#task: message please survive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bellaveux · 10 months ago

Note

Can you do a Natasha fic where the reader gets really sick while she's at work, and is kind of going through it with a rude boss, so she's just having a really rough day, but she never told Natasha because she's scared of confrontation. Anyway, the day she gets sick an employee calls Natasha while she's working at SHIELD to inform her that y/n threw up and isn't feeling well, so Natasha drops everything to go and pick her up. She takes care of her and the reader just gets really emotional and kinda breaks down, tells her everything going on and Natasha like HANDS IT TO y/ns boss? Thank you!

by your side | n. romanoff x fem!reader

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: you always put everything you had into your work, pushing yourself until the weight of the stress finally caught up with you. whenever it did, natasha was there to pick up the pieces.

content warnings: hurt/comfort, sick!fic, angst, protective!natasha, caring!natasha, reader gets exhausted (to the point it gets very concerning), very small hint of dark!natasha towards the end, an annoying man *eye roll*

word count: 9.8k

note: WHY IS THIS SO LONG IM SORRY

You worked at a bustling office in the heart of New York City, where the sound of phones ringing and keyboards clacking was a constant backdrop to your life. It was the kind of place that never really slowed down, no matter the time of day, and you were always at the heart of it, buried under a never-ending pile of deadlines and demands. Your boss, a man who thrived on intensity and pressure, never seemed to pause long enough to recognize the strain he put on his employees—especially you. To him, you were just another cog in the machine, a very dependable one, which means he pushed you harder than most.

The problem was, he never knew when to stop asking.

You never said no. You couldn’t. Not when your boss stood over your desk, throwing more work your way without a second thought, his voice always sharp, always urgent. “Can you handle this by end of day?” It wasn’t really a question, just an expectation, and you—too kind, too eager to please—would nod, even though your head was already pounding, even though your body was screaming for rest.

Day after day, it was the same routine: arriving at the office before anyone else, your steps heavy before you even crossed the threshold, often staying late into the evening, long after the sun had set and the streets outside had quieted. You ate lunch at your desk, if you remembered to eat at all, and even when you were home, your phone buzzed with emails and messages that you felt obligated to respond to.

Stress seeped into your bones, deeper with each passing week. It started small—just a lingering headache at first, or a faint wave of nausea that you could ignore. But soon, it became harder to push through. You’d stand up too quickly and feel the room spin at times. Your hands shook when you typed, your vision blurring at the edges. By the time you crawled into bed, exhaustion pulling at you, sleep never came easily. You’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, your mind still racing with the tasks you hadn’t completed yet.

Natasha noticed the changes first, the quiet ways your body betrayed you. The exhaustion was written all over your face, in the dark smudges beneath your eyes, in the slowness of your movements. You didn’t smile as easily, didn’t laugh as often. When you sat together, Natasha could feel the tension in you—how you would fidget, your hands restless, your mind clearly somewhere else. And the more it happened, the more Natasha’s concern grew.

She didn’t like how your job was stripping away your vitality, how the woman she loved seemed to be fading right before her eyes. Natasha had spent a lifetime learning how to take care of herself, how to survive under pressure, but watching you suffer was something she couldn’t just stand by and let happen.

A couple nights later, she entered the apartment quietly, the sound of her boots soft against the floor as she shrugged off her jacket. The space was unusually quiet. She couldn’t hear the usual shuffle of you in the kitchen, the faint hum of the TV or music playing in the background. Her instincts, honed from years of training, told her something was off.

The faint glow of light peeked out from under the door of the small office down the hallway. Natasha’s brow furrowed as she made her way toward it, her steps measured. Pushing the door open gently, she found you slumped over your desk, your laptop still open, a forgotten cup of coffee sitting cold beside you. You were asleep, your head resting on your arms, your body curled into the desk as if you had simply given up mid-task. The lines of exhaustion etched into your face were even more prominent now, your breathing soft but uneven. Natasha’s heart sank, a sigh leaving her lips. She took in the scene—the clutter of paperwork, the blinking cursor on the screen, the clock ticking far too late into the night.

You looked so small like this, your usual vibrant energy drained away. Natasha swallowed hard, a wave of guilt and protectiveness washing over her. She knew you were exhausted. She’d seen it in your eyes, heard it in the tired way you spoke lately.

Natasha crossed the room slowly, crouching down beside the chair. Gently, she reached out, her fingers brushing against your hair, moving a stray lock behind your ear. You stirred faintly, but didn’t wake, your body too tired to register the touch. Natasha sighed again, her chest tightening with frustration at your boss for running you into the ground, and at herself for not stepping in sooner.

She glanced at the laptop screen, at the endless emails and documents open, the work that never seemed to end. Her eyes narrowed, and she closed the laptop with a soft click, shutting off the pressure it represented. This wasn’t what you deserved—this never-ending cycle of work and stress, of pushing yourself until you broke.

"Baby?" Natasha whispered softly, her voice laced with concern.

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open slowly, disoriented and mumbling something under your breath. Her heart squeezed as she leaned in closer, her hand still caressing your hair.

“Let me take you to bed, detka,” she urged softly, her thumb brushing lightly across your temple.

You shifted slightly, mumbling incoherently, “I… I still… I need to finish some stuff first…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, slurred with exhaustion, but still that underlying thread of responsibility ran through it.

Natasha shook her head gently, her hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “No, no, you can finish it later,” she protested softly, but firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Your brow furrowed faintly in protest, but your eyelids were already drooping again, your body sagging further into the chair. “I… I’m almost done, I just…” you murmured again, your words fading as your head lolled slightly.

Natasha sighed, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. Even in your droopy state, you were stubborn. But she wouldn’t let you push yourself any further tonight.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered, slipping her arms beneath you to lift you from the chair. You barely protested then, your body limp in her hold, already too far gone to fight anymore.

As Natasha carried you toward the bedroom, your head nestled against her shoulder as she pressed a soft kiss to your hair before laying you down against the soft mattress and tucking you in under the blanket.

She hated it—hated every bit of seeing you like this. Over the past few weeks, she watched you grow more and more exhausted under the relentless weight of work. It gnawed at her, the way you seemed to fade a little more each day.

You were always so selfless, so willing to take on anything asked of you, and Natasha knew it. She admired your strength, your commitment, but this... this was too much. The late nights spent hunched over your laptop and the way you had started falling asleep at your desk almost every night—it was all wrong. It felt like your fire was being slowly extinguished, and Natasha couldn’t stand it.

She felt helpless, almost, watching her girlfriend work herself to the bone, all because she was too nice to say no. You were always the one giving—too much of yourself, Natasha realized now—and she didn’t know how to protect you from this. She could face any enemy, survive any mission, but seeing you like this, so drained and worn, was something she wasn’t prepared for. It stirred something fierce in her, this protective instinct that made her want to grab your boss by the collar and demand that they stop putting you through this. But that wasn’t how you operated. She knew you wouldn’t want that.

It was just one night later, when Natasha decided that all this would come to an end. She was lounging on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table as she absentmindedly flicked through the channels on the TV. It had been a quiet evening, the kind that felt rare and fleeting in her world. You were working late again, and Natasha had been expecting to see you walk through the door soon, your usual soft smile brightening up the apartment.

But instead, her phone buzzed on the cushion beside her.

Natasha smiled to herself as she answered, but the tone of your voice wasn’t what she expected. There was a hesitance there, a weariness she could sense even before you spoke.

“Hey, Nat,” your voice was soft, almost sheepish, like you were hesitant to ask something. “Do you think… um, do you think you could pick me up from work? I’m just… too tired for the subway tonight.”

Natasha didn’t even need to hear the rest. Her heart clenched at the thought of you trying not to burden her. She sat up instantly, already swinging her legs off the couch as if she’d been waiting for this all evening.

“Yeah, baby, of course,” she said, her voice firm and warm, leaving no room for hesitation. “I’ll be there in soon.”

You let out a small sigh of relief on the other end, a sound so soft that Natasha could practically feel it. “Thanks, Nat. I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” her reply was immediate, firm. She could hear the way your words trembled, how much it had probably taken for you to admit you needed help. That fact alone made her move even faster. “I’ll be there soon.”

As she hung up the phone, her eyes narrowed, determination settling in. It made her chest ache—you shouldn’t have to ask, shouldn’t have to feel shy about needing something as simple as a ride home.

She didn’t waste a second. Throwing on her jacket, Natasha grabbed her keys and headed straight for the door. She made it to her car in record time, sliding into the driver’s seat with focus before she sped out of the apartment building's parking lot, her grip tight on the wheel. The roads were clearer this late, and she took advantage of it, her foot pressing harder on the gas as she weaved between cars, the streetlights casting fleeting glows through the windows. All she could think about was getting to you. The thought of you standing outside your building, tired and alone, was enough to make Natasha’s stomach twist. You worked so hard, too hard, and the idea of you taking the subway, bone-tired and vulnerable, made Natasha’s blood race faster than the car.

It wasn’t long before Natasha pulled up in front of your building, her car coming to a halt with a smooth screech. She didn’t bother with parking neatly, didn’t care about anything except finding you. Her eyes scanned the entrance, and there you were—standing on the sidewalk, looking small and worn-out under the harsh glow of the streetlamp. Even from the distance, Natasha could see the way your shoulders slumped.

She jumped out of the car, her heart squeezing at the sight of her. “(Y/n),” she called softly, but with enough urgency that your head snapped up. Your tired eyes brightened just a bit when you saw her, and that was all it took for Natasha to feel a flood of warmth.

“Hey,” you said, your voice small as you walked toward her, your bag slung over one shoulder. You looked up at her with a shy smile, almost embarrassed, like you felt guilty for even asking. “You didn’t have to rush—”

“Don’t even,” Natasha interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. She stepped closer, her hand resting on your cheek for a moment, thumb brushing the dark circles under your eyes. “You look exhausted.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It was a long day,” you admitted quietly, leaning into her touch.

She knew you well enough to see through that smile. You were faking it—putting on a brave front like you always did when you were too tired to admit how bad things were. Natasha didn’t say anything, though. Not yet at least, not wanting to put any more stress on your shoulders for the rest of the night. Instead, she carefully took your bag from your shoulder and guided you over to the car. Without another word, Natasha opened the passenger door for you, her eyes never leaving you as she gently guided you inside. As soon as you were settled, she rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat, her hand instinctively reaching over to rest on your thigh. She kept her hand there, her thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles into your leg. The car was warm, comfortable, but the silence between them was filled with something soft, a quiet understanding. She drove fast, her usual controlled demeanor slipping a little in her urgency to get you home, to get you somewhere safe and warm.

As she drove, Natasha started speaking quietly, filling the silence with soft reassurances and a few stories about her own day—anything to lighten the mood, to keep you grounded. “You know, Fury was on my case about the paperwork again… I swear he thinks I’m made for office work. Can you imagine?”

She went on like that for a minute or two, just talking to keep you company, but when she glanced over at you, she saw you had already fallen asleep. Your head rested gently against the window, the faintest sound of your breathing filling the car. Natasha’s heart ached at the sight, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Arriving back at the apartment, she parked the car, then gently placed her hand on your shoulder, softly shaking you awake.

“Baby, we’re home,” she whispered, her voice as soft as the late evening air.

You stirred, blinking up at her groggily, before mumbling something Natasha couldn’t quite make out. She smiled at the sight, though, feeling an ache of tenderness as your sleepy eyes met hers.

You made your way inside, Natasha holding your hand firmly as they walked through the building and into the elevator. In the quiet space, she leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your hand, then your cheek, trying to get a real smile from you. Your lips curved upward, but it was faint—Natasha could see the exhaustion still pulling you down.

Once you were inside the apartment, Natasha felt a strange sense of relief, thinking they were finally home, finally safe. You both kicked off your shoes near the door, and Natasha started to head toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water for you. But just as she turned away, she heard the unmistakable thud of you collapsing behind her.

“(Y/n)!” Natasha shouted, her voice thick with panic, rushing your side immediately. She managed to catch you just in time, pulling you into her arms, her heart racing. “God... what happened?”

Still dazed, you gave her a tired smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, Nat. Really… I just slipped... Got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“You’re not fine, (Y/n). You almost passed out,” Natasha snapped, her frustration breaking through the concern. “I’ve been watching you every day, running yourself into the ground, and you just keep brushing it off like it’s nothing.”

You sighed, trying to keep your voice calm, though your exhaustion made you sound small and fragile. “I’m okay, Natasha. Really. I just need to sit for a minute. I’ll be fine.” You reached up and touched Natasha’s face gently, trying to reassure her, even if it was far from the truth.

But Natasha’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, she looked even more conflicted, torn between wanting to believe you and knowing deep down that something wasn’t right.

“I just... I just want you to be okay,” Natasha said quietly, her voice breaking a little, the concern clear in her eyes. She wanted to take care of you, to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself too far, but you kept putting up walls—soft ones, sure, but walls nonetheless.

You smiled again, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I will be fine,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Natasha’s temple as if that could erase her worries.

Natasha swallowed hard, still unconvinced. “Can you please just... sleep earlier tonight? For me?”

You sighed and nodded softly, your hand stilling on her cheek, “Okay. I will.”

That night, you actually followed through. You did something you hadn’t done in a long time—you went to bed early, just like Natasha had asked. Your body gave in almost instantly, sinking into the soft mattress beneath you. Natasha, careful and gentle, slid into bed behind you not long after, wrapping an arm around your waist.

The warmth of your girlfriend’s body was a comfort that you didn’t realize how much you’d missed. She pulled you closer, pressing her chest against yours back, holding you as though she could somehow protect you from the stress and weariness that had been overtaking you. You let out a small, content sigh, nestling deeper into the blankets as your hand instinctively found hers, your fingers intertwining.

Natasha’s breath was soft and steady, brushing against the back of your neck. She stayed like that, holding you close, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. As your body relaxed, Natasha’s heart clenched, knowing how much you had been pushing yourself—too much, too hard. And the thought of you collapsing earlier that evening, that brief, terrifying moment, replayed in her mind over and over.

With her face buried against your hair, Natasha whispered, “I’ve got you, detka,” though she wasn’t sure if you could hear her, already drifting into sleep.

She held you even tighter, her fingers lightly tracing over your skin as if to reassure herself that you were there, safe and resting. Natasha hated seeing you so drained, so worn down by the demands of a job that seemed to take more and more from you. She didn’t like it, the way you always said you were fine, brushing off your own well-being, trying to be strong for everyone else but yourself. She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless, but tonight, at least, she could hold you close and promise herself that she would do whatever it took to make sure you didn’t have to carry so much alone anymore.

“I love you,” Natasha murmured into skin, hoping that in your dreams, you’d feel just how much.

The next day was a blur of routine, at least until everything changed in an instant. Natasha had been buried in paperwork of reports and briefings at S.H.I.E.L.D., her mind only half-focused as she replayed the events of last night. She had been relieved to see you sleep early, hoping that it marked the start of you finally resting more.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, the familiar sight of your name flashing on the screen making her smile for a brief second. She was expecting a cute text or a midday update, hopefully saying that you slept well last night and that you felt much better.

Natasha answered immediately, “Hey, baby—”

But it wasn’t your voice on the other end of the line. It was someone else—a voice she vaguely recognized, one of your coworkers. Her heart dropped instantly.

“Natasha?” the voice was shaky, worried. “It’s Grace. I—I didn’t know who else to call. (Y/n)… she collapsed at work. She’s in the bathroom, and she threw up. She’s barely conscious—”

She didn’t hear the rest. The world around her went silent, her heart pounding in her ears. She was moving before she even realized it, throwing her jacket over her shoulder as she sprinted down the hall, ignoring the questioning glances from her team.

“I’m coming,” Natasha cut in sharply. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

She barely gave her a chance to respond before hanging up, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she burst through the doors of the headquarters, her mind racing with every worst-case scenario. You had been pushing yourself too hard for too long, and now it was catching up with you in a way Natasha had feared but hoped would never happen.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white, weaving through traffic without hesitation. Every second felt like an eternity as Natasha’s mind kept replaying Grace’s words—collapsed, barely conscious, you. The need to be there, to make sure you were okay, to hold you and take care of you, consumed her completely.

She arrived at your workplace in what felt like both a heartbeat and a lifetime, her heart racing as she tore through the office doors. Faces blurred past her as she hurried down the hall, driven by the singular need to get to you.

When she reached the bathroom, Grace was waiting just outside, looking as pale as a sheet. “She’s in there,” Grace murmured, but Natasha didn’t need to hear more. She pushed the door open and rushed inside, finding you slumped against the wall by the sinks, your face pale, eyes half-closed, and your breathing shallow.

Natasha dropped to her knees beside you, gently lifting your face with trembling hands. “(Y/n),” she whispered, her voice cracking, “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. “Nat, I… I’m sorry…” you mumbled weakly, and it only made Natasha’s heart clench tighter.

“Shh, don’t talk,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “We’re getting you home, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

But inside, Natasha was anything but calm.

She took you home with little hesitation, bundling you up in her arms and practically carrying you to the car. The ride back had been silent, you were too drained to speak, your head resting against the window, eyes closed, your breathing soft but labored. As soon as you reached the apartment, Natasha helped you into bed, making sure you had water, medicine, and plenty of blankets, wrapping you up in care as you quickly fell into a deep, much-needed sleep.

Natasha paced the apartment, restless with worry. She texted Fury immediately, telling him she wouldn’t be coming in for work until you were better. Fury didn’t argue—he knew her mind was made up, and nothing would bring her back until she was sure you were okay.

Hours passed with you fast asleep, and Natasha found herself sitting by the bed, watching over you, her own thoughts swirling. Guilt settled deep in her chest. She should’ve known. She should have done something before it got this bad. But none of those thoughts would help now. All she could do was be here, to make sure you didn’t have to go through any of this alone.

It wasn’t until evening that you finally stirred, groaning softly as you slowly sat up, rubbing at your temples. Your head was pounding, your body aching, but when you saw Natasha sitting there, waiting patiently, something inside you softened. She didn’t look mad or frustrated, just concerned, her eyes filled with a quiet, unwavering love that you felt you didn’t deserve, not after pushing yourself so hard and ignoring all of Natasha’s gentle warnings.

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse murmur. Your gaze dropped to her lap, guilt heavy in your chest. You had worried her so much, put her through this, and all because you couldn’t say no at work.

But Natasha shook her head immediately, shifting closer, her hand gently brushing a stray tear from your cheek before cupping her face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “Don’t apologize,” she said softly, her thumb stroking your soft skin. “You don’t have to say sorry for this.”

It was simple. Those words. But it broke something in you. You had been holding everything in for so long, trying to be strong, trying to manage it all on your own, but Natasha’s kindness, her gentle touch, undid everything. Tears slipped from your eyes before you could stop them, and within moments, you were crying completely, burying your face in Natasha’s shoulder as the weight of everything you had been holding back came crashing down.

She didn’t say a word, only held you closer, your arms wrapping around you protectively, letting you cry as long as you needed to. She pressed soft kisses into your hair, murmuring quiet reassurances, but mostly, she just listened. She knew you needed this release more than anything.

Eventually, through the sobs, your voice cracked, spilling the truth you had been too scared to admit. “He just… He makes me do so much. He’s so demanding, and no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m trying so hard, Nat, I’m trying to do everything right, but I can’t…”

Natasha closed her eyes as she listened, stroking your back soothingly, her own frustration simmering beneath the surface. She wanted to storm into your office and tell your boss exactly what she thought of him, but for now, all that mattered was you.

You sobbed into her shoulder, your words tumbling out between shaky breaths, “He… he piles everything on me, Nat. Every day, it’s something new. More deadlines, more expectations, and he doesn’t even care how late I have to stay. If I mess up—just once—he looks at me like I’m useless. I try so hard to keep up, but…”

Your voice cracked, the frustration and helplessness weighing so heavy on your shoulders, it was like a physical weight pressing you down. Your body trembled against Natasha, and all she could do was hold you tighter, one hand resting at the back of your head, her fingers threading gently through your hair.

“I… I just want to do my job, but he’s always expecting more, always demanding… and I can’t even say no, because if I do, I-I’ll get behind, and then—then I’ll look incompetent, and I can’t lose this job.” Your words came out in a rush, a desperate ramble as you tried to explain further, tried to make sense of the unbearable pressure you’ve been enduring. “I’m just so tired, Natasha. I’m so tired, and I can’t keep up anymore.”

Natasha listened in silence, her jaw clenched as she held you close. She felt your pain as if it were her own, every word twisting something deep inside of her. But beneath the surface of her calm, stoic exterior, something darker was brewing. Rage—pure, unfiltered rage—was bubbling up, so fierce it nearly consumed her. She could feel it burning in her chest, in her gut, the protective instinct inside her flaring dangerously as your words sunk in.

Your boss. The one who had drained you like this, the one who had pushed you so far you collapsed in the bathroom, throwing up from sheer exhaustion. Natasha wanted to march into that office and tear him apart. How could anyone treat someone as kind, as gentle, as hardworking as you this way? Her hands tightened around you slightly, but she forced herself to stay calm, to focus on the moment. You needed her right now, needed her love and her comfort, not her anger.

But in her mind, she was already planning.

“I… I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken from crying. “I just… I just want to feel like I’m enough, Nat. I-I feel like I’m doing so much... and I’m so tired of feeling like I’m always failing.”

Natasha’s heart shattered at those words, but she kept her voice steady as she pressed her lips softly to your temple. “You are more than enough, milaya. You always have been. Your boss? He’s the problem, not you.”

You sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at her, your eyes red and puffy, but the pain was still etched deeply into your features. “I just… I don’t know what to do...”

Natasha wanted to tell you right then and there that you didn’t need to do anything, that she would take care of it, that she would storm into that office and make sure your boss never treated you this way again. But instead, she took a deep breath, her voice soft but firm as she held your gaze. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore, detka. I’m here now, and I’m going to help you, okay?”

You nodded weakly, another tear slipping down your cheek, and Natasha gently wiped it away, her thumb lingering on your soft skin. But inside, Natasha was livid. She was already imagining ways to get her hands on your boss, imagining how satisfying it would be to make him pay for everything he had put you through.

For now, though, she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on you, pulling you close again. You were the priority. And Natasha silently promised herself that she would do whatever it took to protect you. She wasn’t going to let this go on any longer. She would make sure of it.

An hour later, Natasha was sitting up against the headboard of the bed you shared with her, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of her laptop screen. You were sound asleep beside her, breathing quietly, your body finally getting the rest it so desperately needed. Natasha glanced at you for a moment. She wanted to do everything she could to ensure you would never feel so broken again.

But for now, there was something else on her mind.

She pulled up her sleek, encrypted laptop—the one she used for her work with S.H.I.E.L.D., her missions, her other life. It was a tool for information, and right now, she needed to know everything about your boss. She typed quickly, her fingers flying over the keyboard with practiced precision, bypassing security walls and restricted databases. Within minutes, she had the man’s entire life laid out in front of her.

He wasn’t anything impressive. Natasha scrolled through his information, her brow furrowing with each new detail. He was 57 years old, with a wife and three kids—two daughters and a son. He had a mediocre degree in business from some underwhelming university, and his career trajectory was equally unimpressive. Fired from several previous jobs, all for various reasons that hinted at incompetence and poor management skills. He had only landed his current position because of a personal connection with one of the board members at your company.

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line as she absorbed the information. This was the man who had been making your life a living hell? A man who barely had the qualifications to run a business, let alone manage an entire office full of hardworking people? Her fingers hovered over the keys as she contemplated her next move. There were so many ways she could make his life difficult. She could anonymously tip off a competitor, sabotage his reputation, or even dig up dirt that would have him out of a job faster than he could blink.

But she hesitated, her eyes flicking back to you sleeping next to her. She couldn’t go too far—this was your life, and any drastic move could ripple back and cause more problems for you. Still, the thought of him sitting behind his desk, barking orders at you, draining you day after day, made her blood boil.

She leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes, her mind racing. There had to be a way to make things right, a way to make sure you didn’t suffer under this man’s control any longer. She wasn’t just going to sit back and let you be destroyed by someone so insignificant. No, she was going to find a way to fix this. To protect you.

She closed the laptop gently and placed it on the bedside table, her mind already spinning with ideas. She wasn’t the kind of person who let those she loved be hurt. She would deal with this. One way or another, your boss would learn that no one messes with someone she loves.

She lay back down, pulling you into her arms as she drifted off, her mind already formulating her next steps. For now, though, she held you closer, her lips brushing your forehead.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred beside her, your body moving instinctively as you began to sit up, a quiet groan escaping your lips. Natasha was already awake, watching you closely, her eyes sharp and calculating. She knew exactly what it was you were going to try to do.

"Where are you going?" Natasha’s voice was gentle but firm as she moved swiftly, already getting out of bed before you could muster a response.

You rubbed your eyes, still groggy. “I need to get ready for work…” You mumbled, pushing the covers aside. Your movements were slow, like you were still too tired to fully function, but your determination was clear.

But Natasha was faster, as always. She was already at the foot of the bed, blocking your path with crossed arms and a look that left no room for negotiation. “You’re not going to work today,” Natasha stated flatly, her voice unwavering.

You blinked, taken aback by Natasha’s tone. “But I—”

"No," Natasha cut her off, shaking her head as she stepped closer. "You collapsed yesterday. You threw up. You can barely stand right now. There's no way I’m letting you go back to that place, especially not today."

Your lips parted, a protest forming on the tip of your tongue, but Natasha held your gaze, unwavering and serious. "I already called in sick for you."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Natasha…"

"I’m not asking," Natasha added, her tone softening but still firm. She moved closer, resting her hands gently on your shoulders. "You’re staying in bed. You need to rest."

You sighed, your resolve faltering under your girlfriend’s care. "There’s still so much work I have to—"

"I don’t care," Natasha interrupted again, her voice a little more gentle now. "You’re not going back to work today." She paused, her eyes softening as she reached up to cup your face.

You bit your lip, looking down at your lap, conflicted. You knew Natasha was right. You knew your body couldn’t handle much more, not after yesterday, but the guilt still gnawed at you. "I just… I don’t want to fall behind."

"You’re not falling behind," Natasha reassured you, leaning in and brushing a kiss against your forehead. "You’re taking care of yourself. And that’s more important."

Your shoulders sagged as you gave in, sighing softly and leaning into her touch. "Okay," you whispered, your voice quiet and defeated, but also grateful. "I’ll stay in."

Natasha smiled softly, her fingers brushing through your hair. "Good," she whispered.

Without another word, Natasha gently guided you back down onto the bed, pulling the covers up around you. She pressed another soft kiss to your temple before straightening up. "I’ll make you some tea," Natasha said, glancing back over her shoulder. "And maybe some breakfast too."

You watched her, eyes heavy but filled with love and gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered.

She just gave you a small smile, disappearing into the kitchen. Today, there would be no work. No stress. Just rest.

Natasha spent the entire day doting on you, hovering close by whenever she was needed. She moved through the apartment, focused entirely on making sure you were comfortable. Whether it was bringing tea to soothe your nerves or pressing a cool cloth against your forehead, Natasha never strayed far. Every time you stirred, she was there. When you needed water, she was there. When you needed to rest but couldn’t get comfortable, she shifted things around until everything was just right. There were no complaints, no sighs of frustration at all.

As the evening wore on and the quiet comfort of your day together began to settle into the apartment, Natasha knew she had to take care of something—something you didn’t need to know about. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently brushing her fingers through your hair, watching as you slowly drifted in and out of sleep. The concern was still etched on her face, her brows slightly furrowed even while you rested.

Natasha let out a slow sigh, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead again. “I need to head into headquarters for a bit,” she murmured quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

Your eyes fluttered open just slightly, a soft groan escaping your lips as you blinked yourself awake. “Now?” you mumbled, still groggy, your voice rough from the day of rest.

Natasha smiled, trying to make it seem casual. “Just for a little while. I won’t be long. But you need to promise me something, okay?”

You looked up at her, still half-asleep, but you nodded weakly. “What?”

“Stay here,” Natasha said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “No work. No emails. No phone calls. Just rest, okay? I mean it.” Her voice was soft but there was a steel edge to it, and you knew better than to argue when Natasha was like this.

“Okay,” you mumbled, your body sinking deeper into the pillows as you closed your eyes again. “I promise.”

Natasha smiled and stood up, giving you one last lingering look before grabbing her jacket and heading for the door. You didn’t need to know where she was really going. There was no need to worry you more than you already were.

This wasn’t about S.H.I.E.L.D. Natasha wasn’t heading into work.

She was going to pay your boss a little visit at the office—a "talk" that was long overdue. There were things that needed to be said, and she wasn’t going to let this man get away with pushing you to the brink any longer.

Natasha moved swiftly through the streets, her sharp instincts guiding her to your office building with practiced ease. The city had quieted down for the night, only the hum of distant traffic breaking the stillness. She had no real reason to hurry, but the tension in her chest urged her forward, faster.

At the building, it was as quiet as expected at this hour. Most of the employees had gone home hours ago, leaving only the security guards and a few late workers scattered in cubicles on the higher floors. Your boss, though, was always the last to leave. Natasha had done her research. She knew his routine. He liked to linger, even though he barely did anything of substance, making his staff stay late while he hid behind his office door, enjoying the title of authority he had somehow stumbled into.

Natasha slipped into the building with ease, her steps soundless as she navigated the hallways. She knew the place well from all the times she’d come to pick you up late at night. But tonight was different. Tonight wasn’t about waiting patiently in the car, hoping you would come out soon, looking worn but smiling.

This time, Natasha was the one who would leave him waiting.

When she finally reached his office, the dim light of his desk lamp cast long shadows across the room. She slipped inside without a sound, moving with the grace and stealth that only years of training could perfect. She found the perfect spot in a chair in front of his desk, just out of the light, where she could see the door in the reflection of the window but remain unseen. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she imagined the look on his face when he found her there.

Sitting in the dark, Natasha’s thoughts drifted back to you—how pale and fragile you had looked just the night before, falling into your arms after trying to push through another hellish day. It angered her more than anything else. She could fight villains, take down global threats, but this man—this petty, power-hungry boss—was breaking you down in ways that Natasha couldn’t fight with her fists.

But tonight, she’d find a way. One that didn’t involve any violence, though the temptation lingered just beneath the surface.

The door to the office finally swung open, and your boss entered, his voice loud and cocky as he spoke into the phone. Natasha remained hidden in the shadows, her sharp gaze locked on him as he crossed the room, completely unaware of her presence. His tone was sickeningly sweet, but Natasha could hear the sleaze dripping off every word.

“I told you, sweetheart, I’ll be home soon,” he was saying, his back turned to Natasha. “No, no, my wife’s out of town. It’ll just be us.” He chuckled, the sound grating in the silence. “You’re still thinking about this weekend, aren’t you? God, I can’t wait.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened as she listened. Of course, she already knew about the affair—she had dug into his life thoroughly. This man was every bit as pathetic as he seemed, and every word out of his mouth only confirmed what she’d suspected. His voice continued, smug and arrogant as he paced in front of his desk.

“You just keep that dress ready for me, alright? I’ll take care of everything.”

The call ended with another disgusting chuckle, and as he pocketed his phone, still grinning to himself, Natasha decided it was time. The darkness cloaked her presence until the perfect moment. She let the silence linger, just long enough to unnerve him. And then, with a soft but unmistakable voice, she shattered the calm.

“You sure you’ve got everything under control?”

The sound of her voice cut through the room like a knife, and he froze mid-step. He turned slowly, his eyes widening as he finally noticed her sitting calmly in the dark corner of his office, legs crossed, her face barely visible in the dim light coming from the window. Natasha tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable, but the intensity of her gaze was unmistakable.

For a second, he said nothing, his face draining of color as the realization dawned on him that someone had been watching—listening.

You boss stammered, his voice shaky as his eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape. “Y-You’re … that… Black Widow…”

Natasha sat still and threatening in the chair in front of him, her piercing green eyes locked onto his face, her expression cold and calculated.

“Good,” she said, her voice low and steady, with a dangerous edge. “You know who I am.”

The man’s breath hitched as he took a small, trembling step back, the reality of the situation settling in. He had heard of her, of course. Everyone had. Black Widow. One of the Avengers. An assassin. The woman who had singlehandedly taken down entire criminal organizations and brought governments to their knees. And here she was, in his office—calm, composed, but undeniably lethal.

Your boss backed up against his desk, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge. “A-Are you here to kill me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha rolled her eyes, the question so typical, so small in comparison to what she was really after. “No,” she said flatly, her annoyance barely hidden behind her calm exterior.

“I-I have children,” he blurted out suddenly, as if that would somehow shield him from whatever fate he imagined was coming.

Natasha’s gaze hardened, her eyebrows furrowed, and her patience thinning. “I don’t want your children,” she said, her tone cold and dismissive.

“I-I didn’t—” he began to sputter, but Natasha cut him off with a raised hand, her eyes narrowing.

“Let’s skip the excuses,” she said, stepping closer. “I know exactly who you are too. I know what kind of boss you are, what kind of person you are, and I know what you’ve been putting (Y/n) through.”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but no words came out. Natasha’s presence was suffocating, and he was utterly defenseless. He had never been in the presence of someone like her before, and it showed. His eyes flickered toward the door, and Natasha smirked.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, her tone laced with a quiet threat. “You’re going to stand there and listen very carefully to what I have to say.”

She leaned in even closer, her expression unchanging, cold, and stoic. Her calm demeanor was somehow more terrifying than if she'd raised her voice.

“(Y/n) is my girlfriend,” she began, her tone flat but every word carrying a heavy weight. “And what you're doing to her… all that work you’ve be been giving her… work that you are responsible for... It stops now.”

His eyes widened in fear, his breaths shallow and shaky. Natasha didn’t break eye contact, her gaze unwavering as she continued, “You’re overworking her. Taking advantage of her. And I don’t like it.”

She paused, letting her words settle before she delivered the final blow. “It’d be such a shame,” she added, her voice dropping an octave, “if your wife found out about the affair. Or maybe your kids—Matthew, Ellie, and little Amy—how do you think they’d feel knowing what kind of man their father really is?”

He flinched at the mention of his wife and children, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. It felt as though Natasha had pulled back a curtain, exposing him to the light of day, and he knew he had nowhere to hide. His face drained of color, his mouth opening slightly as he tried to find his words, but nothing came out. She had stripped him of every ounce of bravado, his secrets laid bare before her.

“I know everything,” she continued, unbothered by his panic. “I know that you sit here in your office all day playing some stupid card game on your computer, I know where you get your suits dry cleaned, I know what time you leave work, I know where you take your mistress. I know where your kids go to school, I know your wife’s phone number. I even know how much you’ve got stashed away in that offshore account of yours.

He began to tremble, his entire body frozen under her scrutiny. He trembled under her gaze. Her voice, so stoic and emotionless, sliced through the air like a knife, sending chills down his spine.

“You see, I know everything,” Natasha stepped back, her posture still intimidating. “So, you’re going to go in tomorrow and lighten her workload. You’re going to give her a week off, maybe two. Make it two weeks. You’re going to treat her with the respect she deserves. Or… Well, I’m sure your loving family would be very interested in some of the things that I know.”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to muster a response, but no words came. The weight of her presence bore down on him, suffocating any bravado he might have had. He could feel the heat of her anger simmering just below the surface, the unspoken threats swirling in the air around them.

“Am I clear?” Natasha asked, her voice steady and unyielding, cutting through the silence like a blade. She leaned slightly forward, her intense gaze locking onto his, piercing through the last remnants of his bravado. “Or do I need to clarify?”

He trembled visibly, the reality of her presence pressing down on him like an anvil. “N-No,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “I understand. I won’t… I’ll fix it.”

“Good,” she replied, her tone dropping slightly, the threat still lingering in the air. “Because I will be watching. I have no problem about coming back to pay you a visit if nothing changes.”

He nodded, sweat forming on his brow as he absorbed the weight of her words. The starkness of her promises echoed in his mind, and he couldn't shake the fear that if he didn’t comply, he wouldn’t just be facing consequences from his boss—but from someone who was far more formidable than he could ever imagine.

As she stepped out, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, a wave of satisfaction washed over her. She had made her point clear; the fear etched on your boss’s face replayed in her mind, a victory she hadn’t expected to feel so sweet. He had crumbled in an instant, leaving behind only a trembling shell, and that alone brought Natasha a certain degree of relief.

Yet, even as she walked down the deserted hallway, an urge to punch him lingered like a nagging itch. The thought of his arrogant smirk—now replaced by pure terror—satisfied her, but she couldn’t shake the image of him cowering. A part of her wishes she could have delivered a more physical message, a simple punch to the face would’ve sufficed. But as she rounded the corner, she reminded herself that she didn’t need to; it was a warning well delivered. He deserved every ounce of the panic she had instilled in him.

Natasha made it back home soon after, the familiar scent of home filling her nose, She could feel the weight of the day lift slightly, yet she knew it wasn’t over. Not until she held you close and assured you that everything would be alright.

As she made her way to the bedroom, Natasha paused for a moment at the door. She wanted to shield you from the harsh realities of your work life, to remind you how strong and valued you were. Most importantly, she needed to ensure that you would never feel overwhelmed or neglected again.

With a deep breath, Natasha pushed open the door. You lay curled up in bed, your face soft and peaceful. After getting dressed and ready for bed, Natasha sat on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. She knew she had to be the partner you deserved—strong, protective, and fiercely devoted.

“Hey, baby,” Natasha whispered softly, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath her fingers. “I’m home.”

As you stirred, your eyes fluttered open, and a sleepy smile broke across your face.

Natasha couldn’t help but smile back, her heart swelling at the sight of you. She wasted no time pulling you into her chest, wrapping her arms around your waist as she laid back against the mattress. You nestled your face into the crook of Natasha’s neck, the familiar scent of her skin calming you.

She could feel the tension of the day slowly melting away as she held you close.

The morning sun rose and spilled into the room, casting a warm glow that danced across the sheets. You stirred, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and found Natasha propped up on one elbow, a soft smile gracing her lips. The sight was a balm for your weary soul, and you couldn’t help but return the smile.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Natasha said, her voice warm and inviting. “I’ll make us some coffee. Just relax.”

With that, she slipped out of bed. As Natasha disappeared into the kitchen, your gaze drifted to your phone lying on the bedside table. You reached for it, the screen lighting up with notifications. One message caught your eye—an all-too-familiar name that made your stomach churn. It was from your boss.

“(Y/n), I hope you’re feeling better. You have two weeks off to rest after your collapse. Take care of yourself.”

You stared at the message, your brow furrowing as you furrowed your eyebrows. You reread the text, half-expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something more familiar—something like the condescending, rushed notes you typically received from your boss. But there it was, plain as day.

It felt insane, almost surreal. He had never been this nice before. Your boss was notorious for pushing his employees to their limits, often leaving them feeling drained and unappreciated. The idea that he would suddenly show concern for your well-being felt foreign, like a mirage shimmering just beyond your reach. You thought back to the countless late nights spent at the office, the way he’d demanded more and more from you. Was this a ploy? Some sort of strategic move to save face after your collapse?

Your heart raced as you considered the implications. Two weeks off could be a gift—or it could be a way to push you out without having to deal with the consequences of his actions. The knot in your stomach tightened.

Natasha walked into the bedroom, the gentle clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence as she placed a steaming mug of tea on the bedside table. The aromatic steam curled upward, mingling with the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow slightly furrowed in concern.

You glanced up, the unexpected news still swirling in your mind. “I’ve… got two weeks off?” The words left your lips with disbelief, like you were trying to comprehend a twist in a plot that you never saw coming.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise crossing her features. “Oh, that… that’s a good thing, no?” she replied, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she took a sip of her coffee, clearly unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

“But why would he…” Your voice trailed off, your thoughts racing back to the myriad ways your boss had mistreated you, the way he thrived on making you do so much work, squeezing every ounce of productivity out of you until you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Then, you turned your gaze to Natasha, who seemed utterly at ease, wrapped in the comfort of the morning routine. But you knew all of Natasha’s faces and tendencies—knew the moments when she was holding something back, when the corners of her mouth hinted at secrets.

“Did you have something to do with this?”

Natasha’s expression shifted, the casual confidence fading just a fraction. She set her mug down slowly, the soft thud echoing in the stillness.

“What do you mean?” She asked, feigning innocence, but you could see the flicker of something—was it guilt? Or perhaps a hint of pride?

“Natasha,” you pressed, searching your girlfriend’s eyes for the truth.

She knew she couldn’t keep anything from you; it was one of the many things she loved about her relationship with you. The honesty, the trust—it was a delicate balance, but one she cherished deeply.

“Fine, I… talked to him for a bit,” she admitted, the words slipping out with a reluctant sigh.

Your expression shifted, your brows knitting together as realization settled in. “Is that where you were last night, when you told me you’d be at HQ?”

Natasha winced slightly. “Yeah, that’s… that’s exactly where I was,” she confessed, knowing you could see right through her.

You sat up straighter, your curiosity piqued. “What did you say to him? Did you threaten him?”

Natasha bit her lip lightly, a tad bit shameful, trying to lighten the mood despite the serious undertones of the conversation. “Maybe a little,” she said, but her smile faded as she caught the concerned look on your face. “I just told him to treat you right. That you’re not some disposable employee he can push around. That’s all, really.”

“And what did he say?”

“He was… well, he was scared,” Natasha replied, her tone steady but tinged with frustration. “I told him that if he didn’t back off, I… wouldn’t expose his secrets.”

Your eyes widened, “You can’t just go around threatening people, Natasha. That’s not how this works!”

“I know, I know,” she said, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “But I couldn’t just sit back and watch him run you into the ground. You’re too important to me, (Y/n).”

Your heart softened at her words, your irritation ebbing away as you recognized the fierce protectiveness in your girlfriend’s voice. “I appreciate it, really,” you said, your tone more gentle now. “You could get in trouble for this, you know...”

“I don’t care,” Natasha shook her head, her eyes fierce with determination. “I didn’t like how he was treating you. Your health comes first. I can’t keep watching you exhaust yourself when you have no need to be.”

“Natasha, you can’t just fix everything with threats,” you replied, your voice soft yet firm, trying to find the right balance between gratitude and apprehension. “What if he retaliates?”

Natasha shrugged slightly, her confidence going strong. “He won’t. And I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. You’ve been working yourself to the bone, and it’s not okay.”

You felt a rush of warmth flood your heart as you listened to her. “But, I’m just—”

“Just what?” Natasha interrupted, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’re not just anything. You’re my girlfriend, I love you, and I care about you more than anything. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

Your cheeks flushed, the sincerity of her words wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You sighed, your heart swelling with gratitude as you looked back up at her.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Natasha settled beside you on the bed, leaning in to plant a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth. Jokingly, she added, “You know, if you ever decide you don’t want to work again, I will happily provide for anything you need or want.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, but the hint of a smile tugged at your lips. “As if I would ever let you do that.”

She shrugged, feigning indifference, though the playful glint in her eyes betrayed her. “You think I wouldn’t make an excellent sugar mama? I could totally rock that role.”

“Right, because the world needs more dangerous assassins running a trust fund,” you shot back with another giggle.

“I think I’ll have you know, I’d be also be very happy woman if I got to spoil you everyday.”

“You already do.” You rolled your eyes again, smiling at her softly. “What were his… secrets?”

Natasha gave you a smug smile and shook her head, “He’s an unfaithful husband and he gambles a huge amount of money. That’s it, really. But he’s too scared to confront his family about it… I also think he was mostly scared I’d hurt him. Other than that, he’s just an asshole. I can’t believe someone like him was the reason behind you being so exhausted all the time. God, I really wanted to punch him.”

Your cheeks flushed with color as you threw your head back, laughter spilling from your lips, and in that moment, Natasha was reminded of just how beautiful you were when you let yourself unwind, free from work, worries and stress. The sound warmed her from the inside out, chasing away the shadows that had lingered from those long days when you had been too exhausted to find joy.

The worry Natasha had felt for you began to dissolve with each chuckle that escaped her lips, each teasing jab that came out with a playful glint in your eye. She couldn’t help but grin wider. She moved even closer, unable to resist the pull of your happiness. She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, moving her head to place a great many soft kisses against your cheek.

"I’ve missed this," she said softly, her smile unwavering as she gazed into your eyes, feeling as if the weight of the world had lifted, if only for a little while. "I’ve missed you."

You smiled at her.

And Natasha stared, captivated and unable to stop her lips from curving upwards. She promised to herself that she’d protect that smile of yours, that no one was ever going to take it away from you ever again, not while she was there.

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#bellaveux writes!#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #avengers x reader

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volivolition · 1 year ago

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HI HELLO first time doing this!! most of my filenames are the titles though (so i dont forget them later lmao), so i'll also just offer the shorthand titles that are easier to say :>

Unstoppable Force Kisses the Immovable Object (Unstoppable Force)

Swept Up in the Feeling (Swept Up)

Let's Make It (a) Home (Make It Home)

Meet the Parts that Make You (Meet the Parts)

Message to All Bitches: Please Survive (Message Please Survive)

Snippet from Swept Up! EMPATHY [Easy: Success] holds himself, grips his shoulders hard, glowing silver leaking down his cheeks in tandem with the witness – There's tears brimming in her eyes. Her heart isn’t in the conversation; she left it in her son's casket. There's a home she's supposed to go back to. You know what it’s like to never get to go home, Harry, to feel like you’ve lost it all.

AUTHORITY scoffs, but his hands are faltering at the control panel – What is it about tough exterior don’t you get?

COMPOSURE [Formidable: Success] presses his lips into a hard line, staring straight forward unblinkingly – Don't cry. Don’t cry, we aren't going to *fucking*- Hey, can *someone* get Feels-A-Lot away from the helm before we go hysterical?

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Success] zips over, the rush making Empathy's cloud wisp away at the edges. It hastily takes his arm by the elbow and tugs him further away – Whup, c’mon then, Em, let's go, let's get you to the back...

EMPATHY continues to weep silently, but lets himself be led away – Hmn…

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, let me know via ask!

@fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike

@obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979

@eriquin @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes @1attheedge

@whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci

@owlbearwrites @anachronismstellar @anyctibius @rilannon @lazinesswrites

@zyrafowe-sny @dreaminghour @blue-eyedbeta @candyskiez @dreamerking27

@kalira @virgulesmith @i-want-delfeur @selkies-world @exceedinglygayotter

@oitreewrites @post-and-out @writingattheedge @qqaba @ykthefancyclamwiththepearlinside

@princescar @tigerdragon1001

#wip wednesday #inland drabbles #task: swept up #I AM A LITTLE NERVOUS BUT NEVERTHELESS!!#''message please survive'' snippets might be kept secret but not sure yet!!

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l-na · 1 year ago

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help a severely disabled black mixed trans person out!

my dearest friend @magz is rly going through it right now!

[text id: two discord screensho messages from magz. the first one reads, "Unrelated but am having such bad combo? No electricity (it went away at 9pm last night), broken fridge, no internet, no food, dominican summer day, home alone. Hope the 26% charge phone survive, guys". the second screenshot says says, "Was gonna ebeg for food money, more than before cuz am gonna be alone all week w no one to help w cooking either, but our mobile data sucks n hates tumblr so can't make it atm, so no idea"]

magz had a bad combo of no internet, bad mobile data connection, long electric outages, still broken fridge, no food, hot summer day, and not having irl help for the week.

this is an EMERGENCY.

magz at least needs help with food + necessities for this stretch of week: $80usd or more.

donate here to ko-fi and here to paypal

for added context, magz lives in a "third world country" and suffers from seizures and needs help for basic tasks. magz is also currently unable to speak due to said seizures. life is incredibly difficult for magz right now, PLEASE help magz at least survive!

dont tag as anything, please!

#luna landing

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himasgod · 2 months ago

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NRC STAFF AND YUU

Where they find out that Yuu is self-harming

I was going to add a warning and a lil comf message as always in this type of fanfics, but I think annonie explains it pretty well <3

responding to this request

It was Grim who approached him—nervously, voice urgent.

“You gotta talk to Yuu, Professor. They’ve been… off. They flinch when I get too loud, and the other day I saw bandages I know weren’t there before. I don’t get it… why would they do that?”

Crewel paused.

He had graded over fifty exams last night, scolded a third-year for exploding a cauldron... But that one sentence stopped everything.

He didn't scold Grim. He didn't panic. He nodded once and said,

“Thank you for telling me. You did the right thing, pup.”

That night, Crewel stayed up researching.

He was poring through psychology journals. His brow furrowed as he read about pain, coping mechanisms, and invisible wounds.

The next morning, he requested Yuu stay after class. Not in front of the others—he simply handed them a folded slip during potion lab, saying, “Come see me after last bell. No rush.”

When Yuu arrived, they looked uneasy, shoulders high with tension.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No. Sit. Please.”

They did, eyes darting to the ingredients shelf, then to the floor. Crewel sat across from them, hands folded on his desk, voice softer than they’d ever heard it.

“Grim spoke to me.”

Yuu froze. Crewel continued gently.

“He’s worried about you. And now, so am I.”

Silence. Yuu’s throat tightened.

“I’m sorry—” they blurted, eyes starting to burn.

“I didn’t want anyone to know— I was just— I didn’t know how else to deal with everything and—”

“Stop.”

Not a harsh command. Crewel stood and walked around the desk. He knelt beside them, one gloved hand hovering over their shaky hands .

“You have nothing to apologize for. Pain is not a moral failure. It doesn’t make you shameful. It makes you human.”

Yuu’s breath hitched.

“I’m not here to fix you. I can’t wave a magical pen and erase what you’ve felt. But I can promise you this: you’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

He rose, placed a hand over his heart.

“You’re a part of this college. My student. And I take care of what’s mine.”

From then on, Crewel didn’t hover—but he checked in.

When Yuu looked withdrawn in class, he’d ask them to help sort ingredients. I

f they were dissociating, he’d say, “Mind walking with me to the greenhouse?”

Small tasks that let them breathe.

And he never pushed. Never pried.

Only left the door open—always open.

Crowley had a knack for dramatics. He thrived on being the center of the room.

But when Grim nervously shuffled into his office one rainy afternoon and said, “I think Yuu’s in trouble,” the headmage's feathers metaphorically dropped.

He didn't say a word at first. Just listened.

Later, he knocked on Ramshackle’s door himself.

Yuu answered, surprised. “Headmage?”

He took off his mask.

“May I come in?”

They blinked.

Crowley never took off his mask.

Never.

Crowley stood in the entryway.

“I hear you’ve been struggling. And before you say anything—I’m not here as your headmage.”

He placed the mask gently on a dusty table.

“I’m here as someone who once felt like a ghost too.”

Yuu swallowed hard.

“I know it’s hard, adjusting to this place,” he continued. “You’ve had to survive here without magic, without family, without answers. And you’ve done it all without a safety net.”

His voice wavered.

“Perhaps I should’ve given you one sooner.”

Yuu stared at him. Crowley’s eyes, usually behind his mask, were steady.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

He led them to a storage room near the staff quarters. There, behind old uniforms and spell books, was a small chest. He opened it.

Inside were journals.

Dozens of them, worn at the edges.

“I wrote these when I was your age. A long, long, long.... long time ago.” he said quietly.

“When I didn’t understand the world, or my place in it. When I thought maybe… the world would be better off without me.”

Yuu’s breath caught.

“You’re not weak for needing help,” he said, turning to them. “You’re wise for accepting it.”

From then on, when he saw them anxious in a hallway, he didn’t sweep them away with flair.

He’d tap their shoulder, whisper, “There’s tea in my office. Let’s get some air.”

And on days when Yuu couldn’t speak at all, Crowley would sit beside them in silence. No mask. Just himself.

In time, Yuu came to understand that even the loudest voices sometimes scream just to be heard.

And Crowley?

He’d make sure Yuu never had to scream alone again.

It started with a quiet knock on the side door of Mystery Shop one evening after lights-out.

“Hey, little imp,” he said without turning around“Didn’t expect you tonight.”

But when Yuu stepped inside, their energy wasn’t curious about the items. It was heavy.

Sam finally looked over, smile fading as he saw their eyes red rimmed, hands tucked in their sleeves.

“Something happened?”

“I relapsed.”

Sam didn’t recoil, didn’t gasp.

He just set down the crystal orb he’d been polishing and stepped out from behind the counter.

“Come sit,” he said gently, guiding them to the little seating nook near the incense shelf. “Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know,” Yuu whispered. “I just—Grim told the others, and everyone’s being kind, but I feel like I’m broken again. Like I failed.”

Sam reached over and pulled a tiny wooden box from a shelf behind him.

“Know what this is?” he asked, resting it in their lap.

Yuu shook their head.

“This box came from a spirit walker in the Scalding Sands. It’s over four hundred years old,” Sam explained. “Used to carry healing charms, notes of love, little promises folks made to themselves when they were hurting.”

He opened it slowly.

Inside were slips of folded paper—some new, some brittle with age.

Sam added one more—his own. He held it out to Yuu.

“Write one. Anything you want. Doesn’t have to be big. Could be: ‘I want to breathe tomorrow.’ Or: ‘I want to see the sun.’”

Yuu stared, then shakily took the pen.

After a long pause, they wrote:

“I want to believe I’ll be okay again.”

Sam tucked it inside the box, sealed it, and whispered, “Now it’s kept safe. No refunds, no backsies. That promise is real now.”

Yuu smiled weakly.

From that night forward, Sam always had a space open at the back of the shop.

If Yuu was overwhelmed in class, they’d sometimes find a handmade “delivery” waiting in their dorm room: a spell charm for calm dreams, a candle, or a simple note that read:

“Healing ain’t linear. But I’ve seen how stubborn you are. You’ll get there.”

Professor Trein stood at the front, chalk still in hand, yet his eyes had wandered from the blackboard.

He watched Yuu—slumped at their desk, shoulders taut, eyes unfocused. Not bored. Not distracted. Disassociated.

Lucius had already leapt from his desk perch and was weaving around Yuu’s chair. Trein set the chalk down.

“Yuu,” he said calmly, “Could you assist me in the archive room for a moment?”

There was no reason to doubt the request. It was casual enough.

No alarm in his tone. No heads turned. Yuu nodded numbly, rising without protest as the class barely took notice.

Trein’s pace was slow as he led them to a quiet hall—far from noise.

He closed the door behind them.

“Would you like to sit?” he offered, pulling out a chair from a reading desk.

Yuu did. But their gaze remained lowered.

Trein sat across from them, hands folded.

“There are lessons one cannot find in any curriculum,” he began, “Lessons about how to exist in a world that often refuses to make space for our pain.”

Silence.

“You don’t need to speak right away. I only ask that you listen.”

Yuu nodded once—just enough to let him know they were still with him.

“I’ve seen the signs,” he said. “The trembling. The vacant stares. The way your hands fidget when you believe no one is watching.”

“I want you to know I do not pity you. Pity can be shallow and cruel. What I feel is respect.”

Yuu looked up, confused.

“It takes strength to face each day knowing you’re at war with your own thoughts. It takes courage to survive when the world you knew has been torn from you and replaced with a place that doesn’t always feel real.”

Trein continued, “Grim came to me out of concern. And I assure you, Yuu… there is no shame in stumbling during recovery. Only in believing you must do it alone.”

Lucius jumped into Yuu’s lap then, curling up. Yuu slowly let a hand drift to stroke his back.

Trein gave a faint smile.

“Even Lucius knows who needs grounding.”

He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bound notebook—aged but blank.

“This is for you. Write what hurts. What confuses you. Or write nothing at all. You may tear out the pages, burn them, or never show a soul. But sometimes, the mind cannot quiet until its burdens are given a place to rest.”

Yuu took it gently.

Down the road, Trein never hovered. But he always noticed.

If Yuu’s answers in class were shorter than usual, he’d adjust the lesson pace. If he saw their breathing stutter when voices around grew loud, he’d assign a solo reading task and lead the others elsewhere—shielding them with normalcy.

“Oi! You’re not gettin’ out of PE that easy!”

Yuu had hoped to sneak past the training field.

But Vargas spotted them with that hawk gaze of his and jogged over, waving enthusiastically.

They braced for a lecture about attendance, but he paused as he got closer.

“You okay?” he asked—less gruffly than usual.

Yuu tried to shrug it off, but Vargas tilted his head.

“I know I ain’t always the most gentle guy. But I do notice when one of my students looks like they’re carryin’ a boulder on their back.”

He crossed his arms.

“You wanna go for a walk?”

Yuu blinked. “You’re not gonna make me run laps?”

“Nope. Today we walk. Slowly. No sweat.”

So they did—around the track, where Vargas usually shouted drills.

His voice was calm, explaining how, even in physical training, injuries sometimes come from inside.

“Used to have a friend back in my rookie days,” he said. “Tough guy. Strong as hell. But he had demons in his head that none of us could see.”

He glanced at Yuu.

“Pain ain’t just broken bones and bruises. You can be fightin’ for your life, and no one will know unless they look close enough.”

Yuu swallowed. “I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“You didn’t,” Vargas said, dead serious. “You’re still standin’. You showed up today. That takes guts.”

They stopped near the bleachers, and Vargas handed them something—a pair of weight gloves.

“These are yours now, not for lifting. Not for workouts. Just a reminder. You’re stronger than you think.”

From then on, Vargas kept an eye on them.

If Yuu’s breathing quickened during group drills, he’d subtly call a “water break.” If they looked spaced out, he’d shout, “Hey! Wanna time me on the sprint?”

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noirscript · 2 years ago

Text

silent servitude

WARNING/S! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. YANDERE. noncon; breeding; powerplay; biting; slightly descriptive sex scenes; f!reader

Sequel: In The Lion's Keep

One must abide by His Majesty's every rule.

It was a phrase you often hear from other servants in the castle from the moment you joined them as your mother's apprentice. A phrase that helped them survive the dog-eat-dog world inside the palace walls.

“You're not expected to excel in your work, but do not even think about failing the task given to you.” Your mother grabbed your shoulders with a squeeze. “Do you understand, my child?”

You nodded your head as you tightened your grip on your skirt. “Yes, mother.”

She lightly tap your cheek before placing a lasting kiss on your forehead. “Go on, dear. I will see you before sunset.”

You looked around your surroundings before hesitantly nodding. For some reason, you can't seem to ignore what you've been feeling from the moment you entered the servant's gate. As if someone's watching your every move.

The path inside the dark tunnel was short, but for you, the time seemed to slow down. Your feet felt heavy to take one step forward after another. Like it was keeping you from going any further.

“You've arrived,” a middle-aged woman spoke while standing in the midst of the desolate area, few steps from where you came from. “Follow me.”

You scanned your surroundings, a poor attempt in remembering the path where you came from. However, the more you walk further and further away from the path that leads to your mother, the more you could sense something ominous was about to occur.

“Are you listening?”

You bowed your head and apologized.

“Stand tall and look at me,” she ordered. “In this castle, you must keep your eyes and ears open at all times. Do not even try to let your mind wander elsewhere. If you don’t want to suffer any consequences.”

Your body shook. You tried to speak, but your voice broke. However, when you nodded your head in desperation, the woman simply turn around and started to list down the rules within that castle.

“Do you even know why you're here?”

“T-To train to become my m-mother's replacement...”

The woman sneered. “If that'll help you sleep at night.”

After giving you a tour around an area that only a handful of servants can access, she led you towards a gated path that lead towards a small chateau in the middle of a small open field inside the castle walls.

The chateau, albeit small compared to the colossal main palace, was still bigger than your home. You also noticed the crawling vines on its walls, and as well as its tinted windows that kept its interior hidden from prying eyes.

“You will keep this place in order. You may not ask for anyone's help. You will only work here alone. Your food will be provided by one of the servants, but do not let anyone else inside the chateau.”

“But my lady...”

“That is all you need to know.” She looked down at your stature before clicking her tongue. “Stupid commoners.”

With that, she left you on your own.

THINKING BACK, you should've realized the message behind her poisonous words. Nobody would think that it is normal for a servant to clean an entire chateau within the day all by themselves.

That doing such chore might result to an inevitable mishaps that forces one to change their attire. Something that might force them to take every piece of clothing from themselves.

“Y-Your Majesty, please forgive this commoner from—” you felt one of his large, calloused hand caressing your face while the other hand pulled you closer to his bare body.

“Kept that mouth shut before I do it myself,” he whispered against your cheek before slightly biting it. “Who would've thought that this would be an easy chase?”

Callix, the reigning monarch, is known for his compassion towards the commoners. Some people would even see him interact with the lowest of the poor during their darkest moment, providing them hope and warmth.

But as you writhe beneath him, allowing him to touch every inch of your body as he please, made you doubt everything you heard about him.

After savoring your heat, he aligned his thick member against your quim. Callix grabbed you by your cheeks and forced you to meet his gaze.

“Please...” you pleaded, but he only swallowed all your pleas and cries as he penetrated your tight walls.

When your first intercourse with him ended almost immediately, you believed that he would let you go. That he would order you leave and never show yourself in front of him.

But after resting his head against the crook of your neck, he suddenly grabbed your ankles and pushing it apart.

You could feel his cum gush out of your quim, but Callix was far from satisfied.

That night alone, he ravished your body until the morning sun has risen.

When you woke up, you felt the coldness of the heavy iron wrapped around your ankles.

“You're awake,” you heard his voice from somewhere in the room. “I have some news for you. So, open your eyes.”

You tried to open your eyes, but for some reason, your eyelids felt heavy.

“Are you disobeying my orders?” he asked while gritting his teeth.

“Open your eyes!” he demanded as he grab your cheeks tightly.

You tried your best to open at least one of your eyes and look at him.

“There's my queen's beautiful eyes.” You could feel his hands all over your body as he leave kissing against your face. “Can you hear me, my queen?”

“M’not... queen...”

He chuckled before yanking your hair back, exposing your neck to him.

“You dare oppose me, hm?” he asked as he harshly nip your neck. “Are you forgetting who I am, my queen?”

How you wish you could simply forget who he is.

Quick note: This might be the start of some series. Let me know your thoughts :)

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere blog #yancore #yandere king #yandere royalty #dead dove do not eat #tw.noncon #tw.dark content #tw.breeding #tw.yandere #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #smut #yandere male

2K notes · View notes

lowultima · 1 month ago

Text

Knockin’ Boots…

Cowboy!Sevika

Slow burn NSFW

—————————————

Note: not a clue who’s artwork is in the middle- tried to find the source off Pinterest but I ain’t that good at nothin with technology. kudos to their work! IT. AINT. MINE.

EDIT: someone messaged me saying that the art is by slechyiris on twitter!! So sorry I didn’t post that originally but I checked out their page and it is fucking AMAZING. Please check them out at:

@slechyiris

On Twitter.

Anyway, enjoy!

—————————————————————————

Sevika was never the type to indulge in much.

She worked hard, and had a heavy meal with a glass of whiskey at the end of a long day- and she liked it that way. Cattle ranching was never something she thought she would see herself doing at nearly forty years old, Though- she didn’t know where else she’d be.

The Montana wilderness was a gift to experience- and a greater gift to survive. The Zaunite ranch was so far out- the nearest city was nearly five hours away and the nearest town was an hour and a half. People lived, worked, breathed and bled ranch life.

24/7, 365.

Sevika didn’t indulge in much..she didn’t even realize she wanted to..until…

You were a cook for the family meals on the ranch. With nearly forty plus employees, it was likely that those who did such hard labor were going to need a hot and ready meal at the end of the day..and you were perfect for the task.

You came from the south, generally speaking. You traveled across the country after coming across the position on an old, barely used, website for farmers to hire farm hands. You had been working for nearly four months, had your own bunk- and stayed in the kitchen working, saving money to get you to wherever you wanted to be next after maybe a year or two of being there.. You stayed in your lane, and in the kitchen, makin no fuss..and that was plenty enough for you..

When Sevika saw you for the first time, You had no idea…

She was always the first one up, before dawn- In her spurs before the rooster crowed. Sevika would always spend the early mornings cleaning up her tack and getting a check in with her horse. Breakfast was usually ready long after sevika had already left for the fields, and she was fine with missing out…

until she noticed the coffee had been set out earlier- and a small collection of breakfast items earlier too… eggs, some meat, maybe some fruit at the beginning of the month when the budget wasn’t spent. Someone had noticed her.

She had noticed the meals were definitely better than they were previously- definitely well seasoned to say the least, but she realized she had no idea who was making them…that was, until she saw you one morning, carrying two bags of flour over your shoulder as you trudged back from the storage hold a couple yards from the kitchen entrance..At three in the morning.

Apron tied tight around your waist, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, hair tied back- and you cursing under your breath as you kicked open the steel door..

The way you moved in those boot-cut jeans..

She wondered why anyone other than her would be up so early- but she began to appreciate the meals you cooked more as she realized just how laborious and continuous your job was..

You started your shift long before dawn, just after the PM became the AM- up early enough to hand mix the biscuit dough. The ranch-hands needed meals that would stick to their ribs, and nothing raises morale in the cold mornings like fresh coffee and home made biscuits every day.

Now that Sevika had seen you once, she had started seeing you everywhere. Carrying grains, opening gates for the cattle trucks, sleeping in a rocking chair on the little front porch of your bunk house- worn boots messily laid a couple of feet away.

In the early mornings, Sevika would sometimes hear you huffing behind the door of the kitchen as you picked things up and set things down- metal clanging along with your movements. She wanted to wait until you came out to serve breakfast one day- just to thank you for what you did.

Though she was sure you were paid well, appreication went a long way. The ranch took care of Sevika and all her fellow ranch hands, mutual respect- not just money for labor. She thought you deserved the same…Fair and balanced and all.

But…Sevika realized she didn’t really know what to say. She usually wasn’t much for words…

She glanced to the breakfast table, noting a pad of sticky notes and a pen, a discarded note with the words ‘cheese eggs, pastries, venison sausage’ in quick scribbled letters…. She grabbed the pen and wrote a few words- before leaving the pen and pad on the desk, taking a deep sip of coffee from one of the old mugs, and heading out to the barn…

As you bounded out of the swinging kitchen door,slightly sweaty as you set down the food items noted on said notepad, you glanced to it to scratch down your so far checked off list for the day… only to find..

‘thanks for the food.

Like the grits. Biscuits too.’

It was short. Simple..kind of sweet. You knew some of the ranchers got up early (which had been the reason you put out some breakfast earlier in the morning), but no one had ever acknowledged your presence- much less thanked you. You smiled, drawing a smiley face on an empty page, and wrote the question:

‘ Any suggestions? ‘

before sticking it to the wall beside the breakfast table, and carrying on with your day. Another note was passed the next morning- a piece of tissue paper placed near the coffee machine.

‘ you made some… round sausage and cheese ball things a month ago. Very good- easy to eat in the field. Like em a lot- guys like em too. If it ain’t much trouble. ‘

You smiled as you read it, your mother used to make you bisquick sausage balls before going deer hunting in the fall. Easy to take for lunch. Easier to make. You had no problem whipping them up every other day for breakfast- always packaging a hearty amount in a paper sac next to the coffee maker for your mystery note giver.

This messaging went on for weeks, passing quick notes back and forth. One time, the pad of notes was slid under the kitchen door- but when you walked out to see who had done so, there was no one there..

Only to slide your reply under the doors at 3 am the next morning, unsure of when the mystery note giver would return.

Frankly, you looked foward to the blunt praise of the notes, as well as the polite requests. You soon started paying more attention to those around you, trying to figure out which ranchers got up early enough- who seemed to be the type to write little notes…but it was hard to be a detective when you had another much more important - job to do.

Until, one morning- you passed the barn on your way from your bunk after you had forgotten your jacket…

“Hey pretty girl..how we feelin, huh?”

You suddenly paused- like the deep, husky female tone had stricken you. You hear a horse huff softly, and then you hear the voice again. “I know..last day of the week, then you can have a break..I’ll put some extra apples in your feed..how ‘bout that?”

You slowly lean around the corner to get a look, and you watch the woman stand- fuckin Janna she was tall-

Her hair tied back a little, a cigarillo between her lips as she tightened the saddle strap around her horse. You watched her inspect the leather closely- you guessed to make any notes of wear or rips. You were familiar with horses- but only because your mother was a farrier…

You used to ride with her, your mother..occasionally-help her with the difficult ones that needed their feet trimmed or feed treats to help smooth out the process of hammering metal shoes into their hooves, (which of course- didn’t hurt the animal. It was just keratin after all), but it had been a decade since you’d saddled up. Since you saw her..

You watched the woman tighten her brown leather chaps, rolling her neck with a satisfying crack. Her body was definitely conditioned for her work- hell, she was gorgeous. When she turned to lead her horse out of its stable, your eyes widdened at the sight of her face. Deep lines etched in her dark skin- her eyes had experience. History.

The last realization you made- one you wouldn’t have even mentioned if it weren’t for how badass it looked- was her arm. The prosthetic one, that is…well, maybe both.

It’s copper-toned metal glinted beautifully in the warm but dim light of the barns’ lamps- its joints moved with fluidity, almost claw-like digits clenching in a way that rivaled flesh. Nearly surpassed it. You wondered who this ranch-hand was, and how in the world someone like her ended up in a place like this..

“It ain’t polite to stare.”

You finally heard, realizing the womans’ gaze was on you. Sevika had noticed you merely seconds ago- but she recognized you by your apron, still dusted with flour.

Your mouth felt dry for a second. God, even her demeanor was badass. You were more-so embarassed than flustered.

“M’ sorry, it’s uh- it’s early…you just…you care for your horse well, is all.” You said, stepping out into the open entrance of the barn. You paused, but her silence and raised eyebrow make you awkwardly laugh.

“ sorry, you probably haven’t seen me around here. I’m the cook- Make all the meals and whatnot around here.”

“I know.”

“Oh..uh- really? Didn’t think anyone knew who I was around here”

“You think a ghost was passing you notes?” She asked, lips curved up slightly as she took a deep drag of her cigarillo.

Your eyes widdened a bit, and then you took a step forward- smiling.

“Well I’ll be damned. I’ve been trying to Nancy drew out who’s been my mystery critic was for weeks.” You said, holding out your hand.

“It’s good to finally put a face to yer kind words.”

Sevika paused, metallic arm under her cloth poncho- as if it was a practical effort to hide it…though, she eventually clasped her prosthetic hand into yours- waiting for your awkwardness, or tension, or even disgust..

But you shook her hand proudly- deciding not to make mention of it. It was just an arm- nothin to get all worked up about.

Sevika looked at you, before letting out a little breath of a laugh- letting her arm prosthetic fall to her side, living hand still holding onto her horses reigns.

“Ain’t nothin really, good food brings everyone together- gives em’ somethin to look forward to..names Sevika.” She said.

“Nice to meet ya..I don’t mean to keep you from yer work- but if you’re gonna be coming into the kitchen, sit and have some coffee with me sometime- I’d welcome the company. Not everyone is keen to be up at four in the mornin” you offered.

Sevika was quiet for a second, before nodding. “If I get the time- I will. Someone’s gotta get the herd gathered.” She joked softly, tipping her hat to you.

“Nice you meet ya darlin’”. Her voice was gentle to you, looking you in the eyes before walking around and stepping into the stirrups of her saddle, resting on her horses back, and riding away- cigarillo still between her lips. You watched as she went, smiling softly. You couldn’t help but wonder if she called everyone

Darlin’..

—————————————————————————

Like sevika, once you noticed her- you saw her everywhere. She was always in the fields, or by the loading dock helping to herd slaughter or seller cattle into their respective trucks. She rode with her living hand, keeping her mechanical one under her poncho as she rode.

Every time she’d pass you, she’d tip her hat. You’d smile at her, and she’d quickly look away, hiding beneath the shade of her attire in the sun.

Everytime you slept on your front porch, sevika would leave a note for you to get more sleep, and you’d leave one in her tack cabinet that if she wanted to eat- you’d have to work.

It was nice..looking forward to her notes..

One morning, you were sweeping room and singing softly as you began to start your shift.

“Black birds singin’ in the dead of night…” you then hummed out.

You were brewing coffee and had already set out a spread… when you heard her voice.

“Didn’t know you were a musical type.”

You froze, and looked up to Sevika standing a few feet away. You haddnt even heard her come in. “I-I try..can hardly carry a tune in a bucket though..” you chuckle.

“You’re at least better then them men I work with. They sound like howling dogs in heat when they jeer about at bonfires..” sevika said

You laughed softly, and set the broom down, pouring two mugs of coffee “come into the kitchen if you’ve got some time- I got some snacks I made for you to take out into the fields.” You said gingerly, passing through the metal swinging doors.

Sevika grabbed her mug off the counter and followed behind you, finding a spot leaning against a metal prep table as she took a look around the large industrial kitchen. As you brought over a little pack of food. Sevikas eyes widdened a little when she realized the care that you’d put into making sure she was fed well...All wrapped up in cheesecloth with a little bow.

Sevikas face flushed, her cheeks growing pink as she looked up at you. “I-you..you didn’t have to do that..” she said, southern drawl seeping through like honey. You shrugged. “Yeah but…you’re like..the only person around here that, ya know..talks to me.”

You brushed your hair back, walking around the metal prep table and chopping up some carrots. “Makin’ stew tonight..” you smiled, and sevika came over, looking into the comically large stock pot. “Smells good..” she said, you slid the sliced carrots into the pot, and you grabbed a tasting spoon, dipping it into the pot and bringing it up to her.

Sevika looked down at you, and then the spoon- she smiled softly, and took a sip. “Y’ like it?” You asked, before you felt coarse skin graze your cheek, and brush a stray hair out of your eyeline. Sevikas’ warm gaze had you feeling dizzy, heart beating fast as she looked into your eyes “damn near the best stew I’ve ever had..”

You look down bashfully as you try to hide your smile, but sevika pulls your face right back up to meet her eyes again. You suddenly feel your feet feel a bit unsteady, and your back pressed against the steel countertop opposite of the stove-still looking up at her. “You…” you muttered, feeling sevikas large hand smooth across your cheek, holding her thumb against your jaw as her other fingers grazed into the hair behind your ear- palm settling on your neck.

You shuddered. “T-that feels…i-um…I like women…cuz y’ need to know that..” you said quickly- almost as if it was a warning to her…

sevika suddenly paused- before slowly chuckling. “Darlin’ I know.”

You let out a pathetic sigh.

“..you think a straight woman stares down a woman cowboy like you did?…jaw on the floor, eyes wider than a doe in front of a bow..” she chuckled. “If it makes you feel better though..” she said, mechanical arm hissing to life as it moved from beneath her poncho, and caged you against her and the table.

She leaned in close, and you swore you could feel your panties actively dampen. “I tend to be fond of absolutely breathtaking women such as yourself..”

You whimpered softly, she was so close, you could smell the leather and cigarillo smoke against her collar. Dirt and field- horses and sweat-

“Yer gettin me all riled up..” you whispered softly against her cheek.

Her thumb brushed against your cheek once- twice- three times, and she looked into your eyes.

“Can’t make a move unless a ladies’ willin’..” she muttered, and your hands ran up her pearl snap flannel..taking her by the collar.

“I’m plenty willin..” you whispered, before pulling her in. Her lips were a little chapped, you could taste the Tobacco on them..and you liked it. Sevikas hand slowly traced down your body, and squeezed your hip as the two of you kissed each other. You let out a shaky sigh, licking your lips as the two of you pulled away for a quick second- but sevika pulled you back in.

You whined against her lips, licking over the plush bottom one as her mouth opened to accommodate you. You felt her large tongue slide against yours, and you gripped into her collar as you sucked on her tongue, pulling away and nipping at her lips enthusiastically.

“Holy-“ you gasped as you were suddenly lifted, placed on top of the metal countertop. Sevika had a wolfish grin on her face, one you haddnt seen before, you felt like a type of prey- and for some reason- you liked it.

“The hell you learn a trick like that pretty girl?” Sevika asked. You chuckled softly “been around the block a few times..ain’t no buckle-bunny lookin for her next fix..” you said, hands threading in her surprisingly soft hair. Sevika huffed out a laugh. “Mhm..seen the way you lift those flour bags..” she leaned into your ear as her metal claw-like fingers gripped into your hip, her other hand slowly sliding down your flannel to reveal your toned, worked arms underneath.

“I like a woman that won’t take no shit.” She grunted, leaning in to kiss your neck. “F-fuck..” you choke out, gripping against her. “Mn..don’t..don’t y’ gotta get out to the fields soon? What if-“

Sevika sucked into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as her fingers fumbled with your blue jeans’ button. Sevika was panting, you could feel her tongue graze your skin as she licked her lips. “Darlin…I don’t think you realize how long it’s been since I’ve had someone.” She said, finally pulling back to look at you. Eyes hungry.

..you realized you might be in deeper shit than you originally thought.

Sevika brought you to the edge of the counter top, your boots falling from your feet as the dangled. She glanced down, knowing a good pair of boots shouldn’t be dropped like that.

“S’ fine- they’ve got a shit ton of holes in em’ anyway..” you ramble as your jeans clumped up on the tile floor. “Fuck- what if someone-“

“Darlin…you want me to fuck you or not?” Sevika stated, a little pissy since, well, she wanted to feel what the inside of you felt like.

You nodded quickly, legs spread on the countertop that your inner food-safety inspector would be cringing at. Her fingers were large, hands were large- hell- sevika was large. “Been a while since I’ve done this..” you whispered as sevika pulled your pretty little panties to the side.

“Fuck..I knew your pussy would be perfect the moment I saw you in those damn bootcut jeans..” sevika whispered, and you giggled “sevika, didn’t think you had such a dirty mind..” you teased, before you gasped as she pressed a finger inside you. Effortlessly. “Takes quite a woman to make me think the way I think about ‘cha..” sevika said, her finger moving in and out of you, occasionally spreading your warm slick over your clit.

“Fuck….” You whined softly, you suddenly began to hear voices though- male voices. “Sevik-“ you began, before your mouth was covered by cool metal, and Sevikas fingers plunged into your sweet heat. Your eyes rolled back, legs twitching as you felt yourself go limp against her.

You could hear them, talking about the work day ahead of them- wondering what was for dinner that night- hoping the case of liquor they ordered from Costco would be picked up by their shipment company soon. You then gasped.

Deep, slow, almost brutal thrusts of her fingers rocked your core- the curl of them was almost too much to bear. You pushed her metallic arm out of the way, and pulled her closer- sucking deep, purple bruises into her dark skin. Nipping, biting- you felt like a caged animal. And all you wanted was sevika.

“That’s it darlin, take ‘em like a good girl..” she muttered against your hair, pressing a kiss to your head as you held onto her for dear life. Sevika felt like she was breaking you in almost..she almost couldn’t believe your experience..you were so damn tight.

Eventually, the men’s voices trickled out as they went into the fields- and your head tipped back. “Go on, make some pretty noises for me..” she whispered- thumb pressing and circling your clit. You moaned softly, licking your lips as you looked up at her. “‘Yer gonna be lat-“

You let out a loud moan as sevika thrusted her fingers into you good and hard. “I don’t give a fuck.” She stated, her pace brutal as you felt your stomach flip in that way that made you fuck back against her fingers

“Please- please please please, sevika please-“ you whined, gasping out as your clit was firmly pressed into- and you boiled over.

“That’s it baby girl, ride it out…ride it out..” sevika assured you, fucking you through your orgasm as you twitched and whined in front of her, cum dripping onto the tile floor.

You panted loudly as she held you tight, and you hugged her back.

“Fuckin god…that was the best sex I’ve ever had..” you muttered, looking up to her, before you realized she was getting down on her knees.

“Well, a good cowboy always cleans up their mess.”

….ffffuck.

#sevika smut #wlw #arcane smut #wlw nsft #arcane #vi smut #arcane vi smut #lesbian #sevika #sevika fanfic #sevika x you #sevika i love you #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #cowboy

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volivolition · 1 year ago

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reading the "after the mind, the world again" ttrpg rulebook and im in love with it

my god i am so affectionate towards them. but MAN this is so fucking cool i wish i wasnt a scared little guy so i could play ttrpgs hkjhd...

#chemi chats #i would love to play any facet i think. preference for motorics or psyche but ough... all of this is so cool :']#however in the way the game is set up it's meant to be argumentative and while i love seeing it i dont want to uh. play it hkjgh #SCARY!! SCARY TO ME!! im nervous and non confrontational!! so i will just read the manuals and think about it really hard!!#this is so interesting to me because i was literally planning a skill ttrpg before i found this one!! my god they did it so much smarter.#i like how they do it here a lot more because i was planning on making character things and move sets for each individual of the 24 skills.#mine would have been much more skills inside-the-mind focused than outside world focused which isn't everyone's ideal #this makes way more sense lmao <3 i will return to my previous idea now that i dont have to fulfill that ecological niche #[gripping my planning document With Force]#task: message please survive

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creature-wizard · 2 months ago

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How to persuade people more effectively

So my lovely Tumblr people, I think you can agree that we are facing dreadful times and that it would be wonderful if we could get out of them. As we all know, changing anything in society and politics requires changing a lot of of minds, which often feels like a Herculean task. Since I believe in trying to fight smarter rather than harder, here's my list of advice to make this work easier.

Ask yourself if you’re really up to the task.

If you’re really tired or not in a good mood, you might want to pass. If you’re looking at someone who’s really obnoxious and maybe likely to set you off in bad ways, you can pass. If OP has a username that signals an extreme viewpoint like retvrn1488, maga5ever, or wyldwombyn, consider that just blocking them may be your best choice. Also, you’re probably never going to get anywhere with someone who thinks you’re beneath them – if someone obviously holds you in contempt, just don’t bother. You are not required to try and educate or argue with everybody who’s wrong. Pick your battles.

Know your stuff.

I’ve made the mistake of trying to talk about things that I didn’t know nearly as much about as I should have a few times. Even though I wasn’t wrong, I just didn’t have enough information to demonstrate that my positions were justified. Each time I tried this, it basically blew up in my face. Please don’t repeat my mistakes.

Ask yourself: Can you explain and justify your position without repeating a soundbite like “X is a conspiracy theory” or “Y is racist”? Can you show why it’s a conspiracy theory? Can you show how it’s racist? If you can’t, you’re not ready yet. Go level up first!

Stay composed and be charismatic.

I know this is sometimes easier said than done, but coming off as calm and confident does wonders, especially in contrast with someone who just can’t hold it together. It also helps to have a big vocabulary and to be articulate, and to inject an energy into your message that makes people feel empowered and motivated.

Don't talk to people like they've been consciously choosing evil just because they want to.

People don't do that. People believe that what they've been doing is either good, neutral, or necessary to survive. Functionally telling people "you're evil and you know it" signals to most people that you're a bad faith actor. (The ones who will actually agree with you are probably deeply traumatized from abuse and/or suffering from moral OCD.)

Don’t show contempt.

Showing contempt signals that the person you’re arguing with isn’t worth taking seriously. This is can be useful for handling bad faith actors who come and try to make themselves your problem. You know you aren’t going to change their minds, but you can signal to anyone watching that this person is an utter fool, even a laughingstock while signaling to them that they aren't getting anywhere with you.

If you’re trying to actually change somebody’s mind, you do not want to show them that they aren’t worth taking seriously. You want them to feel respected, like you think they’re smart and have ideas and feelings worthy of attention. I know this can be easier said than done! But if you begin with the assumption that the person you’re talking to is capable of learning and probably has some insights, values, and opinions worthy of consideration, you’re going to give off a much better vibe for them.

Don’t attack people personally.

If you’re trying to persuade someone, don’t call them racist, sexist, bigoted, etc. Don’t call them ignorant, stupid, or whatever. This is basically just a form of showing contempt. Again, showing contempt has its uses, but persuading people isn’t one of them.

A lot of people assume that the people they want to persuade think very highly of themselves and if they just cut their ego down to size they’ll become receptive and listen. But most people are just going to see an attack and nope out. Besides that, teaching self-hatred is how capitalism manipulates people into making themselves more profitable and marketable, and it’s also one of the ways white patriarchy manipulates people into taking on its repressive and often oppressive roles. Self-hatred is the weapon of the enemy, we don’t need it.

Don’t play the victim.

Playing the victim isn’t the same as acknowledging that you have been abused or harmed, or acknowledging that you lived a life where everything was stacked against you. Talking about ways you’ve been victimized doesn’t equal playing the victim, contrary to what some bad faith actors out there say.

Playing the victim is about the role you take on in a social interaction, where you position yourself as fragile, put-upon, and vulnerable. It’s the kind of thing a lot of white women do when things don’t go their way. It’s also a habit that’s easy to pick up if you don’t have firm boundaries. People who haven’t realized they can just go, “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to have this interaction, so I just won’t,” might start traumadumping, or try to shame the other person, or try to make a big guilt trip. “How dare you talk to me this way, you don’t know what I’ve been through! You’re so selfish, you don’t think about anyone but yourself! You’re forcing me to do all this work for you because you’re so entitled!”

I know, people can be really frustrating. Sometimes they can be incredibly upsetting. Sometimes they can send us spiraling into dangerous places. But the thing about playing the victim is that it not only doesn’t persuade people, but it’s also really unhealthy for you. It feeds a narrative that you are always disempowered, even when you’re not. On the Internet, you can usually just choose to not interact if things get overwhelming, and maybe use the block button. It can be harder to get away from people offline, but it’s important to do the best you can.

It’s also useful to recognize when you’re getting defensive and to know what you can do when that happens. Here’s a page that might help you with this.

Don't act like anyone you wouldn't listen to.

When's the last time you've listened to one of those street preachers screaming about everything they think is wrong with society and yelling at people to repent of their sins? Never, right? Don't act like the kind of people you would ignore.

Be a good listener.

Persuading people isn’t just about saying what you want them to hear, it’s also about listening to them so they feel like you’re engaging with them, rather than talking down to them. Plus, listening helps you assess what they actually know and believe, which helps you determine what you need to say to them. Here’s a page to help you improve your listening skills. (And I know stuff like maintaining eye contact and reading body language isn’t always easy or possible for people – just try to do the best you can!)

Validate people where you can.

Validation signals that you understand and care about people’s problems, which makes them more open and trusting. You don’t have to validate bigotry or anything like that, but you can validate how frustrating it is to deal with high grocery prices, politicians who don’t seem to care, and lots of everyday frustrations. This is also how you begin building solidarity, by the way – when people see how we all suffer the same way, they can begin to see that we’re all working toward a common goal.

Use anecdotes.

It would be wonderful if we could just show people scientific data and have them be persuaded by it all the time, but for many people data feels abstract and not really real. (It probably also doesn’t help that most people don’t understand how the data was collected.) However, anecdotes often feel more real to people, and have a lot more persuasion power. (Consider how many “this happened to a friend of a friend” stories get passed around like gospel!) Personal anecdotes are really great – telling someone about your awesome trans friend can do a lot do make them reconsider their prejudices about trans people.

But also, have scientific/scholarly resources.

Some people are going to be sharp enough that anecdotes won’t work on them – and good for them, honestly! Also, scientific and scholarly resources can lend further credence to anecdotes. So try to have them on hand, if you possibly can!

Give people reasons.

People don’t like doing things if they don’t feel like there’s any good reason for it. Also, be aware that different types of reasons will be more or less compelling to different people. Some people will find moral reasons compelling on their own, while some people will respond better to a “how this benefits you personally” reason. Someone might respond better to “we shouldn’t do X because it hurts the environment” than to “we shouldn’t do X because it’s cultural appropriation.” (And of course we want people to understand that cultural appropriation is bad, but that’s going to be a whole other thing you’re going to have to give reasons for!)

Adjust your rhetoric for the person you’re talking to.

Though we all share many common values, we also understand the world through many different lenses use different language to communicate what we see and feel. We also prioritize certain ideals over others.

If I were going to talk about the racism in the Republican party to a strongly Christian person or a New Agey person, I might say that all of this stuff they’re saying about immigrants is meant to stir up fear and divide people, then go on to talk about how the data just doesn’t support this idea that immigrants are as violent as they say.

If I were talking to the kind of person who strongly believes in the ideals of freedom and liberty, I might talk about how anti-queer legislation infringes on people’s freedom to live how they see fit. I might bring up that it violates their constitutional right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Offer alternatives.

The easiest way to end a bad habit or belief is to replace it with a good (or at least neutral) habit or belief. For example, if you’re trying to persuade people to stop using unsourced white sage (here's information on the problem with this, if you don't know), list alternatives such as rosemary and juniper.

Leave them with additional resources to explore.

Keeping a big list of resources on hand is the secret to activism bliss. Okay, maybe not, but it sure makes things a lot easier! If someone is really curious and engaged, they’ll often be willing to explore resources if you have them. Do try and make sure that not all of your resources are locked behind paywalls or require a deep understanding of specialized language. Curating resources accessible to any means and level of education will help you maximize your ability to persuade and educate.

#social skills #activism #deradicalization #communication skills #persuasion #deprogramming

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hermetiqa · 11 months ago

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What study habits will help you this school year?

Reminder: it doesn't matter if you saw this reading a day or a week or a month or a year after posting this. My readings are timeless. You'll see this when you're meant to see this and receive your message.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath before picking a pile. If you feel drawn to more than one pile, it's alright, you may take the piles that you're drawn to. What's important is to take it how it resonates and leave what doesn't.

PAID READINGS | TIP JAR | FEEDBACK | MASTERLIST

PLEASE HELP IF YOU CAN

NOTE: Please feel free to give me a feedback on my asks about the reading! I would highly appreciate it and it'll be a huge help for me to improve as a reader.

Pile 1

The study habits that will help you this year are the ones that will keep you engaged in your lessons and courses/subjects. Something that keeps your mind active and keeps you interested in learning. Be curious about what you're learning. Take studying as something positive and don't take it as a responsibility. Have the mindset that you're privileged enough to study and learn these stuff. Be in a state of wanting to learn, not needing to learn. Also, leave your "failures" behind, such as low grades or not being able to get a perfect score on your exam. Instead, focus on what you lacked that caused that result.

Study techniques:

Make flash cards

Use white boards (the bigger, the better)

Act like a teacher, pretend that you're teaching

Similar to the previous one, you can also pretend that you're reporting the lesson in class

Make mind maps with only your knowledge and check what you missed after

Pile 2

I'm getting a lot of energy here from you, Pile 2. First of all, STOP CRAMMING. You might have survived the last school year by cramming but it won't help you anymore, especially this time. You need to study in advance especially when you know you have exams coming up. Stop studying the night before the day of the exam. Also, leave the past behind. Let go of your "friends" who distract you from studying and just want to go out to parties. Change your routine. Your previous routine could be a success for you but it drains you. Find some balance between studying and leisure.

Study techniques:

Study with your friends together

Put notes on your walls so you can look at them anytime and you'll learn them naturally

If you exercise and you happen to have a treadmill, put notes on the wall in front of you so you can read as you exercise (walking or jogging)

Similarly, you can record yourself reading your notes and listen to your record while jogging outside or exercising

Read your notes outloud

Pile 3

So here's the studious pile. I'm seeing that you tend to study hard, not study smart. And that's your mistake. You should study smart, not study hard. Stop memorizing and start understanding your lessons more. Stop rewriting your notes over and over until you reach your desired perfection of your notes, the "aesthetic" that you want. Instead, do your best to write well when you're taking notes in class. That way, you won't have to rewrite them at home. When reading your notes, it's best for you to use different colors of highlighters. Also when someone offers you some help in a lesson that you struggle with, accept it, even if you only struggle a little. Lastly, enjoy learning! Don't stress yourself too much about it and overthink you'll fail.

Study techniques:

Don't stay up all night to study and wake up early in the morning to review, especially to recall what you've already studied

Never ever cram and always finish the easiest tasks first

Drink coffee when studying (only if you don't have health issues or you weren't advised that you should avoid coffee)

Keep on rereading your notes and rewrite what you remember, then keep track of what you tend to forget

Make tests for yourself or look for tests online

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hannie-roses · 12 days ago

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Twisted fates and dark temptation

Pairing: Heeseung x fem!reader

Synopsis: Heeseung, a cold and ruthless mafia boss, has always kept emotions out of his brutal world until he meets Y/N, a smart innocent woman who unexpectedly captures his attention. Drawn to her innocence yet defiant spirit, Heeseung finds himself torn between pulling her closer and keeping her away from the dangers that surround him. As Y/N becomes entangled in his dark world, both must confront enemies, betrayals, and the shadows of Heeseung’s past. In a game of power, obsession, and forbidden desire, will she be the one to break down his walls, or will his darkness destroy them both?

Genre: romantic suspense,dark romance, crime fiction (they aren’t exactly chapters but I wrote chapter 1,2 etc so that there are placeholders if you aren’t reading it all at once and you’ll know where you left off)

Chapter 1

Heeseung’s POV

The room reeked of sweat, blood, and desperation. Another pathetic man knelt before me, hands tied behind his back, his face swollen from the beating he’d already taken. He sputtered some excuse something about bad luck and debts unpaid but he wasn’t in the mood to hear it. He leaned back in his chair, the cold weight of the gun in his hand a familiar comfort.

“You had one job.” His voice is calm, almost bored, as he watched him squirm on the dirty floor. “One job, and you still managed to screw it up.”

The man whimpered, blood dripping from his split lip. “Please, I-I just need more time!”

“Time.” They all begged for more time, as if it would change anything. He tilted his head, his finger lazily brushing the trigger. The click echoed through the room, making the man flinch, though he hadn’t fired yet. He liked watching people squirm before they met their end. Fear was the greatest truth.

“You think time will save you?” He said, his tone sharpening. “If I let one rat get away with this, what message does that send?”

The man’s breathing quickened, his eyes darting to the others in the room two of heeseungs men, standing silent with their guns holstered, waiting for his orders. They knew better than to interfere. He is the one who gave life or dealt death in this place. And mercy? That is not his style.

He stood slowly, the scrape of the chair legs on the concrete floor unnervingly loud. The man on the ground tried to shuffle backward, but his restraints stopped him. He towers over him, pressing the muzzle of the gun against his temple.

“You should’ve thought about time before you crossed me.”

Before he could beg again, he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the small room, the body slumping lifelessly to the floor. Blood splattered across his shoes, warm and wet, but he didn’t flinch. He holstered the gun, turning to his men.

“Clean it up.” His voice was cold, emotionless, like the bullet he just fired.

As they moved to drag the body away, he pulled out his phone, already switching gears to the next task. There was always more work to be done, more debts to collect, more enemies to crush. But something gnawed at me a restlessness, a sense that all this was becoming too predictable.

And then he saw her name on my phone screen on social media. Y/N.

The corner of his mouth twitched, an involuntary reaction that surprised him. He wasn’t sure if it was amusement or curiosity or something far more dangerous. Either way, she has his attention. And in his world, that could either protect you or destroy you.

He tucks the phone away, a dangerous glint in his eyes. One thing was certain. Y/N was about to find out what happens when a man like him takes an interest.

And not everyone survives that kind of attention.

Heeseung’s POV Chapter 2

He sat in his dimly lit office, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the other scrolling mindlessly through social media. It was a distraction, a way to clear his mind after another brutal day in the unforgiving world of the mafia. He didn’t expect to find anything of interest, but then her name caught his eye Y/N.

Her profile picture was vibrant, a shot of her laughing with friends at a café, the sunlight catching the warmth in her eyes. Something shifted inside me as I took in her smile, a rare flicker of intrigue cutting through the usual monotony of my life. I clicked on her profile, my curiosity piqued.

As he scrolled through her posts, he felt a strange sensation he hadn’t experienced in years a mix of fascination and longing. Each image painted a picture of a life so different from his own, filled with color, laughter, and an innocence he had long since lost. She looked carefree, blissfully unaware of the darkness lurking just outside her frame.

He leaned back in his chair, the glass of whiskey forgotten as he studied her every post. There were pictures of her hiking, enjoying time with friends, and one in particular caught his eye. her standing in front of the café he had passed earlier, the very place he first noticed her. The thought of her serving coffee while he operated in the shadows felt like a cruel juxtaposition.

This girl intrigued him, and he needed to know more. He waved for Jin, one of my most trusted men, to come into the room. “Get your laptop,” I ordered. “I want to know everything about her.”

Jin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “About who, boss?”

“Y/N. I saw her on social media.”

His expression shifted to understanding, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You want me to dig into her life?”

“Don’t make it weird,” he snapped, the irritation rising. “I just want her background. Where she works, who her friends are, any connections. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Sure thing.” Jin nodded, moving quickly to fetch his laptop. As he set it down, he couldn’t help but feel a strange anticipation creeping in.

While he started searching, he returned his attention to her profile. His mind raced with thoughts of how someone like her could fit into his world. He wasn’t sure if he was inviting danger or simply seeking a distraction, but he had to admit the idea of getting closer to her thrilled him in ways he hadn’t expected.

The screen lit up with details as Jin began compiling information. “Y/N works at a café downtown,” he said, reading from the screen. “She’s been there for a couple of years. No criminal background, clean slate.”

He couldn’t shake the sense of satisfaction that washed over him. She was untainted, untouched by the violence that enveloped his life. “And her friends? Family?”

“Just a small group, mostly from college. No red flags so far.”

He leaned back, contemplating the implications. Y/N was a breath of fresh air in his otherwise suffocating existence. He could pull her into my world, or he could keep her at arm’s length, safe from his darkness. But the thrill of the chase ignited a hunger within him, one he hadn’t felt in years.

“Keep an eye on her,”he instructed. “I want to know when she’s working and when she’s not.”

Jin nodded, already typing away. “You got it, boss.”

As he watches him, he felt a sense of purpose sharpening within himself. Y/N was just a girl in a café, but she had sparked something deep in his chest an urge to protect her, to possess her. And while he understood the danger that accompanied that desire, he couldn’t bring himself to back down.

She is about to find out what it means to catch the interest of a man like him, and he is ready to ensure she would never forget it.

Chapter 3

Heeseung sat in the back of his black SUV, parked across the street from a small café that had never once interested him until now. His eyes were fixed on the window, watching as she moved behind the counter, completely unaware of the predator lurking in the shadows.

Y/N.

He had learned everything about her in less than twenty-four hours. Her full name, her address, her work schedule, even the names of the people she surrounded herself with. She was normal painfully so. No criminal record, no ties to anything remotely dangerous. A simple girl living a simple life.

She shouldn’t have caught his attention. And yet, she did.

“Boss,” Jay, his most trusted man, spoke up from the driver’s seat, eyeing him through the rearview mirror. “What’s the plan with this girl?”

Heeseung didn’t look away from the café. “I don’t know yet.”

Jay sighed, as if already regretting whatever was about to happen. “You know this isn’t like you. You don’t get involved with people like her.”

That was true. Heeseung’s world didn’t allow for innocence. Everything he touched was tainted, and Y/N was as pure as they came. But maybe that was exactly why he couldn’t let her go.

“Since when have I cared about what’s like me?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Heeseung wasn’t a patient man. He had waited long enough.

For days, he had watched Y/N monitored her every move, learned her schedule, studied the way she interacted with people. She was predictable, moving through life with a kind of carefree innocence that didn’t belong in his world.

But it wasn’t just innocence that surrounded her. It was men.

And that was something Heeseung wouldn’t tolerate.

Each time his men reported back to him, there was always some new name. A coworker laughing too long at her jokes. A customer trying to flirt while she smiled politely. A friend from college who had the audacity to walk her home the other night.

His grip on his glass tightened as he sat in his dimly lit office, Jin standing across from him with his laptop open, running through the latest updates.

“She went out for drinks after work tonight,” Jin reported. “Just with a few friends one guy, two girls.”

Heeseung’s jaw clenched. “The guy?”

Jin hesitated. “Coworker. Name’s Daeho. Seems harmless.”

Heeseung scoffed. “Harmless?” His lips curled in distaste. “Did he touch her?”

Jin exhaled through his nose, already knowing where this was going. “No.”

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly as he stared at the screen. There was a photo grainy surveillance footage from outside the bar. Y/N laughing. Daeho sitting too damn close.

Heeseung’s fingers twitched. He could already imagine how easy it would be to take care of the problem. A clean shot, a sudden disappearance, nothing traced back to him.

He had done it before. He’d do it again.

“Where is he now?” Heeseung asked, his voice deadly calm.

Jin hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Still at the bar.”

A slow smirk spread across Heeseung’s lips. “Not for long.”

It is too easy.

Chapter 4

Daeho is drunk, stumbling out of the bar alone, oblivious to the fact that he had just made the worst mistake of his life getting too close to something that belonged to Heeseung.

The alley was dark. Isolated. Perfect.

Heeseung stepped out of the shadows just as Daeho reached for his phone, his sluggish movements making him an easy target.

“Looking for something?” Heeseung’s voice was smooth, cold.

Daeho blinked, turning toward him with bleary eyes. “Who-..?”

The words barely left his mouth before Heeseung struck, slamming him against the brick wall. A strangled gasp escaped Daeho’s lips as Heeseung pressed a gun to his ribs, tilting his head slightly.

“You like Y/N?” he asked casually.

Daeho’s expression twisted in confusion. “What?”

Heeseung’s grip tightened. “I asked you a question.”

“N-No-..I mean, she’s just a friend—”

Wrong answer.

The gunshot was muffled, silenced by the suppressor Heeseung had fitted onto the barrel. Daeho barely had time to react before his body slumped, lifeless, onto the pavement.

Heeseung stepped back, wiping his hands on his coat before glancing down at the mess he had just made. Jin would handle the cleanup.

For now, Heeseung has more important things to take care of.

Like finally meeting Y/N properly.

Because she is his.

And it is time time she knows it.

Chapter 5

Y/N has no idea what just happened.

She is still at the bar with her friends, completely unaware that Daeho is never making it home tonight. Heeseung sits in the back of his SUV, parked just down the street, watching through tinted windows as she laughs at something one of the girls says.

She looks untouched. Untainted.

For now.

Jin sits in the passenger seat, checking his phone. “Cleanup’s done. No trace left behind.”

Heeseung nods, barely listening. His focus is entirely on her. On how unaware she is of the danger lurking so close. He finds it amusing how easily she moves through life, thinking she is safe

The following day Y/N steps into the café, completely unaware that Heeseung is already waiting for her.

He sits in the farthest booth, fingers tapping against the polished wood, eyes trained on her the second she walks through the door. She doesn’t notice him at first, too focused on tying her apron, greeting her coworkers, falling into her routine like it’s just another normal morning.

But the moment she turns, she feels it.

Her body tenses, like some invisible force is pressing down on her, her instincts flaring before she even understands why. And then her gaze meets his.

Recognition flickers in her eyes. She knows who he is.

Of course she does. Everyone in this city knows Lee Heeseung.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back, tilting his head slightly, watching her reaction. She doesn’t look away. A quiet kind of tension settles between them, a thread of unease mixed with curiosity.

She grips the counter. “Can I get you anything?”

Her voice is steady, but her fingers twitch slightly against the smooth surface. Heeseung notices everything.

He keeps his eyes on her, voice smooth and slow. “What do you recommend?”

She hesitates. “Depends. Do you like coffee?”

“I like whatever you give me.”

Something shifts in her expression, but she quickly masks it, turning away to busy herself with making the drink. Heeseung takes the opportunity to let his gaze roam the café. It’s quiet, only a few customers scattered at tables, but then his jaw locks.

A man.

Sitting by the window, typing away on his laptop.

At first, Heeseung dismisses him as just another customer, but then Y/N walks over. She places a fresh cup of coffee on the table, says something that makes the man chuckle. The sight ignites something dark inside Heeseung.

Too close.

His fingers twitch against the table. He watches the way the man looks at her, the way Y/N smiles polite, friendly, the same way she probably treats every customer. But Heeseung doesn’t care.

He wants him gone.

Y/N turns back toward the counter, and that’s when she sees him again still watching her, his expression unreadable. A shiver runs through her, though she isn’t sure why.

When she walks back behind the counter, Heeseung finally stands, making his way toward her. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting her feel his presence before he even speaks.

She stiffens when he reaches the counter, but she meets his gaze head on. “Your order is almost ready,” she says, voice a little quieter than before.

Heeseung smirks. “Take your time. I’m enjoying the view.”

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. He watches as she takes a breath, composing herself before turning to grab his coffee. When she places it in front of him, he doesn’t reach for it right away.

Instead, he leans in slightly, just enough to make her nervous. “Do I scare you?” he asks, voice softer than before.

She swallows. “No.”

He tilts his head, eyes searching hers. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’d never hurt you.”

Something about the way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. Not because she doesn’t believe him but because, deep down, she knows he’s telling the truth.

And that is somehow even more terrifying.

Y/N doesn’t move.

She just stands there, fingers gripping the counter, her gaze locked onto his as his words settle between them.

“I’d never hurt you.”

Chapter 6

She doesn’t know why that sends a different kind of shiver down her spine. Heeseung sees it the slight shift in her posture, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She doesn’t trust him.

Not yet.

But she doesn’t pull away either.

Heeseung finally reaches for the cup, his fingers brushing hers as he picks it up. A small, almost imperceptible gasp escapes her lips, and his smirk deepens. She’s not used to being watched like this, not used to someone like him.

Good.

He takes a slow sip, letting the silence stretch, letting her feel the weight of his presence.

She exhales softly. “Do you, uh… come here often?”

Heeseung hums, amused. “Would you like me to?”

She blinks, caught off guard. “I-I mean, it’s just… I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

Heeseung chuckles “I haven’t came here much till I saw you”

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, glancing away for a brief second. She’s flustered, trying to figure him out. But she won’t not yet.

Heeseung shifts slightly, leaning his forearm against the counter, lowering his voice just enough to make her lean in slightly. “You intrigue me, Y/N.”

Her lips part, eyes widening slightly at the sound of her name on his tongue. She didn’t tell him that.

He sees it immediately the confusion, the alarm creeping in.

“How do you—”

“I make it my business to know things,” Heeseung cuts in, eyes gleaming.

Y/N straightens slightly, something uncertain flashing across her face. “That’s… unsettling.”

He chuckles softly “is that weird to you?”

She nods slowly. “A little.”

Heeseung sets his cup down, the ceramic hitting the counter with a soft clink. “You shouldn’t be scared of me.”

“I never said I was.”

His smirk deepens. “But you feel like you should be.”

She doesn’t respond.

Her silence is enough.

Heeseung watches her carefully, watches the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot, the way her fingers twitch slightly as if she wants to reach for something her phone, maybe, or just anything to distract herself from him.

She exhales slowly, squaring her shoulders before meeting his gaze head-on. “If you already know my name… does that mean you also know where I live?”

Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it sharp, cautious.

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

Yet.

That single word makes her breath hitch.

Heeseung leans in slightly, closing the space between them just enough to make her feel the heat of his presence. “You’re fascinating, Y/N,” he murmurs. “And I don’t like sharing.”

A flicker of something crosses her face disbelief, maybe, or something dangerously close to intrigue.

She doesn’t speak right away.

“That’s a little possessive for someone who just met me,” she says, attempting to sound lighthearted, but he hears the slight waver in her tone.

Heeseung smirks. “That’s because I didn’t just meet you.”

Her eyes widen slightly.

Before she can respond, the door chimes, signaling another customer entering. The moment is broken, the tension sliced in half, but Heeseung doesn’t mind.

He’s patient.

She’ll understand soon enough.

Because she’s already his.

And he intends to make sure she knows it.

Y/N forces herself to breathe.

Chapter 7

Heeseung is still watching her, his dark eyes locked onto hers like he’s already decided something she hasn’t even figured out yet. His presence feels suffocating.

but not in a way that makes her want to run.

No, it’s the opposite.

It makes her want to lean in. To see how much of the intensity in his gaze is real.

She grips the edge of the counter, grounding herself. “So… do you always make it a habit to memorize the names of café workers you’ve never met?”

Heeseung smirks, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Only the ones that interest me.”

A shiver runs down her spine, uninvited but impossible to ignore. She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she turns to grab a towel, pretending to wipe down the counter. Anything to avoid the way his stare burns into her.

But Heeseung isn’t one to be ignored.

He reaches out slow, deliberate and brushes his fingers against her wrist. It’s barely a touch, but it might as well be an electric shock. Y/N stiffens, eyes snapping back to his.

“ You’re nervous,” he murmurs, voice smooth as silk. “Why?”

“I’m not,” she lies.

His fingers trail the slightest bit higher before he pulls away, like he’s testing a boundary just to see how far he can go before she snaps.

She exhales, trying to regain control of the situation. “I just don’t usually have mafia bosses showing up at my job and acting like they know me.”

Heeseung chuckles, low and amused. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

He leans in again, elbows resting on the counter, closing the space between them. Y/N swears she can smell his cologne something dark, rich, dangerously intoxicating.

“You tell me,” he murmurs. “Do you want it to be?”

Y/N swallows hard. He’s too close, too casual about the way he’s invading her space, too comfortable making her uncomfortable. And yet… she doesn’t move away.

She should.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she does something reckless.

She tilts her head slightly, meeting his gaze without faltering this time. “I don’t know,” she says softly. “Should I be worried?”

Something flickers in Heeseung’s eyes something dark and unreadable.

Then, he smirks.

“Only if you plan on running.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, the entire world seems to shrink until it’s just the two of them, locked in this unspoken game neither of them fully understands yet.

And then, just as quickly as he closed the distance, Heeseung leans back, fingers grazing the handle of his cup as if he’s perfectly unaffected.

But Y/N isn’t.

Not even close.

Y/N isn’t sure what’s more unsettling the way Heeseung looks at her like he already owns her, or the way part of her doesn’t hate it.

She shouldn’t be entertaining this. Shouldn’t be standing here, locked in some unspoken tension with a man she knows is dangerous. But there’s something intoxicating about him, something that makes it impossible to step away.

Heeseung takes another slow sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup like he’s studying every little reaction she gives him. She shifts under his gaze, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest.

“You never answered my question,” he says smoothly.

She blinks. “What question?”

His lips twitch, like he knows she’s stalling. “Should you be worried?”

Y/N exhales through her nose, forcing herself to break eye contact as she picks up the towel again, wiping at the counter even though there’s nothing left to clean. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “You tell me.”

Heeseung hums, setting his cup down and tapping his fingers against the smooth surface of the counter. “I already told you,” he murmurs. “I’d never hurt you.”

Something in his voice makes her pause. It’s not a reassurance. It’s a promise.

She lifts her gaze again, and Heeseung takes that as an invitation to lean in, just slightly, just enough for his fingers to brush against hers on the counter. His touch is light, fleeting, but intentional.

Y/N swallows. “You keep saying that like you think I’m scared of you.”

Heeseung smirks. “Aren’t you?”

She wants to say yes. Wants to tell him that she should be scared, that any sane person would be. But the truth sticks in her throat, because she isn’t. Not in the way she should be.

“You don’t look scared,” he muses, his voice dipping lower. His fingers trail along the counter, dangerously close to hers again. “In fact, I think you like this.”

Y/N exhales sharply, forcing a dry laugh. “You think I like being interrogated by a mafia boss at my job?”

Heeseung tilts his head, studying her. “I think you like the attention.”

Her breath catches, heat creeping up her neck. His confidence is infuriating.

“You sure seem confident for someone who barely knows me,” she counters.

Heeseung smirks, dragging his fingers along the counter one last time before sitting back. “I know enough.”

Y/N doesn’t get the chance to respond before the door chimes, signaling another customer walking in. The moment breaks, but Heeseung doesn’t move right away.

Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hundred dollar bill, sliding it across the counter toward her.

“For the coffee,” he says.

Y/N stares at the bill, then back at him, narrowing her eyes. “This is too much.”

“Consider it a tip.”

“For what?”

His smirk deepens. “For keeping me entertained.”

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but before she can, Heeseung pushes off the counter and straightens his jacket. “I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

Her stomach flips. “You keep saying that.”

Heeseung pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “Because it’s true.”

And with that, he’s gone leaving her standing behind the counter, pulse racing, mind spinning, and a hundred dollar bill burning a hole through her palm.

Y/N stands frozen behind the counter, staring at the door long after Heeseung disappears. The café hums with life around her, but everything feels distant like she’s stuck in some strange haze, unable to shake the weight of his words.

“I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

The way he said it wasn’t a possibility. It was a certainty.

She glances down at the crisp hundred-dollar bill still sitting on the counter. It feels heavier than paper should. She should give it back. She should pretend this entire conversation never happened.

But instead, she tucks it into the tip jar, fingers brushing against the edge of the bill longer than necessary.

And she hates that part of her likes the attention.

She hates that she wants to see him again.

Heeseung’s POV chapter 8

Heeseung watches from across the street as Y/N locks up the café.

She doesn’t know he’s here, standing in the shadows, cigarette burning between his fingers as he leans against the sleek black car parked in the alley. He could have left after their conversation earlier, but something kept him close.

Something possessive.

Something dangerous.

His jaw clenches when he sees her pull out her phone, typing something quickly before slipping it back into her pocket. Who the hell is she texting? A friend? A boyfriend?

His fingers twitch.

Heeseung had made sure Daeho was no longer a problem, but there could be others. Other men orbiting her, thinking they have a right to look at her, to touch her.

They don’t.

And they never will.

Jay steps up beside him, flicking his own cigarette into the street. “You’re getting in too deep.”

Heeseung exhales slowly, watching as Y/N disappears around the corner, heading toward the subway station.

“I know.”

Jay shakes his head. “So what now? You planning to keep stalking her like some creep?”

Heeseung smirks, pushing off the car. “No.”

Jay raises a brow. “Then what?”

Heeseung takes one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the pavement, crushing the ember beneath his boot.

“I’m going to make sure she understands.”

“Understands what?”

Heeseung’s eyes gleam in the dark.

“That she belongs to me.”

Y/N’s POV chapter 9

The subway station is nearly empty this late at night, the distant hum of a train echoing through the tunnels. Y/N wraps her arms around herself as she waits, shifting her weight from foot to foot, trying to ignore the strange, prickling sensation at the back of her neck.

She feels like she’s being watched.

It’s probably nothing. Just paranoia from the encounter earlier. But still, she glances over her shoulder, scanning the platform. No one seems out of place just a few tired commuters, a man checking his phone, a couple sitting on one of the benches.

You’re overthinking it.

The train screeches to a halt in front of her, and she quickly steps inside, finding a seat near the doors. She exhales, letting her head rest against the cool metal pole beside her. She just needs to forget about him. Forget about the way his voice sent chills down her spine. Forget the way he looked at her like she was his.

She doesn’t see the figure standing in the farthest corner of the car, watching her every move.

Chapter 10

Heeseung’s POV

Heeseung doesn’t make a habit of following women home.

But Y/N isn’t just any woman.

He stands at the far end of the subway car, one hand resting casually in the pocket of his coat, the other gripping the cool metal pole beside him. His gaze never leaves her. She looks exhausted, her head leaning against the rail, eyes closed like she’s trying to shut out the world.

She has no idea she isn’t alone.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, taking in every little detail the way she absentmindedly rubs her arm like she’s cold, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twitch like she’s still thinking about their conversation earlier.

She should be scared.

She should know by now that she belongs to him.

But she doesn’t. Not yet.

The train slows as it reaches her stop, and she blinks awake, stretching slightly before standing. Heeseung watches as she steps onto the platform, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder before making her way toward the exit.

He follows, his footsteps silent.

She takes the same path as always down the quiet, dimly lit street leading to her apartment. It’s routine, predictable. No security. No one waiting for her.

She’s completely unprotected.

It pisses him off.

She shouldn’t be walking alone at this hour. She shouldn’t be this vulnerable, this unaware of the dangers surrounding her. Heeseung clenches his jaw, the possessiveness curling in his chest like a wildfire.

A few steps ahead, Y/N suddenly slows. She hesitates, her head tilting slightly like she feels something off.

Heeseung smirks. That’s it, baby. You’re learning.

She glances over her shoulder, her brows knitting together, but he’s already slipped into the shadows.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

She shakes her head and keeps walking, but this time, she’s more alert. Her shoulders are tense, her pace a little faster.

Good.

She should know that someone is watching.

That someone is always watching.

And soon enough, she’ll learn exactly who.

Chapter 11

Y/N’s POV

Y/N reaches her apartment building, heart pounding harder than it should be.

The entire walk home, she felt something. A presence. A lingering weight on her back, like someone’s eyes were digging into her skin. But every time she turned, the street behind her was empty.

Still, the feeling refuses to leave.

Her fingers fumble slightly as she unlocks the front door, slipping inside and shutting it quickly behind her. She exhales, pressing her back against the wood, trying to shake off the paranoia crawling up her spine.

It’s fine. It’s nothing.

She pushes off the door, heading straight for her bedroom. She drops her bag on the chair, kicks off her shoes, and pulls her phone from her pocket.

1 new message.

Her brows furrow. She doesn’t recognize the number.

Unknown: Did you make it home safe?

Y/N’s breath catches.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she stares at the message, her mind racing. It could be a wrong number. It could be someone from work. It could be—

A cold shiver runs down her spine.

She already knows who it is.

Her grip tightens around the phone, but before she can even think of what to do, another message appears.

Unknown: You shouldn’t be walking alone at night, Y/N.

Her stomach twists.

She swallows, her pulse thundering in her ears as she quickly types a response.

Y/N: Who is this?

She stares at the screen, waiting, her breath caught in her throat. Three dots appear almost immediately.

Unknown: You already know.

She sucks in a sharp breath, every nerve in her body screaming at her to block the number. To delete the messages. To pretend she never saw them.

But she doesn’t.

Because deep down, she does know.

And that terrifies her more than anything.

Chapter 12

Heeseung’s POV

Heeseung smirks as he watches the screen, his phone illuminating the dark interior of his car.

She read the messages.

She’s scared.

Good.

She should be.

Not because he’s going to hurt her he already promised he wouldn’t. But because now she knows. She feels it.

The pull.

The invisible thread tying them together, even if she doesn’t want to acknowledge it yet.

Jay exhales beside him, shaking his head. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Heeseung leans back against the leather seat, stretching his arms lazily. “She’s finally starting to understand.”

Jay snorts. “Understand what? That she has a stalker?”

Heeseung’s smirk doesn’t waver. “That she belongs to me.”

Jay huffs out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” Heeseung watches as the apartment lights flicker off one by one. Y/N is going to bed. Still shaken, still thinking about him.

Good.

Let her think about him.

Let her dream about him.

Because whether she’s ready or not, she’s already his.

And soon, she’ll have no choice but to accept it.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

Y/N lies in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, mind spinning like a carousel she can’t get off. The glow of her phone screen is the only light in the room. The message thread is still open. She hasn’t blocked the number. She hasn’t deleted it.

She should have.

But a part of her one she doesn’t want to acknowledge can’t.

Because the truth is, his words replay in her head like a broken record.

‘You shouldn’t be walking alone at night.’

‘You already know.’

She hates that she feels… something. Not just fear. It’s more complicated. Uneasy. Heavy. Thrilling.

Dangerous.

She tosses the covers off and moves to the window, peeking through the curtains even though she knows she won’t see anyone. Her heart pounds in her chest. No shadows. No footsteps. Nothing.

But she knows.

He’s out there. Somewhere. Watching.

And she doesn’t know what scares her more

The thought that he might be…

or the thought that he’s not.

Chapter 13

Heeseung’s POV

Morning sunlight creeps across Heeseung’s office floor, but he’s been up for hours.

A photo of Y/N sits in front of him taken last night as she stood in her window, looking out, searching for something. Or someone.

He watches it with a kind of sick pride. She’s becoming aware. The paranoia is taking root, exactly how he wanted. She’s thinking about him constantly now.

Jin walks in with a tablet in hand, interrupting his silence. “We ran the background check. She’s clean. No criminal records. No ties to any law enforcement. Just… normal.”

Heeseung nods slowly. “Good.”

Jay steps in behind him, arms crossed. “You’re seriously going through with this?”

“I already am.”

“She’s not built for this world.”

“I’ll make her fit.”

Jay scoffs. “You can’t make someone love you, Heeseung.”

“I don’t need her to love me.” Heeseung’s eyes glint cold. “I need her to stay.”

Jay falls silent. Heeseung taps his fingers against the desk, thinking.

“I want a guard posted on her street no one touches her. If anyone even looks at her too long, I want to know.”

Jay exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re going to break her.”

“No,” Heeseung mutters, voice dark. “I’m going to protect her. From everything. From everyone.”

His gaze drifts back to the photo.

“She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Chapter 14

Y/N’s POV

The next morning at the café, Y/N is tired, anxious, and jittery before she even drinks her first cup of coffee. Every time the bell above the door rings, her breath catches. Every time someone glances at her for too long, her skin crawls.

She’s distracted. Her coworker, Hana, notices.

“Did you sleep at all?” Hana asks, nudging her.

Y/N forces a smile. “Not really. Weird dreams.”

She doesn’t say it wasn’t a dream.

And then like fate taunting her the door opens.

And in walks Heeseung.

Black coat. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his chain. Eyes locked onto her like he’s been looking for nothing but her.

Her heart stops.

He walks with confidence, like he owns the room and maybe he does. The entire café goes quieter when he enters. People notice him. They always do.

But he only notices her.

He approaches the counter, gaze never shifting.

“Miss me?” he asks, voice smooth as velvet.

Y/N swallows, eyes flickering nervously to her coworker, then back to him. “You’re back.”

“I told you I would be.”

She hesitates, lips parting as if she’s going to say something, but no words come.

And then he reaches out.

Fingers trailing over hers across the counter again, slow, deliberate, like he’s staking a claim. Her breath hitches.

“I thought about you last night,” he says softly. “Did you think about me?”

Y/N’s pulse thunders in her ears.

She doesn’t answer.

But the silence says enough.

And Heeseung knows it.

To be continued… (comment to be in part 2 tag list) sorry I had to give you guys something by now😭

96 notes · View notes

cherie-doll · 5 months ago

Note

Please please pleaseeee can we get the reversed version of them waiting for us, with us waiting for them to return but they don’t and reader has to do a lot of research to find out that they have been KIA bc it was a secret operation so we aren’t supposed to know…

*cries*

do you prefer to ruin your day like this?

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You Waited For Them

ઇଓ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

Shortly before he left, you expressed that you didn't want him to go, must he leave when life was so good for him? You were so happy together, he ought to be a little selfish every once in a while, but he had only smiled warmly at you and embraced you, pressing a kiss to your temple with the promise of returning before he departed

Now, you sat staring at your phone screen rereading the last message he had sent, it was hardly a properly written one, unusual for him but that meant he was occupied, too busy worrying for the survival of his men, maybe you had become too clingy, turning your phone off you rolled on your back to face the ceiling to contemplate in the dark hours of the night

Every morning that the sun came up and you turned in bed to his side, finding it empty instead of being held in his arms, you missed him terribly and there had been no update from him, maybe it was your own restlessness but it seemed strange

Those who remained of the task force came one grim morning to deliver the news, even in his last moment he had used it to protect someone else, they tried to assure you that everything would be okay, that he had left you in their hands

But you desperately wanted information on what else happened, you clung to them, begging for more on what happened, your husband had dedicated many years to serving, surely this wasn't all that you were getting in return, they couldn't replicate what he had given you

You were left feeling like the world could give out underneath you at any given moment now that he was no longer there

Ghost

Silence from Simon wasn't uncommon, you didn't find it strange if he didn't reply for that usually meant he was to be home soon, but it had been long, too long for this silence to have extended this long, you didn't receive a timeframe from him either, he never said when you could expect for him to come back

You had learned to miss his silence, it was a different kind of stillness with him, it was time spent with good company, his presence wasn't subtle once he had been introduced in your life, and you would hardly allow him to leave so easily

There was a hollowness in it all, too deeply etched to be able to forget about that phantom that had followed you home one day and made it his too, he had been expected to be a part of it forever

Time decided to make her decision and there was no turning back, this was the sentence, but for what? Had he not suffered enough before? His early tragedy surely would have ensured him a better future

But it hadn't been the case for neither him nor unfortunately, you

He had always been secretive so it came to no surprise when they withheld information from you that allegedly, not even they knew about

Soap

You were dizzy, thinking no bullet would ever come close to touching your Johnny, your head was spinning, unable to comprehend how it could happen, you only found out due to acting "crazy", how else were they to give you information?

His superiors could at least have had the decency of telling you if he had been KIA, but it seems even those he had considered his friends couldn't disclose a single word about it, and these were the people you had invited into your house, who had shared a table with him

And yet no one came forward, no one wanted to take responsibility or the "burden" of telling his s/o that the most important person of their life had been killed and was now lying in a puddle of his cold blood in the middle of Lord knows where without anyone to reclaim his body for a proper burial

The stress was getting to you; you felt it infiltrate like a toxic substance in your body, the splitting headaches, the tears that just kept spilling you were sure you would cry blood, the dread of never being able to touch or see him in the flesh again and having to go on without him

Could you even be able to go through the remainder of your life without him?

Gaz

He was the pillar that supported not only you but a whole ton of other people, he was a comfort and a close friend to those around him, and in an instant he had left this world, it was so unfair how someone so loved could have gone out so fast, like the flickering flame of a candle

You used to receive messages with words so sweet you'd treasure them and guard them with your heart, a place he had carved and earned within you, now you only had these meager memories that only brought pain when resurfacing, it prompted you to loose your amity, instead locking it away for the only one who deserved it

The world had been a hostile place to not only you but Kyle himself, it was only right to repay that injustice with the same demeanor it had treated you

You had given up on trying to find new information on his death, it had felt like futile effort banging on doors begging for an ounce of kindness or sympathy to be shown only to be turned away with a scowl or indifference

The love you felt would be lost in time leaving only pain in its stead

Roach

You dearly missed him, all the quirks of his would come to you during slow moments of the day, maybe when you were waiting in traffic, washing dishes and the afternoon sunlight shone a certain way, when lounging on the couch and smiling like a fool in love when you thought of him

You asked the universe why, why he had been taken from you, you needed him most than anyone else, you were each other's support in life, it'd be hard to ignore the emptiness now residing permanently within you

He had gone on that last mission so excited knowing he'd come back to you, you were so proud of how far he had come, you had given him that special feeling knowing you were waiting for him, the image of seeing you soon engraved in his mind, the look in your eyes upon receiving him

You too, had felt the confidence growing within him, and imagining how fast his heart must have been beating as he charged despite all fears swarming his head, that little organ that gave him the strength to push forward for you, it made you break down, sobbing on the kitchen floor clutching your chest

It shouldn't have been a surprise, he was used and discarded like a weapon, treated like a nobody, but that body had a life, a wild and young heart, a fleeting hope of a bright future, and a name tied to meaning

You had to an extent some trust in the others to tell you what happened, but not only had they failed him in the past, but continued to do so, they never looked out for him, nor did they provide you closure, and Roach had never harbored resentment, would it be wrong if you did?

Alejandro

The memory of his, once so alive and intense had dimmed, gone out like a fire, the raging fire that had been flaming your heart was put out, the source of warmth leaving you in a cold sweat and left in a pile of ashes

Not even a goodbye could have been said, it was as unexpected as it was unfair, you remember trying to deliver a message, one where you had hoped for his safe return, only for it to remain unread, he didn't even get a last comfort

Your hand would miss his, the interlocking of fingers, but his hand was ripped from yours, and such a strong hold did you have on one another, it was a harsh reality to accept that no one else felt it as deeply as you did, you took the hardest hit to the chest with your broken illusions of stupid hope, seriously, it was childish almost how you believed he could still be alive somehow

You were left unsatisfied, not at peace with the little information you had to pry out of their hands, you fought so hard for it and it left you feeling worse than ever, would it have been better to have listened from the start and be left with the burning curiosity of what happened to him?

Although, sooner or later you would have had to move on with hesitance, at least there had been foolish hope that he was well, the sweet memories turned bitter and you yearned for a past that was long gone and a future that could've been yours but was now so far out of reach

Rudy

In a world where you had combed through to find your loved one, it was of course impossible to let him go so easily, you thought of how you must have looked like in front of those officers; wild and distraught, nothing to calm you down, like an animal in frenzy who could only sense danger

But it was pure emotion guiding you, nothing else could have taken over the priority of finding out the truth behind all the fabricated and careless lies they had thrown at you in hopes of you being somewhat tempered with, they were fools to think so

Well, if they had been promised eternity with the very person who had made them feel like fate brought them together in the boundless sea of time, wouldn't they too, do everything and anything in their power to find out as much as possible about their s/o's death?

But of course, it was nothing but formalities around here, no regard for the wellbeing of others, Rodolfo had promised you the world and he had given you the best there was of him, and you had lost it all when you let him out of your sight

There was no other way to go about this, a tragedy to entertain those in the position to help but had denied it to you

Phillip Graves

He went to work with the promise of coming back like always, you went through the same routine as always; you and him spending the last night together tangled in the other's warmth, then waking up the next morning without so much as a word until it was time to depart, with such tenderness in his eyes, a soft blue in the grand expanse of grey reserved for you as he caressed your cheek with his thumb and left a kiss on your forehead

The bastard had a knack for surviving the impossible, and you desperately prayed he was simply lying low and would come back, you repeated those words to yourself over and over again, trying to find his Shadows and ask about him, those who you had once remained close to were suddenly gone and distant, it seemed no one could provide useful information nor a clue to even where your husband was, if he was even alive or what his last known status report was

You viewed those who had worked close to him with a cold gaze, as if it had been betrayal, he had always treated those on his good side with nothing but patience and hospitality, and now it was as if their backs were turned to look away and not be witness of the hurt they were causing by pouring more salt into the wound

No one was better than a dog looking out for its own tail, turning away from the outstretched hand

Makarov

It had been like a dream encased, the glass box much too beautiful to dare be shattered, but it had been a fragile one too, with so many enemies of his around it was only a matter of time before someone dug a gun into the back of his head and finished him off

You had grown to love that man who had begun to crack at his hard and cunning surface to reveal his softness to you, he had always been firm on staying in the field and it always had scared you half to death anytime he left for extended periods of time, but it was just in his nature

You hadn't found it strange when he didn't call or contact you, you had grown used to it, but he wouldn't so cold as to leave you completely in the dark like he used to in the beginning stages of your relationship... you had drilled it in him to leave you some sort of sign but there was nothing

He had connections, and through many sleepless nights had seriously considered contacting them, of course, all this came with a price, but what else had you to lose? All you needed was a lead, a loose thread to follow until you reached the end of it, even if it meant loosing yourself in the process of it

Keegan

That son of a gun couldn't have left without saying something, right? Keegan always found a way to communicate even if his silences were prolonged, an unexpected letter in the mail, a messenger sent or even a text message confirming he was to come back soon, but there was nothing left behind

Of course, he had his peculiar ways but he always sent back some sort of sign that he was at least alive, something deep and unsettling set in your heart one evening and you hadn't known peace since then, you were pacing around in the rooms of your shared house letting your mind dwell in possibilities of what could have happened to him

He hadn't many people he could call his friends but, surely there was a couple who he could be bothered to turn to for company, you tackled those people first, bombarding them with question after question, and their answers lead you no where, you were half-crazed in your search for the truth while also holding back tears

You replayed scenes in your mind of times when he asked you to be strong, it's what he taught you, in the face of fear you'd hold still, and it was your promise to him to not let yourself break nor give up without getting what you wanted

König

Your mind was just static

Gone were your days of bliss and tranquility, your one person worth living for was gone, vanished from the face of this earth, and it felt like you were losing yourself in the numbness of feelings, it felt like a wound that was left untreated and the pain was only a tingling sensation you had grown used to

You kept drifting in and out of sleep, not knowing if this was all a nightmare or gruesome reality, your calls remained unanswered and it seemed to be adding to your agony, you felt sore all over but never exactly felt "the hit", the screaming in pain nor misery taking over you

You felt little energy, barely able to pick up a phone much less play detective in finding out how it happened, you had accepted what you had been told and that was the end of it, you knew it would be better to leave it covered, to drape a white sheet over it and slip into the dark hole you'd find some sort of strange comfort in

Time seemed to flow in a strange manner, on most days you were lost in a daydream, remembering his gentleness and the lingering silence of the aftermath

Horangi

Not even his ego could have gotten him home from this one, he had that streak of luck saving him from near death experiences, sure he had gone through some dark times in life but he had straightened himself out, especially having you by his side, that person he was making an effort for to keep himself in line

He had been strong, fierce and overall left a lasting impression on anyone who let him get close enough to witness his wit and demeanor, it had left a mark on you, that'd forever itch and bother your mind on finding him

Day and night you lost sleep and didn't rest until you had to be told the harsh truth, even thought it had hit you like a storm, it still didn't wash away all the rage you had felt up until that moment, instead it seemed to ignite the last match needed for you to blow up and lose what was left of your composure

Nothing could have filled that void he left, he took all the sentiment when he parted from your side, you craved that feeling again, like hunger you were restless and it tired you out to the point you could only curl up, hugging your knees close to your chest longing for his affection

Nikto

He had just learned how to love, who could be so cruel to take that away from you, he had left you waiting with your arms open, waiting for the warmth of a body that long went cold

Your fingertips had fondled the future you yearned for, it had been so close, almost within your grasp and now it had vanished into thin air, not even a remnant of the possibility left hanging

There weren't many people you could go to for help, you felt hopeless and lost in this sea of misery and despair, but you tried and barely scraped the surface with your fingernails, despite not knowing what you were getting into nor how you would get the information you dove headfirst, your search proved to be of little use

They had discarded the information, tossed the matter aside that it left you wondering if you were even doing this right, surely there must be a stone left unturned somewhere, someone out there harboring the information and keeping it for the time being until you found them

All the while you felt yourself losing your resolve, your strength dwindling, how long until you gave out? There were times when you wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and never wake up in this world where Nikto wasn't there to chuckle and caress your face with his hand

296 notes · View notes

niki-phoria · 2 years ago

Text

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angst word count: 729

includes: implied re4 leon, leon cries, so much angst

a/n: inspired by this prompt list by @urfriendlywriter and this post by @rishiguro !! i'm debating making a part 02 of this where reader survives if anyone's interested

warnings: lots of blood, mentions of death

“no, no, no,” leon whispers. he all but falls to his knees beside you, desperately pressing his hands against your torso. “come on, stay with me.”

“leon?” your voice is raspy and strained as you force the words to leave your lips. squinting up at him, you can just barely make out his blurry figure hovering just over you. “lee-” you choke.

“shh, don’t try to talk,” he whispers. “it’s okay. i’m here. just… keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

blood seeps through the thick fabric of leon’s gloves, staining his fingers a deep red. he moves without thinking; his heart beating violently in his chest reminds him of his own mortality as he rips his shirt and harness off.

leon’s hands tremble as he balls up the fabric of his t-shirt before pressing it against your wound. a low groan of pain escapes you at the contact. your hand instinctively reaches up to wrap around his wrist, though you don’t make any real efforts to pull away from him.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers. his eyebrows furrow as he racks his brain in an attempt to remember his first aid training. tears blur his vision before he blinks them away to focus on the task at hand. “i know it hurts. just look at me. just keep looking at me.”

your eyes flutter shut for a second before you force them back open. the world around you spins. you can feel your own heart beating violently against your chest walls - desperate to keep you alive. “leon,” you choke out once again. blood pools in your mouth with each strained movement you make. your chest shakes as you cough uncontrollably.

“don’t speak,” he whispers. his eyes flicker from your chest to your face. “it’s okay. don’t try to talk.”

you squint up at him. a shaky breath leaves your lips before you do your best to softly smile at leon. “i- i love you.”

the words sound more like a choked groan when they leave your lips, but you hope the message comes across nonetheless. you shudder as another, shallower breath escapes you. black spots begin to appear in your vision.

leon presses down on your chest even harder. a hiss of pain escapes your clenched teeth. “stay with me,” he whispers. “y/n, please stay with me.”

your breath hitches in your throat. the black spots spread until they all but overtake your entire field of vision. before you know it, the world slowly begins to fade away.

“y/n, come on,” leon mumbles. bloody hands reach up to cradle your face. his name leaves your lips like a prayer. like if he hopes enough he’ll be able to save you.

tears roll down his cheeks in waves before he realizes. it feels like it’s been years since he’s cried. at least not like this. his throat burns as choked sobs escape his lips. the world seemingly falls apart around him.

“please don’t leave me,” leon whimpers. his voice cracks as much as his heart does. each beat of his heart is more painful than the last. “please… i need you. i need you here with me.”

you don’t move. your hands don’t shake from fear. your eyes aren’t squeezed shut in pain. leon sobs. you look so peaceful. death is peaceful, he supposes. in the golden haze of light and heaven or the dark nothingness of the empty there’s nothing else than can hurt you. no more monsters to jump out from behind corners and litter your body with even more scars. no more sleepless nights spent desperately trying to fight off any new nightmares. no more worry. no more agony.

guilt racks through leon’s body. you look so peaceful, but a selfish part of him wants you back. wants to keep you alive despite the suffering of life. wants to feel your heart beating when he falls asleep on your chest or your fingers tangled in his hair after a tough day or the warmth of your fingers as they gently massage the tension from out of his back and shoulder blades.

leon’s entire body shakes in anguish. leaning down, he presses his head against your chest, desperate to feel your heartbeat. a breath. anything.

“please…” he repeats. kneeling down on the cold concrete ground, crading your limp body in his arms, leon’s prayers go unanswered.

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yunholic-jongholic · 3 months ago

Text

His to Take, Mine to Keep [Part 1] | C.JH x Reader

SUMMARY | Jongho is the newest recruit in the cartel—a quiet, calculated intern with eyes on climbing the ranks. He’s focused, disciplined, and determined to survive the brutal world he's stepped into. But all of that begins to unravel when he crosses paths with the one woman he should never touch: the boss’s wife. You. Beautiful, mysterious, and more trapped than anyone realizes. What starts as stolen glances and cautious conversation spirals into something far more dangerous—desire, secrecy, and a love that could cost them both everything.

PAIRINGS | Mafia Intern!Jongho x Mafia Boss Wife!Reader

RATING | NSFW, 18+, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | NSFW, Mafia AU, Explicit Content, Tension, Mentions of Injuries, Mentions of Scars/Past, Kissing, (We don't really know what to add... Sorry if we missed some.)

WORD COUNT | 6.8k

AUTHORS NOTE | Okay y'all should expect nothing less of me making another Jongho fanfic. This was @mingisleftnipple idea and we asked opinions in our groupchat. This version won the vote. So here we go with ANOTHER Jongho fanfic (Y'all can't tell but i'm so GONE for this man). There will be a ton of cheating, angst, smut, fluff, ptsd in this story. SO PLEASE READ CONTENT WARNINGS BEFORE EACH CHAPTER!!! Tag list is open, if you want to be tagged, either message, ask me, or comment :3

TAG LIST | @mingisleftnipple

•

Jongho stood silently inside the dimly lit building, the air thick with tension and the faint scent of expensive cigars. The sound of a slow-turning ceiling fan echoed above him, and the click of a pen tapping against a leather desk was the only thing breaking the silence.

In front of him sat the man everyone feared—the boss. A figure carved out of ruthless power and calculated calm. He was leaned back in his chair, reading through a thick folder filled with Jongho’s records—his past jobs, his connections, his kills, his loyalty. Every page flipped with an eerie calmness that only someone truly dangerous could carry.

Jongho remained still, his hands at his sides, jaw clenched, eyes focused. He’d done everything to get to this moment. The missions, the blood, the silence... the sacrifices. Joining the cartel wasn’t just about power or money—it was about survival. It was about respect.

The boss finally closed the file with a soft thud, his cold eyes rising to meet Jongho’s. He said nothing at first, just stared. Measuring. Calculating.

“Impressive,” the boss finally muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “You’ve got a clean record... for a man covered in red.”

Jongho gave a slight nod, not daring to speak unless prompted.

The boss leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. “One final step before you’re in. One task. Succeed, and you’re family. Fail... and you’ll wish you never knocked on my door.”

Jongho didn’t flinch. “What’s the job?” he asked, voice steady.

A small smirk pulled at the boss’s lips. “A name. A location. And a message to send.”

The file slid across the desk toward Jongho. And just like that—the test began.

Jongho picked up the file slowly, his gloved hand gripping the manila folder as if it weighed more than paper. He didn’t open it right away. Instead, he looked at the boss, waiting for permission.

Jongho studied the photograph, eyes narrowing slightly. The man looked unassuming—collared shirt, dark slacks, a watch that hinted at wealth but not extravagance. He was walking down a sidewalk, mid-stride, a coffee cup in hand and a faint blur of pedestrians around him. An ordinary life, caught in a frame. But Jongho knew better. No one landed in a cartel folder by accident.

He closed the file and met the boss’s gaze once more.

“Name?” he asked.

“Elias Mercer,” the boss replied, almost casually. “Ex-intelligence. Thinks he can disappear. Thinks we won’t find him.” He leaned back, eyes glinting. “He’s wrong.”

Jongho tucked the folder under his arm.

“And the message?”

The boss smiled—tight, controlled, lethal. “Leave his handler alive. One eye gone, two fingers missing. Make sure he can still talk. Make sure he does.”

A sharp nod was all Jongho gave before turning on his heel. He didn’t need more details. He’d done this dance before—many times. What mattered now was precision.

Outside, the night air hit him like a cold slap. Jongho adjusted his coat, slipping the folder inside, already running through scenarios. Surveillance. Exit points. Weapon access. Elias would be guarded, no doubt—old spies always were. But they weren’t ghosts. Not to Jongho.

As he climbed into the driver’s seat of his car, he allowed himself a single breath, steady and deep.

Then the engine turned over.

The hunt had begun.

---

It was just past midnight when Jongho reached the building—an upscale apartment complex tucked into a quieter district of the city, the kind with discreet doormen and security cameras that didn’t record unless prompted. Elias Mercer knew how to pick a hiding place. Unfortunately for him, Jongho knew how to get inside them.

He bypassed the front entrance entirely, slipping through a maintenance access gate at the rear, scaling the emergency ladder with silent precision. The city’s hum faded behind him, replaced by the thrum of blood in his ears and the whisper of leather against metal.

Elias’s unit was on the eighth floor. Jongho reached the balcony with practiced ease, crouched against the glass like a shadow, tools already in hand. The lock clicked under his touch, soft and precise. No alarms. No sound.

He stepped inside.

The apartment was dark, except for the soft glow of a TV left on in the living room. A muted news anchor spoke about market volatility—background noise for a man who never truly slept.

Jongho moved like water, silent and untraceable. He passed through the space, noting details: half-finished whiskey on the table, a gun tucked under a pillow on the couch. Good instinct. Not good enough.

Then he heard it—footsteps. Coming down the hall.

Jongho didn’t hide. He didn’t need to.

Elias appeared in the doorway, shirt rumpled, eyes sharp but still adjusting to the dark. “Who—”

The words were cut off as Jongho stepped forward and drove the heel of his palm into Elias’s sternum, sending him crashing into the wall. The gun clattered from Elias’s hand, sliding across the hardwood.

“No alarms,” Jongho said coolly, pressing a gloved hand against the man’s throat. “No shouting. I’m not here to ask questions. I’m here to end something.”

Elias’s eyes narrowed. “Cartel?”

Jongho gave no reply—only silence, steady and final.

There was a second body in the room now—a handler. Younger, foolishly brave, charging toward Jongho with a knife. Jongho pivoted, dodged, and in a single fluid motion, slammed the man into the kitchen counter. A crunch of bone, a flash of steel, a grunt of pain. Then silence again.

Jongho knelt beside the handler, calm as ever. “You’re lucky,” he murmured, voice like frost. “They want you breathing.”

With surgical precision, he did what needed to be done—two fingers, gone. One eye, gone. Screams swallowed by a gag before they could echo off the walls.

Elias stared in horror, unable to look away.

Jongho turned to him now. “The message has been sent.”

Then he was gone—slipping back through the balcony and into the night like he’d never been there at all.

---

The drive back was quiet.

Jongho’s hands rested calmly on the wheel, the city lights flickering across his face as he passed through shadows and sleepless streets. In the passenger seat sat the file—now heavier, even though its contents had been reduced to memory and blood.

He didn’t look at it. He didn’t need to.

When he arrived at the boss’s compound, the gates opened without a word. The guards didn’t ask questions. They never did—not when Jongho was involved. Not anymore.

Inside, the building was just as silent as before. The same scent of cigars, the same dull hum of that slow-turning fan. Only this time, Jongho didn’t wait to be acknowledged.

He stepped into the office with purpose.

The boss was already there, behind the same desk, hands folded neatly in front of him. His eyes lifted slowly when Jongho entered—measuring as always.

“Well?” the boss asked, voice like cracked stone.

Jongho didn’t flinch. “It’s done. Mercer got the message. His handler will live to repeat every detail.”

Silence stretched between them. Then the boss leaned back, lips curling into the faintest trace of a smile.

“I underestimated you,” he said quietly. “That won’t happen again.”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small silver ring, carved with the sigil of the cartel’s inner circle. It was nothing flashy. Just enough to be recognized. Enough to open doors—or close them permanently.

He slid it across the desk.

“Welcome to the family.”

Jongho picked it up, slipping it onto his finger with silent finality.

The boss lit a cigar, watching him through the smoke.

“You’ve proven yourself. But this life doesn’t offer promotions. Only survival. Keep doing what you do, and you’ll live longer than most.”

Jongho gave a single nod.

Then he turned and walked out, the ring heavy on his finger, the night colder than before.

There was no applause. No congratulations.

Just the knowledge that he belonged now.

And the understanding that there would always be another job.

---

You walked into the room slowly, your heels barely making a sound against the polished floors. The scent of cigars hit you first—sharp, smoky, clinging to the air like it belonged there. Just like the men inside. Just like him.

Your husband—the boss—was seated at his usual place behind the desk, cigar in hand, face half-shadowed by the low lights. He didn’t look up at you right away, but you knew he’d clocked your presence the second you stepped through the door.

You moved toward him, keeping your posture graceful, your nerves tucked deep beneath a soft expression. You were the wife. The image. You weren’t supposed to see too much, hear too much. Just smile, stay close, and be quiet when the wrong people were in the room.

Still, your eyes flicked around the space—habit, not curiosity—and that’s when you saw him.

Jongho.

He stood near the edge of the room, back straight, gloves still on. He hadn’t moved from where he delivered the news. A new weight clung to him now—authority, darkness... something earned.

Your gaze met his, just for a second. Just long enough.

“Hello,” you said quietly, voice soft as a whisper, as if you weren’t sure you were even allowed to speak to him.

Jongho’s eyes flickered, sharp but unreadable. He gave you the barest nod—respectful, restrained. But there was something else. A tension beneath the surface. A flicker in his gaze that lingered a moment too long.

And you felt it—deep in your chest.

Your husband’s voice cut through the air. “You don’t need to be here for this.”

You turned toward him, smiling politely, even though your stomach twisted. “I just wanted to check in.”

He studied you for a moment, then gestured you over, possessive in the way he draped his arm across the back of your waist once you got close. Like you were a piece of art on display. A reminder.

You stood there quietly, eyes trained on the floor. But you could feel Jongho’s gaze still brushing against you like a draft in a sealed room.

You wondered if he noticed how tightly your husband’s hand rested on your hip.

And you wondered why that made your heart beat just a little faster.

"Wooyoung will show you to your quarters. Whelp." The boss’s voice was clipped, dismissive.

You watched Jongho nod once, jaw locked tight as he turned to leave. But his eyes swept over you one last time before he disappeared down the hall.

And that gaze stayed with you. Too steady. Too aware.

You turned back quickly, masking the heat in your chest with a practiced smile as you climbed onto your husband's lap. You curled into him sweetly, like you always did when you needed to distract him. His hand automatically settled on your thigh.

"How is work?" you asked, tilting your head and brushing a piece of ash from his jacket. The flirtatious lilt in your voice didn’t quite hide the way your hands trembled just slightly.

He sighed, setting his cigar down in the ashtray with a long exhale. “Busy.”

You leaned in, fixing his tie delicately, fingers smoothing over the fabric like it was second nature. He let you. He always did when you played soft.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice a little lower now, “I’m cooking your favorite tonight.”

That got his attention.

“I can bring it down when it’s ready…” You leaned in just enough for him to feel the heat of your breath against his ear, “…or if you’d rather join me upstairs.”

Your cheeks flushed as you said it. It was an act, it always had been—but part of you hated how easily it still played off your lips.

His eyes moved over you slowly, like he was weighing whether to keep you down here like a pretty decoration or indulge you upstairs for a while.

“You’ve been good today,” he muttered, one hand sliding up your back. “Maybe I will.”

You smiled and pressed a soft kiss just beneath his jaw—tame, practiced.

But as you pulled back, your eyes flickered toward the hallway where Jongho had disappeared.

And you couldn't help but wonder if he heard your voice when you said upstairs.

And whether the thought of it bothered him.

You padded barefoot across the cool marble floor of the master suite, the silence wrapping around you like a second skin. You’d changed into something softer—something he liked. Silk that clung just enough, neckline dipped just enough. It was a performance, but a familiar one. One you’d perfected.

The door clicked shut behind you as he entered.

You turned with a smile, demure, head slightly tilted. "Thought I’d start the wine," you said lightly, motioning to the bottle and glasses on the nightstand.

He didn’t answer. Just watched you for a moment, eyes narrowed, as if searching for something underneath the sweetness. Then, with a grunt, he crossed the room, discarding his jacket on the edge of the bed.

You moved to him, hands reaching to undo his tie. He let you, fingers grazing your wrist as you worked.

"You always do this when you want something," he muttered.

Your smile didn’t falter, even though your heart tightened. “I already got what I wanted. You’re here.”

He grunted again, pulling you close by the waist. His mouth brushed your collarbone, rough and possessive. You tilted your head, letting him. You always let him.

But your mind drifted.

To Jongho.

To the way he looked at you like he saw more than what you pretended to be. Like he could see the woman behind the silk. Behind the mask.

And for a second—just one second—you wished it was his hands on your waist instead.

Your husband didn’t notice the way your breath hitched. Or maybe he didn’t care. His hands were already wandering, his grip firmer now.

You went through the motions. Like always.

But later—when he’d fallen asleep beside you, arm heavy and breath uneven—you lay awake.

Staring at the ceiling.

And wondering what Jongho would have done if you'd whispered stay instead of hello.

---

The morning sun spilled gently through the wide windows, casting long golden stripes across the floor as you slipped into your usual clothes—simple slacks, a light blouse, hair swept back in a way that felt neat, forgettable.

Your husband was gone—off on one of his "meetings." No time frame. No details. Just the familiar tension that hung in the air after every departure.

And you?

You took a breath, glanced once at your reflection… then stepped out quietly.

You knew the layout of the estate by heart. Where the guards rotated. Which halls creaked. Which corners had blind spots.

And you knew where Jongho was staying.

You didn’t know exactly what you were looking for—just that you wanted to see him again. Wanted to hear him speak. You loved listening to stories. Especially from the new blood, the ones who hadn’t yet been silenced by the life they’d signed into.

But Jongho wasn’t just any newcomer.

He had that look. The kind of eyes that had seen things and survived. A body that moved with silent precision. Like violence was just a language he spoke fluently when needed.

And something in you wanted to hear his story.

You reached the hall near the guest quarters and paused. The door was cracked open slightly.

A shirt hung over the back of a chair. A holster draped nearby. His bed was made, sharp corners. No surprise there.

And then—you heard him.

“You planning to keep lurking, or are you going to say something?”

His voice, low and smooth, cut through the air like a blade dulled just enough to tease.

You startled slightly, then pushed the door open just a bit more, caught.

“I wasn’t lurking,” you said softly, stepping into view. “Just... curious.”

He was seated at the window, sleeves rolled up, cleaning a blade with slow, methodical care. He didn’t look at you right away. Just kept moving, precise and calm.

“Curious about what?” he asked, finally glancing over at you.

You hesitated. “You. Why you joined. Where you came from.” A small shrug. “I like stories.”

A beat.

He leaned back in the chair, arms draped over the sides, studying you now. Really studying you.

“You know most people don’t ask,” he said. “They just assume I wanted money or power.”

“And is that why you did it?” you asked, taking a step closer, voice quiet.

“No.”

The single word held weight. A crack in the armor. You waited, not pushing, letting the silence breathe.

He set the blade down slowly.

“Someone once told me,” he said, “if the world refuses to protect you, you carve out a place where it has to.”

You met his eyes then, breath catching a little.

“Did it work?” you whispered.

“I’m still carving,” he replied.

And the air shifted—quiet, charged, like a string had been pulled taut between the two of you.

He leaned back in his chair, then added casually, “Anyways, I need to get back to training. Do you have a name?”

“Y/N!” you chirped, bright and a little too eager.

He scanned you again, eyes flicking from your face to the way you hovered just inside his space.

“Jongho,” he said simply, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re… bubbly. And curious.”

You gave a small shrug, eyes drifting across the bare walls.

“Kind of. I married for protection from the outside world. Everyone down here is mostly dull and boring—no one talks unless they’re ordered to. I wish people would talk to me more, but they’re all scared of my possessive husband.” You rolled your eyes like it was nothing, like it didn’t still weigh on your shoulders.

Jongho didn’t answer that part, but you saw the twitch in his jaw.

Instead, his eyes followed you as you started wandering, peeking into drawers, lifting objects, inspecting his space like it belonged to you.

“Why is it so empty in here?” you asked, hand running along the edge of the desk. “You’ve got a bed, a chair, and a desk. That’s it. You need to decorate more. Something soft. A plant. Maybe a rug.”

“I feel like I’m babysitting a curious child,” he muttered, unimpressed.

You spun around, leaning back against the desk and smirking. “Hey! I’m only like five years younger than you. Probably. No offense, you just look old.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Thanks.”

You giggled, covering your mouth. “I meant that in a cool, rugged kind of way.”

“Sure.”

The silence settled again, but this time it was lighter. Comfortable, almost.

Then, softer, you added, “It’s okay if you want to keep your room empty. I used to do that too… when I wasn’t sure I was staying.”

That made him look at you again.

Really look.

And you saw it—that flicker. Something like understanding.

But then it was gone. He stood, stretching his arms out, deflecting with a slight tilt of his head. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs pretending to be the perfect wife?”

You gave him a lopsided smile. “Pretending gets boring.”

And with that, you turned and walked to the door, casting one last glance over your shoulder.

“Let me know if you want help picking out a rug,” you said lightly.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And Jongho sat back down, staring at the desk drawer you'd left open.

Still empty.

Just like the rest of him.

---

The training room echoed with the sounds of fists hitting flesh, dull grunts, the crack of bone against padded mats. Below, the new recruits were being pushed to their limits—sparring, sweating, bleeding. Only the strong survived down here. Only the useful stayed.

You were perched comfortably in your husband’s lap in the observation gallery above, nestled into his chest like a pretty thing on display. His arm wrapped around your waist possessively, fingers drumming against your thigh as his cold eyes scanned the floor.

You weren’t really paying attention.

Not until he stepped into the ring.

Jongho.

Then suddenly, your phone lost your interest, the funny cat videos forgotten mid-meow.

You glanced up—just in time to see him shrug off his jacket, muscles shifting beneath his tight black tee, sleeves rolled up as he rolled his shoulders back. Focused. Calm. Calculated.

“He’s good,” your husband muttered, voice low against your ear. “Controlled. Dangerous.”

You hummed in agreement, noncommittal, as if you hadn’t just leaned slightly forward to get a better look.

Down below, Jongho moved like liquid steel—precise, powerful. He didn’t show off. He didn’t need to. His fists spoke louder than his mouth ever did.

The other recruit lunged.

Bad idea.

You flinched when Jongho moved—so fast it almost looked rehearsed. One moment, the other man was swinging. The next, he was flat on his back, wheezing, with Jongho standing over him, unmoved.

You shifted in your husband’s lap, trying to appear casual, but you could feel the heat rise in your chest. You looked back at your phone, pretended to scroll again.

Another cat fell off a counter.

You didn’t laugh.

Not this time.

"You're not watching the fights," your husband noted dryly.

"Just the good parts," you murmured, not looking up.

He chuckled darkly, tightening his grip around you. “Be careful. The wolves smell interest.”

You smiled sweetly, resting your head back against his shoulder. “I’m just bored.”

But your eyes were still on Jongho as he walked to the edge of the mat, sweat dripping down his temple, chest rising steady and strong.

And just for a moment—just long enough to make your pulse catch—he looked up.

Right at you.

Like he knew you’d been watching the whole time.

---

The training session wrapped with grunts of exhaustion and the heavy clatter of weapons being set aside. The recruits were dismissed one by one—some limping, others silently seething with frustration. A few looked up toward the glass-walled gallery above, trying to read the boss’s expression.

But Jongho didn’t look again.

Not while your husband’s arm was still around your waist.

Not while your head rested so sweetly on his shoulder.

It wasn’t until later—after the boss had been pulled away by a call, something about a deal gone sideways—that you slipped out quietly, down the hall that ran parallel to the training corridor. You weren’t expecting to see him again so soon.

But there he was.

Jongho.

Fresh from the locker room, a towel around his neck, hair damp from a rinse, shirt clinging in places from the sweat that hadn’t yet cooled. His gaze lifted the second he turned the corner and saw you there, stopped mid-step.

You blinked up at him, like you'd just stumbled upon him by accident.

But you hadn’t.

"Hi," you said softly, voice barely above a whisper in the quiet hall.

He slowed, eyes unreadable, pausing a few feet from you. “Hi.”

Neither of you moved at first.

The silence between you stretched thin, like the hallway had become its own world—separate from the gallery above, from the rules, from the watching eyes.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to steady the flutter in your chest. “You were impressive today.”

His gaze flicked over you, slow, deliberate. “You were watching.”

You smiled, soft and a little shy, though both of you knew it wasn’t innocence that made your pulse skip. “Only the good parts.”

His lips quirked, just barely. A ghost of something unspoken.

He stepped forward—just once. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel it. The heat. The gravity.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said lowly.

You shrugged, voice just above breath. “Neither should you.”

And for a second, the mask slipped. Just a flicker in his eyes—something wounded, something curious. He looked like a man who wanted to reach out… but had been burned too many times to believe the heat was worth it.

You shifted your weight, hands folded loosely in front of you, still not looking away.

“I just wanted to say hi,” you said again, quieter this time. “That’s all.”

He nodded slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “Then… hi.”

It should’ve ended there. Should’ve been a passing moment. But neither of you moved.

The tension hummed between your bodies like a live wire.

And still, he stood there—damp hair curling at the edges, chest still rising slow from the fight, eyes locked on yours like he hadn’t decided whether to let you in or walk away forever.

---

The house was silent, the kind of silence that only came late—when the guards were posted, when the last deal of the day was struck, and when your husband’s breathing beside you had already settled into a deep, rhythmless sleep.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

The silk sheets clung to your skin like heat, but it wasn’t the temperature that kept you flushed.

It was him.

Jongho.

The way he’d looked at you in that hallway. Like he saw through the soft voice and painted smiles. Like he knew what it meant to wear armor made of sweetness and silence. Like he could read the parts of you even you had forgotten how to name.

“Because you look like someone pretending to be safe.”

The words echoed in your head, curling like smoke in your chest.

Your husband stirred beside you, just enough for you to freeze. You stayed perfectly still, trained in the art of not waking the beast.

Once his breathing evened out again, you turned on your side—facing the window, letting the moonlight paint silver lines across your arms.

You bit your lip.

You weren’t supposed to notice men like Jongho.

You weren’t supposed to crave the way his voice dropped like a secret meant only for you.

And you definitely weren’t supposed to lie awake thinking about what would’ve happened if you’d stayed in that hallway just one second longer.

Your fingers grazed your lips.

He hadn’t touched you. Not once.

But the tension had. It had clung to you like static. It still did.

You wanted more.

More stories. More stolen moments. More of him—his eyes, his voice, the truth in the way he didn’t play games like the others did.

You weren’t naive. You knew the rules.

But God, you were so tired of pretending to be safe.

You carefully slipped out of bed. It was nearly 2am. You grabbed your clothes off the floor and put your underwear back on and tied your pink silk robe over your body. You quietly opened the door and took off, going straight to Jongho's room. The light was on in there.

You knocked on the door softly before entering.

---

Jongho had just finished rinsing off the blood—the last traces of another job gone violent swirling down the drain. The water had run clear now, but the weight of the night still clung to him, heavy in the lines of his shoulders.

The bathroom mirror was fogged around the edges, but he could still see himself.

The scars across his chest and arms were illuminated under the harsh light—some faded to faint lines, others still carved deep. Reminders. Stories no one asked him to tell.

He exhaled, slow and steady. A grounding breath.

The steam was just beginning to fade when he ran the towel once more through his damp hair, then reached for his sweatpants. No shirt. Just skin and silence.

Then—a knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

He stilled.

Not a guard. Not a summons.

He tugged the sweatpants on quickly and moved toward the door, still toweling off the ends of his hair.

When he opened it—

You were there.

Barefoot. Wrapped in that pale pink silk robe, loosely tied at the waist. Your hair slightly tousled, your lips parted like you hadn’t quite planned what to say. Your eyes found him—dripping water, shirtless, and marked in quiet violence—and didn’t look away.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

You stepped inside without a word, closing the door gently behind you. The scent of soap and steam lingered in the room, layered over something darker—gunpowder, sweat, memory.

His gaze traveled over you, pausing at your legs, bare and moonlit, before settling back on your face.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured.

“I know,” you whispered.

“Does he know you left?”

“No.”

Silence pressed between you.

A breath. A choice.

And neither of you moved.

Not yet.

“Then why are you here?”

His voice was quiet. Steady. But there was something under it—tension pulled tight like a wire.

You looked up at him, throat dry, heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it. “I couldn’t sleep.”

His jaw flexed. “You came to me because you couldn’t sleep?”

“I came to you because I felt safe.”

And that—those words—cracked something in him.

Jongho stepped forward slowly. Not touching you. Not yet. But close enough that the heat of his skin brushed yours, his presence grounding and overwhelming all at once.

His voice dipped lower, darker, like it was only meant for you. “You shouldn’t feel safe with me.”

Your breath caught. “But I do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pulsed between you—thick with unspoken things, shared truths you hadn’t dared say out loud.

You tilted your head, eyes searching his. “Will you tell me the story behind one of your scars?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you—through you—his chest rising with the weight of breath he hadn’t meant to hold. Then, without a word, he turned and walked back to the bed, sinking down onto the edge with a slow exhale, arms resting on his knees.

He gestured to a thin, jagged scar cutting across his left shoulder.

“That one,” he said quietly. “Was from someone I trusted. Someone who turned.”

You stepped forward, slowly lowering yourself in front of him, kneeling between his legs. Your hands rested lightly on your thighs, your eyes locked on his.

“Did it hurt?” you asked.

He let out a soft laugh—dry, distant. “Not as much as the betrayal.”

You swallowed. Your fingers ached to reach out. To brush your thumb over that scar. To offer something—comfort, connection, anything. But you didn’t.

Not yet.

Because this moment was about more than scars.

It was about what came after.

Instead, you whispered, “Tell me another.”

And Jongho did.

One scar. One story. One truth at a time.

His voice had shifted—lower now, softer. Thoughtful, almost reluctant, like each memory pulled something real from somewhere he rarely let anyone see.

You listened closely, tucked between his knees on the floor like it was where you belonged. Like this small, quiet space between his legs and his words had been waiting for you all along.

“That one,” he said, nodding toward a thin silver line near his ribs, “was a knife. Four years ago. He was faster. I got lucky.”

Your brows drew together slightly, your heart tugging at the thought.

And before you could stop yourself, your hand lifted.

Fingers light. Careful.

You brushed the scar.

He tensed beneath your touch.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop you.

Your fingertips lingered, tracing gently across the raised line—not just touching the wound, but acknowledging it. Honoring it.

“Does it still hurt?” you asked, voice barely a breath.

“Not physically,” he murmured. “Not anymore.”

You nodded, slow and quiet, your thumb drawing one last circle before your hand returned to your lap.

Silence followed.

Not awkward.

Just full—of breath, of closeness, of something neither of you had dared name.

And for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel like a shadow in someone else’s house.

You felt seen.

His eyes lingered on your face for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to continue. Whether it was safe to keep handing you pieces of himself.

And then he nodded toward another mark, this one lower—just above his hip, half-hidden by the waistband of his sweatpants.

“That one,” he said quietly, “was a bullet. It went clean through. The burn was worse than the blood.”

You hesitated, then shifted closer on your knees, your hand moving before your thoughts could catch up. You pressed your palm just above the scar, warm and steady.

He inhaled, sharp—but still didn’t stop you.

Your touch was slow, reverent, mapping pain turned to memory, memory turned to story.

You looked up at him again. “What happened?”

His eyes didn’t meet yours. Not at first. “The man I was supposed to kill had a child. I hesitated.”

You said nothing—just let your fingers rest there, gently, like you were trying to ease the weight of that moment from his body.

Finally, his gaze dropped to yours. Raw. Unflinching. “I didn’t get the chance to hesitate again.”

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t try to comfort him. Didn’t say he’d done the right thing. You just stayed.

And that mattered more than anything.

His hand moved then—slow, tentative—reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek, calloused and warm. It was the first time he touched you, really touched you.

You leaned into it, just enough to let him know it was okay.

He glanced down at his chest—at a scar that curved beneath his collarbone.

“This one,” he said, quieter now, “was the first.”

You didn’t ask what from.

You just lifted yourself slightly, knees shifting on the floor, and placed your palm gently over it.

He closed his eyes.

And for a long, still moment, there was no cartel, no husband, no past—just skin, silence, and the fragile trust you were building in the dark.

When he opened his eyes again, they were softer.

“Why are you really here, Y/N?” he asked, voice hushed and aching.

You held his gaze, heartbeat trembling behind your ribs.

“Because I wanted to be seen,” you said. “And you looked.”

Jongho stared at you like he was seeing something sacred. His hand was still against your cheek, his thumb brushing faintly along your skin as if afraid you’d disappear if he touched too hard.

You’d both said too much.

And yet, not nearly enough.

Your breath caught as he leaned in—slow, deliberate, giving you time to move, to change your mind. But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to.

When his lips finally met yours, it was not possessive or rushed—it was careful. The kind of kiss given with reverence. A whisper against your mouth, not a claim.

You melted into it.

His other hand found your waist, grounding you as you leaned in closer, your fingers curling lightly into the sides of his sweatpants. The kiss deepened by inches, as if neither of you wanted to break the spell—just hold it there, in the hush between heartbeats.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a release.

A confession.

A promise that neither of you dared speak aloud.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, breath shallow, eyes closed.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he murmured, his voice like velvet laced with guilt.

“But you do,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “So do I.”

And he kissed you again.

This time with more certainty.

More hunger.

Because it had stopped being about survival the moment you walked through his door.

Now—it was about something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something real.

Finally he pulled away, you felt your lips tingle after the kiss.

“You should go,” Jongho said quietly, eyes shifting away from you.

“I don’t want to.” You didn’t move. Your hands stayed where they were—resting lightly against his bare chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

“Don’t say that,” he murmured, closing his eyes as if it might shut out the truth of your touch. The temptation of it.

“I mean it, Jongho.” Your voice cracked as your fingers curled softly against him. “I don’t want to leave.”

He groaned, low and frustrated, before gently pulling your hands from his chest.

“Y/N,” he said, firmer now. A warning. A plea.

Then he stood, putting distance between you, already reaching for his shirt.

“I need to get back to training,” he muttered, dragging the fabric over his head like armor. As if it might help him forget how close he’d come to wanting something more.

You sat there, feeling the heat of him still lingering in your hands.

And just like that—you felt the air shift.

Like the door had closed, even though it hadn’t.

Like something precious had slipped just out of reach.

---

The morning sun poured harshly through the tall windows of the training gallery, gilding the concrete floor below in gold that felt too bright, too exposing.

You were back in your usual place—perched in your husband’s lap, silk traded for soft cashmere, your expression painted into something pretty and composed. His arm curled around your waist, hand resting on your hip like always. A fixture. A possession.

Below, the recruits were already at it—sparring, grunting, the thud of fists meeting flesh echoing off the walls.

You tried to look bored.

Tried to stare at your phone like always, thumb lazily scrolling past meaningless posts.

But your eyes kept drifting.

To him.

Jongho.

Back in black. Back in motion. Controlled and relentless as ever.

He didn’t look up.

Not once.

Your husband’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You’ve been quiet this morning.”

You blinked. Smiled softly. “Didn’t sleep well.”

His hand gave a slow, firm squeeze on your hip. “You weren’t up pacing again, were you?”

“No,” you lied smoothly, eyes flicking down just in time to see Jongho land a blow that sent his opponent stumbling back. “Just restless.”

Your husband grunted, attention shifting back to the mat. “Jongho’s sharp. Focused. But something’s different.”

Your breath caught—but you didn’t show it.

“Different how?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just watched. Studying.

Then, almost to himself: “He’s hiding something.”

You smiled again, practiced and sweet. “Aren’t they all?”

But your pulse had quickened.

And when Jongho finally moved to the edge of the mat, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat clinging to his skin—

He still didn’t look at you.

And that, somehow, stung the most.

You turned to your husband with a soft, practiced smile—the kind he liked best.

“What do you want me to cook for dinner tonight?” you purred, your voice honeyed as you reached up to adjust his tie, smoothing it with delicate fingers.

You straddled his thigh like it was nothing—like it was yours—settling into his lap with effortless grace. Your palms pressed gently against his chest, warm and pliant, the picture of affection.

He raised a brow, clearly pleased, his hand sliding up to your waist.

“Hmm,” he hummed, watching you with a lazy sort of hunger. “Something sweet. Something slow.”

You tilted your head, biting your lip just a little—just enough. “I think I can do that.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, and you leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw—not love, not longing, just… obedience, disguised as devotion.

But even as you played the role to perfection, your gaze flicked briefly toward the glass wall.

Down to the floor below.

To the man who still hadn’t looked up.

And for the first time, you wondered if the punishment for last night wasn’t silence…

But distance.

And it burned.

---

After training, Jongho didn’t linger.

He went straight to his room, muscles aching and clothes damp with sweat, the echo of fists still vibrating faintly in his bones. He didn’t let himself think—not about the gallery above, not about the soft pink silk robe from the night before. Just the routine. The rinse. The reset.

He stepped into the shower, hot water pounding down over scarred skin, trying to scrub away more than just sweat.

He’d barely finished pulling on a clean shirt when there was a knock.

Then the door opened without waiting.

“Hello, Whelp,” came a familiar voice, smooth and taunting.

Wooyoung.

He strolled in like he owned the place—eyes sharp, grin lazy, every movement soaked in smug amusement. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying Jongho like he already knew what buttons to push.

Jongho didn’t rise to it.

He simply straightened, nodding once in acknowledgment.

“Wooyoung.”

The silence that followed was taut—an unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

Wooyoung’s grin deepened. “Boss wants you. Says there’s a new mission. Seems you’re earning quite a reputation.”

Jongho didn’t reply. Just grabbed his belt, sliding a blade into place.

Wooyoung watched him for a beat, then added with a mock-pout, “Funny, though. He didn’t mention who you’ve been spending your nights with.”

Jongho’s hands paused—just for a fraction of a second.

Then he continued buckling the strap, calm as ever.

“Careful, Wooyoung,” he said quietly. “You’re talking too much for someone not holding a weapon.”

Wooyoung’s smile didn’t falter—but his eyes flashed, just once.

“Touché.”

And with that, he pushed off the doorframe and sauntered off down the hall, voice trailing behind him.

“Don’t keep the boss waiting, lover boy.”

Jongho stood there for a moment longer, jaw tense.

Then he reached for his jacket.

And the weight of your name burned behind his teeth.

•

A/N: First Chapter! <3 Hope y'all enjoyed! <3

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jongho fanfic #jongho x reader #choi jongho x reader #jongho scenarios #ateez jongho #ateez jongho x reader

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