.” He squints his eyes. “He kept talking about this restaurant, specifically about this waitress who somehow became a culinary intern—”

“That was me—”

“—and how he kind of regretted being so cold and rude to her because he truly saw potential and thought that she needed a boost of confidence—”

“He saw potential in me even back then—”

“—wait, the girl he was talking about was you?!” His jaw drops.

You slowly nod your head. “I was the waitress who spilled wine all over his shirt. I was the culinary intern who messed up his dish. All those horrifying encounters with Chef Jaehyun had led me to think that he absolutely hated me. He was blunt and honest, which made my unconfident self to join MasterChef to prove him wrong.”

“And you did.” Chef Taeyong smiles before it turns into a grin. “But Y/N, you got it all wrong.”

“I got it all wrong? How?”

“Jaehyun never hated you. He never disliked you.” He confesses. “In fact, it’s the complete opposite. Jaehyun’s a weird guy, I know.”

“H-How? I don’t—I don’t understand.” You scratch the back of your neck, face filled with confusion.

“When he told me about a waitress spilling wine all over his shirt, he laughed and said it was like fate was telling him to wake up.” He chuckles. “When he told me about a culinary intern messing up his dish, he couldn’t help but regret being harsh to the intern and wanted to go back but he already had to fly back to Seoul.”

You’ve never really thought of how your encounters with Chef Jaehyun looked through his point of view. Now that Chef Taeyong was laying it all out for you, you were slowly realizing that your low self-esteem and confidence caused you to immediately conclude that he hated you.

“Huh—”

“When you auditioned for MasterChef, Jaehyun actually wanted to say yes. In fact, he was the first one to say yes, but the producers of the show told him to say no to add more drama for the viewers.” He continues. “For your team challenge, Jaehyun was the one who spotted Euntae sabotaging your cake.”

“It was him?” You whisper.

He nods his head. “When we were deciding who to eliminate after your team lost the challenge, Jaehyun was proactive in convincing us to keep you in the competition. You were close to being eliminated but Jaehyun kept telling us that you had potential.”

He saw potential in you. He was persistent in keeping you in the competition. In the end, Chef Jaehyun really cared.

“I—”

“The day after I found out that Jaehyun stopped you from voluntarily withdrawing from the competition, I was curious as to how he managed to make you stay.” He smiles. “But when I looked at him look at you, I had already gotten the answer.”

You fall silent. Chef Jaehyun did everything to make sure that you felt like you were fit to be a chef. But you were just closed minded and immediately shut him down. All of his actions translated into intentions out of hate. You wish you had known, perhaps you would’ve developed a great friendship with him. You’re surprised he’s still coming back into your life to try at being friends with you after being so rude to him.

“I’ve worked with Jaehyun for many years. I know him so well. I can read him like a book. When I saw how Jaehyun looked at you that day, I felt relieved because I’ve never seen him like that for so long.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “If my best friend decides to pursue you, just know that he has good intentions and that it’s a huge step for him, especially after a heart crushing breakup.”

“That is, if he really likes me.”

“Oh trust me, honey, he does.”

Chef Taeyong lets out a sigh. The two of you stand there, looking out at the blue skies that overlook the busy streets of Seoul. Your life may be busy, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything else. You’re living out your dreams.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yes, chef?”

“The reason why I dropped by was because I wanted to give you this.” He pulls out an envelope from a bag filled with many other identical envelopes.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Can I open it in front of you?”

He hums in reply. “Go ahead.”

As you open the envelope, you pull out a white card. It’s almost as if you could read his mind. As you slowly open the white card, you let out a gasp.

“You’re getting married?!”

THE GRAND OPENING.

It’s been a year since you won MasterChef. It’s also been a year since you started planning to start your own diner in memory of your mother. Mina’s Place. You decided to keep the name because it’s one of the few things that remind you of her. You even made sure the interior and exterior of the diner looked exactly how it did when the diner was still open. From the yellow seats and booths, the use of purple and lavender lighting to the gray tiled floors, you kept everything the same. The only difference is that the diner is located in a different area, right in the middle of busy Seoul.

Today is the grand opening of the diner and you’re expected to serve a large group of customers. PR and advertisement has been your best friend, but your appearance and your win at MasterChef drove the anticipation of the diner’s grand opening even further.

You arrive at the diner at six in the morning to prepare all of the ingredients. From the ingredients to the grapefruit and basil pie to the ingredients for your Korean brisket and kimchi burger, you had prepared them all on your own. It was only until eight that your co-chefs and waiters and waitresses had arrived to prepare for the grand opening. Around eleven-thirty, customers, Instagram influencers and foodies began to show up at the door, forming a long line around the strip.

“Chef Y/N?” One of the waitresses, Luna, pops her head through the door.

You’re crouching down, filling up the mini fridge with cartons of milk. You dust your hands off your apron and you slowly get up. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Someone’s here to see you,” she flashes you a warm smile.

You look at her confusedly. “Are we missing someone on the team? I don’t remember anyone telling me that they were going to drop by—”

“It’s Chef Jaehyun,” Luna bites her lip. She’s biting back a huge smile.

Your eyebrows raise. Confused, you continue to gather yourself. Chef Jaehyun? “S-Sure, you can let him in.”

Luna leaves the kitchen to go fetch Jaehyun and you finish placing all the cartons of milk into the mini fridge. Moments later, you hear footsteps entering the kitchen. You stand back up, bumping your head against the table and groaning in pain. Crouching back down over the floor, you hear footsteps begin to scurry closer to you.

“Oh! Are you okay, Y/N?”

Before your hand touches the sensitive area, you already feel a familiar hand gently rubbing it to soothe the pain. You freeze up in your position, gulping nervously. Suddenly, Chef Jaehyun’s face is right in front of yours. He has a look of concern. Looking back at him with slightly widened eyes, your mind is completely wiped out of thoughts. What is this feeling? You’ve never felt this way before. You’ve never felt your heart beat so fast. You’ve never frozen up in front of someone. You’ve never lost your train of thought because of someone.

Seconds later, you clear your throat, pulling yourself away. You’ve finally come back to your senses. “Chef Jaehyun… I had no idea you were planning on dropping by—”

“I wanted to join you in the ribbon ceremony for the grand opening!” He exclaims.

He remembered? He knew it was today? You and Chef Jaehyun have never established some sort of friendship after the competition. You like to think that the both of you have achieved the status of being acquaintances, but definitely not the status of being friends.

“A-Ah,” you mumble softly. “Thanks, chef. You didn’t need to, I feel like it would be a bother and I’m sure you have other plans too—”

You’re not sure when things began to change. You’re not sure when the atmosphere began to shift between you and Chef Jaehyun. It’s almost as if you’re seeing a different person. He’s much brighter, nicer, happier. Why is it making your heart swell? What are his intentions?

“I wouldn’t miss the grand opening to Mina’s Place for anything else,” he says softly. “Hey, Y/N?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“I got you a present to congratulate you on the grand opening of Mina’s Place.”

“A present?” You blurt out. “Oh, no, Chef Jaehyun, you didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to.” He cuts you off. “Let’s go?”

For a brief moment, you see his hand reach out to grab yours but he quickly pulls away upon realization. The two of you are not that close for such skinship. When he realizes it, he looks back up at you with panicked eyes. Was he really going to hold your hand? You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away from his. Instead, you both walk out of the kitchen side by side.

Sitting on one of the light brown hardwood tables is a lavender box wrapped with a thin white ribbon. You glance at Jaehyun as if asking for permission, he gestures to you to go right ahead. Gently untying the ribbon, you take the lid off the box. A small gasp escapes your lips.

Sitting inside the box is an apron, but it’s not your regular apron. The apron looks just like the one in your old family pictures. Yellow with white straps. It’s simple and clean. It’ll show the stains of your hard work. It’ll feel like home.

But when you pull it out, there’s one little difference to the design. There, embroidered in white on the top left corner, reads the words “Mina’s Place.” It looks just like your mother’s handwriting, the original font of the brand, and it makes your eyes well up with tears. For a brief moment, when you hold up the apron, you could imagine your mother standing right before you with it on.

“Chef, I—” You’re having trouble forming the right words to say.

“So she’ll be with you, right above your heart, every step of the way,” Jaehyun pauses for a moment, “Chef.” He gives you a smile so fond, you are again struck with disbelief.

Hearing the word ‘chef’ come from Chef Jaehyun is something you want to hear over and over again. You want it to play through your head like a broken record. Chef Jaehyun has always been hard on you, but you knew that he was only hard on you because he only wanted the best. Chef Jaehyun is always hard on everyone and you failed to notice that. He truly wants the best for the people he works with and most importantly, the people he teaches. Maturing is realizing that you were ignorant of Chef Jaehyun’s true intentions and immediately thought negatively of him because of your past encounters with him.

“D-Do you mind saying that again?”

“I’m proud of how far you’ve come, Chef Y/N. This is only the beginning.”

After a long first day of opening, you and your team of chefs and waiters and waitresses see the last customer out. The grand opening has been such a dream to you. There was a long line that wrapped around the block. The diner was packed with many people. The line never truly saw its end until an hour before closing. When the last customer walks out of the diner after complimenting how delicious their food was, you feel your legs give out and you sigh with relief. Slowly getting back up onto your feet, you head to the back kitchen to congratulate your team.

“And we are officially closed until tomorrow morning!” You exclaim. That is, until you spot a celebratory cake sitting right in front of you on the countertop. Your team of chefs and waiters and waitresses have their phones on and recording your surprised face. “Oh you guys, you shouldn’t have!”

“Congratulations on your grand opening, chef!”

Your eyes scan the kitchen. There’s Luna, a good friend of yours from university who worked as a waitress at a hotel restaurant. She quit her job in a heartbeat after you had offered her to work front of house with a better pay. Standing right next to Luna is Minhyuck, who just graduated from culinary arts college and has been wanting to get into the kitchen as soon as possible. You saw your younger self in him, which is why you hired him on your team. Right next to Minhyuck is Yena, a rookie pastry chef that’s planning on entering MasterChef and figured working with a MasterChef champion would help her. Next to Yena are Wheein and Dohyun, who are line chefs and also your co-culinary interns in Florence. Lastly, there’s Mark and Donghyuck, two best friends and college students who were looking to get jobs as waiters.

“You guys are going to make me cry.” You pout your lips.

“To Mina’s Place!” Mark exclaims.

“To Mina’s Place!” Everyone else exclaims.

You smile, leaning in to blow out the candles. Everyone cheers. But slowly, everyone puts down their phones and stops recording video. You look at them confusedly as they begin to flash you encouraging and cheeky smiles and grins.

“Why are you guys looking at me like that?” You ask.

“Well, would you look at the time, we should get going!” Dohyun looks down at his wristwatch, avoiding your question.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. My mom’s going to kill me!” Wheein is rushing to gather her things.

“Wheein is my carpool driver, so I should get going too.” Yena bites her lip.

One by one, everyone starts to leave the kitchen and the diner. When it’s just you, you slowly turn around to see Chef Jaehyun entering the kitchen. He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck nervously. You tilt your head in confusion.

“Y-You’re still here, chef?” You question.

He nods his head. “I wanted to drop by and see your last customer out.”

“O-Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He smiles. “I was wondering if you could…”

He falls silent, having trouble finding the right words to come out. You stand there, expectantly, waiting for him to finish. The first thing you notice is how red Chef Jaehyun’s ears are becoming. The second thing you notice is how he can’t seem to look directly into your eyes. The third thing you notice is that… Chef Jaehyun has become shy and nervous around you. Have the tables turned?

“If I could…?”

“If you could teach me how to make the grapefruit and basil pie.” He blurts out and it comes out as a jumble of words.

You bite back a smile. “Are you going to steal my recipe and start selling grapefruit and basil pie at your restaurant?”

“Of course not,” he panics. “I would never do that.”

“I’m not sure if I could trust you,” you fold your arms, continuing to tease him. “Jaehyun.”

“I won’t,” he says softly, finally finding the courage to look into your eyes. When it sinks in that you called him by his name, his gaze softens. You feel your heart swell. “I promise. That is, if you promise me one thing too.”

“Of course,” you smile. “What is it?”

“You’ll accompany me to Taeyong’s wedding.”

“I’d love to, in fact, I was invited as well—”

“As my date.” He finishes. You almost choke on your spit.

Is this really happening? Jaehyun looks incredibly nervous. You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling so wide. You slowly nod your head in response.

“I’d love to, Jaehyun.”

THE ‘REAL’ FIRST TIME.

When Jaehyun’s parents pick him up from elementary school, it’s pouring showers outside. But the only thing that lit up the gloomy streets of Seoul was Mina’s Place, a diner that he and his parents would frequent every Friday to reward their efforts for the past week. Both of Jaehyun’s parents are well-known professors at Yonsei University, specifically in the culinary arts program. Jaehyun’s father was a chef alongside famous chefs like Baek Jongwon and Lee Yeonbok. Jaehyun’s mother was a pastry chef who was known for her win at a famous pastry competition back in her days.

And Jaehyun… was a mini chef in the making.

On a gloomy Friday afternoon, Jaehyun and his parents sit in their usual corner of Mina’s Place. A woman seeming to be in her late thirties heads over to their table with a menu. She’s wearing an apron and a chef’s hat.

“Welcome to Mina’s Place, what can I get you started for today?” The woman asks, pulling out her notepad after gently placing the menus down onto the red table.

“Hi Mina, we’d love to have the usual!” Jaehyun’s father exclaims. “That grapefruit and basil pie has never left my mind since the last time we were here.”

“That’s such a relief to hear…” The woman, whom Jaehyun now knows is Mina herself, sighs with relief. She writes it down in the notepad along with his mother’s order. She clicks her pen before stuffing it into the pocket of her yellow apron. “I’ll have your orders ready in a bit. In the meantime, make yourselves at home!”

Jaehyun’s eyes wander around the diner. Although this diner was the place he and his parents would frequent, this diner was extra special for a reason. That reason being that his parents got engaged right in front of the diner while it was owned by different owners. During that time, the diner wasn’t Mina’s Place yet, it was a fast-food restaurant.

Jaehyun’s attention is disrupted when Mina comes back to their table with their orders. His eyes land on the little girl standing right beside her. She has such large innocent eyes. She looks curiously at him. She seems to be somewhere around his age. She’s sporting a mini apron that looks exactly like Mina’s.

“And who is this cute little girl?” He hears his mother ask Mina.

Mina places her hand on the little girl’s shoulder, bringing the little girl closer to her. She cuddles against Mina. “This is my daughter. Her name is Y/N.”

“How old is she?” His mother continues to ask questions out of curiosity.

“She’s ten.” Mina pinches her daughter’s cheek.

“Oh, she’s two years younger than Jaehyun!” His father joins in the conversation. “They could be friends!”

Jaehyun makes eye contact with the little girl. She looks up at her mother before looking at both of his parents. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she looks back at him and sticks out her tongue. He feels taken aback, eyes slightly widening.

“I think they would get along quite well!” Mina smiles. “Doesn’t little Jaehyun want to be a chef when he grows up?”

“He does,” his mother nods her head. “Does Y/N want to be a chef as well? Take after you?”

“She sure does! They could even go to culinary school together! Maybe go to a cooking competition or something!”

Friends? Jaehyun scoffs, sending a glare at the little girl. They have an intense staredown. To the adults, it looks like they’re staring at each other because they have crushes on each other. But in reality, Jaehyun’s having a staredown with the little girl because she provoked him. He pokes his tongue at her in return. Her eyes widen as if she did not expect him to put up a mini fight. They could even go to culinary school together? There’s no way that that’ll happen. Cooking competition? Absolutely no way.

“I think my little daughter here has a crush…”

“Jaehyun, sweetie, isn’t Y/N so pretty? You can’t seem to stop staring at her.”

THE REALIZATION OF (MANY) THINGS.

“That was you?!”

“I can’t believe that was you!”

Sitting by the water fountain, you and Jaehyun talk about your real first encounter with each other when you were kids. From the outside of the reception venue, you can hear the DJ playing a remix of cha cha slide and the guests chanting along. Taeyong’s wedding has been memorable. It was nice to see one of your mentors getting married to the love of his life. Not only that, but you’ve been having a great time with Jaehyun. Since it was getting quite stuffy inside the venue, you and Jaehyun decided to stroll around the garden outside to get some fresh air.

“You know, sometimes I think that we’ve always had fateful encounters.” Jaehyun begins. He’s aching to hold your hand. But he knows that he wants to take things slow and carefully. He’s so in love with you that he doesn’t want to mess this up.

“Fateful encounters? What makes you say that?” You ask.

“I came out of a horrible breakup before flying to Florence to run a restaurant with Taeyong. It was such a huge coincidence to have a beautiful woman spill expensive wine all over my shirt.” He chuckles.

You jokingly glare at him. “It was an accident.”

“I know, I know.” He waves it off. “It was an even more big of a coincidence to have the same beautiful woman serve me a dish at the same restaurant.”

“Makes sense.” You nod your head in agreement. “And then we met again at MasterChef but I was a contestant and you were the judge.”

“You know, when I heard that you were withdrawing from the competition, it was like my entire world was crashing down.” He says softly. “It was like I was reminded of all the times I’ve met you and how I couldn’t let you go. I had a feeling that there must’ve been a reason why I met you after getting dumped by my ex-girlfriend.”

“But you showed me that it’s worth working hard and that it’s worth chasing your dreams.” You smile. “I haven’t thank you yet for that but... thank you, Jaehyun. If it weren’t for you, I would probably fly back out to Florence and pick up another job as a waitress.”

“And yet, I would still look for you.” He confesses. “If somehow you stuck with your decision of withdrawing, I would’ve still looked for you, no matter how far the distance.”

“Really?” You whisper.

He smiles. “Yes. I mean, how could I forget the beautiful woman that spilled expensive wine all over my shirt?”

You playfully slap his arm. “You’re really going to tease me for that for the rest of my life, huh?”

“Of course, if only you allow me to be with you for a long time.” He says and it slowly turns into a soft, shy mumble. “Agh, this is so hard!”

You quirk an eyebrow. He’s turning away from you, throwing a cute little fit. “What’s so hard?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something but I keep getting nervous because you look—” He stops himself. “You look so pretty and whenever I look at you, I lose my train of thought and all of the things I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“What is it that you need to tell me?”

“Our fateful encounters.” He begins to tell you, with his back facing you because he’s too nervous to look at you. “After MasterChef, I did everything I could to find you, to see you, to get to know you more. When Doyoung told me that you were going to be working at his restaurant for a while, I kept visiting in hopes to see you but you weren’t there.”

“You did?”

“Yes, which is why I gave you those flowers!” He exclaims. “And then when we were asked to shoot that Valentine’s Day video, I agreed to do it in a heartbeat when I found out that you were going to be joining the project.”

“Oh...”

“It used to be so easy to look for you because of all of our fateful encounters. But after MasterChef, it’s become a mission to find you. But now that I’ve finally found you again, I knew that I couldn’t let you go no matter what.”

“Jaehyun...” You trail off.

He sucks in a deep breath before slowly turning back around to face you. “Y/N, I hope you know what I’m trying to say, where I’m trying to get at with this... but...”

“But?” You have a feeling you know what he’s going to tell you, but you would rather wait for it to spill past his lips.

“I’m—” He begins before looking down at your feet. His eyebrows raise in shock and he lets out a small gasp. “Oh, you’re wearing them.”

You almost want to curse at your two feet for ruining the moment. You look down at your heels that you’ve chosen to wear to the wedding. It’s the pair of heels that Alessandro had given to you when you broke your heels after tripping over yourself and spilling wine all over Jaehyun.

“These heels? Yeah, I was given—”

“You’re wearing the heels that I gave you.” He cuts you off.

“You were the one who gave these?” You whisper.

His eyes meet yours and he chuckles, nodding his head. “Of course. When you got back up after tripping over, I noticed that your heels broke and so I stopped by one of the shops along the strip to get you a new pair. I think I dropped it off with Alessandro because I was running a bit late to—oof!”

“It was you. It’s always been you. This entire time.” You crush him with a hug. He’s caught off guard and sits there in shock for a brief moment before melting into your embrace.

He slowly pulls away and grabs your hands. “As I was saying...”

“As you were saying...” You continue.

“With all our fateful encounters... with those pair of heels... with all of the times I’ve crossed paths with you, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way in so long.” He continues. “Y/N, I’m so in love with you. I’m already so nervous telling you this right now, especially while holding your hands. I just wanted you to know that I have feelings for you and you could completely reject me, I understand—”

“I’m in love with you too, Jaehyun.”

“Really?” He whispers, still in shock. “You’re giving me a chance?”

“Only if you give me a chance.” You chuckle.

“You don’t know how happy you’ve made me, Y/N.”

“You don’t know how much I want to make you happy, Jaehyun.”

WELCOME TO THE NEW SEASON OF MASTERCHEF.

“For today’s challenge, we will be recreating Y/N’s most famous dish!”

All of the contestants let out gasps when you step onto the stage to join the three chef judges. The judges for the new season of MasterChef remain the same; Chef Taeyong, Chef Jaehyun, and Chef Doyoung. After having them beg you to guest on the show, you decided to give it a shot.

“For today’s challenge, you will be recreating my famous dish of a deconstructed basil and grapefruit pie.” You smile. “To start this challenge, let us all gather around the front so that you could learn how to master your own deconstructed pie!”

You begin by making your way towards the demo station where you will be showing the contestants how to make your famous pie. Everyone joins in and gathers around you to get a glimpse of how to make your famous pie themselves. Standing on the stage a couple of metres behind you are the three judges, you watch you begin your demo.

Jaehyun folds his arms and lets out a happy sigh. Taeyong glances at him and quirks an eyebrow. “I wonder who that beautiful woman is cooking at the demo table over there.”

Taeyong snorts and rolls his eyes. “Jaehyun, that’s your girlfriend.”

Jaehyun chuckles, nodding his head. “Oh right... she is. That’s my girlfriend—actually, my fiance.”

“Your what? Since when? H-How—” Doyoung and Taeyong share shocked looks while Jaehyun digs into the pockets of his jeans to pull out an engagement ring. Your engagement ring, to be exact.

“Since last night.” He holds up your engagement ring in one hand and shows his engagement ring that he’s wearing on his other. “She doesn’t like cooking with her engagement ring so I’m just holding it for her.”

“Dude...” Taeyong clenches his chest.

Jaehyun snorts. “Dude...”

“Wow, I’m really the only one left that’s single, huh?” Doyoung sighs.

The two chefs comfort him by patting his back.

“She’ll come around soon, Doyoung. You just gotta be patient.”

“You never know, she’ll be a chef too!”

“Chef Jaehyun?”

The three of them shift their attention back to the contestants. You’re the one calling out to Jaehyun. He quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, Chef Y/N?”

“A couple of the ladies here are wondering if you’re single,” you chuckle.

Jaehyun shares a knowing look with you. “Well, I hate to disappoint but I just got engaged to the love of my life.”

They let out sad sighs and groans before everyone gets back to learning how to make your famous pie. Taeyong smirks.

“You’re breaking so many hearts right now, Jaehyun.”

💌 author’s note. she’s FINALLY here 😩 again, i apologize for keeping this off for such a long time. i’ve been super busy with school and just life in general. to everyone who’s been super understanding and patient, thank you so much. from the bottom of my heart, i sincerely thank you for waiting for such a long time. i also wanted to thank @sehunniepotwrites for hearing me voice out my frustrations and all of my excitement throughout writing this fic. nikki truly saw all of the emotions that i’ve experienced and gone through while writing chef!jae. i remember always wanting to write a chef!jae fic and bring chef!jae to life, but there was a lot of pressure and the feeling of doubt.. i felt like i had to do it justice and the fear of not writing it to the best of my ability (esp with me being a perfectionist), it was something that held me back from finishing this fic. but i managed to pull through and i realized that it doesn’t matter, what matters is that i enjoyed writing this fic and if that feeling of enjoyment can be felt through those who read it, that’s more than enough for me. but anyways before this gets longer, thank you so much for reading!

and as always, feedback and comments are always appreciated!

taglist (some of the tags didn’t work so if u didn’t get the notif, i’m sorry!): @anya-writes-stuff @swifterauhl @tyongblr @alwaysthefirstsight @doyoungsmovingcastle @pinkyzae @sunshinein17 @jaehyunnie77 @dreamycomets @seventeeneration @srutz @coupsiesluv @nctdom @moonchele @freshprunecowboyapricot @chimmybaek7 @forhaever @ten10vly @fluffyjaes @gyujaehyun @so-showme-ill-shownu @winniet @yipyipmorals

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tourettesdog · 1 year

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DPxDC Dog Prompts

Here’s my collection of DPxDC prompts I’ve made, collected together!

Most of them lean towards Gotham/Batpham content, since that is where my own interests with the crossover are most prominent.

A lot of these prompts have had continuations and fics added in the notes! If you like one, I’d recommend checking to see if anyone’s done more with it.

I might reorganize these some other time, perhaps by length/type of prompt, etc, but for now it’s just roughly in order of when they were posted.

If any links are broken, tell me and I’ll see about finding the link!

Adopting a ghost (just a ghost, right?)

Oops yeah Vlad’s sus

We forgot the clone detail

Let’s try that summon again

Please let me help you’re gross

An electric core

You summoned me so I’m your problem

Halfa (not that he noticed)

Dani and Haly’s Circus

Batman’s a ghost, right?

An anchor to the Zone

Accidentally raising Batman’s son

Stuck in Gotham, losing even more

John Constantine’s accidental trip

A sick trail

Too spooky no thanks

Blood Blossoms across Gotham

Trying to sneeze a way home

Accidental twin(?) acquisition

My dog now

Old friends, unfortunate connections

Dinner interrupted

That dog’s green for another reason

Summoning a guardian instead

Danny isn’t what he expected

An uncomfortable heir

Apex predator Gotham

A girlfriend with a haunting past

Cleansing music

The forgotten queen

At the center of it all

Plans sidelined for a few ghosts

Amity stuck in the past

A dynasty built on ghosts

A haunting joke

A little to the left

Walker hates jokes

Vampiric wards?

Jack and Janet Drake go for a dig

Swapping ghosts for folks

Trapped for too long

Jason Todd: a bad anniversary

Taking care of a severed soulmate

Tim Drake has a portal accident

Disabled Dani

Technus hacks for a good cause

Freakshow picks up a stray Jay

Trying to save yourself without knowing it

Beast Boy’s a little bit spooky

The Fenton and Drake feud

A ghostly Batman

Johnny and Kitty from Gotham

Wtf just happened to the Earth?

Hood and the Holiday Truce

A Little Baby Man infestation

Jason, silent since the grave

A tomb like a cocoon

Deaged: there the whole time

Red Hood, ghostly beneath the helmet

When vigilantes ruin your disappearing act

Ghostly soul marks

Summonings and sharing exes

The call of a ghostly stone

An ill-advised cat burglary

Clockwork might not have been the best choice

Val moves to Gotham

Summoned in his stead

Damian gets to pick for once

A concerning return to AO3

The side effects of cleansing a core

Killed and saved by a joke

Red Hood gets souped

Gotham wants Jason back in his grave

A friendly ghost Robin goes missing

Wes needs to learn to shutup

Corrupted vs pure ectoplasm: FIGHT

Demon twins: an unfortunate “corpse” discovery

Demon twins: menace of Gotham

Ivy and Harley in Amity

Occult shop in Gotham

John gets pawned

Demon twins: Sam in the know (derogatory)

Crown too big for he gotdamn head

Little Baby Man after king fight

#dpxdc #dpxdc prompts #dogprompts #batpham

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the-final-sif · 6 months

Note

please share worldbuilding baby god dream!

First post is up now but you may have an extra tidbit as a treat:

Kristen, being the only surviving death god, was generally in charge of killing the godlings until she started refusing in the past 400 years or so. Part of this was out of guilt but a larger part was she met Phil, started dating him, and was worried he wouldn't understand the whole "active child slaughter" thing. So she made another god take on the job.

She and XD are kinda friends despite this? XD actually respects that she was willing to do the killing herself for so long and understands that Kristen was only doing what the other gods were too cowardly to do themselves. She also does take very good care of the souls of the failed godlings, although they don't tend to last long.

Kristen is the only god he's really on speaking terms with by the time the AU properly starts with baby Dream. And she's kinda accidentally a big part of the reason he's able to hide Dream for so long. See, when XD suddenly starts taking an interest in humans, she's the only one to really notice. She intentionally doesn't mention it to any other gods or call him out on it because she assumes he's just very lonely and mistrustful of the gods because of all the child murder. This allows him to hide his intentions for quite awhile. Oops.

#death god kristen #philza #dreamxd #godling dream au #c!dream #dreblr #Anonymous #sif answers #dsmp #dream smp

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faust-the-enjoyer · 18 days

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Black and Pink

- A fic inspired by @callsignvoid 's art/post 😍😍😍 please check out its art! (Written with permission ofc.)

"C'mon Keegan, it'll be fun!", you've been trying to convince him to let you paint his nails for the past five minutes, but alas, he's yet to agree.

"No.", his tone's frim. You let out an exasperated sound, "Please, just this once, please?". He rolls his eyes and sighs, "Fine, but this'll be the only time you do this to me, got it?", you nod and smile at him, setting the two nail polish bottles in front of you and instructing him to put his hands out and spread his fingers.

"Black and pink? You've gotta be kidding me. As soon as this dries-" "Yes I know I know, I'll wipe it off with nail polish remover, don't worry. Besides, they won't allow it anyway, old geezer.", you smile at him as you twist the black nail polish bottle open, you can tell he's not really mad at you, even though his mask is covering most of his face. As you start painting his nails, you take one finger, painting one nail, then leaving the next one, until you do both hands. "Made a little mess there.", you can tell he's smirking as he talks. He points to his thumb, where you accidentally got some on his skin instead of his nail.

"Oops, shit, here let me clean it up.", you quickly take his hand and a q-tip, cleaning around the edges with it as best as you can until it looks clean enough. As you twist the bottle closed and twist open the other one, you take his hand and inspect it up close, "Wow, I never expected you to be one to take care of your nails.", they're trimmed nicely and filed as well. He lets out a small chuckle, "I'm a man who likes to take care of himself. Besides, have you ever poked yourself in the eye with long nails before? Hurts pretty bad.", you laugh as he says that, starting to paint his other nails now, a bright pink, you're so sure he'd start whining about the color, but he's surprisingly quiet.

By the time you're done, you twist the bottle closed and put the nail products aside, checking if you need to clean anything up before letting his nails dry. "Was that so bad?", you ask him teasingly and he lets out a tired sigh in response.

He actually ended up leaving them on for the rest of the day under his gloves, you know he liked them, he knew he liked them, but he was just not willing to admit it. The next day, you helped him remove the nail polish from his nails, but on the weekend after, he asked you to paint his nails again.

#faust speaks #cod x reader #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ x reader

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emberglowfox · 9 months

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okay a few people have asked now abt steelheart redux so i will do my best to give an overview the maelstrom of vague thoughts it consists of at the moment

basically, steelheart is the oc story i've been posting a shitton of on and off for the past while. steelheart redux refers specifically to its latest iteration, which is completely (mostly) sci-fi and mech driven as opposed to the standard dragon rider story it was before.

it focuses primarily on these guys!

arthur is a human, while zarian is a DRACO, specifically a v1, which i will elaborate on below the readmore bc this is a little long haha

the setup for the story is essentially this:

the DRACOs (version 1, aka v1s) are big draconic mechs that are basically the equivalent of a super high-tech fighter jet with some other bells and whistles, the most notable being that they're pretty much human powered. but to be efficiently powered long-term, they have to be (or have part of them, really) permanently fused to a human host (or any living creature, technically, but humans are what they're like. made for).

despite all that, stuff surrounding their creation goes pretty well for a while, until the v1s mysteriously 'wake up'-- as in, suddenly attain self-aware consciousness, and start talking to their hosts (known as pilots) who understandably take this pretty badly. it's like if the fighter jet you've been flying around and are also kind of biologically fused to suddenly grew a brain and started asking about your day. things get even worse when the company producing the v1s attempts to like. undo this by forcing out an update patch, which has the unintended effect of corrupting the (previously entirely benevolent, just curious) v1s and turning them into crazed murder machines. stuff is bad for a while.

the ACTUAL story takes place 15 years after this, when stuff still isn't amazing but has mostly evened out. the company responsible for the v1s collapsed in the initial chaos, but from its ashes came a new company, Defenex, which has been producing DRACO v2s. they're the sleeker, badder cousins to the v1, made for the sole purpose of protecting towns from and hunting down remaining v1s. they're also, very critically, Not Mysteriously Self-Aware like the v1s are (or. were?) which is good.

the plot follows arthur steele, a fifteen year old boy living in one of the surviving cities, who through a series of accidents comes to be permanently fused to a (mysteriously un-murderous but distinctly unhappy) v1 calling himself Zarian. at first, his goal is to get Zarian removed from his back so they can go their separate ways and he can go back to his unremarkable, relatively safe life. unfortunately, this does not go according to plan. at all. but in the process, they start learning more about the mysterious origins of the DRACO incident and asking questions some people REALLY don't want answered. along the way, they make a few friends, come to actually like each other, and accidentally develop a reputation as Public Enemy #1, Definitely Evil, Kill On Sight. oops.

and that's the gist! i know... a lot of what happens, within that window, but most stuff isn't like nailed down clearly or in order yet, because i've discovered that while i am good with coming up with originally story ideas, actually plotting one from start to finish, coherently and satisfactorily, does NOT come naturally to me at all.

but, at the very least, it has become a fun brain playground and happiness generator, because i am veeery attached to these guys. moreso than i ever have gotten about my own ocs in my whole life tbh

#if u have specific questions feel free but i hope this is like. a legible world overview #so much happens here though. they almost die in a rite-aid. they blackmail a grown adult. they meet god(?) and hes annoying. its a blast #sparks speaks #steelheart redux #sparks art #steelheart redux lore

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ann-writes-universes · 1 year

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For The Better (Azriel x Eris x Reader)

A/N: Based on this ask! LIVING for an angsty/fluffy Azriel and Eris love triangle. (OKAY JK I accidentally posted this in a reply to that ask and had to delete it so the ask went poof, sorry anon. I hope you see this <3)

Warnings: My angst strikes again, mentions of possible infidelity, arguing, bit of asshole Eris (if you squint and tilt your head).

W/C: 11.1k oops

–

There is no way you could ever love someone more. You decided this much as you stared into his hazel eyes, rimmed with gold and so full of life. He was everything you had ever dreamed of- kind, fiercely loyal, so utterly easy to be in love with. You had begged for something like this since you were a girl, and the gods had delivered in the form of him.

“You’re staring at me.” He muttered, lips pulling into a smile as he pushed your hair away from your face. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, shrugging at the male as you leaned forward to steal a kiss from his chapped lips.

“Sorry?”

“Apology accepted fair maiden.” Eris whispered, pressing you into the grass with his frame as he captured your lips once more. You gripped his sleeves tightly, allowed the Lordling to press you into the foliage below. Everything about this, about him, was perfect. You had loved him since before you could remember, since the two of you were old enough to grasp the concept and hold it in your palms. And he had felt the same, claimed you as his own the moment he could. And you had allowed it, let his fire consume you entirely. The bond you two shared was not that fated soul tie so many spoke of, but the kind that young love was meant to be- passionate, consuming, and fleeting.

Ah yes, fleeting it had been.

You had loved the future High Lord of Autumn for thirty years. Had given him everything, and he did the same in return. Somewhere along the line, fuzzy as it was so many years later, the two of you had drifted- realized that it wasn't love you had shared but lust. You loved that flame haired male still, deeply and truly, but not in the way that lovers did. No- the two of you felt deeply for one another in a different way. In a way that allowed him to be overjoyed when your mating bond snapped with the Spymaster of the Night court. A way that allowed him to wish you well when you accepted the bond and married the angel of death.

And it was a love that made room for what you felt for Azriel.

If the love you had shared with Eris was a forest fire, the way you felt for Azriel was a comet, bright and powerful as it lit up the night sky.

“You are absolutely pushing my buttons today, I need you to know that.” Azriel laughed as he threw his book to the end of the bed. You smiled widely against his chest and tightened the bear hug you had on him. With a deep sigh the spymaster wrapped his arms around you and burrowed his head into your hair.

“I just wanted attention, that's all.” You mumbled against his skin, relishing in the feeling of his arms tightening at your words. He hummed into your hair and pressed a firm kiss there.

“Do you know how long we’ve been together now?”

“A long time, why do you ask?” He replied, raising a brow as you sat up, straddling his waist. You pressed your palms firmly into his tattooed chest, traced the patterns there momentarily as you shrugged.

“45 years is a long time, isnt it?” You mused, letting your eyes trail up his muscular chest until it reached his eyes. A brow was raised and his head was cocked to the side, night dark hair falling over his forehead messily.

Gently he flipped you onto the bed, hovered over you and allowed his arms to cage you in. The male pressed a firm kiss into the column of your throat, sucked the pulse there momentarily before meeting your eyes once more.

“Got a whole lot longer to go, if you’ll have me.” He whispered gruffly, eyes always searching. A smile tugged at your lips as you raised your arms to rest on his neck. You pulled him towards you, the tips of your noses meeting gently.

“I’ll have you for as long as we’re around, shadowsinger.” And he kissed you then, deeply, letting his love shine down the bond ever bright, and long.

“What could I possibly accomplish in the Autumn Court that Eris can not?” You questioned boredly, leaning further back into the chase lounge. You had been absentmindedly tossing a small ball above your head, and Rhys was watching it with piqued annoyance as you questioned his orders.

“Eris can’t get any more information from the ladies of his court. You know them, they grew up with you, they trust you.” He repeated, as if he had not said this a million times in the last hour.

With an exasperated huff you turned your head to face him, noted his slouched posture in the arm chair he had taken residence in. “What you mean to say is, politics does not make good pillow talk?”

Rhys cringed outwardly and rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Oh, you were pushing buttons. “I'm only Kidding, Rhys. I’ll go. Been a minute since I have been home. I wonder what those tree loving, forest fuckers are up to.” You giggled, resuming your game of solo catch.

“Good. You’ll leave today then.”

“Where are you going?” It was Az, striding past the living room. He stopped at the threshold of the room, pulling on a pair of dark leather boots. You caught the ball in a hand, cut your gaze to the winged male.

Rhys sucked in a breath and stood, “I have to meet with some colleagues in town for lunch.”

“Your only colleagues are us, Rhys.” Azriel deadpanned, raising a questioning brow when Rhys only smiled and strode out of the house. “He’s awfully flustered…”

You cleared your throat and sat up, “He’s flustered because I’m being sent home for the week.”

Azriel barked a laugh as he finished putting on his shoes, “You are home, darling.”

Smiling faintly you stood and moved towards him, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist as you stared up at him.

“Not this home, shadowsinger.” Your words had his gaze hardening and the hands that had come to rest on your waist stiffening. He flexed his fingers, took you in with a soft ‘oh’. You only forced that smile resting on your lips to be a bit more deceiving, a bit more convincing. Tapping his waist you pushed away from him, urged him towards the door with a soft kiss.

“I’ll be alright. I'll go see my mom, get the info we need, and come home to you.”

He nodded, reached for the door handle as he watched you gather your things from the living room, “Are you going to see Eris?”

Your hand paused, hovering over a book you had brought down earlier. Scooping it into your arms you did not turn to face him as you continued your task, “I have to, yes.”

“I see.” He muttered.

“Az-”

“No, it's alright. Inevitable I suppose.”

You turned to him then, shoulders hunched and eyes pleading. “It's strictly business, baby. Nothing more.” You stepped towards him again, pressed a kiss to the corner of his downturned lips, “Besides, I’ve only got eyes for you.”

It seemed to ebb his mind a little, because the dark male smiled and chuckled lightly. With a promise to take you to dinner when you returned, the Spymaster was gone for the day, leaving you to get ready and head off.

The Autumn court had not changed in nearly half a century. Jewel toned leaves blanketed the ground, and the air still smelled like the perfect mixture of wood smoke and cinnamon. You were nearly giddy taking it all in, reveling in the familiarity as your horse made its way slowly down the Vanserra Estate’s drive. You were to come here first, make contact with Eris and rekindle your place as a court’s woman.

It was no secret you had left long ago, though the reasoning had been hidden well by your flame haired friend. The eldest Edoril child had simply moved to the Day court to study magic, a lie eaten up by Beron and his court.

Slipping back into his ranks would be easy, begged for, as being a child of higher ranking officials made you precious to the Tyrannical Lord of Autumn who had always wished for you to become the Court’s next heir producer. Though Beron knew nothing of the mating bond you had accepted, you had taken precautions to make sure he did not find out. Majda had surgically wounded you in her quarters before you left, and used a healing salve so potent that most (if not all) of Azriel’s scent had been masked. Upon your arrival at the Autumn court you had hidden your noticeably Night Court tattoos with extensive glamours. Of course, these measures would only go so far, and you hoped you could get what you needed relatively quickly.

Before you, the forest manor loomed. Just as the rest of the court, it had hardly changed. It was still as beautiful as it had been when you were a child. Color exploded around it like flames, oranges and reds licking up the bright stone walls. A stream broke up the rolling front lawn and twisted off into the darkened wood beyond. The trickle of water and the soft music of the birds was the only sound as you approached, the gravel clattering beneath the hooves of your pale mare.

As though he had sensed your arrival, there he stood. Tall and stunning as his home, Eris Vanserra awaited you atop the steps. Hands clasped behind his back, and a smile wide as the Sidra he watched as you dismounted, straightened your skirts, and made your way towards him.

“Lady Edoril.” He greeted, bending low at the waist and extending a hand towards you. Ceremony be damned, you raced forward. Eris only had time to huff out a breathy chuckle before you were toppling into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

“I’ve missed you.” You breathed into his hair, ever so politely he wrapped his arms around your back, squeezed tight.

“And I, you.” His voice was a tight whisper as he sat you down and held you at an arm's length. Just like his court lands, he had not changed. The years had added nothing to his face other than a few more freckles and perhaps a scar or two.

“How is he?” Eris asked in a hushed tone, glancing over his shoulder quickly before returning his gaze to you.

“Wonderful as always, sends his regards.”

The lordling nodded and took a deep breath. Offering your arm you nodded towards the entryway, “Are you ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be, Vanserra.”

He chuckled, looping his arm through yours and leading you inside. As custom, several servants lined the entry hall, arms poised across their chests and faces hidden by dark cloths issued by Beron. What a pity it would be for him to gaze upon the faces of those he practically enslaved. The sight of them made you force down a shudder and physically pull a smile onto your features as Berron appeared at the end of the hall. The face you had grown to hate was wide with a grin that reminded you of an animal looking at its prey, and his posture was nothing short of defensive as you approached.

The velvet of your skirts whispered against the marble below as you came to a stop and curtsied low, avoiding his eyes. “High Lord.” Your greeting was as formal as you could force it, and the polite smile and doe eyes you offered were so far from your current caliber that you nearly threw up on the floor.

“What a pleasure it is to host you once more, (y/n). The Autumn Court has missed your beauty.” Beron spoke, and when his eyes raked over your figure, Eris noticeably stiffened beside you. Clearing your throat you cocked your head to the side, batted your eyelashes to hide the anger building on your features.

“How kind of you, I am flattered.” You tried not to think of the male back home who would have ripped the bastard to shreds had he witnessed the exchange. Tried desperately not to think of what Berron’s head would look like detached from his shoulders.

Eris nudged your side with his elbow, and nodded to his father, “Perhaps we should let her rest before the events tonight. She has traveled quite the length.”

“Nonsense, Eris. The Day court is merely two days travel.” Berron jested though it came out in some terrible scoff.

“Events?” It was a question meant to steer the conversation far away from what you had been up to for the last 45 years, and when Berron returned his wolfish eyes to you it was clear it had worked.

“A ball, in your honor sweet (y/n). Several members of the court have expressed great excitement at your return.”

“Several?” You blanched, looking quickly to Eris who merely blushed and looked away, “I am flattered.” You grit it out, narrowly avoiding punching your longest running friend in the face in front of his father.

So much for subtlety.

After twenty more painful minutes of conversation Beron and Eris had dismissed you to a room to dress. They had provided a dress for you, hand picked by the Lady of Autumn herself. As you stood before the bed wrapped in nothing but a towel you stared at it, a pretty little thing of dark navy silk. The back dipped low and was secured at the base with a beaded sun whose rays curved around the hips.

‘To honor the court which has hosted you’

The Lady’s note had read. And while the gesture was kind, the dark blues and stark gold of the sun reminded you not of the Day court but of the home you had left, and the sapphire Siphons Azriel adorned. You let a finger trail down the material, and wondered how you could secure the various weapons you had in a discreet way.

A knock sounded at the door.

“(y/n)?” Eris called softly, cracking the door enough to be heard, “Are you decent?”

You glanced downward at your towel, “Uh, shit, One minute!” You called hurriedly, discarding the towel in favor of a robe. Tying it haphazardly you ran to the door to open it and usher him in, glancing down the hall to make sure no prying eyes had seen.

“Yes?”

When you turned to face him he was beet red, staring at your nearly fully exposed chest. With nimble fingers you clutched your robe tight and cleared your throat. Eris let out a hearty chuckle and flopped into a chair near the fireplace.

“Not funny, dickhead.” You sneered, taking up your place at the vanity to begin getting ready. He had changed into a tunic of deep crimson, patterned with silver thread and beads, as well as dark trousers and boots. Atop his head he donned a silver diadem of twisted vines, characteristic of the next High Lord.

“You've been home for two hours and have already nearly exposed yourself to me, must be something in the air.” He jested, lazing his head on the back of his chair. Your grip on your hairbrush tightened so much it nearly snapped the wooden handle.

“Must I remind you that I have a mate who I love?” You didn't mean to snap at him, but when his reflection paled and his throat bobbed you softened. “I'm sorry.” You whispered, breaking his gaze in the mirror and returning to pinning your hair.

“Don't be. I spoke wrongly.”

With not a reply in mind you only nodded and brought up less meaningful conversation as you moved through the motions of getting ready. The two of you fell into conversation easily. You spoke of music, hunting, magic, and meaningless things you had been occupying your time with when you weren't doing important things.

“Are you ready for tonight?” He questioned as you exited the bathroom, struggling to clasp the beaded sun on the back of your gown.

“Yeah, it should be easy.” You grunted, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. “Could you help me?” You inquired, turning to face your reflection in the mirror above the vanity. The dress was stunning, hugged you in the right places without being vulgar (though you wouldn't have minded).

“Of course.” Eris replied, suddenly impossibly close to your back. His stature was imposing, nearly a head taller than you his shadow swallowed you whole as his hands skimmed the length of your bare spine, stopping at its base to secure the clasp.

“Eris…” You breathed quietly when his fingers lingered and his breath fanned your neck. Clearing his throat he stepped away, admiring you as you turned to face him.

“Stunning.”

The smile you offered was painful. The thrumming of your heart lurched as you noted the mourning look he viewed you with. You thanked him quietly and began strapping various daggers to your legs beneath the dress.

“And deadly.” He added with a low whistle.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll kill you.” You chuckled, tightening a final strap before straightening. He held his hands up in mock surrender and offered a wink.

“No harm in looking if I do not touch.”

Rolling your eyes you held out your arm, “Escort me to the ball, Dipshit, before I send a message down the bond telling Az to castrate you next time he sees you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Berron’s opulence knew no bounds. That much was made apparent by the silks and various other fabrics in jeweled tones that lined the ceilings and snaked around the pillars of his ballroom. Faelights lit the length of it in a warm hue and music dark and lustful filled its space. Usually empty and ghostly the room was now buzzing with the vibrato of life, and as you entered at the side of Eris the room erupted in soft awe and clapping.

You offered the crowd a smile, tightening your grip on Eris’s arm as you became painfully aware of how many eyes were on you. Eris dismissed you quickly, let you fall among the throngs of women you had grown up with to gossip and gain information.

“Is Helion as beautiful as they say he is?” It was Arien, a male you had grown up with who quipped the question. The smile that curved his lips as he drank deeply from his glass was nothing short of playful if not a bit curious.

You rolled your eyes and shrugged, “I suppose, If muscles and brain are what you’re into.”

The male before you fawned, fanning his face and giggling with the ranks of young women who surrounded you. “Who doesnt?”

“I guess you’re right about that.” You chuckled, turning your attentions to a dark haired female at his side. If you remembered correctly her name was Lucy. Much younger than you, she was the daughter of an Army Captain, High Ranking in Beron’s mounted battalion. She was characteristic of Autumn Court beauty, Chestnut hair that flowed and curled softly to the waist, dark doe eyes and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her perfectly sloped nose.

“Lucy, correct?” You questioned innocently, twirling the dark liquid in your glass. Her smile was shy and she dipped her head in conformation. She would be easy to coax information out of, young and awestruck by the woman Eris had entered with. Briefly you thought she would be a perfect Lady of Autumn had Eris been like his father, impressionable, naive.

“That's right!” You quipped, swallowing a bit of wine, “You’re Captain Jameson’s daughter!” She nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, Indeed I am.” She offered.

“I remember now. You were a little thing when I left all those years ago, my you have blossomed into a stunning young thing.”

She flushed noticeably and held her chin a little higher, her gaze cut across the room to where you knew a gaggle of Vanserra boys were standing. Oh easy she would be. Finishing your glass you handed it to Airen and urged him to fetch you another, to which he happily obliged if only to get closer to the brothers in question.

You followed her gaze, let the smile you were holding back curl on your lip as you crossed your arms over your chest, “Which one?”

“Pardon?” She questioned with creased brows as she turned her head towards you.

“Which brother?” You mused, not taking your eyes off of the red headed sons, “I must admit they are all quite stunning, but which one.”

“Oh, none.” She blanked but you watched her lingering stare on Eris. And despite yourself and the mission at hand you felt a flame of jealousy spark in your chest before being snuffed by the bond lingering there. Swallowing thickly you chuckled and began speaking to her of meaningless things, slowly steering her towards conversation of her father.

“Shall we walk in the gardens?” You inquired after several hours of conversation and dancing with Lucy amongst other females who had proven less informative than the Jameson girl. The question was directed solely at her, and the others took their dismissal lightly. Lucy nodded politely, and handed her glass off to a passing servant as you did.

“I’d love to.”

As you linked your arm with her own and directed her towards the garden doors you subtly signaled Eris of your leave. He offered you a nod before continuing his conversation with a brother who’s name had long since been forgotten in your mind.

“So your father is not in attendance tonight?” The question was harmless, “I would have loved to say hello after all of these years. Offer him my regards.”

“Oh, no.” Lucy sighed breathily, admiring the various plants and ferns manicured to perfection along the stone pathway. Night had long since fallen and the cool breeze custom to the lands was licking fervently at every exposed inch of skin as you steered the dark haired girl further from the home. The music was slowly fading from earshot and the few fae that dotted the gardens were becoming few and far between as the two of you strolled.

“What a pity.” The frown you forced was effortless, “Pray tell… where might he be? The High Lord made such a fuss over this ball I assumed all of his inner circle would be here.”

She smiled sadly, picked a leaf from a passing bush and twirled it amongst her fingers.

“He’s on the coast, surveying another fleet that was just finished being built.”

You hummed your acknowledgement, noted the information in your brain. Before now you knew of only 6 Autumn Court Fleets. And now there were more? That Eris did not know about? You rolled the stiffness out of your shoulders.

“I suppose if my father were still living he too would be doing the same. Our fathers were quite close, you know?” She brought you to an abrupt halt, far from the eyes of those who had lingered outside and the earshot of those inside.

“I do, actually. Which makes me wonder why you're doing this.” Lucy deadpanned, unlooping her arm from yours and turning to face you fully. You cocked your head to the side, and the confusion that marked your features was not fake.

“Pardon?”

With motions so swift you could hardly track them the dark haired beauty had shot forward and wrapped a hand around your mouth. Flames, bright and painful, shot up your side as she shoved the sharp edge of a dagger into the junction of your ribs.

The only noise heard between her fingers was a stark gasp as your knees buckled and you fell into her. From afar it looked as though you were old time friends, embracing for the first time in centuries.

“For you to know my father so well, It shocks me that you would think of him as dumb enough not to send his only child through some sort of training.” She hissed into your ear. Your hands were grasping her shoulders so tightly that your knuckles were whitening, and the dark navy of your dress was growing soaked with the metallic tang of blood.

Lucy drug you to a bench, deposited the two of you on it in a way that rose no suspicion.

“For a girl who has studied magic for 45 years your glamors are weak.” She threaded the fingers of your right hand through her own and extended your arm to view the dark swirls and patterns that were now visible, the glamors too exhausting on your struggling body. “Night court, correct?”

“Fuck you.” You hissed through gritted teeth, groaning as she pushed her free hand into the gaping wound at your side.

“How proud of me Berron will be when the future Lady of Autumn brings you to him!” She grinned, her eyes widening madly. You gaped, stared at her with an opened mouth and slitted eyes.

You couldnt help the laugh that bubbled out of your throat.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” She urged, her blood stained dagger pointed at your stomach. With a raised brow you looked down at it.

Azriel had prepared you for situations like this, and 45 years in a court known for brutality would not allow you to die at the hands of a little girl. Mustering what strength you had left you lunged. “Training” or not the dagger she held clattered to the stone pathway below and you had her arms pinned to the dirt within seconds. Your own blood smattered onto her emerald gown as you straddled her, grinning wolfishly at her shocked expression.

“For you to have me figured out so well its quite naive of you to think the High Lord of Night would not have sent me to a training or two.” You hissed, pressing your knee into her sternum as she geared up to scream.

“You have approximately five seconds to tell me everything you know about those fleets before I kill you and Beron Vanserra finds us both dead in his garden.”

“I'm not telling you shit.” She hissed, struggling beneath the weight of your knee. You huffed a shallow breath and nodded. “Fine.”

With a twist of your hand her left wrist cracked grotesquely and hung limply when you raised the arm. Her scream of pain was stifled by your free hand.

“Your pretty little eyes are next, Lucy.” You whispered, dropping your head to be level with her ear, “And take it from me, Eris wouldn’t like a girl with gaping holes for eyes, bitch.”

She let out a great growl and turned her head to the side, taking your ear between her teeth and ripping. You stifled your scream and sat back, keenly aware of the blood dripping down your neck.

Boots crunched roughly against stone and suddenly eris was there, wide eyed and breathless.

“What the fuck.”

“Eris! Oh thank gods you have to help me she’s insane!” Lucy cried, suddenly producing tears. She was staring up at him from beneath you. Surely the two of you looked like wild animals, blood smattered and rolling in the dirt.

Eris glanced around frantically, and when he was sure no one was around he crouched down and looked into your eyes.

“I need her in the woods.” You whispered, nodding towards her form. Lucy’s brows creased as he nodded and clamped a hand over her mouth before hoisting her out from below you. She thrashed in his arms to no avail and when you stood the Vanserra son paled.

“You’re bleeding.”

“No shit, Eris.” You grunted, clasping a hand over your bleeding side.

“No. You're bleeding a lot.”

You glanced down, swallowed down the fear that bubbled up when you realized just how much blood was pouring from your side. It should have healed by now…Glancing at Eris you retrieved Lucy’s blade quickly and sniffed its blood coated tip.

Eyes wide you looked to the female who was breathing heavily in Eris’s arms.

“Sneaky little bitch covered it in fae bane.” You shoved the dagger into a belt on your thigh and rolled your shoulders, “Your death is going to fucking suck.” You hissed.

Getting the Jameson daughter into a deep enough part of the woods was like wrestling a wild animal. Even with Eris’s strength she proved to be a hassle, and with your wound Eris had to continuously slow down so you could catch up.

With her firmly secured to a tree by Eris’s flame magic you stood before her. The trek had destroyed your dress, and you had ripped the side completely to have easier access to the knives strapped to your legs.

“What did she tell you?” Eris questioned, cupping his jaw with a hand. His other was on his hip as he stared at the bound girl, brows creased.

“That your father had been building naval fleets.”

Eris looked at you, utterly confused, “How many?”

You looked to Lucy and grinned, twirling a night dark blade between your fingers. “Im about to find out.”

“The fuck you are.” Lucy spit, a mixture of saliva and blood falling to your feet. You glanced at it with mild amusement before surging forward. Ignoring the pain that shot through your side you pressed the blade against her throat. She swallowed, the bobbing of her throat drawing blood against the sharpened edge of your weapon.

“You either make this easy or I send you back to your daddy in pieces.”

Eris whistled lowly and shifted behind you, “Thats kind of hot.” He muttered.

“Not the fucking time.” You ground out, not once taking your eyes off Lucy’s. She glanced downward at your hand.

“You won't do it. Too messy for you, hard to explain how I died at a ball hosted for you.” She was grasping for straws, growing nervous.

“I wont?” You purred innocently with a cock of your head. She shook her head, a motion that had you whipping your hand down and dragging the blade up the length of her arm. The skin flayed open easily and her pained scream was swallowed by the shadows of the forest around you.

“How many fleets?” You asked again, pressing the blade against her jaw. Her lips thinned and she looked to the sky. Nodding you pressed it against her jaw and drug upwards.

“Hopefully Beron only hosts masquerades in the future.” You grimaced as she screamed. Blood sticky and crimson dripped down her chin and collided with your own as it flowed down your arm and to the forest floor below.

“How many fleets? Your fucking fingers are next.”

“FOUR.” She sobbed into your palm. Your fingers had curled around her jaw, gripping tightly.

“Only four?”

“Four and he is training 500 more mounted soldiers. That's ALL I know.” She was sobbing so violently that her tears were cleaning her face faster than the blood could flow. If she hadn't torn a sizable chunk out of your ear earlier you might have felt bad.

“Good girl!” You sputtered, becoming more aware of the wound at your side whose pain had snaked from your waist into your chest. Glancing at Eris you nodded and stumbled away from Lucy who was wracking with sobs.

“She’s telling the truth.” You whispered, clutching your side.

“You're sure?” He questioned, glancing between the two of you. With deathly precision you swung backward and silenced her screams as you pierced the skin of her chest with your blade, dragging downward against the sickening pop and crunch of her ribs.

“Gods I hope so.” You sighed, collapsing to the forest floor with a groan. Eris’ eyes tore away from the now dead female, his magic releasing her form to fall limply forward. Surging towards you he caught you before you could fully fall.

“We need to get you to a healer.” He urged, hoisting you into his arms. You were limp in his arms and fighting off the darkness that had begun to cloud your vision. Panic was snaking down the bond, only noticeable now that you weren't focused on the task at hand.

“Can you winnow me home, Eris?” You muttered. The words urged you to cough, blood smattering the sides of your lips as the air forced itself from your lungs. He clutched you to his chest tightly, his heart quickening beneath your bloodstained cheek.

“It'll be quicker if I run, it's only a mile or so back, I can-”

You clutched his tunic tightly and urged him to look at you, “My home Eris.” You grit out, eyes wide with panic. “If you do not get me out of here he will break every law known to come to me.” You were pleading with him to listen to you. The anger that was surging down the bond was proof of your words you wish you could communicate to him.

“Its too far. You wont make it there.” Eris retorted, tears welling in his eyes as he took in the palor of your skin. You had grown uncomfortably cold in his arms and the chill of the night air was not helping your shuddering.

“The forest then. Somewhere that the ordinance does not exist. He’ll find me.”

Eris only nodded at your words, and then that tricky little fold in the universe was swallowing you whole.

“What the fuck happened.” Azriel screamed as the world reopened. As though he had known you would come here he had appeared first. Flanking his sides were Cassian and Rhysand, angels of swift death clad in leathers and armed to the teeth. All three males surged forward as Eris fell to his knees, your body clutched close to his chest.

“She was intercepted.” Was all he could get out before Azriel was dropping down to scoop your groaning form from his arms. Without thinking Eris reached after you with a snarl. His actions were met with widened eyes and a low noise that reverberated through Azriel’s chest.

“I suggest you remove your hands from my mate before I do it for you.” He growled, pulling you away from the flame haired lordling. Eris stood, dark conviction overtaking his features.

“Excuse me?” He snapped, stepping forward. Cassian moved in, quickly taking you from Azriel who whirled around to face Eris. With quick hands Rhysand began to try and combat the fae bane with what knowledge of it he had.

“You fucking heard me.” Azriel punctuated his words with his hands as he shoved them roughly into Eris’ chest. The Vanserra grunted at the contact and surged forward, anger flashing behind his eyes brightly.

One swift motion of his leg and Azriel had the heir on his back, knee pressed firmly into his sternum. There was a murderous rage so stark on the Spymaster’s features that Eris paled only slightly before he was baring his teeth and clutching the male’s knee.

“I suggest you get the fuck off of me before I ruin this little agreement we have.”

“Agreement be damned. You so much as look at her again and I will fucking kill you.” Azriel hissed. As he stood he pressed Eris firmly into the dirt once more, the lordling releasing a gasp of air as the Shadowsinger stood and rushed back to you.

“We need to get her back to Velaris. My magic can't help her now. The faebane is in her bloodstream.” Rhysand whispered, his hands clutching the wound at your side. The blood which coated them had Azriel visibly pale. With a nod the four of you disappeared, leaving Eris alone in the dark, gasping for air.

Cinnamon and bergamot.

Tree filtered sunlight and the unmistakable kaleidoscope of reds and oranges that were your forest home.

The smells and images corrupted you, sent you falling down a rabbit hole of laughter and lute music light and melodic. He was there, beckoning you forward into the water, despite how cold it was for this late in the summer. His laughter floated on the breeze like a bird’s song, calling to you.

“Its not even that cold!” Eris laughed breathily, his bare chest glistening in the afternoon sun. You dipped a toe in, hissed at the frigid temperature, and scowled.

“You're a liar, Eris Vanserra!” You giggled, crossing your arms over your bare chest. He rolled his eyes playfully and surged forward impossibly fast in the water. Before you could turn tail and run he was dragging you in with him, laughing huskily as you screeched and went under. When you reemerged his head was cocked to the side, a triumphant smile overtaking his features.

“See? Told you! Not cold.”

Without warning tears began to streak down your cheeks and he was paling.

“(y/n)... No, I'm sorry! Don't cry, look here I can use my magic to warm-” Before he could finish you were grinning widely and jumping up to shove his head beneath the surface.

“That was a cheap shot!” He gasped as he came back to the surface, auburn hair sticking to his downturned brow. You couldn't help the giggle that bubbled from your chest as he lifted you in his arms and spun you in the water, pressing a firm kiss to your smiling lips.

In your mind, this day would mark the most perfect one in history.

“Race you to the island?” You keened, nodding your head in the direction of land that took up the middle of the lake. A smirk curled at his lips and he nodded pushing you away from him so he could get a head start. “Cheater!” You called before diving under the surface of the murky water.

Mud clouded water faded slowly and the warmth of the sun faded to night.

“You ready?” Mor whispered, fastening the last button on the back of your dress. Jasmine and lavender overcame your senses, and the lake had melted into the dark blues and blacks of your room at the House of Wind. You smiled brightly at your reflection in the mirror, took in the image of yourself in the most stunning gown you had ever seen.

“I think I am.” You replied, turning to face the bustling blonde. She smoothed the night dark silk of your dress, making sure it was picture perfect.

“God you’re stunning. If Az hadn’t snapped you up I would have.” She jested, chuckling when you blushed beet red.

In moments the room had faded away, replaced by that of the cabin. The dress had been discarded across the couch and the light of the hearth licked up the planes of Ariel's face. He was stretched out beneath you, humming quietly as you rested bare atop him. He had yet to complain about being splayed across the floor, and you certainly weren't complaining about the break. You stretched your right arm out towards the flames, admired the patterns that now took up the skin. Looping his fingers through yours he extended his matching arm.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He whispered, love and admiration flowing down the bond in waves. When you turned to him he was staring at you through dark lashes, eyes bright and hooded.

Flushing you looked back towards the flames, a smile curling the edges of your lips. Freeing his hand from your grasp he gently clasped your chin between his fingers and turned your face once more. “I'm serious.” He spoke, voice gruff as he pulled you down to press a kiss to your lips.

“You have ruined me, Spymaster.” You muttered against his lips, lashes brushing his own.

“How so?” He questioned with a smirk.

“I will never love someone as much as I love you.” It was a whisper, only for him to hear. He kissed you once more, deeply and lasting.

“I should hope not.”

“Should it not have broken by now?”

“In theory, yes.” Madja replied, rubbing a salve into your exposed side. Azriel’s brow furrowed and he leaned forward to watch, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

“What do you mean, in theory?” He questioned, more bite to his words than he meant. When Madja cut him with a glare he raised his hands and leaned back, Looking to Rhysand across the room worriedly.

“Fae bane is tricky. There's no telling how long it was in her system before you got her here. This fever could last hours or days. It takes time.” Madja informed, replacing your bandages with fresh ones before covering your frame with blankets once more. “The best thing you can do for her now is give her space. Let her body heal.”

“Im not leaving her side.”

Madja sighed and looked from Azriel’s convicted stare to that of Rhysand’s impassive gaze.

“I’ll let you explain to him why its a bad idea for him to be here.” She mumbled as she exited the room, bags in hand. Rhysand sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. When he looked to Az the male only shrugged exasperatedly and adjusted himself in his seat by your bed.

“Az-”

“I'm not leaving. She wouldn't leave me.”

“Azriel you're connected. And before you say ‘no shit, dumbass’-” He fixed Azriel with a pointed stare who only shrugged, “On a deep level you are connected. Whether you like to think it or not you're suffering medically on some level because she is. The closer you are to her the harder it's gonna be for her body to fight off the infection.”

Azriel mulled over the words, rested his forehead in his hands and tapped his foot uncharacteristically against the floor below. He glanced at your sleeping form through his fingers and then back at the floor, “Fuck.” He spat before standing quickly and striding towards the door before he changed his mind. “I’ll leave the room but I'm not leaving this house.” He spoke, glancing sidelong at Rhysand who only held up his hands in surrender and nodded.

If you could have picked a moment to live in forever it would have been this one.

The first time you had met Azriel you had known that he would be your forever. A few years after you and Eris had ended your love affair, he had brought you to the uncharted woods. He had explained its danger, instructed you to stay close as the two of you met with the Emissary of the Night Court.

His beauty had struck you as something otherworldly, and it was safe to say that for the entirety of the hour your trio spent in those haunted trees you had not stopped staring at him. There was some sort of wicked beauty in the way his shadows curled around his shoulders and wings, whispering constantly about the unseen figures which lurked in the trees beyond. It was bewitching, really, to gaze upon the sculpted features of his tanned skin. Utterly captivating to hear the whiskey smooth lilt of his voice as he discussed politics and strategy with Eris.

You had thought at one point in time that Eris was the most beautiful male you had ever seen. And while you still thought him beautiful, the beauty Azriel possessed was uncanny. Where Eris was a boyish pretty, not quite yet a man but malleable and soft- Azriel was hardened and forged. He had noticed you staring, had locked the image of your eyes and lips away in his mind to ponder on later. You didn't mind the fact that his shadows were more than likely alerting him to your lingering eyes, you hoped they were.

You were nothing if not bold.

At some point the morning sun gave way to afternoon and Eris ushered you towards home, bidding Azriel goodbye until the next time.

“I hope you’ll be here next time too, (y/n).” Azriel added to his formalities with Eris as the two of you turned to head back to the Autumn court. You glanced over your shoulder, played coy with a dainty smile.

“Of course, Spymaster.”

Azriel thudded down the stairs, keenly aware of just how close Rhysand was behind him. Eyes not entirely seeing he navigated to the living room. Voices chattered quietly and above them all he picked out the lowest and stopped dead in his tracks. Bristling he halted, not flinching as Rhysand ran into his back with the sudden stop.

“What the fuck is he doing here.” Not entirely a question the male pointed his Attention at Mor who swallowed thickly and looked away. Eris stood from his spot on the couch and dropped his hands at his side, no sign of fight left in him at Azriel’s sudden arrival.

“I came to check on her.” Eris spoke, tone firm.

Rolling his head to the side Azriel popped the bones of his neck and sucked in a deep breath before spitting out a harsh, “Shes fine, get the fuck out of my house.”

“I thought this was Rhysand’s house?”

“Oh you little basta-”

“Enough.” Rhysand’s voice was cold as he shoved around Azriel and cut him with a cold gaze. He had raised his hands between the two males as though they were fighting dogs, an action that had Azriel nearly ready to scream. “This is my home and he is my guest. If you two idiots want to fight like children, take it elsewhere. I won't have it here.”

And the look Azriel fixed his brother with was one of utter shock and confusion. When Rhysand offered nothing other than to lower his hands and slump into a chair he looked to Mor, and then to Cassian, and when neither of them could hold his gaze he tightened his jaw and nodded.

‘He is her oldest friend. Think for a moment about what she would want.’

Rhysand’s voice floated into his mind, softer than it had been when he used it aloud moments before. Begrudgingly Azriel sat in a chair across from the couch, eyes never leaving Eris even long after the Autumn son had sat back down and began to talk to Mor once more in hushed tones.

He hated him. Absolutely despised everything about the Vanserra. Of course he appreciated the political advantage he was giving them, respected him as a spy and a future High Lord. But no part of the Illyrian could give up the fact that he had loved you. Some territorial hardwiring in his brain short circuited everytime you brought the red head up- damn near caught fire at the thought of Eris’ hands all over you, of him inside of you. It had been years, and he knew you cared only for him- yet it dug a pit of jealousy in him everytime he thought of it. Part of the shadowsinger hated himself for the anger he felt towards the male, but any pity he had for the emotions he directed at Eris died when he pulled that little stunt in the woods.

Eris had tried to take you from him- had held onto you when you had been in his arms. The memory of the hours past had him roiling with new rage, and his hand was wrapped so tightly around the wooden arm of the chair that it was beginning to splinter.

Azriel only hoped that when you woke up the male was far away from the house, because he wasn't sure he could contain himself if Eris reached for you again.

“Do you remember the day we met?” Azriel asked, watching your hands intertwine. Salt and seawater coated your skin, and the gentle sounds of waves crashing onto the shore lulled your eyes to nearly close. The two of you had spent the day on the beach, and when the sun had started to bid the world goodnight you had stretched out on the still warm sand.

Far behind your heads the lights of Velaris were beginning to blink on, and the sky was becoming a myriad of purples and oranges as the sun sank lower and lower.

“Of course I do. You didnt speak to me.”

Azriel huffed a sigh and propped his head on his hand, dragging the other down the length of your side.

“It was a business meeting. Of course I didn't speak to you.”

“Are you saying that because I’m a woman?” You smirked, breathing a laugh when he rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation before falling onto his back.

“Thats not what I meant, and you know it.”

He sat up, moving so he was hovering over you and leaned forward, relaxing his weight onto his elbows, “I know. I just like giving you a hard time.” you breathed.

“Oh, I know.”

“What does that mean?” Your brow raised and he chuckled despite himself. Reaching forward he pinched your cheek gently and shrugged. If you could do it any form of justice you would paint the image of him above you right now. The way his hair flopped messily into his eyes and the way the pinks and oranges of the setting sun haloed him so perfectly. The colors shone like stained glass through the membranes of his wings and without fully thinking about it you reached up and ran a gentle finger across their expanse. He shuddered beneath the touch and watched your eyes track the motion.

“You're beautiful.” You whispered.

“And you are the most stunning thing I have ever seen.” He leaned impossibly close, the ghost of his breath tickling the shell of your ear, “I need you to wake up for me.”

“What do you mean?” Your smile persisted despite your confusion as he sat back and stared into your eyes.

“I need you to wake up.”

Darkness had swallowed the room whole.

At some point Mor had gotten up to light the faelights which now cast an eerie glow on the room. Rhysand had come and gone, replaced now by Cassian who was arguing with Eris over some play they had seen half a century ago.

“Im telling you the main chick died.” Cassian huffed, throwing his hands in the air for added dramatics.

“No she fainted, it was for dramatic affect!” Eris retorted, raising his brows. Azriel sighed and leaned his head against the back of the chair. If it weren't for you in the room upstairs he would have slipped out of this house and into the city hours before. After the first hour of the males’ conversation he had decided undergoing torture at the hands of the Bone Carver would have been better than sitting in this room waiting.

“She didn't die or faint, she was poisoned by the King and survived.” Azriel bit out, “Now can the two of you shut the hell up?”

Eris cocked his head at the winged male, “We’re just trying to have a bit of fun. Could you lighten up?” And the whistle Cassian blew out was nothing short of a ‘oh fuck here we go’.

“Excuse me?” Azriel questioned. He was still lounging in his chair, legs sprawled and head resting in his hand as he replied. Eris was the opposite, poised to strike. The red headed fae’s shoulders were tight, his eyes lit with a challenge he was dying to pursue.

“I said. Lighten. Up.” He punctuated his words firmly, and stood just as Azriel did. Mor stifled a groan and retreated further into her corner of the couch, content to watch this play out rather than shove herself between the two.

What Eris lacked in physical strength against Azriel, he made up for in swiftness. This much was made clear when the shadowsinger surged forward and narrowly missed grasping the lordling's throat. He was blinded by rage, a downfall that made it easier for Eris to grasp his shoulders and hold him at arms length as the illyrian slammed him into the nearest wall.

“I can't stand you, prick.” Azriel snarled, shoving his elbow into his opponent's throat. Eris was putting up a good fight, causing the spymaster to sweat as he grappled against his hold. “You’re arrogant and too touchy with females you have no right to.”

And despite himself a smirk curved the edge of Eris’ lips, “Funnily enough, (y/n) never complained about how touchy I can be.”

And even the shadows in the corners of the room fell silent as Azriel was overcome with bitter rage. All Azriel could hear was ringing as he wrapped his hands around the pale male’s throat and began to squeeze. Eris coughed violently, swinging his free arm around to plant his fist firmly into Azriel’s neck. The winged male faltered, just enough for Eris to send them both tumbling to the ground.

Glass splintered on the hardwood as someone's leg swept an end table into the wall. As the two rolled around on the floor, furniture moved and curtains were ripped from the walls. The metallic tang of blood was beginning to overpower the lavender candles Mor had lit, and Rhysand’s brand new rug was being torn to shreds while the two roiled.

“Maybe we should stop them.” Mor spoke, arms crossed over her chest. Cassian stood similarly beside her, safe in the threshold of the slowly deteriorating room.

The General weighed his options, winced at a particularly nasty blow landed by Eris, and then shook his head. “Nah. Needs to be done. Once they get this out of their systems we should be good.”

Mor grimaced as Eris cracked Azriel’s head against the floor, “I fear Rhys will have to move once this is over.”

“I feel sorry for (y/n) if this is what she has to see every time you're on top.” Eris grit out from beneath Azriel who had his hands wrapped firmly around his throat.

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth.” Azriel punctuated every word with a crack of Eris’ head against the hardwood. The male groaned, heaving against the spymaster’s hands. In the threshold Cassian and Mor watched with twin looks of concern and interest.

With no warning at all Eris released a great cry and shoved his competitor to the ground. Each male took heaving breaths. Laying on their backs, wincing and wheezing they stared at the ceiling.

“When you two assholes get your shit together. See me outside.” Rhysand suddenly spoke. Mor and Cassian froze, both slowly turning their backs to face the High Lord of Night who had suddenly appeared in the entryway. His face was a mask of cool anger, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

Both Eris and Azriel cleared their throats, stood, and followed Rhysand out of the house. Feathers, torn from throw pillows, floated gingerly to the ground and Mor heaved a great sigh.

“We’re cleaning this up aren't we?”

“Oh yeah.” Cassian huffed.

“Have you lost your FUCKING minds?!” Rhysand seethed, the end of his question dying off as a couple strolled down the street opposite the trio. He smiled tightly at them and offered a wave. Once they were safely out of earshot the High Lord turned to the battered males before him.

“(y/n) is upstairs, fighting for her life. What if she had woken up to you assholes destroying my house?” His brows were raised, arms crossed over his chest. Azriel thought briefly that he looked like a father scolding his insolent children.

“He started it.” Eris seethed, still bristling with anger.

“The fuck I did.”

“I dont care who started it. I'm finishing it. Get your shit together. If you care about her, act like it.” And then he was gone, shoving between the two to head towards the house. On his way he reared back and slapped both of them across the back of the head. The males released twin groans and watched as he disappeared into the ruble that had once been his entry way.

Sunlight, warm and new cast soft shadows across the room. Your bedroom was glowing with morning light, and you watched as the colors of your stained glass lamp danced on your sheets.

Raising a hand you let the rainbow of hues decorate your skin. The ache in your side was persistent, though not as painful as it had been in the Autumn Court. There was a dull throbbing in your ear, and you were relieved to find it whole when you raised a hand to inspect it.

“You know, you could have just killed her.”

You drug your gaze away from the kaleidoscope at your bedside, and locked eyes with Azriel. He was sitting at the foot of your shared bed, shoulders hunched and face battered.

“I did.” You replied, voice gruff from misuse. The male before you smirked and nodded, turning his gaze away from you.

“Eris had to burn her body so her father wouldn’t question why she was flayed open like a prize fish.”

You couldn't help the prideful smile that curled your lips. You bit back the comment you wanted to let free, about how the bitch deserved it. Clearing your throat you gingerly kicked his side with your blanketed foot.

“What happened to your face?”

“Eris.”

“What?” You sat up, wincing at the soreness that combated Madja’s healing. Azriel turned quickly, reached out for you but was swiftly dismissed with a wave of your hand. “I'm fine.”

“Lay back down.” Azriel commanded softly, moving around the bed to stand at your side and gently shove you back into the pillows. To ease the worry in his eyes, you complied.

“Eris is here?” You questioned him again, raising a brow when his jaw tightened and he looked away.

“Yes.”

“I’d like to see him…- to thank him.”

Ariel's eyes widened and he blanked, “thank him?”

“Well, yes. He saved my life.”

Azriel scoffed and moved towards the window, turning his back to you. “Eris is the entire reason you were in that situation to begin with.”

You sat up once more, but began to stand this time. Muscles burned with the stretch but worked all the same, and it took you no time to be out of the bed and tugging on shoes. “I am the reason I was in that situation, Azriel. He is the reason I made it home.” You pulled on his shoulder, forced him to look at you. Cupping his face you brought it down to your level, ignoring the wince he let out when you gripped a particularly sore bruise. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Then where is he?”

“Downstairs.”

You nodded, pressed a firm kiss to the corner of his bruised lips, and turned tail for the door. The general functions of your body were kicking back on as the fae bane evaporated from it completely. You were moving quicker, yet still not quick enough to evade your mate's grasp as he reached for your retreating elbow.

“Yes?” You quipped, hand hovering above the door handle.

“You’re going to be really pissed at me when you go downstairs.”

“You hit him first didn't you?”

“He deserved it.”

Eris was sitting in the rubble that had once been the living room, leaning heavily on his elbows as he hunched over on the couch. You took in the room with wide eyes- the apologetic look in Azriel’s eyes and the guilt on Eris’ own features was enough background information.

“Well you two sure know how to spend your free time.” You muttered.

“I'm glad you're alright.” Was all Eris said as he stood, quickly enveloping you in a hug. Azriel made a noise of quiet discomfort from behind you that had Eris pulling away with a worried glance over your shoulder.

Ignoring the brooding male behind you entirely, you focused your attention on Eris. “You saved my life.”

“I wouldn't say that.” He muttered, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

“Had you not come to find me, Lucy would have overpowered me in minutes.” You retorted, rubbing a hand over your side. “You saved my life.”

The lordling’s lips thinned into a tight line and he nodded curtly. He had looked better, that much was certain. Azriel had busted the male’s lip, and left him with two mighty large black eyes that were beginning to fade as he healed. Judging from the way his right shoulder was sitting it was fair to assume your mate had dislocated it… at least once.

You turned to your mate then, took in his injuries. Eris had held his own. Azriel, too, was sporting a black eye and busted lip. It took everything in you to suppress asking if they were fucking or fighting on the living room floor.

“Is anyone going to tell me why the living room looks like we hosted wild cats for a week?”

The two males shared a glance over the top of your head, and it was Eris who sighed and loosened his posture.

“We got into a disagreement,”

“A disagreement ruined the rug I just bought Rhys?”

Eris flopped back into the tattered remains of the couch and groaned at the impact. Moving around you, Azriel sat in the only chair that had survived their brawl. You watched them with your arms crossed over your chest, brows pulled tight, and patience quickly thinning. You imprinted this moment in your mind, would use it as a reminder to wait for kids in the future.

“Why did you argue?”

A shared look again.

“So it was over me?”

Eris huffed a sigh and Azriel shifted uncomfortable in his seat.

“I said things that were out of line.” Eris spoke through his fingers. His chin was perched in his palms, hair mused from how violently he had been running his hands through it.

“And I reacted insolently.” Azriel added, staring up at you.

Eris looked to your mate, stared at him before dropping his eyes and groaning. “No. You reacted to a male being possessive over your mate. It was completely warranted.”

Your eyes were wide at the admission, and you stared at him slack jawed. “What did you say to him, Eris?”

“A plethora of things that no longer matters.”

You couldn't help but sigh, kneeling to the floor you cupped Eris’ face in your hands. His gaze softened and he brought a hand up to touch your own. Azriel clutched his hands together, his foot drumming incessantly against the floor.

“Eris, I love you.” Azriel made a noise of distaste that you silenced with a stare, “But not in the way I love Azriel. And I need you to understand that the things I told you in your home were not a threat, but a promise.”

The red-haired lordling paled and you cocked your head, “You are my longest friend, and my closest confidant, but he is my mate and I choose Him. I will continue to choose him until the day I die.” A tear slid down your cheek, and he faught the urge to brush it aside.

“Please. I am begging do not give me a reason to never speak to you again.” And when you finished speaking he nodded breaking your hold to stand and brush off his pants.

“My deepest apologies, once more.” He nodded this to Azriel, and stared at you kneeling form a moment longer before leaving the river home. You let the silence of the room wash over you, your hands now unoccupied resting on your lap.

Azriel began to speak, but when you turned to him crying he only quieted and moved to sit on the floor beside you. You allowed him to pull you into his lap, to hold you close as you cried silently.

“Im so sorry.” Azriel whispered into your hair, gently rubbing your back. “This is my fault.”

“No-” You sniffled, reaching up to grasp his still bruised cheeks. “No. I should have set that boundary long ago. I’ve known how he has felt for years, and yet I hoped it would fade.” You chuckled then, a mournful sound. “How selfish of me to assume.”

Azriel only held you in silence, perched in the rubble of the living room.

You knew that the boundary you had set was not unfair. Knew that in a million other lifetimes you would still choose Azriel, but Eris’ lingering absence still managed to tear a gaping hole in your heart.

“Why are you here?”

Azriel was cloaked in darkness, the hood concealing his features lilted with shadows that whispered and creeped. Eris stared at him, bow lowered from where he had nearly sent the arrow home into the spymaster’s chest. His horse snuffed impatiently, stamping the ground anxiously as those shadows crawled along the ground.

Azriel was being reckless, breaking several laws to be on the edges of the Autumn court’s forest border. Reaching upward he dropped the hood, stared at the mounted lordling before him and sighed.

“We need to talk.”

“I dont think we do.” Eris huffed, slinging the bow across his back and urging his horse back into a walk along the perimeter of his lands. Azriel trailed closely, grabbing the reins and forcing the steed to stop.

“Please.” His tone was so pleading that Eris relaxed in the saddle. Still staring at the forest beyond he uttered a harsh ‘speak.’

And speak, he did.

No amount of warning could have prepared you for the scene in front of you. Standing in the threshold of a balcony at the House of Wind was a windblown (slightly petrified) Eris, and a coolly composed Azriel.

“Why are you here.” It was directed to Eris.

As he stepped forward you clutched the books you held against your chest and shot him a warning glance. He stopped in his tracks, looked back at Azriel who only nodded and encouraged him to continue.

“I just came to say that Azriel and I spoke.” He swallowed thickly, “And I want you to know I am sorry. And that I am going to respect both you and your mate, if you’ll have me.”

You stared at him, and then looked back at Azriel.

“And I'm going to stop picking apart everything he does involving you.”

You watched between them, focused on their words. Nodding slowly you moved away from them, headed towards the balcony doors opposite where they stood. You had a table out there, cleaned and ready to read at.

“Are you going to join me, or not?”

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