#really good start. just needs things to be upped a bit

[rottingpink]

cod men with fussy wives

cw. fluff, innuendo, cunnilingus, lovemaking, reader is a bit insufferable but she means well. SMUT

synopsis. price, simon and johnny with very naggy wives who show them love and care they've never experienced before

john price

john is the typical gruff, stern guy who knows when to be serious, calm, or regulated, but around his wife, all he is is soft. he spends all day gritting his teeth during combat, pushing through with wounds the size of golf balls and scolding recruits when they fuck up, and so when he's on leave for a few days to see you, all he wants to do is relax, make love to you, eat your cooking, and maybe go fishing or do some home renovations. you, however, have a different plan. you're on his ass the second he gets home. not that he minds too much. you're too beautiful to be annoyed at.

he's sitting on the couch trying to eat a biscuit, and you gently pry it out of his hands mid bite. "john, did you take your omega-3s today?"

he signs, hand grazing your hip as you stand in front of him. "no, love. not today. but i used that nicotine patch you told me to use to help with the smokin'."

your eyes light up. "you're using them, darling?"

his heart thuds pridefully at your reaction, like it usually does when you call him darling in that dreamy little tone of voice.

"wore 'em everyday for ya, m'love," he murmurs, reaching for your hips so he can tug you gently to stand between his knees. "damn if i don't like a good smoke, but i like my woman's happiness a little more."

you giggle, nuzzling your nose into his hair, relishing in the pleasant, clean scent. "just a little?"

he laughs, bringing you into a sitting position on his knee. "a lot, love. y'said it's no good for m'lungs, and i wanna be around long enough to see our grandbabies. can't have that if 'm coughin' up ash everyday."

your lip wobbles. "oh john," you coo, lacing you arms around his neck tightly. you're so proud of him that you feel your eyes start to well up. you nuzzle your face into his neck to hide the way you're getting so emotional. you're so proud of him. "there there..." he bounces you in his lap a little to soothe you. "you're the sweetest lil' thing, aren't ya? takin' care of me so good. wouldn't know what to do without you."

you sniffle and snuggle into him so tight that you're nearly suffocating.

he tries to act like the fussing annoys him most times, but really, he relishes in it. he rarely smokes unless he's very stressed and isn't a heavy drinker. after all, you told him, "don't drink if you're looking for an escape from your problems, m'kay? 's what i'm here for."

his health's never been better.

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he's been on edge all morning. one of the younger dogs knocked the sheep pen open early this morning and let half a dozen of them loose, and price has been running around like his head's on fire trying to corral them back inside and soothe the other distressed sheep. he just got back in all sweaty and stressed, drinking a large mug of coffee. then a second. third. on the fourth, you stepped in, suggesting that he might wanna slow down, and he snapped. "god's sake woman, d'you ever let up? i don't need a bloody nanny all the time. enough with the naggin' "

you shut up immediately, drawing your hand back with your brows scrunched.

slowly, you stop asking about his vitamins. stop shoveling extra greens on his plate. stop massaging rosemary oil into his hair at night. you stop. it's relieving for about fifteen minutes. then, he's disturbed. the silence brings him no peace whatsoever. he lasts until the evening of the same day, and he corners you while you're making dinner, hugging you from behind. "darlin'," he murmurs into your ear, mouthing at the lobe.

no answer. he huffs, dragging you against him and pressing soft, open mouthed kisses down your ear, along your jaw, to your throat, where he licks a broad stripe back up to your sweet spot. "c'mon darlin', 'm sorry. you know i get heated fast, hm?" his big hands travel along your body, his left now splaying on your breast, and the right squeezing your hip. "just had a terrible morning, nearly lost our sheep, had to run around like an idiot for an hour... 'n i lost my cool with you. 's not okay, i know."

"hate it when you raise your voice at me, john." you say softly, and his heart just about breaks. he didn't mean to, really. he loves when you're bossy with him. it shows you care and it's incredibly sexy. he'd just been very irate this particular morning. he's been with you years and hasn't complained seriously about the nagging ever, and he's not about to start now.

he squeezes your tit in his palm and kisses your cheek. "i know beautiful, i know. i love you s'much, hm? gonna make it up to you..."

he's on his knees behind you soon after, eating your pussy under your dress while you try to cook. his tongue laps at your soaked hole, causing his beard to get soaked with your juices. the thick hair scratches pleasantly against your folds while the spoon you're holding clatters onto the counter, your eyes fluttering shut and hands scrabbling forwards for something to hold - you settle on the heavy stand mixer ahead of you.

he's apologizing with a mouthful of your pussy, hands squeezing your ass and giving your thighs a little pinch any time you try to close 'em.

" 'm sorry. need you fussin', darling, alright? don't ever stop." your breath hilts each time his tongue drags upwards and flattens over your clit. his nose keeps nudging your ass because his big hands keep you spread wide for him.

you sway a little, thighs trembling with the overwhelming amount of pleasure he's inflicting on you, but all he does is grunt and pull you back against his face harder. "this what it takes t'get you talkin' to me again?" he rasps against your cunt. "fine, i'll eat this sweet fuckin’ pussy 'til you forgive me."

you gasp when he sucks on your clit and tips you forward so you're fully presented for him, tongue fucking in and out of your sloppy hole. the food you were tying to make is long forgotten at this point, but he doesn't care at all. all he wants to stuff his face with anyway is your sloppy cunt.

"john, mmh!" you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, but he smacks your ass hard and shoves your thighs wide once more.

"no, no, you'll take it," he grunts. "this is my apology, yeah? let me make it right an' show you how much i love your fussin'. "

you cream onto his face with a loud whine. grinding against his chin and into his mouth, and even then, he continues for a second round, mouthing at your folds and mumbling, "couple more, wife. apology's not done."

johnny "soap" mactavish

johnny's a firecracker and a wildcard. he lives on the edge and likes the unknown that comes with being reckless and unprepared. but when he met, dated, and then married you, he did have to learn to exert some degree of control over himself and his life, because damn you're a very meticulous, bossy little thing. not that he minds. having his woman fuss over him and baby him and give him extra special treatment all day, every day doesn't really feel punishing. your fussing is basically foreplay for him.

you'll tell him, "johnny, you're not going on a run with a level 6 UV outside with no sunscreen on. cmere so i can put it all on you."

"...whatever tha' means."

you frown. "johnny, you're not funny. a level 6 is dangerous. cancerous without protection."

he chuckles. "you just want an excuse to rub y'lil hands all over me, ain' that right?"

"johnny!"

you literally have to tackle him onto the living room floor sometimes to rub sunscreen on his face, because he keeps dodging you and laughing. squirming like a kid while you try to get his ears and nose. "you won't wanna shag me if i've got white goo all over m'cheeks, lass, 'm not havin' it."

"you'll thank me when you don't have skin cancer in twenty years," you huff, massaging the liquid into his cheeks while you straddle him. it's the only way he'll ever sit still anyway. his hands reach up to paw at your hips, and he tilts his head, smiling up at you.

"y'look s'cute on top o' me, don't ya?" he coos, giving your ass a playful slap. you roll you eyes and squeeze his cheek in retaliation, and he laughs and continues. "do y'love me more now that i've been properly slathered?" he teases, raising his brows as you finish rubbing in the last bit of cream.

you kiss his forehead. "only a little."

he smiles. "hm. maybe i should scald myself in the sun so you can love me up more."

"johnny."

"…right, right. responsible. m'havin' a growth arc for m'wife,"

"are you?"

"…no. but m'health has improved dramatically since y'started bullyin' me into slatherin' my skin twice a day."

you lean in so your lips brush his "that's cause i want you around forever, dummy."

johnny smiles softer at your words, tugging you down so your forehead rests on his and his beefy arms wrap around you. "i know," he hums, kissing your lips softly. " 'm not goin' anywhere, bonnie. not if i can help it."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he'd got home only yesterday from being deployed for several weeks. he hadn't seen his loving wife in ages, and the distance didn't do to well on him mentally. he's really not in the mood for fussing. he just needs to eat, fill you up with his cum a few times tonight, and go to bed.

you, however, had been nagging him the minute he came home. needing a breather, he offered to go grab groceries and run errands, hoping that the little break would help him cool off so he didn't snap at you. he's never raised his voice at you, and he doesn't plan on it today.

but when he got back with a dark bottle of bourbon...

"baby? did you only offer to go so you could buy that nonsense? i told you i hate when you drink-"

he interrupts you. "for fuck's sake, can I breathe without you hoverin'? you're not my mum."

you glare at him. not the sweet glare when you're admiring him, or the shy one, or the deadpan one when he does something dumb and you pretend to be mad at him, the angry wife one. oh, he is not a big fan of this look.

weirdly, though, instead of telling him how rude that was and that he knows you're just trying to look out for him, you turn and walk away in an eerie, icy silence. fuck, this isn't good. "bonnie, c'mon. i didnae mean that. c'mere,"

you swat his hand away lightly, deciding you won't be "mothering" him anymore. and so in the following days, you don't tell him to put on sunscreen. you don't pout when he only sleeps four hours. you barely touch him or look at him.

he tries to charm you at first, knowing how much of a sucker you are for his flirting and pretty words, but it doesn't work this time. you don't bite or get on his case or boss him in the way that makes him hard as hell. no shoving his chest when he gets too close or mewling "johnny please," when he teases you. none of it.

you've been eerily polite, and it's driving him mental. on the second day of this, he tries to nuzzle into your neck while you're folding laundry, whispering, "miss you s'much baby, 'm gonna make it up to you properly tonight."

you pull away and hand him rolled up socks. "drawer." he watches you for a moment, hands slack by his sides, socks limp in his grip.

you're distant. johnny's not good with distance from you. the next day, he's extremely restless, wandering around you like a lost puppy in only a pair of sweats sitting low on his hips, hoping you'll come put that greasy spf you always fuss about all over him. he even lies out on the balcony chair for a full twenty minutes in the sun just to bait you, but you give him nothing. you do spare him a glance periodically through the glass door, but you say nothing. he ends up with a sunburn on his chest and the bridge of his nose.

that night, when you dont wiggle into his chest like normal or ask if he had a vitamin after he ate dinner, he turns to his side to face you, needing to put an end to your stonewalling. "bon."

you hum. he can't tell if it's acknowledgement or just the sound you make when you're falling asleep.

"c'mon," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest. "i wasn't nice to you, i know that. didn' mean to be a dick. just been so stressed 'n on edge 'n i spoke outta turn."

while you're deciding whether or not to believe him, he gets closer, forehead nudging yours. "i'll pour the bourbon down the sink tomorrow," he says quietly. "swear it."

your fingers toy with the hem of his sleep shirt. it's the first time in days you've touched him without pushing him away. "you can drink if you want to." you murmur, twisting the fabric in your hands. " 'm sorry if i'm being overbearing."

"y'not, baby." he kisses your cheek. "just wanna do whatever makes you happy. you're the boss, aren't you?"

you wake up the next morning with his head between your legs, slow and steady, taking his time kissing down your body, from your tummy, to your hip, down to your inner thigh, and then your tender core.

his big palms wrap around the backs of your thighs and pull them over his shoulders, locking you in place while his mouth sucks and works at your pussy. he's so focused that he's making pleased little groans, crotch rutting absentmindedly against the mattress. he's grateful to have you back in his arms and your pussy, dripping and sweet as nectar, accessible to him once more, but he needs to make you cum to really feel forgiven.

he's slow and paced, kissing on you like he's starved. the slow drag of his tongue through your folds and the way his lips close over your clit and suck just softly enough to make your thighs tremble is euphoric, and you find yourself blanking on why you were mad at him to begin with.

his arms are wrapped around your thighs so firm you can barely move. and every time you try to squirm, he groans low and pulls you right back down, nose buried, face flushed and mouth messy. you can feel his beard brushing you, scratchy and warm, and your fingers automatically slide into his hair. "that's it, baby," he mumbles between pussy kisses. "lemme say sorry proper."

you whimper, back arching when he flattens his tongue against your clit and gives it a slow, firm swirl. he just groans again with enjoyment when you close your thighs around his head. he loves being smothered. he doesn't even care if he breathes, as long as you're happy and in love with him. when your pleasure crests and you cum on his face, he licks at your folds firmer, dragging that orgasm out of you. he keeps his mouth on you, gentler now. just soft licks and little kisses, tongue soothing over your puffy folds while his big hands rub slow circles into your thighs.

he doesn't stop until your hand in his hair goes limp. you sigh, letting him kiss back up your body to give you a little break before he goes back for more. he rests on your chest, nuzzling into your flesh gently. "you're forgiven, johnny." you huff, a little tired.

he grins, mouth still wet, eyes gleaming with relief. "thank fuck. boss me all you want, love. swear it gets me hard, anyway."

simon "ghost" riley

simon riley is commanding. he’s the most domineering presence in any room he walks in. makes the greatest of men lower their gaze when he approaches. he's taken down large enemy groups all on his own, has killed men with his bare hands, and… he comes home to you telling him "you can't eat that, baby. it's got monosodium glutamate in it. that makes you sick, remember?" and listens every time.

"…right," he'll say after a pause. "forgot abou' that. what d’you want me to eat then?"

he'd drop the bag of crisps he picked up on his way home with the god forsaken MSG in it the second you mentioned it and would nod. "mm. wouldn' wan' to spoil my dinner anyway, right love?" while gently taking you into his arms and pressing his lips to yours.

you're not controlling, either. the fussing is very particular. typically just a soft, offhand reminder from the only person in the world who really knows and prioritizes him before anything else. you love him so much and this is part of the way you show it. how could he complain?

you know everything about him, which is huge, considering he is a man of few words and is dreadful at being vulnerable. you know what wrecks his stomach, what gives him headaches, how he gets irritable and loopy when he doesn't sleep at least six hours in the night. you know his favorite clothing fabric and how he just wants to hold you when he's upset.

your voice is so warm and quietly certain that he has to listen every time. once you advise him not to do something, everything in him short circuits. his brute force logic disappears. because you say no, or "you shouldn't si, take this instead," and it's a done deal.

you don't even realize what it does to him, how something as simple as your concern twists itself into a soft knot in his stomach, how it makes him ache, not because you're bossing him, but because you're taking car and watching over him in a way no one else does.

he often glares at you and raises a brow ever so slightly at the way you, a tiny thing with big, expressive eyes and pouty lips just told a tank of a man what to do and expected him to listen.

he does though. listens to your bossy ass every time. and for all his stoicism, the man melts under your fussing.

he's in the shower with you brought that annoying cleanser you insist he needs to use every night and wash it off after thirty seconds because he's got sensitive skin.

"love. this shit's greasy."

"it's hydrating, si. good for your skin. protects the barrier."

"don't wan' hydrating."

you rub into his cheekbones anyway while his eyes are locked on you and his breath comes out slow and heavy. you're standing between his legs in the steam, having him lower his head slightly so you can reach your hands into his short hair once you've finished with the cleanser. you're squinting up at him, so serious as you massage something into his scalp like you're not both bare, soaked, and pressed up against each other.

simon has both massive hands holding your waist while he backs you into a corner of the shower, letting you fuss about exfoliants and scalp health with your tits smushed against his body and your eyes fixed on his face and not his cock nudging against your body, aching and swollen from the sight of you. he's trying to focus but he's so distracted by your body, the way you smell, and how soft you are in his hands.

you tilt your head up, rub a little cream into his hair, mumbling, "gotta keep your scalp health up to par, si", and he loses it.

simon grabs your face in both hands and pushes his mouth against yours, catching you off guard. you squeak into his mouth, and he groans and takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, water pouring down both of you, beard scratchy on your chin.

"god," he mutters hoarsely between kisses, "you fuss over me like I’m your bloody housepet."

you let out another noise in his mouth, not knowing if that means he hates it or not, but he nips your lower lip, trails his lips along your jaw and up to your ear. " 's a good thing, love. don't pout."

you moan softly, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck and jaw. the reassurance felt great, and you find yourself melting into his touch.

" 'm gonna fuck you," he mutters, voice cracked with need, hand already sliding down your back to grip your ass. "righ' now. can't take it anymore." you look up through your lashes, lashes wet, lip caught in your teeth.

"but you still have conditioner in," you stare up at him coyly.

"finish after. s'not like 'm goin' anywhere."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

simon didn't mean to snap at you. the harsh tone came out by itself. it's just that he's so tired and sore, joints in his body stiff with exhaustion. all he needs is a breather for five minutes, but you're there by the kitchen counter when he gets home. "hi baby! why don't you start with some of the stir fry i made! dunno if drinking black tea on any empty stomach is the best idea."

normally, he'd melt for your nagging and let you tug the tea bag and mug out of his hands and shove a plate of the lunch you made and a cup of water in his hands instead, and then kiss you stupid for giving a shit, but today, he bristles.

"jesus christ, can i just eat what i want for once?" his voice comes out sharp and cold in a tone he's never used on you before.

you blink, lips parting as you stand frozen in place with the wooden spoon you were using to cook laying limply in your hand. your mouth opens and then closes, and you give him a faint little nod and turn away.

he immediately notices your silence. you're never silent like this, so when you give him a faint little nod and walk off, he knows he screwed up bad. he stews on his stupidity for hours, up until you're laying in bed beside him and not once have you reminded him to put on that charcoal mask you always insist "draws out toxins."

you're just sitting beside him. not even sulking, just indifferent. you know what you're doing, of course. and it's working. he stares at the ceiling for a while, grinding his molars, heart pounding in his chest. he clears his throat in hopes of getting your attention and fails.

"not g'na remind me about the mask tonight?"

you flip a page. "no. thought you didn't want to be nagged."

he winces. actually winces.

"didn’ mean it like that, sweetheart."

"right." you're still not looking at him or touching him.

he can't survive without your fussing much longer. he doesn't have your eyes on him or your little giggles or your hands all over him and sweet night routines and it's making him crazy.

he sits up and breathes in deeply, before reaching for you quietly. you glance over with confusion just as he peels your book out of your hands. "what are you..?"

he's already tugging you across the bed, laying you down on the bed before peeling off your clothes. "simon! wh-what are you doing?" you glare up at him with confusion, squirming under him as he shimmies your panties down your legs and tossing it to the floor.

"apologizin' to m'wife."

he scoops you up and places you on his face with no warning, your pussy lined up with his mouth. he holds you there, palms spread over your ass, fingers sinking into your soft flesh, before diving in.

he groans like a starved man the second he licks into you. his tongue is slow at first, sliding between your folds, and lapping at your soft, juicy pussy. you're still half mad but you can't stop the way your head tips back as he sucks your clit into his mouth and holds it there. you squeal, bucking your hips to try and get away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure, but he doesn't let up, tilting you hips up a little so he can slip his tongue into your soaked hole.

he tongues your entrance and licks you open messily, making you squirm into his mouth. you pull at his hair and try to lift yourself off, whining. "s-simon... s'too much..!"

he slaps your ass. "you don't get to leave me like that, love. won't let you be mad at me."

[maskedbyghost]

cw: friends with benefits, angst, smut, mild possessiveness

It was supposed to be simple. That’s the part that pisses you off the most when you think about it. Because you weren’t trying to fall in love. You didn’t want a relationship, not after the last one. You were still a little bit fucked up from it, if you’re being honest. Still not sleeping great. Still carrying all that heavy stuff around that no one really talks about after a breakup. And then he showed up.

Simon.

You didn’t even like him that much at first. He was quiet, and kind of a dick honestly. Always had this hard look on his face like he didn’t care about anything. But then again, maybe that’s why you kept looking. He didn’t flirt with you like the other guys did. He didn’t compliment you or joke around. He just stared sometimes. Stared like he knew things about you that you hadn’t even said out loud yet.

And somehow, that made you feel safe. In a really stupid kind of way.

He didn’t ask you questions. You could sit next to him and say nothing, and he wouldn’t try to fix you. He’d just… be there. And that made it easier. Being around him felt like pressing pause on everything in your head.

You both agreed it would just be sex. That’s all. You said it first. Told him straight up you weren’t in the place for anything real, and he just shrugged like it didn’t make a difference either way. He wasn’t looking for more, either. No expectations, no feelings, no “what are we” conversations.

And in the beginning, that actually worked. You’d hook up after long days, or when you were lonely, or when you just needed to feel something. He’d come over late, sometimes not say more than a few words, and still end up with his mouth between your legs like he belonged there. He was rough, kind of mean about it, but it made your head go quiet, and that’s all you wanted. You didn’t need soft. You just needed to forget.

And Simon was really good at helping you forget.

It was simple, for a while at least. No cuddling, no texting unless one of you wanted something, no sleeping over unless it was late, and neither of you felt like getting up. You never kissed him unless it was during sex, he never called you baby, and you never touched his face.

But then, little things started to change. He’d linger longer after, or light your cigarette for you without saying anything. You started to recognize the sound of his boots on your stairs. And sometimes, he’d show up without texting first, but you wouldn’t mind.

You told yourself it was fine. You still weren’t asking for anything. You weren’t falling.... You weren’t hoping.

Until one day you were. And it was too late.

Because Simon? He never changed the deal. He still kept his walls up, still kept everything at arm’s length, and still fucked you like you were just a warm body and not someone who looked at him like he hung the moon.

And the worst part? You let him.

You didn’t talk much during sex. It was just a thing you both did, like it was part of the routine. Sometimes it was at his place, sometimes yours. Sometimes after a night out when you were drunk and touchy and didn’t want to sleep alone. You’d cling to his arm, pull him into a dark corner, whisper something like “Come back with me,” and he always would. He’d follow you home without hesitation.

He never smiled during it, never said sweet things, nor asked what you liked. It was like flipping a switch, one second he was just standing there, and the next his hand was in your hair and he was pushing you down on the bed without saying a word. No soft kisses. Just heavy hands and rough thrusts and that low sound he’d make when you moaned his name, like he hated how much he liked it.

He was rough in a way that made your whole body ache after. Hands on your throat, teeth on your skin. Sometimes he’d grab your face, push it into the pillow so hard it felt like he wanted to fuck you straight through it. His voice was always low, wrecked, barely there, like he was losing his mind but trying not to show it. And when he came, he’d bury himself so deep and still not stop moving, chasing something that never felt like enough.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t sweet. But god, it felt good.

Too good.

You weren’t supposed to want someone like that. You weren’t supposed to need it like that. But every time he fucked you like you were the only thing left keeping him grounded, it made your chest hurt in a way you didn’t want to admit.

And you liked it, you liked it even when it made you feel worse after.

You didn’t fall for him all at once. It happened slowly and stupidly. In the kind of way where you didn’t even notice it at first, because you were too busy pretending it was still casual.

It was little stuff. Like how he always stood behind you in a crowd, not touching you or anything, just close enough that you could feel him, like a wall at your back. Or how he’d rest his hand on your lower back when you crossed the street, not saying a word, not even looking at you. Just doing it like it was natural. Like he cared without meaning to.

Sometimes, he stayed the night. Not every time, or often enough for it to mean something, but still it happened. He never cuddled, never reached for you after. He would just lay there, breathing heavily like he was thinking too loud. He didn’t sleep much, and you didn’t either. You’d stare at the ceiling, both of you pretending the silence didn’t feel like it was screaming.

You wanted to believe that meant something. That even if he couldn’t say it, he felt something. That he kept coming back because he needed you, not just your body. You started reaching for him more, after, during, even before. Just little touches. A kiss on the cheek, a hand on his chest, or a soft press of your lips when he was still inside you.

But the more you gave, the more he pulled back. Like he could feel you slipping, and it scared him. Like he already knew where this was headed and was trying to stop it before it got worse.

He started fucking you harder when you tried to kiss him slow. Rougher, meaner, almost. Like he was trying to shove the feelings out of both of you. Like he thought if he could just fuck the softness out of it, it would go back to the way it was.

And he’d leave faster. No lingering, talking, or sitting on the edge of the bed while you pulled on your shirt. He’d zip up his hoodie, say something stupid like “I’ll see you around,” and disappear like it didn’t mean anything.

But it meant something to you. And you think, deep down, it meant something to him, too.

He just didn’t know what to do with it. So he did what he always did... he ran.

That night felt different before anything even started. You don’t know how to explain it exactly. It was quiet, but not the good kind. Not the comfortable kind. Just this weird silence sitting between you like something waiting to be said. You didn’t say it, of course. You never did. He was already pulling your shirt off, already undoing his belt, already pushing you back like it was routine.

And it was. That was the thing. It had become routine.

But you couldn’t keep doing it like this anymore. You were tired. Tired of feeling used even when he wasn’t trying to use you. Tired of pretending it didn’t matter that he never looked at you when he came. Tired of giving everything and getting nothing back.

So you tried something different.

You didn’t moan for him the way he liked. Didn’t arch your back or scratch at his shoulders or whisper how good he felt. You just… touched his face. Softly. Like it was something you’d been wanting to do for a long time but were scared he’d push you away.

Your fingers brushed his cheek. Your thumb barely touched the scar near his jaw, and you just said, “Slow down.”

That was it. Just two words. And he snapped.

His hand went around your throat so fast it made your breath catch. His other hand grabbed your wrists, shoved them into the pillow, and held them there like you’d done something wrong. And then he started fucking you harder, rougher. Like he was trying to erase what you’d just done.

You didn’t say anything, couldn’t. His hips were slamming into you like he was mad, but not at you. Like he was mad at himself. Or maybe the world. Or maybe just the way your voice sounded when you asked for more than he could give.

“Don’t,” he growled into your neck, and his voice didn’t even sound like him. It sounded like someone scared.

You didn’t cry. Not right then.

You just lay there and took it. Let him fuck you like he always did, let him pretend it didn’t mean anything, even though it did. You felt it, how desperate it was, how shaky his breath was when he finally finished, how his hands didn’t let go even when it was over.

But you knew. You finally knew.

He couldn’t love you. Not the way you wanted. Not the way you needed.

And something deep in your chest cracked open. Just enough to let the cold in.

You didn’t say a word after. Just rolled over when he got up. Pulled the blanket up to your chest and stared at the wall, blinking too fast, trying not to let the tears win.

And he left like nothing happened.

But everything had.

The next time you saw him, you already knew it would be the last. It felt different the second you let him in, like there was something in the air that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. You didn’t smile, he didn’t kiss you. You just walked back into your room in silence, still wearing the oversized shirt you’d borrowed from him weeks ago, the one you never meant to keep, the one that smelled like him no matter how many times you washed it, and you stood there with your arms crossed like you were trying to hold yourself together, like saying what you were about to say would physically hurt.

And it did.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, and your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to. You didn’t look at him because you knew if you did, if you saw the way he blinked at you, or the way his jaw clenched, or the way he didn’t even flinch like he saw this coming, it would break you in half. So you stared at the floor, or the wall, or anywhere but him, and you just said it. Because if you didn’t say it now, you never would.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t ask why. He just sat down slowly on the edge of your bed, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, and the rise and fall of his chest was shaky, like he couldn’t catch his breath, like your words had knocked the wind out of him but he was too proud to show it.

“I knew this would happen,” he said finally, and his voice wasn’t cold, it wasn’t empty—it was just tired. Like he was mad at himself. “Eventually.”

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and you could feel your throat starting to close up, feel the sting building behind your eyes, and your whole body felt heavy. “I wanted to pretend it wouldn’t,” you whispered, your hands twisting in the hem of his shirt, your voice cracking even though you were trying to stay calm, “but I can’t. I love you. And you don’t—or you won’t. And I can’t keep asking for something you’re scared to give.”

That made him look up.

His face was blank at first; he was trying to process it, trying to understand how it had gotten to this point, even though you both knew exactly how. And then he stood, slowly, like he was afraid too sudden a move would scare you off, and he walked toward you with that careful look he only got when he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing but was still trying anyway.

And then he kissed you.

Soft, at first, because he wasn’t sure if you’d let him. Maybe he thought you’d push him away. But you didn’t. You kissed him back even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. You let him press you into the wall, let his hands slide up under the shirt that technically wasn’t his anymore, let his mouth find your neck, your collarbone, your lips again, and none of it felt like the usual heat, it just felt sad and desperate.

You let him fuck you because you knew this was the last time. You let him take you to bed and pull your underwear down and slide inside like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

His hands were rough like always, his teeth scraped your skin, his thrusts were deep, a little too fast, a little too rough—but there was a shakiness in the way he held you, like maybe he already hated himself for letting it get to this point. He didn’t know how to say any of the things you needed to hear, so he fucked you instead.

And then, just when you thought that was all it was going to be—just another night, just another goodbye—he slowed down.

He stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, and he didn’t move. Just held you there, skin to skin, and everything about him felt different all of a sudden... softer... scared.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, so quiet it almost didn’t sound like him.

Your chest tightened, and your voice broke when you tried to answer. “Then why didn’t you—”

“Because if I let myself love you, I’d lose you anyway,” he said, and his voice was raw now. “You’d wake up one day and realise I’m not enough. That I can’t be what you need. That you deserve better than someone like me. Someone who’s barely hanging on. Someone who doesn’t know how to hold you without wondering if he’s gonna fuck it all up.”

You touched his face slowly. Like you were afraid he’d flinch away. But he didn’t. He let you, for the first time, he really let you.

“I don’t want someone else,” you whispered, and your thumb brushed his cheek, and your eyes were wet even though you were trying not to fall apart. “I wanted you. I still do.”

And when he started to move again, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and deep. Like he was trying to give you everything he’d held back for so long. His hands ran over your body like he was learning it all over again. His lips pressed to your shoulder, your jaw, your mouth. He looked at you the whole time, like he didn’t want to forget your face.

“I love you,” he said, and his voice shook, and his thrusts stayed steady, “I love you, I love you....fuck, I love you.”

You cried into his kiss. Your hands wrapped around his neck and your body trembled as he whispered all the stupid, sweet things he never let himself say before. You’re mine. I’ll do better. I need you. Please don’t leave.

And then, somewhere in the middle of it, somewhere between your broken sobs and his desperate kisses, he grabbed you tight, pulled you against him, and whispered it like a promise, like a threat, like a man who was finally ready to fight for something.

“Fuck that,” he growled, his voice suddenly shaking with something angry and scared and real. “You’re not leaving me. You’re mine. I don’t care how bad I am at this. I’m not letting you go.”

You were still crying. He was still shaking. And everything was still so goddamn complicated.

But he stayed, and that was a start.

---------------------------------------------

idk what this is honestly ...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373

[anonf1writer]

Lando gives you his 4 tally mark necklace so everyone knows you're his 😍

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written. 3,1k words. warning: suggestive language. +18. note: this took me almost two months to get done. I'm so, so sorry! I hope you're still around to read it, and I hope I didn't disappoint. Thanks for the request, it means a lot to me!

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The context of your relationship with Lando was easy to describe: you two had met through mutual friends less than a year ago, started casually hooking up right away, and had been officially dating for over six months now.

Giving the nature of Lando’s occupation, and the attention his every move got, things were still pretty private between you, meaning that the general public new nothing about your existence yet. Or of what was happening behind closed doors. Like the fact that you had met each other’s families, that you were comfortable around each other’s friends, and that at this point your visits to his apartment had been frequent enough for you to consider his place a little bit yours, too.

For the most part, when he was traveling and busy being a Formula 1 driver, you spent your time at your own place, doing your own thing. But on those weekends when he was back, or during those rare two or three days off in between races, you joined him in a blink of an eye. No invitation needed—not anymore. Both always on the same page when it came to making the most of it, as in everything, together.

On that particular Monday night, the one that set this storyline into motion, it wasn’t any different. You and Lando were at home, his home that was slowly becoming your home, and one of your closest friends was over for some wine and food. The two of you enjoying each other’s company in the living room, laughing and gossiping on the couch, while Lando distracted himself and livestreamed with his own friends behind closed doors. Nothing big, nothing new.

Sometimes, as you two blabbered and laughed, he would pop out of the room to get a snack, to go to the restroom, or just to check up on you. Just to say hello. To make a silly joke and move on. Never a big deal. Never anything that interrupted the conversation that was going on between you and your friend. Not even when the topic shifted to your new co-worker, a guy who had joined the company you worked at less than three weeks ago, and had quickly developed a not-so-subtle crush on you.

“What about that guy from work?” your friend asked, synced with the opening of Lando’s game room door. “Is he still texting you at random hours?”

Busy chewing the last remains of your pizza, you just grimaced and shook your head. Then watched Lando cross the living room and disappear into the kitchen.

“I think…” you said, then stopped to swallow the food, “I think he finally got the message.”

“Good...” Your friend nodded, and took a sip of her wine. “What was his name again?”

“Vincent.”

Mimicking her earlier movements, you leaned in and grabbed your half-finished glass from the coffee table. And then, as you were sitting back and bringing the wine to your lips, a tiny snort left your nose, and you shook your head. All to yourself.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing... He just followed me on insta the other day.”

“Shut up...”

“Mhm…”

You sipped more of your wine, watching your friend frown as you did so.

“How did he even find you?”

“I don’t know…” You shrugged. “But he did, and then he liked a bunch of my older pictures.”

“Noooo!”

“Yeah…”

“Oh my God! Can a guy ever read the room?”

A soft chuckle left your mouth.

“I didn’t follow him back tho, so again, I think he got the message.”

“He knows you’ve got a boyfriend, right?”

You shrugged again, then shuffled on the couch, pulling your legs up and making yourself comfortable.

“Everyone at the office knows, so maybe someone told him? I don’t know.”

“Wait, so you didn’t tell him?”

“I  didn’t even tell him my name, let alone the fact that I’m dating someone I can’t really talk about.”

Your friend rolled her eyes, and then sighed. “Look, I think it’s lovely how consistent you two are on keeping each other a secret, but just this once I think you should tell him you’re dating and therefore not available.”

At that, it was your time to roll your eyes. “Or... He could realize I’ve done nothing to suggest I’m interest and back off because I don’t want him.”

“Right,” she laughed. “You’re talking about a guy that’s been acting like a creep.”

“Exactly. So if he bothers me again, I’ll raise a complaint to HR for harassing.”

You changed the topic after that, and a few minutes later Lando stepped out of the kitchen, the salad he had ordered in hands. He paused to chat a bit with you two, then kissed your temple and made his way back to the game room.

Eventually, your friend said goodbye and left Lando’s apartment, and you took a moment to clean up the mess left behind. Lando was still busy in his own world, his loud laughter vibrating through the walls and making you laugh along from time to time.

It was on your way to the bedroom that you decided to stop by. Just to let him know.

You knocked on the door once, and then another two times—the code you had unintentionally created to avoid interrupting his livestream and getting caught on camera.

“Yeah?” he shouted, but you knew better than shout back at him. Instead, you cracked the door open slightly. Barely. Only enough for you to peek inside and glance at him.

Lando’s eyes were already waiting for you, his head turned to the side while he fully leaned back into his chair.

“Heyyy…” he breathed out, lips curling up into the cutest, softest smile while he stretched his arms up in the air.

“Hey...” you whispered back, lips curling up as well.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you said quietly. “Just saying hi before I get to bed.”

Lando dropped his arms and placed his hands on his lap, then tilted his chin towards the computer.

“It’s muted,” he said. “No need to be quiet.”

You raised your eyebrows, not changing the volume of your voice as you answered, “That’s what you said last time.”

Lando’s smile got bigger, and his eyes wrinkled at the sides. Mischief and playfulness taking all over his expression at the mention of that chaotic memory—when a female voice laughed loudly in the background of an allegedly muted livestream and caused a very serious online meltdown.

“I checked twice,” Lando said, turning back to the camera and giving a thumbs up. “Right, chat? You can’t hear me right now, can ya?”

He leaned in, then, squeezing his eyes to the screen.

“See? They are all lecturing me. Lando, we can’t hear you. Mic’s off, Lando. Lando turn your mic on. Lan—”

“Okay, okay.” You rolled your eyes and pressed your temple against the frame, but a soft chuckle still left your chest at his silliness. “Got it, yeah.”

He leaned back and turned his head to you, smugness written all over him. “Told ya. I learn from my mistakes.”

He winked. And, once again, you raised your eyebrows.

“They can still see tho, can’t they? So don’t get cocky.”

“You’ve barely opened the door,” he laughed. “Not even I can see you, I doubt they’ll be able to.”

“Yeah? Just watch them read your lips or start analysing who you’re talking to so late at night.”

“C’mon…” he laughed again. Head tilting back as he faced the ceiling. “Don’t be si—”

“Ooookay…” you snorted and stepped back from the door, a little too tired to get into one of his playful arguments. “I’ll save you from finishing that sentence.”

“What? C’mon… I’m just teasing.”

“I know. You’re having fun while I’m worried trying to protect your wishes. Then tomorrow you’ll be snapping at me because someone found out you’re not alone and I’ll have to watch you overthink while trying to find ways to prove I don’t exist.”

The world paused around you.

Time paused inside the room.

You watched the moment his face fell. How his expression changed along with the drop of his shoulders. As if some unknown truth had been thrown at him.

And just like that, regret dawned on you, a tight knot twisting low in your gut as you tried to make sense of your words. Of your abrupt change of mood.

You looked down to your feet and sighed, your voice coming out like a whisper when you spoke again. “Sorry… I don’t know why I said that.”

Lando nodded.

You noticed his movements, the way he turned back to his computer and leaned forward to reach his keyboard. How he typed, then clicked a few things, and then how everything went off. Heavy silence easily filling the room.

“C’mere,” he said, once again leaning back into his chair, then fully turning it towards you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, and Lando tilted his head slightly to the side. “Please?” He stretched his arm to you. “I’m not streaming anymore, I promise.”

You checked the screen, just to be sure, then dropped your arms to your sides and sighed. Embarrassment taking over your chest—and flushing across your neck and cheeks—as you walked towards him.

Lando didn’t wait for you to stand in front of him before reaching out for your waist, hands grabbing your sides and pulling you down to his lap with the easiness of someone who had pulled that move hundreds of times before.

You gasped, even squealed a little, a smile curving your mouth as you adjusted yourself to sit on his thighs. Body to the side and legs hanging in the air. Arms circling around his neck. Eyes settling inside his gaze.

Silent.

Comfortable.

Easy.

“Sorry,” you said. Again. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

“I know,” Lando smiled, placing your hair behind your ear, then cradling your cheek. “I never tried to prove you don’t exist. You know that, right?”

“Of course, yeah.”

“Is it how I make you feel, tho? Like I’m trying to hide you or something?”

“No... C’mon... I understand why you’re so... Protective. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Ok…” He nodded, arms settling around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to him. “Just making sure.”

“Sorry for making you end the stream.”

Lando smiled. “Thank you for making me end the stream.”

A smile grew on your face, too.

There was a pause, in which he held your stare in silence as he moved one hand to the back of your neck.

“C’mere,” he said, then pulled you in, his lips brushing over yours once, then twice. Slowly. Softly. As if it was the first time he was getting a taste of them. As if he wasn’t really sure he was allowed to do that.

Your chest fluttered, and you leaned into him. Melted into him. Eyes falling shut and hands moving to curl tightly around his jumper. To hold onto its neckline like you were afraid he would suddenly stop and leave. Like he could vanish.

A low, contented hum escaped him, almost like he didn’t mean it. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he was melting into you, too. Hand pressing on the nape of your neck and arm anchoring around your waist, guiding the pace while he tilted his head and deepened the kiss.

You exhaled through your nose and followed his lead. Stomach flipping and thoughts blurring. Getting lost into the tenderness and casually of it. Into how personal, intimate, and affectionate it felt. How soft, how steady, how electric it was. The way he moved, the way he sounded, the way he tasted. How he treated you with respect and carefulness, like you were the most delicate and precious thing in the world, and yet made you feel breathless and powerless, like you could die if you didn’t get more of it. Of him. Or this.

And then, Lando pulled away. Panting. Hand still holding the back of your head and lips still brushing yours when he asked, “Who’s Victor?”

Your lips searched for him, unwillingly. Automatically. Your body craving for more before his words clicked inside your mind.

He didn’t stop you, kissing you back and allowing your mouths to ghost over each other as you spoke between kisses. Never quite gone.

“Victor?” you asked.

“Mhmm…” His nose bumped against yours, and he slipped his hand between your hair, making sure you wouldn’t lose the pace.

“I don’t… Hmm… I don’t know… Shit… Who’s Victor?”

“I don’t know…” he repeated. “Someone that’s been hitting on my girlfriend… Or so I’ve heard…”

You blinked your eyes open and flinched back. Just an inch. As far as he allowed you to. Only enough to meet his eyes.

“What?”

Lando shrugged, and you licked your lips. Trying to gather your thoughts. Trying to make sense of what the heck was going on.

“You mean Vincent?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled you back in, his lips barely touching yours before he was tilting your head back and moving them down your jaw.

“Potato, patahto,” he murmured, his warm breath hitting your neck while he kept smothering your skin. Your throat. “Still hitting on my girlfriend.”

A smirk grew on your lips, and you closed your eyes, feeling his lips kissing your sensitive spots. Feeling his tongue getting its own taste, his teeth grazing right behind.

“Didn’t know you were listening to us...”

“Was I supposed not to?”

He sucked onto your sweet spot, and you gasped. Thighs clenching and fingers twisting even tighter around his jumper.

“Fuck…” you breathed out.

“I know…” Lando murmured, brushing the tip of his nose up and down the same spot. “I wonder how many until I leave a mark…”

“You never leave any…”

“Maybe I should start…”

He kissed you again, softly, moving his mouth and making sure no inch would go unattended.

Heat built low in your belly, slow and relentless, and you shuffled on his lap—even though the position you were in didn’t allow you to feel much of him.

“Jealous?” you managed to ask.

Lando snorted and pulled away, guiding your head so you would look at him.

“Just annoyed… Pissed, actually… Why is some random guy texting you and going through your photos? Who the fuck does he think he is?”

You smiled, hands loosening up around his clothing and moving up through the back of his neck. Fingers tangling with his curls as you said, “Someone who stopped texting after I left him on read, and who never got a follow back from me…”

“Hm…” He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut while you ran your nails up and down his scalp. “Can’t say I’m not happy to hear that.”

You chuckled. “Did you think I’d react differently?”

“No…” he said, eyes meeting yours again. “But as confident in our relationship as I am, can’t ever get too comfortable, can I?”

You tilted your head, not really knowing what to say at that.

Thankfully, Lando didn’t give you too much time to think about it before he added, “Don’t want him to think you’re single, tho.”

“We don’t know if he thinks that.”

“Then I want to make sure he knows you’re taken.”

You smiled. “I’m taken, huh?”

Lando rolled his eyes, hands sliding down your spine while he stretched his back and got taller underneath you.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice an octave lower and fingers reaching to the hem of your sweater. “Just like I’m yours. Yeah?”

You nodded, curling your body to place your forehead against his. Feeling his bare touch pressing on your lower back, warm and needy.

“Yeah... You know I am… Yours.”

“I know… I want him to know, tho. Not just him, everyone.”

“Lan…” you sighed. “If this is because of what I said, you don’t have to—”

“Not saying this because of what happened,” he said. “I’m saying it because I love you and because you’re beautiful and I don’t want stupid wankers hitting on you when I’m not around.”

“Well… That’s not really fair, is it? I can’t stop girls from hitting on you while you’re not around.”

“Babe, not one single girl has flirted or—”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Loudly enough that you had to bring one hand to cover your mouth.

Lando smiled. And you noticed how something softened inside him. How he dropped his shoulders. How his touch went from greedy to affectionate. Still pulling you closer, still holding you in place, but with a different intention behind it.

 “I mean it, tho,” he said. “I don’t want to keep hiding it anymore. I heard when you said I’m someone you can’t really talk about, and I don’t want you to feel that. I want you to say ‘I’ve got a boyfriend’ and throw my name into a conversation if you feel like it. Just… Y’know… Want it to be natural.”

You pressed your lips together and sighed, pushing the playfulness aside to understand the seriousness of what he was suggesting with that.

“Okay… But just so you know, this feels natural to me. I don’t have to say ‘my boyfriend Lando Norris’ for me to talk about you. People who know me know I’m not single, the only reason why I haven’t told Vincent it’s because I haven’t really sat to chat with him. He saw me twice and decided it would be a good idea to get my number without even asking me about it.”

“Fucking idiot.” 

“Right?”

“Can’t really blame him, though… Kinda hard to look at you and not to fall in love.”

“Oh my God…” You rolled your eyes, but also smiled, shoving his shoulder playfully before hugging his neck. “Shut up.”

He did as you told, busying himself by kissing you instead of talking again.

From then on, the kissing melted into something more. The chair becoming uncomfortable to hold so much want and so much need from both of you, and your touches and steps guiding you blindly to his bedroom. To your bedroom. To your bed. Clothes getting lost along the way.

“I love you,” he said, over and over again.

Stealing your breath away.

Making you forget your name.

How you got there in the first place.

Until you were shaking and falling on top of him, his hips digging and pushing until he got the last bit of pleasure out of you. Of him. Of both.

Erratic. Intense. Everything.

The next morning, Lando left earlier than you. You didn’t even hear him, didn’t even feel him. Tangled and sprawled in the sheets. Blissfully happy. Satisfied.

You saw it when your alarm went off, though. His tally mark necklace, his number four shining in the sunlight. Right on top of his pillow. And a post it right in between the two.

For you. So everyone knows you’re mine ;) Love you. LN.

And that’s how it happened.

That’s how you ended up clasping his necklace around your neck.

And that’s how now, every time you think of him, you bring your hand to your chest and hold onto him. How you know he’s always there, like a part of you. Loving you. Whether everyone knows it...

Or not.

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[okaylikeschaewon]

Undeserved

~6k words, Dating Seraphs Part 11

“How much longer do you plan on waiting?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“How about, I don’t know, talk to her?” Sakura snaps back sarcastically, mouth agape and eyes wide, feigning shock with that tiny head shake she does. “Crazy idea, I know.”

You let a heavy breath escape your lips – you know she’s right. It still leaves you feeling dejected, but it’s hard to complain when you’re the one who asked her to join you for dinner.

“It’s not that simple,” you mutter, squishing a fry between your fingers, squeezing it until the potato mush spills out. “Thanks for coming by the way, I know you’re busy this week.”

“I’m just here for the free meal,” Sakura replies with her cheeks full. “We had most of the day off anyway.”

“You know, I never really understood that,” you lean back and drop the fry. “Even back in the day, buying you food was always the answer to everything. Angry? Food. Happy? Food. Tired? Food.”

Sakura brings a hand up to cover her mouth before she speaks. “What? A girl can’t like food? Is that really such a foreign concept to you?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t get why an idol would go crazy over food as if they can’t afford any meal they want.”

“It’s more about the concept of free food,” Sakura pauses to take a sip. “Like, a free sandwich beats one I buy for myself. See this?” she holds it up. “This is amazing.”

“How? If it’s the same sandwich–”

“You just won’t get it,” Sakura shakes her head with a sigh, already fed up with you. “There’s also the freedom to get whatever we want when someone is treating us. Although, now that I think about it, the company doesn’t really track me anymore. I guess I’ve been around long enough for them to stop worrying so much.”

“Ah right, strict diets,” you sit back up. “Well, you make sure to take care of your body, that’s probably why they don’t press you as much anymore.”

“Implying they had to before? I guess I didn’t take care of my body,” Sakura casually picks up her sandwich and admires it, calculating her next bite. “That’s sweet of you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Right,” Sakura replies curtly. “I eat too much and don’t take care of my body, I hear you.”

“I meant they trust you now,” you roll your eyes. “And for good reason, you look great lately.”

“Lately?”

“Sakura…”

She chuckles quietly. “I’m just giving you shit, I know what you're trying to say. I appreciate it.”

“You really haven’t changed at all.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she smirks before taking the last bite of her sandwich.

“Bit of both, I guess,” you answer quietly, pushing your tray forward.

Sakura frowns and her eyes soften with empathy. “You barely touched your food,” she notes gently after swallowing her bite.

“I didn’t have much of an appetite to begin with honestly.”

“The fuck?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sakura demands. “We didn’t have to go out, we could have just chilled somewhere quiet. Why would you offer to take me out to dinner if you weren’t hungry? You know how much I hate when you do this.”

“Didn’t you just say your sandwich is amazing?” you laugh.

“Well, yeah–”

“And that’s why I didn’t say anything,” you flash her a small smile. “Like I said, you really haven’t changed at all.”

Sakura’s shoulders slump and she gives you that ‘really?’ look. “That’s not fair,” she whines.

“It’s not like I’m throwing it out,” you chuckle. “I’ll pack it to go. Maybe I’ll leave it in your fridge for you to have tomorrow.”

“You’re annoying,” Sakura pouts as you flag down your waitress. “I never would have agreed to this if I knew you weren’t eating.”

“I know,” you respond, barely paying attention to her as the waitress walks over. “Kinda reinforcing my point Kkura.”

There’s a bit of a pause while you start packing your leftovers into the box. Sakura’s glaring at you, and you’re waiting for her to say what you know she wants to say.

“You can keep pouting or you can spit it out.”

“At least let me pay,” she pleads.

“We both know I don’t need that,” you chuckle. “I invited you for your company, the food was secondary.”

She frowns, but this time it’s not with anger, it’s more supportive and empathetic.

“Look, it’s just like we talked about this morning in the car,” she starts. “Just go, be honest with everything, and then whatever happens next isn’t in your control.”

You look up to face her again. “I get that, but that’s also exactly what’s making it so tough,” you reply. “Maybe I moved too fast, maybe I fucked up.”

“Oh my God, shut up with that,” Sakura rolls her eyes. “Maybe you did fuck up, maybe you’ll regret it one day, but I saw that glow you had this morning when you walked out of our room. That smile? I didn’t need details, I could see it, your dumbass was not regretting the decision this morning.”

“W-We just talked–”

“I said I don’t need details,” Sakura repeats firmly while crossing her arms.

“Sorry,” you notice the subtle blush of her cheeks – Kazuha probably told her anyway. You hesitate for a moment.

“I’m not judging you for it,” Sakura reads your mind. “Especially not after seeing Kazuha also with that same glow. She really likes you, don’t fuck this up.”

“Thanks,” you mumble quietly, a bit embarrassed.

“But promise me one thing,” Sakura uncrosses her arms and leans forward. “Please talk to Chaewon before you and Kazuha…” her voice trails off. “She doesn’t need to know about this morning, but please do right by Chaewon and talk to her soon, she deserves at least that much.”

“I know,” you sigh, standing up in your chair. “I’ll talk to her tonight. I promise.”

—

“Do you think I could talk to Zuha, for just a minute?”

Sakura makes a face, eyes squinted and full of judgement. “You get a minute before I’m walking in, and I better not see something that I don’t want to see,” she crosses her arms and steps aside.

“Thanks,” you give her a quick side-hug before entering their room.

Inside, Kazuha is sitting on the floor stretching with her phone propped up in front of her. Once she notices you, she immediately takes out her earbuds and hops to her feet.

“Hey,” she smiles warmly.

“Hey,” you walk up to her and place your hands on her hips. “I’m sorry for ignoring your message, I was caught up with dinner and then driving.”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t worried,” she places her arms around your shoulders.

“Zuha,” you move a little bit closer. “Be honest with me. Do you think we’re moving a bit too fast?”

“Yeah,” she answers without missing a beat, catching you a bit off guard. “This might be my first attempt at some sort of relationship, but even I know how much of a risk we’re taking.”

“A risk…” you whisper under your breath. You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting her to say, but it wasn’t that. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Are you?” she asks quietly.

You hesitate for a moment to think before answering.

“Well…”

“It’s Chaewon,” Kazuha interrupts. “Isn’t it?”

“I guess that wasn’t very hard to deduce,” you sigh. “Yeah, I have no idea how she’s going to react.”

Kazuha drops her hands off your shoulders and flashes you a pursed-lip smile while taking a step back.

“It’s not too late to just forget about this,” Kazuha says softly.

“No,” you squeeze your hold on her hips and pull her back.

“I’m not changing my mind or anything,” Kazuha clarifies quickly. “I’m just being realistic.”

“Realistic?”

“This morning, you came to me and asked me to be your girlfriend,” Kazuha explains slowly. “I guess, in the moment, I answered with my feelings before really thinking about how this would even work.”

“I probably jumped the gun,” you admit softly. “I was also acting on feelings, without really thinking.”

“Right, and that’s not something I’m blaming you for,” Kazuha continues. “But are you… are you going to break up with Chaewon? How does this even work?”

“If we’re going to be together, properly,” you start slowly. “I think I’ll have to, yeah.”

“What if I said you don’t?” Kazuha whispers, avoiding your gaze.

A rush of warmth quickly shoots through your body. “What?” you stammer.

“I just mean, you should talk to her about it first before we decide anything,” Kazuha explains with a meek smile. “She’s one of my best friends, and I know you still love her, so I don’t want you to break up with her for nothing. This won’t work without her… permission? I don’t know if that’s the right word.”

“But Zuha…”

“There’s really nothing you can say to convince me,” Kazuha interrupts. “I really like you, and I want this. Really want this. But it all depends on what Chaewon says, if she’s… I’m sorry but… I won’t be able to…”

“Alright,” you agree, but deep down you know there’s no chance Chaewon doesn’t get hurt by all of this. You don’t know what to do anymore, and the feelings of losing both of them start to settle in. How can you even consider what Kazuha is suggesting? It doesn’t feel fair to either girl.

“If it’s any consolation,” Kazuha says softly. “Reality is, we can’t undo what we did.”

“And I wouldn’t even if we could.”

“Me neither,” she smiles and steps a little bit closer and stares right into your eyes. “I meant what I said about you, and if you meant what you said about me…”

You lean in and close your eyes, moving forward slowly until you feel the softness of Kazuha’s lips against yours. That sweet, delicate emotion that you yearned for, it simply washed away your worries in the most cliché way possible. As your tongue slowly eases into Kazuha’s mouth, you forget about the messiness, you forget about any conflictions.

At some point without realizing it, you’ve started moving forward, slowly edging Kazuha backwards until her body presses against the wall. You let go of her hips and caress her face with your palms as your lips part just slightly, only to immediately press back together. Her hands end up on your back.

She’s more comforting than you could have imagined, and you can almost feel literal heat emanating from her body right into yours. The kiss burns with this intense passion, intoxicating and obsessive, you feel Kazuha’s nails clawing at your skin, digging absentmindedly into your body. You hardly remember to breathe.

Then, as you’re leaning into the kiss, you feel her entire body jolt.

“Ah!” she lets out a small squeal.

“What happened?” you quickly pull back.

She scrunches up her face in frustration – it’s beyond adorable – as she reaches up behind her and takes a clip out of her hair. “It got caught,” she giggles, holding the clip up in front of you.

“Stupid clip,” you take it from her hands and toss it out the open window before leaning in for another kiss.

Kazuha lets out another quick giggle before she returns the kiss. She pushes her tongue against yours, intertwining and twisting playfully. She even eases a hand up the back of your shirt, sliding her fingers against your skin.

She gives you the courage to slide your hands down her body. You get to appreciate the curves, that impossibly toned core of hers, each muscular little ridge of her skin against your fingers. You squeeze your hands around her hips until they’re planted against her lower back.

Carefully, you move a tiny bit lower. You’re hesitant, but that doesn’t last long as Kazuha starts leaning deeper into the kiss. You start sliding your hands lower until they’re resting against her ass, and she doesn’t hesitate for even a moment. Not when you give her a little pat, and not when you grab her ass hard with your entire palm.

Her body is unreal, you can’t even believe how good she feels – so soft, yet toned. You give her ass another slap and her body jerks before she pulls you closer and pushes her tongue deeper into your mouth. She gives you a light, playful bite on the lips before finally moving back.

Your lips slowly part and you’re left smiling at each other for a moment, just taking it all in. You can’t believe how beautiful she looks right now, so soft and delicate, so pure.

“I’m gonna need that clip back at some point,” she giggles in a hushed tone.

“Spur of the moment,” you laugh softly. “I’ll go find it later.”

She giggles one last time before pushing you away. As she walks past you, the door clicks and Sakura enters the room, glaring at you.

“One minute?”

—

Chaewon’s door is staring you in the face. She’s inside. Waiting. Still, you’re standing in front of it, trying to think of any excuse – but there is none. You have to get this over with, whatever happens, you need to tell Chaewon. It was time.

“Are you lost?”

“Hmm?” you look back over your shoulder to see Yunjin staring at you, confused.

“I’ve been watching you for like three minutes now,” Yunjin chuckles. “You didn’t even hear me come up the stairs.”

“Sorry, I’ve just been… I don’t actually know what I’m doing…”

“It’s a funny coincidence,” Yunjin walks up next to you. “But I ran into Sakura doing the same thing this morning outside of her room.”

“Oh?”

Yunjin leans a bit closer and speaks quietly. “She gave me a bit of a rundown of the situation.”

“So you know why I’m standing here?” you let out a feeble chuckle. “And you probably hate me now.”

“I don’t hate you, don’t be an idiot,” Yunjin hits your arm. “I understand what you’re going through, and I also understand it’s not easy, even if I don’t know all the details.”

You sigh deeply. “Well, Yunjin, my advice to you, one girl at a time.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life,” Yunjin chuckles as she walks over to her room. “Good luck with everything, rooting for you!”

The sound of Yunjin’s door closing echoes through your ears as you muster up the courage to rap your knuckles against the wooden door twice before turning the handle.

“Chae?” you announce through the crack. “You there?”

“Yeah, come in,” she calls back.

You open the door wider and enter, taking a moment to close it behind you before walking over to Chaewon’s bed. She’s sitting with her knees up and her phone in hand, watching you with a tiny smile on her face, one that screams ‘happy to see you, but exhausted’.

“Hey,” she sighs softly.

“Long day?” you take a seat on the bed next to her legs. She straightens them out and you open your body up to her while placing a hand on her thigh, massaging it delicately.

“Long week,” she smiles meekly, tossing her phone to the side. “I basically slept all day, my body just wasn’t having it.”

“I’m glad you finally got some rest,” you reply softly as your gaze fixes itself onto the hand you were lightly pressing into her thigh.

Chaewon reaches forward and lays her hand on top of yours. “What’d you get up to all day? You eat dinner yet?”

“Yeah, right before coming here,” you answer quietly.

“Good, good,” Chaewon continues gently. “So,” she draws out the word extra long. “Your text said you needed to talk about something?”

“Right,” you stare down at your lap for a moment before taking in a deep breath and looking up at her. “I’m just going to get straight to the point. Do you remember when you told me that if I ever was to develop some sort of feelings for Zuha, that I needed to tell you?”

“Ah…” Chaewon pulls her hand back. “That’s right, I did say that.”

“Well, I spent some time with her this morning…” you pause and watch as Chaewon leans over to grab a couple of tissues.

She places them on her lap and looks up at you again. “What? Keep going, these are just in case I need them after what you’re about to tell me.”

“Chae,” you whisper as you scoot closer to her. “I need to tell you the truth.”

She tries to smile through it, clearly incapable of forming words, settling for a small nod as her eyes already start to shine.

“I’ve been think–”

“Did you have sex again?” Chaewon blurts out.

It catches you off guard and you freeze.

“This morning,” Chaewon continues as her cheeks burn red and her eyes glow. “You said you spent some time with her this morning… I was just curious.”

“We–”

“It’s fine if you did. I told you it’s okay,” she adds. “I’m not upset.”

“Chae…” the word hardly has time to escape your lips before tears begin streaming down Chaewon’s face. You lean forward and wrap your arms around her.

She squeezes back and you tighten your grip, holding her body against yours. You rub her back gently with one hand while the other caresses the back of her head.

“So it is true,” Chaewon sniffles into your shoulder. “I’m not enough.”

“Don’t–,” you choke up, voice cracking. “It’s not like that.”

The two of you hold each other in silence for a moment, steadying the other, trying to stop the other from trembling. She takes in a deep breath and leans away from you, eyes bloodshot.

“Knew I’d need these,” she lets out a small, pained laugh as she takes a tissue and dabs at her eye before holding one up for you to take.

“I wish it wasn’t like this, but it’s not about you being enough or not,” you say, rejecting the tissue and letting your tears flow freely down your face. “I just think I might have feelings for her, and that has nothing to do with you not being good enough.”

Chaewon lets her hands drop into her lap. “If I was a better girlfriend–”

“Don’t,” you intervene firmly. “You’ve been nothing short of perfect.”

“But–”

“That’s the only reason I’m even coming to you and being honest about everything,” you continue. “Because I trust you. And love you.”

Chaewon’s lower lip trembles as she fights back a fresh wave of tears. “I love you too.”

You give her a moment to compose herself before you continue.

“But I need to know what we’re going to do about this,” you add softly. “I… I do want to see things out with her.”

A single tear slides down her face, unwiped.

“I am so sorry,” you rub your eyes with the back of your hand as the sight of her launches you over an emotional cliff. “So, so, so fucking sorry for being an asshole. You deserve so much better.”

“You’re not an asshole,” Chaewon mutters, her voice cracking under her feelings. She stares at you with dewy eyes, beautiful as ever, and then she hesitates for a moment before sniffling and speaking up again. “Do… are you… what do you want to do exactly?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Chaewon chuckles as she wipes her eyes again. “I think you should see it through with Zuha.”

It feels as if the world around you stops. A wave of heat courses through your body as you question whether or not you heard her correctly. It almost hurts, even though this is your decision, it almost feels like Chaewon is breaking up with you.

“I think that’s the most fair, for everyone,” Chaewon continues softly. “You see it through with Zuha. Properly. And then we have this talk after.”

“But what about you? How is that at all fair to you?”

“I also played a role in this whole situation, it’s messy I know,” she replies. “You’re not allowed to blame yourself for anything, it was my idea, you were against it from the start. And if you have feelings for Zuha, it’s not fair for me to take that away from you.”

“So are we–”

“No,” she cuts you off with fresh tears suddenly streaming down her face. “Please don’t say what you’re about to say. Not yet.”

“Then what exactly–”

“I don’t know,” her words quiver. “Wherever we end up, we figure it out together, eventually. Just not now.”

“But… Chae–”

“No matter what happens,” she continues firmly. “We stay on good terms. No matter what.”

“I…”

“Promise me,” her lip quivers again. “I love you, and I love Zuha, that will never change.”

You hesitate again. You want to believe her, you really do, but you’re scared.

“Promise me,” she repeats, with less conviction than before, the syllables faltering.

Each second feels like a lifetime. Her words weigh heavy, and you want to reassure her, you want to tell those beautiful, vulnerable eyes that everything will work out – but you don’t know. You’re just as scared as she is, looking through the wall of emotions built by all the memories you two share. Your head is spinning, and every moment that passes instills more doubt into Chaewon. You hate yourself for it; You feel stuck. The worst of it all is how undeserved it feels.

Kazuha flashes into your mind. This feels wrong, for her sake too. The feeling is suddenly replaced by Chaewon. The girl sitting right in front of you, your girlfriend, refusing to let things end while still reassuring you that it’ll work out. Nothing makes sense. You’re bouncing between the girls, trying to figure out what the fuck you are supposed to do.

It’s impossible to believe her, despite how hard you try. You’re not convinced, but there’s no other option. You don’t know how to stop yourself from doubting your choice, and seeing Chaewon like this reminds you, clear as day – you’re definitely still in love with her.

“I promise,” you reassure her against your better judgement.

“Good,” she whispers before leaning closer to you.

“Babe…” your heart starts pumping as Chaewon moves closer.

“I love you,” she whispers right in front of your face before she leans in and kisses you.

It’s so sudden, you don’t even have a chance to think. A rush of emotion shoots up your spine. You shut your eyes against a wave of sudden tears and you wrap your arms around her. Your hands pull her close, pressing into her body as you kiss her, tenderly and slowly.

With mouths still glued together gently, you end up on top of her. She’s on her back, taking short breaths whenever your lips part, just for you to press your mouth forward again and again. You can feel her hands, one on your back and the other on your nape. Your hands slide down to her hips before easing around her body, resting against her lower back.

Her warmth is like a blanket, engulfing you, filling you with feelings that you didn’t know could exist. Your love for this girl comes flooding back in, overwhelming you. It makes your body scream. You’re pressing into her, and her legs wrap around your hips, locking you in place.

She wants you just as much as you want her, mutual addiction, and it’s making your heart ache. All the tears and choked-up words suddenly didn’t matter as you’re both fumbling with each other’s clothes. It takes forever, and a lot of effort – mostly because neither of you would let the kiss stop – but eventually you find yourself lined up between Chaewon’s legs.

Finally, the kiss ends, and you’re staring down at Chaewon. She’s there beneath you, flat on her back, eyes more tender than ever, face still stained with tears. Time freezes. Not for a second or a minute, but for what seems like hours or days. You stare into each other’s eyes, reliving all the memories you share.

And then you ease into her.

A sharp gasp escapes her lips and she tilts her head back, shutting her eyes tight as you push yourself all the way into her before opening them back up slowly.

This time feels different. Not a good nor a bad different. Just, different. You can’t really make sense of it as you hold steady inside her tight warmth for a moment before falling forward and pressing your lips to hers. You start moving your hips slowly, inundated by her love, fumbling around the bed with your hands until you find hers.

She interlocks her fingers with yours and squeezes hard, and at the same time Chaewon wraps her legs around you once more. She won’t let go of you, not with any part of her, it’s not an option.

And you won’t let go of her.

You start pumping your hips faster, the intensity building between your legs. Your mouth slips off hers and starts digging into the crevice of her neck. You’re kissing and sucking on her skin, desperate. Consumed. The more you get, the more you want. You’re greedy for Chaewon.

It feels better than a dream, a lucid trip, and Chaewon’s the drug. Your body enters a state of higher existence and you start to lose track of yourself. It feels divine, like if ecstasy was being pumped straight into your brain – but there’s no drug – only Chaewon.

Suddenly, she’s on top. You have your back against the headrest, and Chaewon’s straddling your lap. She lowers her body onto you while you wrap your arms around her tiny frame and pull her close. You kiss her clavicle as she tightens around your body.

“I love you,” she whispers into your ear.

Her arms are wrapped around your head, and she’s holding onto you for dear life. Her body moves with yours – flowing gently like a river. She falls forward a touch as you bring your knees up and ends up kissing you on the mouth.

You’re kissing her too, no hesitation, no second thoughts, and your hips are jamming up into her body with an intensity that matches hers, while still maintaining a degree of affection that you don’t think anyone in this world deserves more than the girl sitting on your lap.

Your hands slide down her body and dig into her soft bottom, opening her wider, getting you deeper. There’s this connection, one that words cannot explain. For a moment, you forget the world, and you let yourself drown in Chaewon’s passion.

She feels perfect. You want nothing more than to live in this moment forever – as if that was an option. She’s breathing softly, each bounce and each thrust sending her to another universe. She’s just as obsessed as you, she wants this and her body is screaming to you in ways that don’t need words.

Right when you think you’re starting to understand reality, the sound of Chaewon’s moans hit you like a truck. Right up against your ear, not loud, not fabricated, just pure intimacy. They’re so soft and elegant, accompanied by her body flexing against you. Each and every fibre inside her starts to squeeze, and with one last moan, it all becomes too much for you.

Your warmth shoots out of you while Chaewon’s still shaking. A beautiful tandem of emotion and intensity connects you together as you squeeze each other’s bodies as hard as your physical limitations allow. While it feels like an eternity to you, it ends just as quickly as it comes, and you feel all the strength dissipate from your body.

The grip you have on her falters, and her body collapses against yours. You’re breathing heavily, and so is Chaewon, while she strokes your chest softly. You place her on the bed and ease out of her, warmth still connecting your bodies in the most intimate of ways.

Then, suddenly, reality rushes back in and kicks you right in the gut. Your bodies separate as the realization of what you just did sets in. As if anything made sense in the first place, it definitely made less now. You get up to leave, incapable of formulating a coherent thought.

—

From Chaewon’s room to the front door, everything is a blur. You don’t remember anything, but you have a pain in your chest that refuses to leave. It’s as if you were stabbed, and all you can hear is Chaewon’s parting ‘I love you’ echoing through your ears – you can’t even remember if you said it back.

You’re walking around the outside of their house, using your phone’s flashlight to help you search until you see the little sparkle from Kazuha’s hair clip. You walk over to pick it up, and right when you place it into your pocket, you hear voices coming through Kazuha’s window.

“...there’s one thing,” Kazuha’s voice pierces the night with a little laugh.

“Oh?” you can almost hear Sakura sit up by the inflection of her voice.

There’s more shuffling inside the room before you hear Sakura’s voice again.

“Zuha!” Sakura squeals with excitement. “Oh my God!”

Kazuha’s laugh rings through the air. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“I remember on our first anniversary,” Sakura begins with a giggle. “He…”

Her voice softens to the point where you can’t hear the conversation anymore. You take a couple of steps closer, trying to listen in. Then, as you take one last step, you hear the two of them start laughing.

“Kkura!” Kazuha shrieks with a laugh. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Did you not hear yourself literally five seconds ago?!”

“I know! But… wow…” Kazuha chuckles.

The two of them laugh some more before calming down and letting silence fill the air again. Someone, you think it’s Kazuha, says something inside, but it’s too quiet for you to hear.

“...why do you say that?” Sakura’s voice flows through the window, gentle and empathetic.

Zuha exhales deeply. “It was so much easier to tease him before,” she answers, her tone far more serious than before, “now I just feel… something… every time I even think about him.”

“That something is called feelings,” Sakura chuckles softly. “Don’t overthink it, just do what feels right. He’ll know if you’re trying to force anything, and I promise you he likes the real you more than a persona.”

“That’s the thing, I’m like, too nervous to be natural around him anymore,” Kazuha laughs, the discomfort evident in the tone. “I used to tease him all the time, I loved the way he would squirm, it brought me so much joy. I’ve never felt this way around him before.”

Sakura ponders for a moment before speaking up. “I think that’s natural. For context, during our first date, I probably said a total of five words the entire time, and this was after spending a week texting him every day.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, even if you know someone already, this can be a pretty big change in the dynamic,” Sakura explains gently. “Especially given the circumstances, it’s totally reasonable to feel a bit awkward. I’d even go as far as saying I’d be surprised if it wasn’t a bit awkward at first.”

“Oh well, it probably won’t even matter.”

“What? Why? What happened?” Sakura asks. “You two were obviously doing more than admire the view when I walked in earlier.”

“I can tell the Chaewon thing is bothering him,” Kazuha admits quietly, “even though I know he’s trying to hide it from me. I saw it in his eyes earlier, he was hurt, and I don’t know if he’s ready to move on from her yet.”

There’s a long pause in the conversation. You freeze in place, scared to make noise, holding your breath until Kazuha’s voice comes through the window again.

“Sorry–”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sakura interjects softly. “I get it.”

Kazuha sniffles just loud enough for you to hear over your thumping heart. Her next words are so quiet that you question whether you even hear them.

“Am I a bad person?”

“Of course not, Zuha,” Sakura snaps, and there’s a degree of anger behind it. Her next words are muffled as if she’s speaking through Kazuha’s body. “No one will ever blame you for your feelings.”

There’s another break in the conversation. This one is significantly longer than the last. Just as you begin leaning in toward the window again, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Holy sh–” you gasp before a hand quickly covers your mouth.

The voices inside disappear for a moment, but all you can think about is how your heart feels like it’s about to explode through your chest as you turn to see Yunjin standing right next to you. She drags you away from the window until you’re both out of earshot before letting go of your mouth. “What are you doing?” she whispers as she pulls her hand away and laughs quietly.

“I d-dropped something…” you stammer, as the blood rushes to your face.

“Right,” Yunjin giggles. “I guess you were struggling to find it, whatever it was.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” you mumble as you crouch down and take a few deep breaths, relaxing your body.

“Get up,” Yunjin reaches down for your hand and pulls. “I’m not trying to explain this to anyone who might peek through the front door.”

“Where are we going?” you take her lead down the path.

“For a walk.”

---

A/N:

This chapter was tough. I lost count of how many different drafts I ended up writing, but ultimately this is the one I chose. Some were a LOT sadder. It honestly got a bit frustrating at times, I could have easily spent another few weeks dissecting some of these scenes.

Anyway, I gotta know what you guys think about the ~6k word length for updates to the story. I already wrote the next scene which is the talk with Yunjin but decided to cut the chapter here for ease of reading. You guys prefer that or would you rather have chapters be a bit longer? It would have been close to ~9k words had I kept the next scene in, but that feels a touch too long?

Speaking of Yunjin, she's getting some more scenes coming up. God damn she is stunning lately. I know I had someone ask if she was getting any smutty scenes and I said pretty firmly that she wasn't, but now I don't know... (potential spoiler I guess, also still no plans for Eunchae, sorry!). For now though, Kazuha fans rejoice maybe? Sakura fans stay patient, she's not out of the picture just yet. I'm gonna stop typing now before I accidentally spoil too much.

[isthatafuckinggayangel]

I was originally just reblogging and moving on but actually I have a few off-hand. These are compiled from a few different places (I don’t remember where, but they were in my notes), so please excuse the inconsistencies in what’s clarified, what’s not, and the phrasing, I only half follow them anyway😔🙏

Garlic butter shrimp pasta

Ingredients

3 tbsp butter (or margarine, whatever works)

1 lb peeled and deveined shrimp (I use cooked frozen shrimp every time, but you have options)

Salt and pepper to taste

3 cloves minced garlic (or estimate equal garlic salt/powder)

3/4 cup heavy cream (cream cheese mixed with milk)

1/2 cup grated Parmesan (or whatever shredded cheese you like)

1 cup halved cherry tomatoes

1 lb cooked pasta of choice

Directions

In a large skillet over medium heat, melt 1 tablespoon butter. Add shrimp and season with salt and pepper. Cook until shrimp is pink and opaque, about 2 minutes per side. Transfer shrimp to a plate. (Keep juices in skillet.)

Melt remaining butter in skillet then stir in garlic. Cook until fragrant, about 1 minute, then whisk in heavy cream. Bring to simmer, then stir in Parmesan, tomatoes, and parsley. Simmer until tomatoes have softened and mixture has thickened slightly, about 3 minutes.

Return shrimp to skillet and add pasta. Toss to combine and serve immediately.

Honey garlic fish

Ingredients

Fish Fillet

Salt to taste

1/2 tsp Black Pepper

2 tbsp Olive Oil

3 tbsp Honey

1 tsp Garlic (minced)

2 tbsp Dark Soy Sauce

2 tsp Lemon Juice

Rice

Water

Directions

If frozen, thaw fish fillet

Pat fish dry with paper towel

Start boiling water with rice. Cook until done

Cover rice if it finishes before fish

Season fish with salt and pepper on both sides

Heat pan

Add olive oil and let it heat up as well

Mix honey, garlic, soy sauce, and lemon juice in a bowl

Place fish fillets in the heated pan and cook for 1 minute on each side

Pour liquid mixture over fillets and cook for 2-3 minutes or until it becomes sticky

Serve over rice

Stuffed bell peppers

Ingredients

Bell peppers

Ground beef

Rice (could be anywhere from plain white rice or a box of the Spanish rice rice-a-roni, whatever feels good man)

Taco seasoning packets (however many you need for the ground beef)

A block of cheddar (or however many blocks you need)

Really anything else you’d want in a taco-y setting, we add a can of sliced black olives and a can of diced tomatoes and green chilies, but do what feels good

Directions

Preheat your oven (350°F normally, but you can do whatever, you’ll be watching it anyway)

Cook your rice, either however you’d normally make it or by box instructions, it just needs to be done first

Brown the ground beef, adding the taco seasoning according to the instructions on the packet. If you’re not using the packet and going wild in the spice cabinet, season whenever you normally would

Cut your cheddar blocks into cubes, they don’t have to be overly small, I usually split the block in half lengthwise and cut that up however feels right in the moment. It shouldn’t take too long to split up, this is for the convenience of not having to shred anything or go through a ton of shredded cheese

Mix your rice and beef together. If you’re adding things like black olives, diced tomatoes and green chilies, or anything else you want cooked into it instead of topped with, you’ll mix that as well

Cut the tops off of the bell peppers, remove the white center bit and the seeds (we rinse the remaining pepper to get the seeds out faster), and set them with the hole upwards on a baking sheet. They normally sit fine, but sometimes they need to be propped up, so you may consider a casserole dish instead

In your bell peppers, layer your rice and beef mixture with pieces of cheddar. However many you need to fill the pepper, as thick of layers as you’d like, just make sure you end with cheddar on top

Bake them to your desired bell pepper done-ness level. Some people will bake them far longer than others, so it’s whatever you like. The only real requirement is that the cheese on top is melted

Serve either on its own or with whatever additions you didn’t want to be baked in

Do any of u have decent recipes that are like 5 ingredients (not including spices) and take 45 mins or less to prepare i gotta stop eating sandwiches for dinner

[ovaryacted]

moreee about jack abbott and aftercare please 🚬🐤

─ Jack Abbot x fem! reader || WC: 1.1k

CW: Mentions of past smut. Soft dom! Jack Abbot. Post-coitus aftercare. Subspace if you squint. Loving affection. Use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, kid). Mentions of Jack Abbot's leg stump. Jack Abbot being the best partner ever.

I meant to post this the other day but I waited a little bit. I absolutely LOVE how you're using the duck emoji combos, please keep using it! (even though that's a chick, I'm sure, but idgaf!). But yes god I think Jack would be soooo good with aftercare no matter what he does. He definitely gives me pleasure dom vibes, he gets off on your pleasure, and really knows how to drag it out and give you a run for your money. This also turned into an analysis of aftercare on both ends, because Jack deserves to know he's being cared for & loved too.

He's the kinda man that will give you exactly what you need, the right pressure, the right force, the right touch. Thing is, he's consistent, patient, steady...he keeps you close to him and talks you through your climaxes every single time, and yes he always tends to give you more than one orgasm if your body can handle it. That becomes a standard in your relationship very early on, and he won’t let you take anything less than that. Whether it be from his mouth, his fingers, his cock, or even your toys, you always come first, and he'll fill you up in any way you need and ask.

As for the aftercare, Jack grounds you, brings you back down to Earth after turning your mind and body to mush. His large hands caress over your shaking legs, rubbing into your skin and skimming over the new bruises and marks that will bloom in the morning. He doesn't pull out just yet, he keeps himself inside your cunt until your body is done flexing around him, until you’re finally relaxed enough for him to give your body a proper break. He hovers over you, gently kissing your jaw and cheek, lightly pecking the corner of your mouth as he wraps his big arms around you and keeps you close.

"Cmon, sweetheart. Come back to me, I'm right here."

He's so good, so patient. Jack watches your face carefully for any signs of discomfort, attentive to the way your eyes are still rolling to the back of your head. He cups your hand to rub his thumb over your jaw in a swiping motion, brushing your hair out of your sweaty face. You lean into the touch, humming lowly as you swim through the residual high of your climaxes, your body melting into the mattress, trying to steady your breathing through your nose with every pass of Jack's hands on your cheekbone.

"Don't fall asleep on me just yet, baby. Need to get you cleaned up."

A whine punches out of you then, limp legs wrapping tighter around Jack's waist in defiance. He knows you can fall asleep like this, with his cock still nestled inside you. You actually prefer it sometimes, but he knows how uncomfortable you'll be if you were sticky and covered with sweat. 

"You gotta let me go so we can head to bed. C'mon, kid. The sooner you let me pull out, the faster you'll be asleep, yeah?"

You reluctantly peel your legs off of him, reciprocating his soft kiss and whimpering when Jack moves to pull his softening cock out of you, sighing in relief from the change in pressure. He doesn't mention how his spend dribbles out of you, your slick walls flexing to keep most of it inside.

Sometimes if you really don't have the energy to move or get up, he'll use the wipes specifically for your post-coitus sessions in the bedside drawer and clean you up that way, carefully making sure your lower body was all taken care of.

Other times, he'll bring you to your feet and guide you over to the bathroom and use a crutch to keep himself steady, letting you pee while he starts the shower at the temperature you liked. Jack will join you under the warm spray, running his hands over your body with reverent affection and starts rinsing you off, using the calming lavender body wash to put you at ease. You don't mind him sitting on the built-in shower stool, laughing at the ticklish sensation of his hands rubbing down your waist and your twitching legs. With some of the remaining energy you had left, you also rinse Jack off with your body wash, running your hands through his hair and washing his scalp for the night, making sure he’s all cleaned up just like you.

Afterwards, you help each other wind down for the night, Jack sitting on the toilet seat and massaging body oil and lotion into your sore limbs, making sure to really knead into your body and release any knots and remaining tension. He doesn't miss an inch of skin, moisturizing your thighs, breasts, your back, and down your arms. Jack dresses you in one of his baggy t-shirts, not bothering to bring you panties, figuring it would be more comfortable to just let your body breathe with no restricting material.

He throws on some boxers after you mimic his previous action and moisturize his body, placing light kisses here and there, giggling to yourself in between every smooch. You also help massage Jack’s stump if he absolutely needs it, putting whatever necessary skin care he used to protect the skin where it was the most sensitive. You’ll do it with a smile and without question, and his kiss after you’re done is all the thanks you needed to hear from him.

If you were hungry, he'd whip you a snack to eat really quick before you went to sleep for either the full night or just a nap. But if all you wanted to do was close your eyes, he'd simply tell you to brush your teeth as he gets the bed all prepped for you. You flop into the mattress, now with clean fresh sheets thanks to Jack changing them. Your eyes flutter closed instantly, bringing the covers up to your waist and sleeping on your stomach, digging your face into your pillow.

You only mumble a curt "love you" before you doze off, your breathing even and deep as you go to the land of dreams. And Jack? He smiles in the dim lighting of your shared bedroom, kissing your forehead and your nose, whispering those three words back to you, silently hoping they would follow you wherever your happy place was. He stays up a little longer just looking at you, admiring you, thanking whatever prayer he said to have you in his life. He brings you into his arms and positions your head against his chest, feeling you nuzzle closer into him and chase his warmth.

He falls asleep like that with your body against his, cradling the back of your neck and caressing your nape over and over again. With one more kiss to your temple, he breathes you in, answering the call of sleep and keeping in mind to make breakfast for you in the morning.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[prettyliittleviolets]

I would love to know your headcanons on how Remmick would act when he gets jealous. Like when someone’s eyes linger on you for a little bit too long or they’re leaning a little bit too close. How would he act in public vs when he gets you home 👀

ooh this is so good! personally i LOVE a jealous man and i honestly feel like remmick would be just that.

remmick is absolutely the type to get jealous over the tiniest things. honestly, any time someone so much as looks at you with more than a passing glance — whether you're aware of it or not — he's already got a pit of rage boiling up in his stomach. this man is possessive to his core, and he'll be damned if he lets himself just sit and watch someone dote on you.

when you're in public together, he's more pouty, and maybe a little mean, than anything. he’ll sneer at anyone whose eyes linger a little too long or who calls out crude things on the street. he is distraught at the idea of anyone giving you the wrong sort of attention, and he has no issue with showing you how much it bothers him. he’ll turn himself away like a dejected puppy, mouth curled into a displeased pout and letting out the occasional dramatic sigh.

and if you begin to entertain it? he's beyond saving.

he starts to cling to you, his touch consuming you in any way possible. maybe he comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your midsection, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. but, as sweet as he is to you, he has nothing but hatred for whoever is occupying you. he will shamelessly glare at them, regardless of any conversation or interaction you may be having, and eagerly try to coax you away — “really, dear, ‘t’s gettin’ quite late. we oughta get goin’ soon, don’t’cha think?”

he’ll pout the whole way home, too, tiring himself with countless exasperated outbursts of “who did that guy think he was? talkin’ like that to you with me right behind ya?” and the like.

however, once you’re home, it's an entirely different story. it's like a switch has flipped inside of him, and you can barely make it inside the door before he's up on you — lips crashing sloppily against yours, backing you into the nearest wall or piece of furniture with vigor. his hands dart about you like he can't decide where to touch: tangling his hands in your hair, running them up your sides, caressing your soft face. he is desperate and messy and beyond eager to show you just why you shouldn't bother with that terrible man from earlier.

you can just barely coax him to slow down, to not take you right up against the door frame, and you guide him to your bedroom. he follows intently, upset to be torn away from you so suddenly but eager to continue. by the time you reach the room, he is flushed red and breathless, desperate for your touch. he stands in the doorway, head hung low, his chest sinking up and down in deep, heaving breaths. beneath the burning need radiating off of him, you can still feel his jealousy from earlier, white-hot and sharp.

you saunter over to him, a wild grin on your face, battling internally between prolonging your teasing and finally getting your hands on him. your hands trail up his chest, voice soft, "not still upset about earlier, are ya, hun?"

his eyes flicker up to yours, wild and animalistic, a deep hunger flickering from within. "not upset at you, darlin'." he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "just want ev'ryone to know that you're mine."

"then make me yours."

[enjakey]

Baby Girl, You Got Desires Too

Pairing: Mob!Niki x Mob!Fem!Reader

TW/N | 14k- forbidden love, pining, yearning, you’re too good for me | some kissing, a lot of pining here and there | not much of a plot | part of the PLEASE STOP DONT STOP universe but you don’t need to read that to understand this one. Just fun Easter eggs for those who have read it | Riki is a little shit in this one (he always is), curses a lot, disrespectful to his Hyungs but you know it’s all love, emotionally unavailable

Summary: Riki started off in the mafia life a bit too young, a bit too innocent. It only made sense that he grew into who he was now- the sharpest one, physically skilled and can wield a knife and gun better than chopsticks. But when he’s tasked to teach the daughter of the Mafia world’s biggest boss, he knew he was meant to keep his distance. He couldn’t put his life, his family’s life, on the line- but for Y/N, he was willing to risk it.

I

“Riki, your hair is fried.”

Nishimura Riki, or Niki, as many called him, had a habit of dying his hair. He wasn’t sure why- it had started when he was barely a teenager. At that age, when he had suddenly been thrusted into freedom with money, he’d done a lot of things he’d come to regret- piercings, tattoos, clothing styles. The biggest of them all was introducing himself as Niki to the people he met in the industry. As he grew older, he realised how childish it was, to change his name. But changing his hair styles was something he’d never come to regret.

He always insisted that it gave him charisma- or, even better, made him look intimidating sometimes. Just like now, when his hair was bleached and eyebrows changed to match.

His Hyungs loved to make fun of him for it, especially Sunghoon. But at least they didn’t call him Niki anymore.

“Shut up, Hyung,” he rolled his eyes. And though he sounded like he spat the words with malice, Sunghoon just grinned at him.

Jay- his boss- was sprawled out on the couch beside Sunghoon, phone caressed lazily in his hand. His eyes didn’t flicker up to see Riki’s new hairstyle. “I’m not gonna bother looking,” he muttered. “I already know it’s something stupid.”

“I think I look nice with it,” Riki crossed his arms in defense, muscles flexing.

The boy had changed a lot since they brought him into the business. The transformation came from relentless hours of honing his skills, grueling gym sessions, and a disciplined diet. Riki had become known for his sharp technique in martial arts- so much so that he’d somehow surpassed even Jungwon, who was formally trained in taekwondo. And when it came to handling a knife or firing a gun, his precision was unnerving- deadly, even. No one ever saw it coming. He may have been the youngest, but in many ways, he was the most formidable.

“Riki, I can barely see your face,” Sunghoon commented. “Everything’s blurring together,” he waved a hand vaguely in front of his eyes for emphasis.

“Jake Hyung would like it,” Riki rolled his eyes again, looking to the side of the room where a table of framed pictures sat. There were many pictures, in many of which Riki was featured in. Mostly, though, it was Jay with his sister or Jake. “Where is he, anyway?”

That got Jay to finally lift his head, attention steering away from whatever interesting thing he was reading on his phone. “He and my sister have gone out on a date,” Jay groaned and rolled his head to lean against the couch cushion. It seemed that the thought of his best friend and sister dating still bothered him- though he’d given them his blessings a long time ago. “Two year anniversary or something- oh wow, Riki. Sunghoon’s right, I really can’t see your face.”

Jay’s expression of surprise and bewilderment brought Sunghoon down into a fit of laughter. He clutched his stomach and fell sideways into the couch, mouth wide in a smile and eyes crinkled in cheer.

Riki just stared at them, unamused, arms still crossed and eyes narrowing to slits.

“I’m the boss, and somehow, you’ve grown to look scarier than me,” Jay observed.

“You’ve gone soft, Hyung,” Riki deadpanned.

Which, technically, was true. Ever since he started mending his relationship with his sister, started listening to her and taking her advice on the business, the weight on Jay’s shoulders had lifted- only slightly. Everyone preferred working with this version of Jay- the one that listened, the one that stopped and thought before making rash decisions and the one that started caring more about his people than the business in itself.

“It’s a good thing,” Riki quickly added before Jay’s expression could fall.

Behind them, Heeseung had entered the room, the screen of his phone lifted towards them. His steps were frantic, impatient; eyes wide and confused. “Did you guys see this?”

“Jay must have. He’s been on his phone for over an hour,” Niki grinned at his oldest Hyung, who, in return, responded with annoyance and a shake of his head.

“Careful, little shit,” Jay pointed a finger at him, moving to reach for his phone that had wedged itself between couch cushions. “I can still snap.”

Sunghoon, too, opened his phone in hopes of looking for what Heeseung was referring to. “Hyung, what are you talking about?”

“No one got the email?” Hesseung went on, staring at his screen like he could find some sort of clue that made sense of his spiralling. “Andrei wants to see us.”

Andrei had been the oldest friend of Jay’s family. He and Jay’s father had grown up side by side- same neighborhood, same school, same college- until they graduated and stepped into the mafia world together, a calculated risk that turned into a legacy. But when Jay’s father stepped away from the life and handed the reins to his son, Andrei remained. In some ways, he still outranked them both. He watched over Jay and everyone close to him- quietly, but with expectations that were never spoken yet always understood. Around Andrei, it felt like they were walking on thin ice. One word from him, one simple request, could bring everything to a standstill.

“What?” Jay’s voice almost disappeared.

Riki and Sunghoon could only stare at Heeseung, frozen in their expressions of uncertainty.

“Let me see,” Riki took the phone from Heeseung and examined the email.

There really was nothing much in it- it was an invitation to his house. For lunch. With his family- only him and his daughter and their two dogs.

“What in the world,” Riki mumbled. “He wants to have lunch?”

Jay grumbled and held his head in his hands.

Sunghoon stared as though there was a black hole in front of him. “I heard that the last time he called someone for lunch, he’d beheaded them and boiled their parts in acid.”

“Yeah, I heard that,” Heeseung pointed at Sunghoon, as though they were relating to something. “The rumor spread like wildfire.”

“Guy’s, you can’t seriously believe that,” Riki tutted. “It was a rumor.”

The front door had opened with a familiar thud and footsteps made their way down the hallway- they could recognise it. It was Jake and Jocelyn (Jay’s sister) back from their date, arms and glee wrapped around each other like blankets. They stumbled into the hall with bright smiles, the kind that somehow had a way of calming everyone down.

But not this time, apparently. Everyone was still confused.

Jake and Jocelyn’s smiles faltered.

“Why does everyone look like that,” Jocelyn’s eyes scanned the room, slowly shifting from Riki, to Heeseung, to Sunghoon then finally, to her brother, Jay. “Did someone die or something?”

Jake let out a low chuckle. “No way,” he shook his head. But when no one reacted to him, his chuckle faltered too. “Someone actually died?”

“No,” Sunghoon swallowed. “But someone might as well.”

“Hyung,” Riki started. “You’re part of the biggest mafia gang in the country and you’re squealing like a child right now.”

Sunghoon’s face snapped towards him, fear replaced by anger now. “What did Jay just say? I can still snap.”

Jocelyn ran to Jay’s side, wrapping her arm around his hunched frame. Jake went over to Heeseung to see the invite everyone had been talking about.

“Andrei?” Jake mused. “It’s been like, what, two- three years since we’ve seen the man?”

“Yeah, the last time ya’ll saw him, I was there,” Y/N looked back, almost fondly. “I remember him being really sweet.”

“Yeah? Well,” Jay straightened again. “He’s nice until someone pisses him off.”

“Have you pissed him off?”

“No.”

Jocelyn smiled softly. “Then why are you worried?”

II

Andrei’s house was big.

Everytime Riki saw it- in person a few years ago, through pictures and once on a feature in an architecture magazine- he was always taken by awe. It was bigger than his house, the one he shared with Jay and everyone else. It was bigger than most houses. Too big for just two people, that was for sure.

The drive from the gate of the estate to the front door took about five minutes- he knew because the radio in the car played Hotel California from start to finish.

They’d arrived in two cars- Riki, Jay, Jake and Jocelyn in one, the rest in the other.

The ride was quiet, save for the music and the occasional glance exchanged between Jay and Jocelyn in the backseat. Jay hadn’t said much since reading the email, and while Riki tried to act unbothered- tapping his fingers on the wheel and humming along to the chorus-he could feel the tension lingering in the car like static.

Jake, riding shotgun, finally broke the silence. “So… what do we think this is? A family catch-up? Or a test?”

Riki didn’t answer, just kept driving with his jaw clenched and bleached eyebrows pulled together in concentration. Jay didn’t want to answer, judging by the way his knee bounced slightly, restless.

“Could be both,” Jocelyn offered, her voice calm but careful. “He wouldn’t ask to see all of us unless it meant something.”

As they pulled up to the front entrance, two large black hounds sat poised by the doorway- Andrei’s dogs, just as massive and intimidating as Riki remembered. The front of the house looked like a modern fortress, all sharp angles and glass, with a stone driveway wide enough to host a small parade.

The second car pulled up behind them. Heeseung stepped out first, muttering under his breath. Sunghoon followed, unusually quiet, and Jungwon and Sunoo trailed behind, jaws tight with focus.

They all gathered at the base of the stairs before anyone dared to ring the doorbell.

“I feel like we’re walking into a war room,” Sunoo said, eyeing the tall double doors.

“Shut up,” Jay muttered, adjusting his coat. He turned to his sister. “Stay close.”

She rolled her eyes but nodded.

The door had opened without them having to knock, as though the house had sensed their presence. They knew it wasn’t magic- they were automated doors. But the fear that lingered on their nerves made them believe whatever wild thought that entered their heads.

The inside of Andrei’s house was as breathtaking as it was unsettling.

It was cold- not in temperature, but in atmosphere. The kind of cold that whispered power in polished surfaces and quiet corners. The floors were black marble with veins of silver running through them like cracks in glass. Every footstep echoed, soft but distinct, as though the house wanted to remember every person who walked through it.

Tall ceilings loomed overhead, supported by clean-lined columns that stood like silent sentinels. The walls were a soft matte grey, broken up by strange, modern art- sculptures that twisted in forms too abstract to name, and paintings that bled shadows and red.

Nothing felt homely- not a photo frame, not a fingerprint- just wealth, precision, and intention.

To the right, an enormous staircase curved upward like a spine, its railing a dark metal so finely crafted it almost looked like lace. A chandelier hung above it, not the classic crystal kind but an avant-garde fixture of golden rods and spheres, suspended in deliberate chaos.

Even the air smelled expensive- notes of cedar, clean linen, and something older, like history.

Heeseung’s eyes traced the perimeter, already mapping exits. Jungwon said nothing, jaw tight. Sunoo’s expression was unreadable, but his fingers tapped nervously against his thigh.

“This place could be a museum,” Sunghoon whispered under his breath.

“No,” Jake said beside him. “Museums feel alive.”

Andrei appeared at the end of the grand hallway, framed by the pale gold light spilling through the archways behind him. A pipe hung lazily from the corner of his mouth- smoke curling upward in soft spirals. It was new. Jay didn’t remember him ever smoking a pipe.

But what struck him more than the pipe was the smile- wide, warm, disarming- like they were long-lost family returning home.

“You came,” Andrei beamed, spreading his arms.

“Of course we did,” Jay said, voice steady as he stepped forward. The two men embraced- brief, firm, the kind of hug between people who respected each other but still watched their backs.

Then Andrei turned to Jocelyn, his expression softening further. “Darling,” he murmured, pulling her in. His hug with her lasted longer, less guarded. “You’ve grown into your mother’s mirror.”

Jocelyn smiled, a bit taken aback but not uncomfortable. “You talk like a poet, Andrei.”

He chuckled, stepping back, removing the pipe just long enough to blow the smoke away from their faces.

Behind them, the others stood quietly- still, as if unsure whether to approach or wait for orders.

Andrei’s eyes flicked to them. “Come now,” he said, arms open again. “What’s with all the stiffness? This is lunch, not an ambush.”

No one moved right away. Then Riki took the first step.

“We brought wine,” he offered, holding up the bottle he’d been carrying.

Andrei’s grin widened. “Ah, the pretty one with bleached hair. You never disappoint. Niki, was it?”

“Riki,” he responded with a curt nod.

Andre hummed, stared him in the eye for two seconds, and then turned to lead everyone into the dining hall.

Riki turned to Sunghoon with a cheeky grin, as though he’d won in some sort of bet. “He likes my hair.”

Andrei led them through a long, high-ceilinged hallway, his steps unhurried, pipe still trailing smoke like a veil. Their footsteps filled the silence in a rhythm that felt ceremonial- no one dared to speak.

The dining hall doors were already open.

Inside, the room glowed gold under a massive chandelier. The table was long, dark wood with a flawless polish, stretched out like something from a royal painting. The spread laid across it was nothing short of a feast- roast meats, platters of grilled vegetables, seafood glistening with butter and herbs, fresh bread stacked like bricks, and wine in glass decanters so clear they looked invisible.

Yet every chair stood empty, waiting.

Andrei took his place at the head of the table, the chair like a throne. The other end of the table remained unoccupied. No one even glanced at it for too long- it had once belonged to his wife. No one dared sit there.

Silently, they filled in the seats along the sides. Jay took the one closest to Andrei on the left, Jocelyn beside him. Riki ended up across from Sunghoon and Jungwon, and Jake between Heeseung and Sunoo.

Waiters appeared with practiced precision, dressed in uniform black, serving portions without a word. The clinking of silverware and glass filled the room for a moment- almost soothing, if not for the tension that buzzed faintly beneath the surface.

“So,” Andrei said, voice light as he poured himself a glass of wine. “How’s business, Jay?”

Jay gave a clipped smile. “Stable. Clean. Quiet.”

Andrei laughed under his breath, the kind of laugh that said he didn’t believe in quiet. “That’s good. Quiet means you’re doing something right.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries- Sunghoon complimenting the food, Jocelyn asking about the chef, Riki quietly stabbing into a grilled shrimp- until the sound of soft footsteps interrupted them.

Everyone turned.

A girl walked in- cooly, not hurried, like she’d been planning her entrance to the tea.

She was effortlessly put together- white dress that reached her knees, hair falling down her back in waves. Her eyes were sharp, fox-like, a flicker of amusement playing in them even though she hadn’t said a word yet. She carried herself with a kind of lazy confidence- born from growing up in rooms where men lowered their voices when her father walked in.

“This is my daughter,” Andrei said as she came to his side. “Y/N.”

Y/N offered a short nod, her gaze flickering across the table- assessing, not greeting. “Hi,” she said simply, sliding into the empty seat next to her father.

She didn't try to make conversation. She didn't even need to.

Andrei leaned back in his chair, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I brought you all here for a reason,” he said, letting the pipe rest in an ashtray beside him. “And while I do enjoy seeing familiar faces… this wasn’t just a social call.”

The table quieted. All eyes turned to him.

“It’s about her,” he continued, glancing toward Y/N, who looked mildly annoyed at being the center of attention.

Jay frowned. “What do you mean?”

Andrei raised his glass but didn’t drink. “She’s grown up around all this,” he gestured loosely. “But I never taught her how to protect herself. Call it a father’s guilt. Or maybe I’m getting old. Either way, ” his eyes landed on Riki, “I want him to train her.”

Riki blinked. “Me?”

“You’re the best we’ve got,” Andrei said plainly. “And you’re on Jay’s side, which means you’re on mine. Who better to trust?”

The room was silent again.

Riki looked to Jay for some unspoken signal, but Jay’s face gave away nothing.

III

The hallway lights were dim, and most of the house had gone quiet for the evening. Riki was in the shared living room back at their place, sprawled dramatically across the couch, a pillow over his face smothering his rage.

“I can’t believe this,” he groaned, voice muffled by cotton. “Out of everyone- me? Do I not have better shit to do?”

From the nearby armchair, Sunoo didn’t even look up from his book. “You don’t.”

Riki sat up, tossing the pillow aside. “I do! I’ve got- training, and drills, and gun maintenance, and- ”

Sunoo raised a brow. “You’re literally describing the same things you’re going to do with her.”

“That’s not the point,” Riki snapped. “She’s… cocky.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but she’s got that rich-girl-doesn’t-care-if-she-gets-shot kind of cocky. Like, daddy will save me.” He gestured wildly in the air, mimicking her expression. “Hi, I don’t need to know basic defense because my last name is enough to keep me alive.”

“I don’t think she’s being forced into this,” Sunoo finally looked up, closing his book with a soft thud. “Plus, Andrei asked for it.”

“Which means I can’t say no.”

“Exactly,” Sunoo echoed, now getting up and walking to the kitchen for water. “He asks, we deliver. That’s the rule, remember?”

IV

Riki’s gym took up the entire basement- what was once a dull, unused space had been gutted, repainted, and reborn into his own haven of physical exercise and mastery of weapons. A boxing ring sat squarely at the center, its ropes frayed at the edges from constant use. The walls were painted in sharp hues of grey, yellow, and red, giving the otherwise white canvas a burst of aggression and focus. Weights lined one wall, punching bags hung like silent spectators, the floor smelled faintly of sweat and disinfectant- Riki kept it immaculate.

Y/N showed up right on time. Not too early, not fashionably late- just on the dot, like she was setting a tone.

She stepped in wearing black leggings and a fitted top, her hair tied into a high ponytail that didn’t dare move. She had a bounce in her step, like this was just another challenge she was confident she’d charm her way through.

“Morning,” she said brightly, offering a slight smile as she looked around. “Nice place. Didn't think you'd be the aesthetic type.”

Riki didn’t respond. He stood near the edge of the ring, arms crossed over his chest, face more unreadable with his bleached brows and hair. His silence was louder than any greeting.

“Warm up,” he said flatly.

Y/N’s smile faltered for half a second. “Not a talker- got it.”

She nodded and dropped her bag to the floor, stepping to the side to begin her stretching routine. Her movements were fluid- familiar, well-practiced. Riki watched without expression, eyes calculating, taking mental notes.

After a minute, her voice cut through the tension.

“So… what are we doing today?” Her cocky edge had returned, laced with curiosity. “You gonna show me how to throw knives or something?”

Riki’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not starting anything today,” he said. “Only exercise.”

Y/N groaned slightly, tipping her head back with a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, how boring.”

“Then leave,” Riki said, deadpan.

She blinked. He didn’t flinch.

She huffed a breath of laughter, amused and annoyed all at once. “Wow. Okay. Tough crowd.”

He turned away and started setting a timer. “Five sets of jump squats, thirty seconds rest. Let’s see if the mafia princess can even survive a warm-up.”

Y/N paused mid-squat, eyes narrowing. “I’m not a mafia princess.”

Riki didn’t even glance up from the timer. “Then what?” He continued flatly. “Daddy’s princess?”

The words struck harder than she expected- mocking, cold, dismissive.

Her smirk vanished. “You don’t even know me,” she snapped, standing upright.

He finally looked up, arms crossed. “Don’t need to. I’ve seen your kind before.”

Her eyes flared. “My kind?”

“Entitled. Spoiled. Think they can smile their way out of hard work.”

Y/N stepped closer, jaw tight. “You think I was forced into this?”

Riki shrugged. “You’ll still be here tomorrow. That’s all that matters.”

She stared at him, furious. Then turned away, biting down the urge to argue more. She grabbed her water bottle with a little too much force, taking a sharp breath.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, just loud enough. “Cocky, emotionally constipated, knife boy.”

Riki heard- but didn’t flinch. He just hit start on the timer. “Set two. Let’s go, princess.”

V

Y/N wasn’t spoiled. Not in the way people liked to assume.

Her father had raised her with discipline, values, and a sharp tongue that could hold its own in any room. At least- that’s what she liked to believe. Still, more than once, people had told her she had an attitude. It came up in passing, always laced with a laugh- too sharp, too smug, too sure of herself. But she never saw a reason to correct it.

Because the truth was- her life didn’t demand humility.

Y/N lived a life most people could only dream of. As the daughter of Andrei- the most feared and respected man in the country’s criminal underworld- she existed in a world built on power, wealth, and silence. She had bodyguards before she had braces, chauffeurs before she had a license. Wherever she went, her name traveled ahead of her, clearing the way like a blade through water. Her father’s influence wrapped around her like armor, and for most of her life, it had been enough. No one touched her- no one even dared. She had money, freedom, and the kind of unspoken reverence that followed her even when she wasn’t trying to be noticed. On the surface, it was the perfect life.

But it wasn’t bulletproof.

The night everything changed hadn’t felt like anything at all- just another quiet evening. She had come home from her university class, tossed her bag on the floor, washed her face, and climbed into bed like it was any other day. That’s when the alarms started- piercing, shrill, flashing red lights flooding the hallway. The sound of bodies moving-heavy boots, drawn weapons, the bark of commands. And then a struggle- quick, brutal, over in seconds. By the time she opened her bedroom door, it was done. The intruder had been tackled just outside the side entrance, barely a few meters from where she slept. If the bodyguards had been a minute slower, he might’ve reached her.

For the first time, Andrei had seen the crack in the foundation. He watched the security footage in silence, a lit pipe resting between his fingers, smoke curling like ghosts around his face. What scared Y/N the most wasn’t his anger- it was how calm he was- the way he stood in her doorway that night, long after the incident, just watching her sleep like he was mourning something he hadn’t lost.

The next morning, he gave the order.

She needed to learn to protect herself.

And that was where Riki came in.

Riki wasn’t just another bodyguard or soldier. He was the sharpest weapon in Jay’s arsenal, someone who had risen quickly through the ranks not by legacy, but by discipline and deadly precision. Everyone knew what he was capable of- knife work, close combat, firearms- he mastered everything. Young, powerful, and ruthless, Riki never flinched.

He didn’t care that Y/N was Andrei’s daughter. In fact, that was exactly why Andrei chose him. Riki wasn’t there to entertain her, pamper her, or protect her ego. He was there to mold her into someone dangerous- someone who didn’t flinch in the face of a gun, someone who would never need saving.

Y/N had agreed, not out of fear, but out of pride. She wanted to prove she was more than just her father’s name, more than just the girl at the end of the table during dinners, more than someone who was almost kidnapped. But what she didn’t expect- what no one warned her about- was just how much Riki would make her earn it.

Training with Riki wasn’t the kind of physical exhaustion Y/N had braced herself for. There were no bruises blooming beneath her skin, no split lips or dramatic battle scars- at least, not yet. What truly drained her, what left her feeling heavy and hollow by the end of each day, was the sheer mental weight of it all. It was the relentless stillness in his voice, the clinical precision of his words, the way he never praised, never acknowledged, never gave her even a sliver of satisfaction.

The first day had broken something in her, though she would’ve rather chewed glass than admit it. Despite the bravado she carried in with her- head held high, eyes challenging- she returned home that evening in silence. Her father had waited at the dinner table, an untouched plate in front of him, and though he didn’t say anything when she walked past, he noticed. She didn’t eat. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even look at him.

And yet, the next day, she was back.

She arrived early, hair tied tight, expression sharper than it had been the day before, as if she had stitched her pride back together just enough to stand. But Riki didn’t reward her silent resilience. He barely even looked at her as he tossed her the rope and told her to warm up. What followed was a repeat of the day prior- stretches, conditioning drills, plank holds, wall sits, core exercises until her body trembled under the pressure- but the part that wore her down the most was the repetition, the lack of progress, the dull, numbing sameness. Occasionally, if she was lucky or if he was particularly generous, he let her use the dumbbells under strict time and form limitations. That was the extent of variation. There was no celebration when she did something right, no adjustment when she struggled. Just the same three words, muttered without a glance- “Again. Fix it.”

And, of course, the nickname. Always the nickname.

“Princess,” he’d say, dragging it out just enough to make her feel it, like he was driving the knife in slowly- just to watch her bleed frustration. She hated it because it undermined her effort, and because it reminded her of everything she’d been trying to escape.

And Riki didn’t care.

“If you’re so annoyed,” he said casually one afternoon, watching her mid-set as sweat dripped down the side of her face, “the door’s right there.”

She didn’t answer. - ust rolled her eyes and kept holding the plank until her arms trembled.

That was the day Jocelyn had walked in- unannounced, a breath of fresh air in soft curls and a denim jacket, smiling like she didn’t know the room was emotionally on fire. Her warmth was instant, her presence oddly disarming. She slipped beside Y/N and offered a small nod, like they’d been friends forever.

“Come on,” she said gently. “I’m taking you out for dinner.”

Two bodyguards trailed them the entire time- like shadows glued to café glass and pastel menus. The café was cozy, too cozy to house the kind of lives they lived. The juxtaposition made Y/N laugh- really laugh for the first time in days.

Jocelyn quickly became her escape. When Riki pushed too hard, when her self-worth started cracking under his silence, Jocelyn would swoop in- text her out, drag her to a bookstore, slip her snacks under the table. She’d call Riki out to his face, too- never scared, never subtle.

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it,” Jocelyn had snapped at him once, right after he corrected Y/N’s stance for the fifth time in one session. “She’s trying. You could try not to be a robot.”

But Riki didn’t change. If anything, he seemed to double down. The more he realized he could get away with it- the more it became clear that Andrei was firmly on his side- he pushed harder. Andrei never scolded him, never told him to ease up- he trusted Riki’s judgment. Which, to Riki, was permission to keep jabbing.

And so he did.

With every flat remark. With every eye roll. With every “princess.”

Because the truth was- Riki had already decided what Y/N was. And no matter how many days she showed up, she hadn’t proved him wrong yet.

VI

“I’m gonna teach you how to use a knife today.”

The words landed in the air like a stone dropped in still water- sudden, sharp, sending silent ripples through everything.

Y/N froze halfway through tying her ponytail, the elastic still looped between her fingers. For a second, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She turned her head slowly, brows furrowed, expecting some kind of follow-up- maybe a correction, a deadpan jab, the usual eye roll that came with his sarcasm.

But Riki was serious.

He stood near the storage rack, sleeves pushed up, eyes cool and unreadable, and beside him, laid out on a clean white cloth, was a single black-handled blade- sharp, deadly.

Y/N let the elastic snap into place and approached, the echo of her sneakers soft against the gym floor. “You’re not just trying to scare me off?”

Riki didn’t blink. “If I wanted you gone, I’d just stop showing up.”

He picked up the knife with ease- one could tell his familiarity with it with a simple glance. The blade gleamed under the basement lights, catching a thin sliver of gold in its curve before he held it out, handle first. “Take it.”

Y/N reached for it without hesitation, fingers curling around the grip. It was heavier than she expected- not impossibly so, but enough to remind her that this wasn’t a movie, and this wasn’t pretend.

“You’re not gonna say I haven’t earned it yet?” She asked, glancing up at him with a flicker of something close to a smirk.

Riki’s expression didn’t shift. “If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be holding it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable for once. It felt like a new weight settling into the room, a shift in dynamic- small, but undeniable. For the first time in weeks, Y/N didn’t feel like she was being tolerated. She felt like she was being tested.

He stepped behind her, adjusting her grip slightly, guiding her fingers with deliberate precision. His hands were steady, clinical, devoid of any softness. “You don’t hold it like you’re scared of it,” he said. “You hold it like it belongs to you. Because if you ever need to use it, hesitation will get you killed.”

Y/N nodded once..

“What are we starting with?” She asked.

“Targeting. Center mass. Arterial strikes. The basics.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, just light stuff.”

Riki stepped back, the faintest hint of something in his eyes- approval, maybe, though he’d never say it aloud. “You want me to sugarcoat it, or teach you how to survive?”

“I’m not here to be babied,” she said.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I don’t do that.”

VII

It was one of those rare evenings where the entire house sat down for dinner together- something that only ever happened under Jocelyn’s unrelenting insistence. She called them “non-negotiable trust exercises,” claiming that shared meals were sacred, that they built familiarity, dissolved tension, and reminded them all they weren’t just soldiers, or heirs, or enforcers- they were still, somewhere beneath the chaos, a family.

It had happened so often by now that no one protested anymore. In fact, though none of them would dare admit it- especially not Jay- they had started looking forward to it.

The dining table stretched wide, dressed in warm food and soft candlelight, laughter crackling occasionally between bites and side glances. For a few moments, the world outside faded- the rival families, the tension in their bones, the training regimens, the name Andrei looming over their choices. For a few moments, they were just people.

Between bites of roasted vegetables and low conversation, Jay- leaning back with his wine glass in hand- glanced toward Riki without much ceremony. “How’s training going with Y/N?”

Before Riki could even lift his head, Jocelyn cut in, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much enthusiasm. “I think she hates us,” she said, voice cheery in the way only someone trying to stir trouble on purpose could manage. “Riki treats her like absolute shit.”

The table fell dead silent.

Forks hovered halfway to mouths, spoons paused mid-scoop, and everyone’s breath collectively stilled, like the room itself had flinched. All eyes swung toward Riki at once- Heeseung, Sunghoon, Jake, Jungwon, Sunoo- each of them caught somewhere between horror and fascination. It was like someone had pulled the pin on a grenade and dropped it gently in the soup bowl.

Riki leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, gaze level and expression unreadable, like none of this concerned him in the slightest.

Riki would never admit it aloud- certainly not here- but there was a reason he treated Y/N the way he did, a reason that wasn’t about her at all. It was about the fear her father instilled in all of them- the kind of fear that wasn’t loud or threatening, but quiet and suffocating, like a wire pulled tight around the throat. He didn’t like seeing his Hyungs afraid, didn’t like watching the power shift in a room the second Andrei was mentioned. And whether it was misplaced rebellion or something tangled in the growing pains of teenage pride, Riki’s way of pushing back was through her. Through the one person Andrei had made them all silently swear to protect.

It wasn’t fair. Jocelyn told him that- often and bluntly. And still, he didn’t stop.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” Jungwon asked from the far end, his tone more serious than usual.

Jocelyn raised her brows, leaning into the storm she had brewed. “Guys. I feel like you overestimate Andrei. I know he’s… intense, but he thinks of us as family. He trusts us. He trusts Riki.”

“Do you think he’ll still think that,” Heeseung muttered darkly, “when he finds out we’ve been letting his daughter get bullied by this little shit?”

“He hasn’t yet,” Riki said, finally breaking his silence, his tone steady but low. “And he knows how I’ve been training her. I’ve reported everything. He hasn’t said a word about it.”

Jay set his wine glass down, a soft click punctuating the space between them. His eyes were fixed on Riki now- sharp, calculating, protective. “You better not take it too far,” he said, voice cold and quiet in a way that made everyone feel it.

Meanwhile, back in her room, Y/N was face-down on her bed, her arms splayed out and her face half-buried in her pillows like she could physically smother the thoughts racing through her head.

She hated that she was thinking about him.

She really hated that she was thinking about the way his chest had pressed lightly against her back that afternoon- how his voice had lowered, just slightly, as he corrected her stance, one hand firm around her wrist, the other hovering near her waist. There had been nothing flirtatious in it, nothing even remotely intentional. And yet, she felt it- his breath at her neck, his hand steady and warm, the way his hair brushed across her cheek when he leaned too close.

For the first time, he’d treated her like someone who belonged.

Not like a task. Not like a child. Like someone capable of learning. Like someone seen.

And it had wrecked her.

This was not supposed to happen. He was rude, arrogant, emotionally unavailable, and worst of all- barely even looked at her like a person before this week. But the moment he had, the moment he shifted even slightly, her feelings had unraveled.

Riki was the first person to treat her like she had to earn her space.

And God help her, she wanted to- for reasons she didn’t understand yet.

Training sessions with the knife continued that way.

They weren’t rushed, not by any means. Riki moved with measured precision, always focused, always professional. Each lesson built on the last that slowly, inevitably carved her into someone sharper- just like Andrei wanted. And through it all, Riki was there, correcting her grip with a firm hand around her fingers, steadying her hips when her balance faltered, tilting her elbow just slightly to improve her range. His touch was never inappropriate, never lingering- but it was there, constant and unavoidable.

And that was the problem. It wasn’t supposed to matter. But it did.

Because every time he stepped in behind her, hands brushing her arms to guide a motion, or his chest ghosting too close to her back, she became aware- not just of him, but of herself; of how small she felt next to him, how easily he could move her body like it was a piece of a larger machine, how focused he was on the technique and how hard it was for her to stay focused on anything else. She’d nod, she'd respond, she'd keep her stance- because she wasn’t weak- but inside, it drove her mad.

And that was its own kind of addiction.

Eventually, the knife training evolved.

One afternoon, he led her toward the dartboard nailed to the far corner of the gym wall, the sleek, black-and-red target lit under a harsh spotlight. “Congrats, you’re graduating to darts,” he said plainly, handing her a set of matte steel-tipped ones. “Practice for using the gun later. This’ll train your hand-eye control without needing a trigger.”

She wanted to ask why now, but didn’t. She knew better than to ask for praise from him.

What she hadn’t expected, though, was how suddenly his touch disappeared.

No more hands adjusting her wrists. No more shoulders pressed lightly behind her as he corrected posture. No more hovering presence that reminded her she was being watched, guided- trained.

Now, he stood on the other side of the gym, arms crossed, occasionally nodding when she landed a clean shot, occasionally correcting her form with nothing but a sharp word. It was colder, it was emptier- and for reasons she wasn’t ready to unpack, she hated it more than she could admit.

She’d gotten used to him. Not just his methods, but him- the way his presence filled the room like smoke- quiet but consuming. It was the way his voice cut through her overthinking, the way he only touched her when it mattered.

Now, she was left standing there, throwing darts into silence, craving something she couldn’t name without sounding stupid.

A few days later, over a late lunch, Jocelyn asked casually. “Is Riki still being an asshole to you?”

Y/N paused mid-sip of her iced coffee, then exhaled through her nose with a shrug. “I guess it’s the same,” she said flatly. “Yeah. He’s making me play darts now.”

It sounded so mundane when said out loud- darts. As if the word didn’t come weighted with hours of silent precision, as if it wasn’t now tangled with every complicated thought she’d refused to unpack since he started keeping his distance.

Jocelyn didn’t press her. She didn’t raise a brow or tilt her head in curiosity. She just nodded, like that answer was good enough- like of course it made sense.

And that’s when it hit Y/N- despite the annoyance Riki seemed to bring everyone- the insults, the eye rolls, the walls he built taller than most people could see over- they trusted him without question, without explanation. They followed his lead in a fight, deferred to his methods in training, and even Jay, the man who outranked him, never challenged the way Riki handled her.

They trusted that Riki would never hurt her. And, against all odds, she was starting to believe that too. Even if she still wanted to slap that deadpan look off his face most days.

VIII

Riki hadn’t meant to bring her to the gun range so soon. In his head, she still needed a few more weeks of drills- more form correction, more footwork, more discipline. He didn’t want to rush her into something she wasn’t ready for. That’s what he kept telling himself.

The truth, though, was simpler- she was getting good. And much faster than he’d expected. There was a sharpness in her, one that didn’t come from brute force or survival instinct. He watched it grow with every session, and the higher it climbed, the more he dug his heels in, refusing to say the one thing that kept biting at the edge of his tongue.

She was better than she should be.

But pride had never been Riki’s strong suit. So instead of telling her, he just texted her the location and time.

Gun range. 5 PM.

When she arrived, he was already there, loading magazines at the back table. The Glock lay in full view, polished, prepped, resting like it was waiting for her. And the second her eyes landed on it, her whole face lit up- wide-eyed, eager, the kind of grin that would’ve made someone else laugh, maybe even tease her. Riki didn’t do either, but he noticed it. And for a split second, the way her excitement filled the room reminded him of something younger- before orders, before violence had become muscle memory.

She looked at the gun like a child being handed a lollipop, and somehow, it didn’t make her look naive.

As she approached, he just nodded and motioned her closer. Then, without any fanfare, he stepped behind her, close enough that his presence could be felt but not overwhelming. His hand settled on her lower back, firm but careful, guiding her toward the right position. When he placed the Glock in her hands, he didn’t ask if she was nervous- he simply adjusted her fingers around the grip with the same precision he’d applied to every lesson before.

His chest brushed lightly against her back as he corrected her arms, lining her up with the target. One hand slid to her waist to adjust her balance; the other repositioned her wrist, steadying her elbow like she was an extension of his own movement.

“Breathe through your stomach,” he said quietly. “Not your chest.”

She didn’t respond, but he felt her body shift, her breathing grow deeper, slower. She was focused- more than he’d seen her yet.

When the shot rang out, it echoed clean through the chamber.

Dead center.

He blinked at the target, then at her. She hadn’t even flinched.

It was a better first shot than he’d ever pulled off.

For a second, he stayed behind her, watching the slight tremble in her arm settle, watching the way she held the weapon like it belonged to her. There was something tightening in his chest- something like respect, with edges he didn’t know how to name.

He stepped away before it could settle too deeply.

“Not bad, princess,” he said, flat as ever.

But he knew- and she knew he knew- that it was more than that.

And somehow, that made things even more complicated.

Later that night, when the house had settled into silence and the world outside had finally stopped demanding things of him, Riki sat alone in his room- lights off, window cracked open, the faint sounds of the city humming in the distance like a lullaby that didn’t quite land.

He had a habit of keeping things minimal. His room reflected that- clean, sparse, practical. A bed, a desk, a shelf lined with weapons he never bragged about, a set of notebooks he never let anyone read. Even the air felt sharpened by discipline, like nothing stayed unless it earned its place.

Tonight, though, his thoughts wouldn’t quiet. He leaned back in his chair, head tilted slightly against the wall behind him, eyes fixed somewhere in the dark. His body ached faintly from his own training, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It was her- Y/N. Not just her smile at the range, not just her aim. Her.

The way she stood a little taller these days. The way her jokes landed more confidently. The way she stared straight back at him when he criticized her, like she was daring him to look deeper and find something worth saying.

She’d started to take up space. Not in a loud, attention-seeking way, not like the girls he’d known before, who wanted to be admired or envied. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone- not even her father. Especially not him. And maybe that was what gnawed at him most.

She wanted this- the training.

And he hated that it made him care.

Because he’d promised himself long ago he wouldn’t get involved. Not with people who could be used against him. Not with people tied to bigger names, bigger consequences. And especially not with someone like her- someone who carried Andrei’s legacy like a blade pressed to the throat of every man in this house.

But still… when she shot dead center today, her posture steady, her eyes locked on the target like it was personal, he hadn’t seen Andrei’s daughter. He’d seen Y/N, who she’d been begging him to see, and that was dangerous. Because if he was honest with himself- and he rarely was- he didn’t know if he was more afraid of hurting her… or protecting her.

Both felt like weakness.

IX

By now, she’d memorized the sound of his voice when he called her princess. The first time he said it, it had dripped with condescension- like she was an intruder in a space built by blood and sweat, a spoiled girl playing pretend with knives. But lately, it hadn’t sounded like an insult anymore.

Riki still said it like it was muscle memory, like he didn’t even think about it. But Y/N could feel it in the air each time the word left his mouth. It no longer struck like a bullet- it brushed against her like a whisper, warm and low and maddeningly familiar.

She told herself she didn’t care- but it was starting to ruin her.

Today, when she walked into the gym, he didn’t even look up. He was standing near the far wall, hands wrapped in tape, posture loose but ready- like always. The only acknowledgment she got was a single nod and the flick of his eyes down to the knife laid out for her.

“Back to blades?” She asked, dropping her bag near the corner, pulling her hair up without waiting for a reply.

“You still hold it like you’re scared of it,” he muttered, finally tossing her a dull training knife. “You want a gun, earn it.”

She caught the knife and rolled her eyes. “I did earn it.”

“You earned a lesson. Not the weapon.”

Y/N bit down her response. It was always like this- every compliment is buried under sharp edges. Every ounce of progress ignored- or worse, acknowledged in silence. Still, she stayed. Still, she showed up every time. And he knew she would.

The drills began- swift, methodical, exhausting in their repetition. Riki moved around her like a shadow, close enough to guide her, never close enough to feel safe. He adjusted her posture with two fingers on her back, fixed her grip with the curve of his palm against hers. Every brush of contact lit a fuse in her chest- short, sharp, breathless.

She hated how much her body noticed him now. The way he stood behind her to correct her stance, tall and composed, warmth bleeding through his shirt as he aligned her movements to his. The way his voice dipped lower when she was doing something right. The way he never admitted it out loud, but kept letting her go further anyway.

“You’re hesitating,” he said once, when she faltered mid-block.

“I’m not,” she whispered back, heart racing.

He stepped closer, eyes locked on hers, unflinching. “Prove it.”

She didn’t look away- not this time.

Their next drill was closer in contact- something that would’ve flustered her a month ago. Now, it just made her aware of everything. The shape of his jaw, the slight hitch in his breath when she got the move right, the way his fingers lingered a beat too long on her waist when he stopped her momentum.

And when they broke apart, she missed his touch so sharply it almost made her stumble.

They didn’t speak of it. Neither of them mentioned the way the room suddenly felt hotter, or how time seemed to slow every time he looked at her. But it was there- it was in the silence.

It was in the way he handed her the blade before their final set and said, quietly, “ready, princess?”

The word settled on her like a secret. Her stomach flipped. She couldn’t even bring herself to smirk. She just nodded, eyes locked on his, pulse wild under her skin.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I’m ready.”

X

It was a routine afternoon when Jay showed up.

Training was supposed to be just the two of them- like always. Y/N had walked in ready, hair tied back, tank top clinging to her skin from the heat, that same practiced neutrality on her face that she tried to wear like armor around him. Riki had almost forgotten what it felt like to train anyone else. She took up so much space now, even when she was silent.

But then Jay strolled in, leaning casually against the gym doorway with his arms crossed and that signature unreadable expression that meant he was watching more than he let on.

“Don’t mind me,” Jay said, tone light but eyes sharp. “Just felt like watching for a change.”

Riki raised an eyebrow, but didn’t protest. Y/N just nodded stiffly, shooting a glance at Riki that felt almost nervous.

The drills started. Knife work first, then light sparring, then stance correction. It all felt routine- except it wasn’t. Not with Jay’s eyes following every movement, not when Riki noticed the way Y/N’s composure faltered just a little more under observation; the way she smiled when Riki rolled his eyes at her, the way her laugh came out softer, quicker, like she didn’t mean for it to slip.

And Jay saw all of it.

He saw the way Riki’s hands hovered just a little longer on her waist when he corrected her balance, the way Riki’s jaw clenched every time she touched him and didn’t notice it. And the way he looked at her- God, how he looked at her.

Jay knew that look. It was the same look Jake used to give Jocelyn when Jay was a protective nutjob all those years ago. He himself had worn it before, years ago, with someone he couldn’t have.

When the session ended, Y/N grabbed her water bottle, barely glanced at them as she walked out- too flustered, too warm, too aware of whatever it was that lived in the air now. She gave Jay a quick, awkward wave. “See you later.”

He waited until she was gone, until her footsteps disappeared down the hall.

Then he turned to Riki. “So,” Jay said, voice flat now, arms still crossed, “you wanna tell me what that was?”

Riki didn’t even look up from where he was putting the blades away. “What was what?”

Jay scoffed. “Don’t play stupid. That tension? I could cut it with one of those knives you keep throwing at her.”

Riki shut the drawer with a little too much force. “Training. That’s all.”

“That’s not what it looks like.”

“Then you’re looking too hard, Hyung.”

Jay stepped forward, voice still calm but edged now. “She’s Andrei’s daughter, Riki.”

That made Riki freeze- just a second too long.

Jay noticed.

“I know,” Riki muttered, voice lower now, the defensiveness creeping in despite him trying to keep it steady. “I haven’t done anything. Nothing’s happening.”

“Maybe not yet,” Jay said. “But don’t act like you’re not halfway there.”

Riki turned to him, finally meeting his eyes. His usual cool exterior was cracking- not completely, but enough to reveal the mess beneath. “She’s a trainee.”

“She’s not just a trainee,” Jay shot back. “And you know it,” Jay sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t get to mess this up. Not with her. Not with him watching us like hawks. If he even thinks you’ve crossed a line-”

“I haven’t,” Riki cut in sharply. “I won’t.”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “You can lie to me. But don’t lie to yourself,” he turned to leave but paused at the door. “Figure it out, Riki. Before someone else does,” and then he was gone, leaving Riki standing in the center of the gym, the silence ringing louder than any gunshot he’d ever fired.

Because deep down, beneath all the denial, beneath all the bravado, he already had crossed a line. He just didn’t know what to do with the part of him that didn’t want to go back.

XI

The air in the basement gym felt different that evening. Maybe it was the heat from the sparring mats or the hum of the overhead lights, or maybe it was something else- something that had been building quietly between them, day after day, in every unspoken word and every touch that lingered longer than it should’ve.

Y/N showed up a few minutes early, her water bottle still half-full from earlier that afternoon, strands of hair already sticking to her temple despite the shower she’d just taken. She found Riki already at the far end of the gym, shirt clinging to his back, sweat running down the curve of his neck, gloves hitting the punching bag in practiced, rhythmic bursts.

When he saw her, it was the same thing every time- that pause, that fraction of a second where the air seemed to thicken around them before he blinked, nodded, and turned away like nothing in his chest had tightened.

She set her bag down, smoothing her hands over her leggings. “I forgot my gloves,” she said, not expecting sympathy.

“You can go bare,” he muttered, not looking up. “It’ll toughen your hands.”

“Tough love again?”

“No. Just love.”

The words slipped out too quickly- too quiet, too smooth- and for a second, neither of them moved. But then he rolled his shoulder and stepped toward the corner of the room where the throwing knives were stored. “Get ready,” he said, like it hadn’t meant anything at all.

But it had. She could feel it in her spine.

They went through warm-ups without speaking, but the silence wasn’t comfortable the way it used to be. It buzzed now, full of static. Every time she glanced at him, his eyes were already on her- watchful, unreadable, and far too soft for someone who used to cut her down with every word.

Then, without warning, he said, “We’re not doing blades today.”

She paused. “No?”

“No,” he replied, tossing a small black case onto the mat in front of her. “We’re doing this.”

Y/N crouched down, flipping open the case. Inside sat a matte black Glock 19. Her breath caught a little in her throat, not because of fear, but because this was it- this was the next step, the one she’d been waiting for without even realizing it.

“Seriously?” She asked, glancing up at him. “You're letting me fire this now?”

“You’re ready,” Riki said, already crossing the room toward the private firing range that had been installed in the far end of the basement. She wondered why he took her to a shooting range the last time. “Don’t make me regret it.”

She followed him with a quiet sense of awe, like a child being handed a key to a secret world. The thrill wasn’t just from the weapon- it was the way he trusted her with it. It meant he trusted her.

Inside the range, everything felt quieter, more closed-in. The walls were padded, the air cooler. He handed her protective earmuffs and adjusted her stance from behind, like always. But this time, when his hands came to rest on her wrists, she didn’t flinch. And he didn’t pull away.

“Grip tighter,” he murmured, voice brushing her neck with warmth. “Looser in the shoulders. You’re too stiff.”

“I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be.”

“You’re close.”

“I have to be.”

His breath was at her jaw now, and she could feel the warmth of his chest against her back, the firm press of his hands guiding hers toward the target. Every part of her was lit up, heart racing, skin alive with sensation that had nothing to do with fear.

“You’ve done this before,” he said softly.

“Not like this.”

Something about her voice made him freeze- ust for a second, just long enough.

She turned her head slightly, only to find that his face was closer than she expected- barely a few inches away. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises, the faintest shadow of stubble at his jaw, the tension carved into his mouth.

He didn’t move. Neither of them did.

And for the first time, she leaned forward first. Only a fraction, only enough to feel the whisper of his breath across her lips.

But then, just before the space between them disappeared entirely- he stepped back. Not far, just enough to break the moment, just enough to pretend it hadn’t happened.

“Focus,” he said. “Fire.”

And somehow, she did.

XII

It was late- one of those hushed, heavy nights where the house was still, and even the walls seemed to be holding their breath.

Riki had been pacing for twenty minutes before he finally gave in and knocked on Jake’s door. Not loudly- just enough to make sure he was awake, just enough that he wouldn’t have time to pretend otherwise.

Jake opened the door half-asleep, shirtless, hair messy, blinking hard against the dim hallway light. “You good?” He asked, voice gravelly.

“I need to talk.”

Jake stared at him for a beat, then sighed and stepped aside. “Come in.”

Riki entered without a word, dropped onto the edge of the bed, palms rubbing over his face like they could scrub away the chaos in his chest. Jake sat across from him, leaning against the headboard, arms folded, waiting.

It took Riki a full minute to say anything.

“I think I’m fucking up.”

Jake frowned. “What?”

“Y/N,” Riki said quickly, like if he didn’t get it out now, he’d swallow it again and let it rot inside him. “I think-” He stopped, hesitating, then took a breath and tried again. “I know I acted like I hated her. I know I was awful to her at first. But something’s… changing.”

Jake tilted his head. “What’s happening?”

“I can’t focus around her,” Riki muttered, his voice lower now, like he didn’t want the walls to hear. “I’ll be mid-sentence and forget what I’m saying. I touch her waist to adjust her stance and my heart’s fucking racing. It wasn’t like this before. I feel like I’m slipping.”

Jake gave a small, knowing smile. “You like her.”

“I don’t-”

“You do.”

Riki let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Jay told you?”

“He told me what he saw in one of your sessions,” Jake said. “Said he’s never seen you look at anyone like that. Said she looked at you the same way back.”

“She can’t,” Riki said, shaking his head.

“And you can’t either. But look where we are.”

Riki looked away, jaw tight with shame and conflict. He wasn’t the type to let himself feel things. But this- whatever this was- had come in through the cracks before he even realized he’d left the door open.

Jake’s voice was gentler now. “How do you think Jocelyn and I even started?” Jake said, shrugging slightly. “It was innocent touches, glances we didn’t mean to hold. Eventually, I kissed her. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I couldn’t stop myself anymore. And it worked out. Took time, sure. But it worked out.”

Riki didn’t speak, his fingers curling into the blanket beside him.

Jake leaned forward slightly. “This could work out too.”

Riki’s gaze flicked to him, unreadable. “She’s Andrei’s daughter,” he didn’t need to say more. That fact alone carried the weight of a thousand consequences and confessions.

But Jake didn’t mock him. “And Jocelyn is Jay’s sister. And I’m still alive,” he added with a half-smile. “But I made it through. Look, I know we’re all scared of Andrei. I don’t think that’s ever going away. But I also know one thing for sure- if his daughter wants something, she gets it.”

Riki looked up, uncertain. “You think she’d ask for me?”

Jake’s smile deepened, kind but knowing. “She will ask for you.”

And for the first time in days, Riki didn’t argue. He just stared down at his hands, the ones that had trained her, steadied her, touched her more times than he could count and wondered what the hell he’d do if she ever asked.

XIII

Y/N wasn’t exactly sure how to ask for Riki.

He wasn’t some luxury commodity behind glass, not someone she could simply claim or corner. And yet… she wanted him- really badly. Enough that it settled into her bloodstream and made her skin prickle with awareness every time he stood too close or looked at her a second too long.

It was past the point of being a crush. Middle school infatuations didn’t keep you up at night. They didn’t make you forget how to speak, didn’t ruin your appetite, didn’t lodge themselves into your chest until every beat sounded like his name.

For all the hours they’d spent together in the gym, wrapped in silences and glances that came too close, she barely knew anything real about him. The story she pieced together came through fragments- things she’d overheard from guards lingering too long by the kitchen, from maids who whispered between rooms when they thought no one was listening.

They said Riki’s parents had done something- something unforgivable. Something that got him pulled into this world of bullets and blood before he was old enough to decide for himself.

She didn’t ask him. Not because she didn’t want to know- but because she could feel that line between them, the one drawn in silence, in pride. He’d tell her when he was ready. Or maybe he never would. And she’d learn to be okay with that.

But she had learned other things. She knew Riki only drank one brand of water- blue label, chilled, never room temperature. She’d seen him throw away a bottle once because it wasn’t cold enough. She knew that he cracked his knuckles before every new round of training- not out of nervousness, but as if his body needed it, a mechanical reset. She knew that when he helped her adjust her form, his fingers always lingered for exactly one second longer than necessary. She knew he always smelled faintly of cedarwood. And she knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that he wanted her too. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself yet.

The next session started like any other. Riki barely looked at her when she entered. He tossed her a towel, gestured to the mat, and muttered something about drills. But she didn’t hear it. She was too focused on the way his jaw tensed when their shoulders brushed.

The gym was quiet. Only their breath and the scuff of sneakers against mats filled the air. The silence between them had changed again- it wasn’t cold or distant anymore. It was heavy and loaded. Every time they locked eyes, something passed between them- hot and unspoken.

Riki circled her as she moved, his gaze razor-sharp, hands in his pockets like he needed to stop them from reaching out.

“Back straight,” he said. “Left foot back.” She adjusted, slowly- she knew he was watching. “You’re doing that thing again,” he muttered.

“What thing?” She asked, breathless.

“The thing with your eyes. Darting. Like you’re thinking something you shouldn’t.”

She didn’t answer. Her chest rose and fell a little too quickly. His did too.

He stepped closer. “Y/N,” he said quietly. “Are you- ”

“I’m not thinking about anything,” she lied.

“You are.”

Her eyes met his. And something in him snapped. He didn’t speak. He didn’t warn her. He just moved. In one fluid, inevitable motion, Riki closed the distance between them, one hand cupping her jaw, the other wrapping tight around her waist as he pulled her in and kissed her. It wasn’t soft, nor was it polite. It was weeks of tension crashing at once- every stolen glance, every touch that lingered, every insult thrown like a defense mechanism.

His lips were warm, insistent, desperate in the way they claimed her. And she kissed him back like she’d been waiting her whole life for it.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, his hair, anything she could hold onto as her world narrowed to the space between their mouths. His breath was shaky against hers, and when he finally pulled back just a few inches, their foreheads still touched.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “This is bad.”

Y/N’s lips curved, slow and sinful. “Feels pretty good to me.”

And he pulled her in again.

They hadn’t heard the footsteps. Too lost in each other, in the heat of lips meeting and breath catching, in the way Riki's hand had slipped beneath the curve of her jaw like he was holding something delicate for the first time in years. The world had narrowed to the sharp thrum of pulse and proximity- until it shattered.

“Hey,” Jay’s voice cut through the air like a slap of cold water, casual but just loud enough to be heard. “There’s someone at the gate who claims to be Y/N’s driver-”

They broke apart instantly.

Riki stepped back so fast he nearly tripped over the sparring mat, one hand dragging through his hair, the other stuffed deep into his pocket as if that would make him look less flushed. Y/N spun away from him, turning toward the nearest table and grabbing her water bottle like it had suddenly become the most important object in the world. Her chest still rose and fell a little too fast, her lips were still tingling.

Jay blinked from the doorway, taking in the sight before him- the wide space between them, the breathlessness, the too-casual way Riki avoided eye contact.

Y/N cleared her throat, too quickly. “Driver?” She repeated, brows furrowed. “That doesn’t make sense. He calls me every time he’s on his way.”

Riki’s head snapped up. Jay paused mid-step, the faintest chill sliding into his voice. “That’s… not your driver?”

“No,” Y/N said, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t ask anyone to come tonight.”

Jay didn’t wait for further explanation. “Let’s go.”

The three of them moved quickly through the hallway- Jay in the lead, Riki silently but tightly flanking Y/N’s side like a shadow, his entire body coiled with tension. Behind them, her two assigned bodyguards followed without a word, guns no doubt already unclipped from their holsters.

Through the glass, under the yellow porch lights, stood a man- clean-shaven, suit pressed to the last crease. He held the composure of someone who wanted to look harmless- too put together, too calm.

Y/N squinted. “I’ve never seen him before.”

That was all Riki needed. He stepped forward first, arm across her instinctively, like it had become second nature now. “Stay behind me.”

Jay glanced sideways, expression steel. “Heeseung,” he called out into the house and he appeared from the stairs. “Get his plates. If he moves, shoot.”

The second guard was already reaching for the knob. He opened the door with a steady hand.

The man outside gave a small bow, smiling politely. “Good evening. I’m here for Miss Y/N-”

“What’s the name of her real driver?” Riki cut in, voice sharp enough to wound.

The man hesitated. His smile twitched.

That was all the confirmation they needed.

In a flash, both guards surged forward, seizing the imposter. He fought harder than expected- he wasn’t just a fake chauffeur, he was trained- but they had him down in under a minute, knee to his back, wrists already bound. Riki didn’t blink as the scene played out in front of him. But his fingers curled into fists.

Y/N, meanwhile, stood silent, breath caught halfway in her chest, wide-eyed and stiff. Her gaze stayed locked on the man now pinned to the ground- just another reminder that her world wasn’t normal, that she couldn’t afford to slip. That being Andrei’s daughter wasn’t just a title- it was a target.

Jay’s voice broke the silence. “That’s the second time someone’s tried to take you in six months.”

Without thinking, Riki reached out- just a touch to her wrist, grounding her. “I’ve got her,” he said quietly, mostly to Jay. “I’ll stay with her.”

Jay looked at him for a long, long moment, questioning the integrity in his voice. Then he nodded.

And for the first time, Y/N didn’t flinch from Riki’s hand- she leaned into it.

XIV

The aftermath of the kidnapping attempt left behind more than shaken breath and rattled nerves- it rewrote the rules completely. The very next morning, without ceremony or explanation, Andrei made a decision. There would be no more training at Jay’s house. No more shared spaces or group dinners or the illusion that Y/N was just another girl among her father’s closest allies.

“She stays at home,” he said into the phone, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “If she trains, he comes to her. End of discussion.”

Within hours, the mats from Riki’s gym were relocated, the gear packed and installed in one of Andrei’s lesser-used spare rooms- a space that had once been decorated in heavy velvet curtains and antique frames, now stripped to its bones and dressed in greys, reds, and pale yellows- Riki’s signature palette. The room felt clinical, impersonal, almost too neat, as if pretending that none of this was complicated, as if hearts weren’t involved.

Y/N was already there when Riki arrived- punctual, poised, dressed down in leggings and a plain black tank, her hair pulled back in a ponytail that sat snugly above her neck. But despite her usual composure, she didn’t feel steady. There was a subtle jitter in the way her hand gripped her water bottle, and something flickered behind her eyes- nerves, sparks, confidence.

Riki didn’t say anything at first. He simply stepped in, set down his bag in the corner, and nodded toward the mat.

“Start warming up,” he said, his tone quiet, unreadable- as usual.

And yet, even from the other end of the room, the weight of everything unsaid settled heavily in the air between them- the echo of their kiss from the day before still lingering like fingerprints on skin. It clung to the space around them, invisible but impossible to ignore.

They started with stretches, the kind of drills that required just enough focus to pretend everything was normal, but not enough to stop them from glancing at each other when they thought the other wouldn’t notice.

Riki moved stiffly, his usual ease replaced by hesitance, like he was caught between muscle memory and new habits. He guided her through the routine, correcting her posture with the tips of his fingers, letting his hand linger a second too long on the small of her back before catching himself and stepping away.

Y/N noticed, of course she did. And she hated that it made her smile.

Knife drills came next, the same sequences they’d done dozens of times, but now, every touch- every movement of his hand over her wrist, every adjustment of her stance, every moment where his chest brushed lightly against her back as he leaned in to reposition her grip- felt different. It was no longer just training. It was choreography laced with friction, and the steps were starting to blur.

At one point, she turned to face him directly, her eyes a little darker than usual, her voice lower when she said, “You’re distracted.”

Riki met her gaze, brows raised. “You’re not?”

She opened her mouth to answer but didn’t. Because the truth was- she was. She was more than distracted, she was drowning in the gravity of whatever this thing was becoming.

They stood there, staring, the room too quiet, too still.

And then he took a step forward. He didn’t ask, didn’t give her the chance to overthink it. One moment, there was space between them- and the next, there wasn’t. His hand found her face first, fingers curling softly beneath her jaw, tilting her toward him with a tenderness that contrasted everything about how he’d treated her the last few weeks. His thumb brushed lightly across her cheek, like he was learning her face for the first time, like he was memorizing something he didn’t want to forget.

Then he kissed her.

Not out of impulse, not out of frustration, not because the world had stopped- but because he finally understood that he wanted to. Not just the kiss, not just the way she looked at him like he was more than a soldier or a weapon, but her.

He kissed her because there was no more pretending otherwise.

She leaned into it without hesitation, hands sliding up to his chest, anchoring herself in the rhythm of it, letting herself sink into the security of his arms and the warmth of his mouth and the weight of his unspoken confession.

When they finally pulled apart, breath mingling in the sliver of space left between them, neither of them spoke. Her hands still rested lightly against his chest, his fingers still curved gently along her jaw, and though the kiss had ended, neither of them stepped back. The air between them, once charged with tension and uncertainty, had fully softened. It wasn’t awkward, and it wasn’t restrained. It was just them, suspended in the calm that followed, finally giving in and the risk of being together under Andrei’s roof.

And somehow, that made it all the more desired.

XV

They never talked about the kiss. Not the first one, not the second- not any of them. But they happened. Between drills, between breathless rounds of sparring, between the weight of his hand on her lower back and the way she glanced at his mouth when he corrected her stance- they happened, swift and natural, like gravity..

It wasn’t a performance. There was no dramatic build-up, no declarations of want or need- just fleeting moments.

Sometimes, she’d land a clean hit during a knife drill, and the thrill of it would make her grin too wide. And he’d grab her wrist, tug her toward him, and press a kiss to her mouth like it was the most normal thing in the world- congratulating her.

Other times, when she was too tired to finish her reps but refused to quit, he’d stand behind her, hands on her shoulders, grounding her- and she’d turn without thinking, meet him halfway with parted lips and fluttering lashes. And he’d kiss her, slow, like punctuation to a sentence they never dared speak aloud.

They didn’t talk about it because they didn’t have to. Because they both knew- deep in their chests, in their locked eyes, in the way their hands lingered after every touch- that whatever this was, it had already sunk its roots in. And there was no pulling it out now.

But they did talk- about everything else. Between sets and cooldowns, they learned each other in bits and pieces. She told him about the time she failed her driving test three times, and he laughed- actually laughed, rare and unguarded. He told her about his mother’s cooking, how he still missed it sometimes even though she hadn’t made a meal in years. She learned he didn’t like sweet things, hated the sound of sirens, and always tied his right boot tighter than his left. He learned she liked old films and slept with a reading lamp on. They traded stories like offerings- gentle, ordinary confessions in the middle of an extraordinary situation.

Riki knew he was playing a dangerous game. That if Andrei found out, he wouldn’t just vanish, he and his entire family would be incinerated. But that didn’t exactly stop him.

Because when she looked up at him after landing her best shot, cheeks flushed, pride glowing from her collarbones to her temples, he didn’t see a boss’s daughter, he didn’t see risk. He just saw her.

And when she kissed him- quick and secret, breathless and hot between whispered curses- she didn’t see her trainer, or a soldier, or someone who could be gone tomorrow. She saw him.

And so, the kisses continued- secretive, dashing, daring. But soft and vulnerable all wrapped together like a present.

They built a rhythm in those days. A ritual that was half training and half undoing. He’d correct her grip on the gun, his arms enclosing hers- and she’d lean back slightly, as if daring him. He’d press a kiss to her neck when no one was looking. She’d bite back a smile. Sometimes she’d kiss him mid-sentence- interrupting his scolding about footwork with a grin and her mouth on his, just a second, just enough to make him forget his next word.

And it scared him. Because if he didn’t stop soon, he wouldn’t be able to stop at all.

But for now- for these stolen moments, these dangerous little tastes of something forbidden- he let himself fall… just a little.

Because if being near her was a crime, then every kiss was worth the sentence.

XVI

Jocelyn hadn’t meant to catch it. She had only called Y/N for a quick chat- one of their usual midday check-ins, a moment to vent about the guards being too stiff, the tea being too cold, or Jake leaving his socks everywhere. But as they spoke, Jocelyn caught something else entirely. It wasn't in Y/N’s words, but in her tone- the softness that slipped through when she said Riki’s name, the almost-laugh that caught in her throat when she recounted how he’d corrected her grip too firmly, or how he’d teased her over her stance.

He called her princess.

It was a familiar lilt- one Jocelyn recognized with aching precision. She had once sounded like that too. Still did, when she spoke about Jake in those rare, vulnerable moments- that unguarded fondness, the grin behind the words.

Y/N was falling.

Jocelyn could hear it in the quiet between her sentences.

And yet, she didn’t immediately bring it up. For days after the call, she sat with the realization, unsure of what to do with it. She didn’t want to sound the alarm, didn’t want to startle something fragile before it had fully grown into itself. But in the end, she told Jay- not to expose Riki, not to get anyone in trouble- just so that it wouldn’t be a surprise when it inevitably came to light. Because it would- these things always did.

“Go easy on him, Jay,” she said gently after she told him. “He’s honestly still just a kid.”

Jay didn’t respond. He’d just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But she saw the way his jaw tightened, how he exhaled a little too slowly- the way someone did when they were calculating the distance between what they wanted to say and what they knew they had to.

The next afternoon, Riki was folding laundry in his room, half-mumbling to himself about a sock that had disappeared and how the dryer probably ate it. His phone was playing something offbeat in the background, and for a second, it almost looked like peace. Almost.

Jay walked in without knocking, the door creaking open behind him. His presence alone changed the temperature of the room. “We need to talk,” he said, voice low but firm.

Riki turned, confused, arms full of unfolded shirts. “What is it, Hyung?”

Jay shut the door, the sound sharp and final behind him. “Drop the act, you little shit.”

Riki blinked. “What-?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Jay interrupted. His tone wasn’t raised, but it carried weight- that same unsettling calm he’d inherited from their early days, when authority didn’t have to be loud to be terrifying.

Riki stood there, awkward and cornered, the shirt in his hands suddenly feeling much heavier than cotton. “I… I don’t-”

“Don’t play dumb.” Jay stepped forward, slowly. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t know?”

There was a pause. Riki’s mouth opened slightly as if to respond, then closed again. His eyes dropped to the floor.

“I watched you train her,” Jay continued. “I saw the way you looked at her. The way she looked at you. The tension. The way she couldn’t stop smiling, and you-” Jay exhaled through his nose. “You were practically vibrating.”

Riki couldn’t even deny it.

“You kissed her?” Jay asked, eyes narrowed.

After a beat, Riki nodded once.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “That’s it. We’ve kissed. But I didn’t mean for it to happen like this, Hyung. I didn’t plan it. It just happened.”

Jay sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring hard at the floor as though it would give him the answer he needed. “Do you have any idea what you’re risking?”

Riki hesitated, then nodded. “I do. I think about it all the time.”

Jay looked up. “Then why are you still doing it?”

Riki swallowed hard. “I don’t think I can stop,” Jay was quiet. “I know it’s stupid,” Riki went on, his voice breaking with honesty. “I know she’s Andrei’s daughter, I know it could ruin everything. But when I’m with her… it doesn’t feel like that. It’s not about power or danger or names. It’s just… her.”

Jay’s expression shifted- not quite soft, but no longer severe. He studied Riki for a long moment before asking, “Do you love her?”

Riki’s breath hitched- he didn’t answer right away. But that silence was answer enough. “I think I’m starting to,” he said finally.

Jay leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “God, you’re both idiots.”

“I know.”

“I mean it,” Jay added, lips twitching into something close to a smile. “This is dangerous. It’s reckless. It could get us all killed.”

“I know,” Riki repeated. “I’m killed.”

“But,” Jay sighed. “I also know what it’s like to fall for someone when you’re not supposed to. When everything says it’s a bad idea. Well- I don’t. But my sister does.” Jay stood, hands on his hips now. “And yeah, I was angry. But it also gave me everything. I wouldn’t take that back.”

Riki’s eyes softened.

“So,” Jay continued, eyes locking with his, “I’m not going to stop you. I’m not going to tell you to end it. But I am going to say this- be smart. Be respectful. Be honest. Don’t treat this like a phase, or a game.”

“I’m not,” Riki said. “I swear.”

Jay nodded slowly. “When the time comes- when Andrei finds out- you won’t face it alone. I’ll stand with you. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

A long breath passed between them. The room felt a little lighter, like permanence had shifted beneath the surface.

Riki nodded. “Thank you, Hyung.”

Jay reached out, ruffled his hair- firm, almost fond, like how he used to when he first met Riki. “Just don’t make me regret it, you punk.”

[kremblor]

Honestly I love the way they did this. Like could the show have gone further and shown the desperation (a la Battlestar Galactica style) ... sure ... but the food situation (and the replicator/holodeck rations along with material scrounging gives us hints).

But here is the thing ... we start the series with Tom and his "tomato soup" "there are " "plain tomato soup" - a clear blatant example of just how much information/recipes the replicator holds for a single thing. No, really, consider coffee, black (but how precisely what TYPE of coffee - what style beans, Earth beans or some other species? The ground style? The brew style? Etc etc) or even Picards "Earl Grey, hot). We do get a bit of "as its their usual the computer knows from voice which" explained elsewhere (off screen or in a book or whatever) but that still has to be programmed in for each person per system (ship, base, home, office, etc).

So, the moment Voyager is dealing with a resource deficiency much of the reliance comes from that pre-programed main preference or Neelix for the food. You aren't gonna use your rations up just because basically. And what does Neelix do?

We get told in show a few times he actually looks into the crews history and background. Listens to their stories ("one stack of banana pancakes coming right up" - he replicates it but he does it, and likely the kitchen has a bit more ration use so its not wasting individual ration). Like, i may dislike certain aspects to Neelix's character but that's more the writers choice to not show the growth there. This man looked up crew holidays and cooked meals for them. "This vulcan holiday is celebrated with plomeek soup, rather bland for me but here ya go". He put together events and everything for the crew to keep the morale going - providing the food for it. Was it always great food ... no. But he worked to learn their traditions and cultures so he could bring them a taste of home.

We also get the whole "attempts to steal mushrooms so Chakotay can make mushroom soup" at the beginning of the show. Janeway may not have been "captain chef" (which honestly not just her - Picard and Kirk also weren't cooks, replicate fine sure but not cooks like Pike or Sisko. Don't even think Archer was shown to actually cook) ... but there are those on the crew who were and I like that the show indicates this sort of thing. That Neelix (and Kes with her plants) cared to help this crew along. That others knew how to cook, and likely did.

Tuvok we learn can bake (and likely more), Seven is capable as well, and obviously Chakotay. I guarantee there was at least a few times those 3 convinced Janeway to do a briefing in the mess hall "cook a nice meal for it" "it would only be logical to brew a pot of coffee-" "okay im convinced" .... just i love the food situation.

And that it is immediately presented in the show. Neelix and Kes are outsiders, not "crew", essentially accidentally rescued/caught up in their situation.... and instead of a "get us off this ship now" its a "let us come along, we can help, i can cook. Oh I can start you a garden". Immediately a "you'll definitely be needing resources and food along the way and we know this area plus bonus capable of providing the food and cooking it" - and its shown through Neelix that without him they might have accidentally gathered the wrong stuff and died (not really but it would have taken longer to test everything on ship for edibility - least with his guidance they can scan what he says is good and see if okay for them).

Anyways .... yeah I love the use of the food situation as a way of expressing the ships situation as a whole.

the food situation on voyager is so fucking dire compared to every other star trek series like their chef is cooking for a bunch of alien species he’s never encountered before and has no idea what their palates are like so he’s just throwing shit at a wall and hoping it sticks, they can barely use the replicators, and they can’t even go over to the captain’s quarters for a nice homecooked crew meal because unlike every other starfleet captain she’s so bad at cooking she can burn replicated water. that’s the real horror of the show tbh

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

Mine // Luke Hughes

a follow up to The Manuscript, where Luke has some words to say.

part one - here

WC: 1.4k

CW: tears, a lil bit of self deprecation if you squint, post breakup sad, pet names, he lowkey fixes it

He was sitting in the passenger seat of Quinn’s car, riding down the road that now left a foul aftertaste in his mouth. Your house was coming up, 2 miles ahead on the right. The house with the big pine tree and endless kisses and now broken promises lived. 

A promise he'd always come back to you, promises of forever, promises of "I'll come whisk you away. I’ll be on one knee and it'll be you and me.”

That ring felt like it was burning a hole in his luggage. Almost like he could feel the hurt. He could feel hurt. All he felt lately was hurt. He had no one to blame but himself. 

“You could fix this Luke.” Quinn’s voice held a level of support for his brother but also an anger for her. For the girl who was his sister. Maybe not by blood, or even marriage now, but Quinn always supported her. “She’s hurt, but she wouldn’t just forget about you and everything you had in two weeks. Give her some time, get a plan, and bring her home.” 

Luke just nodded.

It had been 2 weeks since Luke had been in Michigan. 3 weeks, 3 days and 12 hours since the doorbell footage he couldn't stop watching. “I loved you, Lukey” playing on an endless cycle in his brain. Loved. Past tense. Had he really fucked this up so badly that she had time to fall out of love with him?

He was staring at the basket that was on the counter. The basket with everything you loved, the basket of proof he never stopped thinking about you. 

That stupid hoodie you always stole, a note front and center, some candy and other snacks, a blanket, the comfiest socks he could find and some books he knew you had been eyeing. Thankful for your goodreads being public enough he could see what books have been bought and what hasn't. 

Quinn had talked him out of waiting at the door with the basket, “That’s basically cornering her, Luke. You can’t do that. Drop it off on the porch, knock on the door and go back to the car.” and maybe Quinn was right. As much as Luke needed to see your face, needed you to see he wasn’t okay either– he knew that wouldn't end well for either of you.

So here he stood, oversized basket in his hand and the iced matcha with white chocolate and strawberry foam from the little coffee shop 20 minutes away that was your favorite in his other. Now all he had to do was knock. Knock and leave. No matter how much he didn’t want to leave, he knew he had to. 

The sound of a hard knock brought your attention away from your rewatch of Love, Actually. Waiting a couple minutes to see if whoever was there would knock again. The thought of social interaction was the last thing you wanted. All you wanted was this bottle of wine, stupid love stories with happy endings that you’ll never relate too and tears. 

Everyone told you, cry over him for a couple days and forget him. But Luke, he wasn't someone you wanted to forget. Luke was all you wanted. He was your safe space, your shoulder to cry on, your support. And for the first time in almost 6 years, you broke down fully alone. 

Finally willing yourself to get up, you wiped your tears and opened the door. 

There sat a basket and a drink. Not just any, yours. Your drink, from the cafe Luke took you to on your first date. 

Closing your front door, you sat on the porch pulling the paper with your name written in the messiest handwriting. 

Handwriting you’d never forget. Handwriting you had grown to know like it was your own secret language. Handwriting that belonged to the one guy you ever wanted. Luke’s handwriting.

Unfolding the paper you scanned over the scribbles. Eyes closed, taking a breath before you were ready to read this properly.

Hi baby,

Am I allowed to say that? Probably not, I'm sorry. I’m not off to a good start here. I've rewritten this 3 times, I decided it's better to just word vomit. That way i dont forget anything. 

God, baby, I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I was stupid. Stupid is really just putting it lightly. I was dumb, selfish, cold, and gone. I left you alone. I broke promises. I missed dinner. I missed hearing about your day. I missed hearing about your books. I missed hearing what your new favorite song was. I missed all of that, and more, for months. Months you waited for me to come back to you. I was so stuck in hockey, I was stuck giving more to a team than I was to you. 

I will never forgive myself for that. I will never forgive myself for allowing something so bad to happen. I will never forgive myself for setting you up for the perfect plan of falling out of love with me.

I never wanted to hurt you, seeing you cry on the camera broke me. It broke me in a way I don't even have words for. It felt like my heart was ripped out of my body. I never wanted to ever be the reason tears stained your pretty face. 

I was on my way, I texted you and when you didn't answer I thought you were napping. We were on break, we had a couple weeks before playoffs. I was coming home to you. Just you and me. And when I walked in and your bag was gone my heart dropped. Then I saw the box, and the necklace on the very top. I've never held something in my hand that hurt so badly. 

I know none of this is going to fix what I did. I know that, but I needed you to know im a fucking mess without you. Nothing’s been the same. There's no sunshine anymore, because you're not here. You brought the sunshine. You ARE the sunshine. You are everything that is pure and good in this world all wrapped up in one little person. One little person who I had the privilege of loving. No past tense, no loved. I will never stop loving you.

Jack told me I shouldn’t tell you, so did Quinn, but I can't lie to you again. I had a ring. In the closet, hidden in an old box on that shelf you never could reach. I had booked a little cottage up north in June. I was going to ask you to marry me on the 3rd day there. I had a whole script I wrote 7 months ago. I read it daily, I have it burning in my brain. I wasn't going to forget all the things I wanted to say that day.

Anyways I'm rambling real bad and a novel wont fix what I did to us. But please know, youre my past, present and my future. It will always be you. Even if I'm not your future. I'll cheer you on from afar.

I love you,

Lukey.

You couldn't stop the tears. The rest of the basket was forgotten. Reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked his name and held your breath.

Luke sat at the island in the kitchen. Quinn is cooking some sort of chicken. He wasn't sure, he stopped listening 15 minutes ago. Jack was digging around in the fridge and all Luke could focus on was if you got the basket. 

Everyone went silent as the bridge of Mine by Taylor Swift started blaring. Staring at the phone on the counter, your smile taking up the screen.

“Fucking answer it Luke!” Jack yelled, pushing the phone to his little brother. 

He forgot how to breathe, he didn't think you'd call. He didn't think he'd have the opportunity to ever hear your voice again.

“Hello?” His voice was soft, scared really.

“Did you mean it? The letter, did you mean it?” she was crying. He could tell and god that broke him.

“Every word of it. All of it.” He left no room for questions. No room for doubt.

His brothers watched with worry, Jack whispered, “put it on speaker!”

Quinn smacked his head, like he asked for the stupidest thing. They were too busy quietly arguing with one another that all they heard again was Luke.

“Yeah, honey. 10 minutes okay? I’ll see you in a few minutes.” It's almost like he knew what you were about to say. “You’re never going to have to wait again. The world can wait, my world can’t.”

[juliettejwnewinesa]

I'm so happy you're writing again after that unnecessary hate and I've been hooked in, like always.

Can you do a Seongje fic with an insecure gf. It's a constant thing for her to hear other girls talking about her boyfriend like they could have him. We all know Seongje doesn't care about other people, but for the reader, it's something she can't ignore, even when she tries her hardest to not care. She's always telling herself she got lucky because he's way out of her league and starts to get anxious at the thought of him leaving her, even though they've been together for a really long time. He eventually starts noticing the change (like faking a laugh or smile etc.) He decides to ask her about it one day and she eventually tells him when she realizes she can't avoid the questions

Title: "Way Out of My League" Pairing: Seongje x Insecure!Reader Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst to Fluff Warnings: Self-doubt, anxiety, implied low self-esteem, soft possessive comfort.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’d been faking it for weeks.

Smiling when girls giggled and not-so-subtly talked about your boyfriend like you weren’t right there. Laughing like it didn’t sting when someone said, "If I were her, I’d never let him out of my sight.”

If only they knew how tightly you already held on. And how afraid you were that one day, it wouldn’t be enough.

Because Seongje? He was everything you weren’t. Effortlessly confident. Beautiful in a way that made heads turn without trying. Sharp eyes, sharp tongue, sharp edges—yet somehow, he was softest with you.

But you couldn’t stop thinking it. He could do better.

You told yourself it was irrational. That he’d never made you feel replaceable. But those thoughts were insidious. They didn’t need a reason; they just dug in.

So you got quieter. Smiles more delayed. Laughter a bit strained.

And Seongje, of course, noticed.

He let it go at first, thinking you were tired. Then maybe stressed. But the cracks didn’t mend. You started saying things like, “You’re too good to me,” or “I still don’t know why you picked me.”

And when you stopped initiating affection at all—that was his limit.

You were curled up beside him one evening, legs tucked to your chest on the couch. A movie played in the background, but you hadn’t reacted to anything in twenty minutes.

He nudged your arm.

“Hey.” His voice was low, quiet.

You blinked up at him, forcing a smile. “Hmm?”

“Cut it out.”

You stilled. “Cut what out?”

“That fake smile. The ‘I’m fine’ act. I’m not stupid, you know.”

That stunned you silent. You sat straighter, blinking fast. “I didn’t—It’s not—”

“You’re pulling away from me.”

His tone wasn’t angry. Just certain. Like he already knew and only needed you to say it out loud.

“I’m not—” But your voice cracked halfway through, and that’s when he sighed and shifted to face you completely, pulling your hand into his.

“Baby,” he murmured. “What’s going on?”

The tenderness in his voice almost broke you. Your throat tightened.

“…Nothing,” you whispered, eyes dropping.

“Try again.”

You shook your head. “You’re just… you’re you, and I’m—” you stopped yourself, then exhaled shakily. “I keep hearing people talk about you. About how you’re too hot to be tied down. That they’d snatch you if I ever slipped up.”

Seongje didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

“And I know I should ignore it. I try to. But it’s constant. And I don’t—” You clenched your fists. “I don’t want to be the girl who’s always scared her boyfriend’s gonna leave, but I guess I am. And I hate that.”

His silence made your heart race. You didn’t dare look up.

But then he leaned in and cupped your cheek, making you face him.

“You know what pisses me off the most about that?” he asked softly. “That you think I’d ever want anyone else.”

Your eyes welled up instantly.

“You think I’d trade you for girls who don’t even know me? Who see my face and nothing else?” He shook his head slowly. “That’s not just insulting to you. That’s insulting to me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want easy attention. I want the girl who knows what I’m like when I’m quiet. Who sits through my moods. Who never tried to change me—even when she could’ve.”

He moved his thumb under your eye to catch a tear before it fell.

“I want you,” he said. “Only you. And I hate that people’ve made you feel like you have to fight to keep me. You already have me, babe. All of me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I just… sometimes I feel like I got lucky.”

He shook his head. “No. I got lucky. I’m the one who pulled the girl who could handle me. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for. And if I have to keep reminding you every day, I will.”

You laughed through your tears, finally genuine. “You’re sappy when you want to be.”

He smirked. “Shut up.”

You leaned in, burying your face into his chest. His arms immediately came around you.

“I hate that they get in your head,” he murmured. “Next time someone says some shit like that, tell me. I’ll shut it down.”

You snorted. “You mean threaten them?”

“If I have to.”

“Seongje.”

“…Fine. I’ll politely threaten them.” (break a finger or two)

You laughed again. “I love you.”

“I know.” He pulled back to kiss your forehead. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

[woon23-78]

bf!boynextdoor

pairing: ot6!bnd x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none!

sungho:

okay sungho is like the textbook perfect boyfriend (husband) imo

he gives me traditional man energy, not like in a bad way though

he would never let you pay for anything and if you asked him to pay he would be like what why

he definitely knows the sidewalk rule! and basically all of the secret codes of being a gentleman

he's a big hand holder, like all the time

he would also like having a hand around your waist

literally so romantic

like he always plans the most perfect dates but if something goes wrong you can tell it bothers him

so you have to be like "sungho, it's okay! i just like spending time with you. it doesn't have to be perfect every time"

eventually he realizes your date could be you guys in pajamas on the couch and you'd be happy with it

he just really wants to give you princess treatment!

he would take so many pictures of you and have a photo album of just you

like every single time you're out he pulls out his camera and is like "smile, baby!"

protective, but not in an obsessive way, just like he's always making sure you're comfortable

major gift-giving energy idk

i feel like he would love to get you expensive gifts and then you're like sungho wtf!

physical touch wise, i feel like he would be confident and doesn't mind initiating things

bro just has rizz idk

i don't think he's the type to get nervous around his girl, like he just loves you so much and wants to express it to you

more under the cut!

riwoo:

riwoo is the most cute and gentle boyfriend ever

he is so respectful of you and just thinks so highly of you

he would be the type of guy that doesn't even pretend to hate when you call him cute and act clingy

like he is lowkey obsessed with it

he gives shy boy a little bit but i think he would still initiate physical touch and stuff

he would like if you linked pinkies idk??

i also think he would just find it so cute when you kiss his cheek

everyone sees you as like the soulmate couple because you are just so calm together but your love for each other is so obvious

like when you are hanging out with other people you lowkey give attached at the hip but not in a gross way

you just give wise married couple even though you're literally so young

he always makes bad jokes to you even though he knows you're laughing at how bad they are

he just wants to see you happy

he goes the extra mile with every small favor you ask of him

you ask for an orange? you know he's gonna come back with it peeled and cutely arranged on the plate

you guys would take really good couple photos!

and of course every time you get a really cute one he would post it on his instagram story

he would surprise you with the most aesthetic dates!

whenever he sees that you liked a social media post about a new cafe or a pretty park he will save it and make sure to take you there

ugh he's just so sweet i love him sm

jaehyun:

okay well we all know this boy is clingy and loving as hell

it's not annoying though, he makes note of how much love you can take before you start feeling smothered

he sometimes gets very babyish and cute around you because you just feel safe to him

you know that tiktok trend where girlfriends film their boyfriend being all cute and talking in a baby voice and stuff?

yeah that's literally him

he is also a firm believer in princess treatment

but he gets literally disgusted if you suggest certain things

like if you offer to drive because he's been practicing so hard lately

he's like "girl... what?"

he is definitely part of the sassy man apocalypse

he would pick up on your girl language and use around the members and they would be like "you're a grown man"

but it's really cute though

everyone says myungjae's love language is physical touch (which i agree) but he is also such a quality time man!!

he definitely wants to hang out like every day

but if you are more introverted and need alone time he would understand (with some convincing)

i think date-wise, he's kind of the opposite of sungho

like you guys just hang out casually all the time

of course you go on cute outings and stuff but most of the time you're lying in bed or doing something at home

he would definitely carry a pic of you in his wallet

or have some sort of cute accessory that reminds him of you (maybe a keychain of your favorite character or something)

when it comes to physical touch, he is obviously a big cuddler

but when you're around other people he would tone it down (barely)

he just wants to hug you all the time! or at least have an arm around you

he's literally my wife

taesan:

i'm sorry but taesan is awkward with women

LOL

it's cute though, i just think in a relationship he would try to be so nonchalant but in his head he's overthinking everything and lowkey doesn't know what he's doing

he is definitely the teasing boyfriend type

he shows love by making fun of people so he definitely does it with you

but if other people tease you he's like "ew wtf"

sometimes he takes his jokes too far though and you have to be like okay bro chill and then he does

at first he would lowkey just treat you like a friend in public because he's nervous to show emotions in front of people

but unpopular opinion! when he is comfortable with affection he becomes kind of a pda lover

he would just have his hand on your leg while you're sitting next to each other

because it's not too much, but he wants to show his love for you

but in private i feel like he's kinda clingy?

not like jaehyun or anything lol

but he feels like he can express it more because he's not worried about what other people will think

he would take so many pics of you too

but his favorite ones would always be the pics where you are like ?? why do you even like this one!

he writes about you in every single song and everyone is like ... and he's like what

but if you ask him if it's about you he's like no why would you think that

even though the lyrics literally describe specific situations you have been in and reference your inside jokes

lets you drag him to cute places for dates and he pretends to be disgusted but actually loves it and thinks you are so cute

he would randomly compliment you and when you get surprised he pretends nothing happened

basically just a very awkward guy... but he actuallu loves you so much and just covers it up with teasing

leehan:

husband no. 2

he is such a gentleman!

he compliments you sooo much and tells you how pretty you are like every day

big yapper

when you go on dates sometimes you stay at a cafe for hours because you guys just talk about anything and everything

when you hang out with friends he's just quiet and happy to be there but as soon as you get home he gets so chatty

you let him talk to you about fish (ofc) and he listens to you talk about your current obsessions too

whenever you have a new show you are watching he would binge it to catch up with you so you can watch it together and talk about it

he would be the type of boyfriend that lowkey loves pda

he just loves you so much and wants to show you off and have everyone know you're his girlfriend

gets soooo sappy sometimes and you are like ummm

he just looks at you so romantically with his pretty sparkly eyes and you lowkey get nervous

he just loves you a lot!

it is his absolute favorite thing when you guys are walking together and you link his arm with yours and hold his bicep!!!!!!!!!!

he loves to take you out on fancy dates

seeing you get dressed up and spoiling you is just his favorite type of date

i do think he would lowkey like it when you baby him a little

he would never say it though

he also totally thinks about cute things you did and giggles to himself about it later

and he would totally carry your purse for you if you ever complained about it (or if you didn't, he would just notice)

honestly just a romantic acts of service king

woonhak:

....awkward

cute awkward though! and a different type of awkward than taesan

woonhak is just so in love with you and he wants to express it but overthinks it lol

he really wants to cuddle you or kiss you or hold your hand but for some reason is scared you don't want that?

like boy it's your girlfriend

so you have to initiate things sometimes but eventually he gets the hang of it

he is the type of guy that plans how he's gonna flirt with you before the date but when he actually does, it's just funny

but you love it though because he's cute

he is definitely a yapper too

a lot of your conversations are just you guys bringing up the same situation 50 times and coming to the same conclusion every time

like he lowkey gives one of the girls but he's your boyfriend

he likes to take you to places that are special to him that he hasn't taken anyone else to before

i don't know i feel like his love language is like sharing things with you that he gatekeeps from everyone else

he just loves the idea of you guys having a "thing"

he would lowkey feel so awkward at first expressing love towards you in public (especially if the members were there) but he overcomes it

if the members tease you guys, he just brushes it off because he knows deep down they're just happy for him

honestly just a really cute boy tbh

[heavensoutofsight]

her favorite assistant | b.e.

SYNOPSIS: billie is an imposing ceo, holding high authority; you are her assistant, at her every beck and call, close by her side. most people view your relationship with her as nothing out of the ordinary, but behind closed doors, you and billie play slightly different roles...

WORD COUNT: 3,025

TAGS/WARNINGS: MDNI! dom/sub dynamics, office au, hair-pulling, crying (the good kind), mention of overstimulation, fingering, spanking, billie gets called sir, inappropriate work behavior (lmao), mention of a humiliation kink, mention of an exhibitionist kink i think, use of gendered term "good girl," everything is fully consensual the entire time

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is maybe the filthiest thing i've ever wrote?? i think my period is starting soon or something. also hello. long time no see kinda 👋🏽 hope you enjoy this as always!! ❤️ please mind the tags!

[taglist: @hannahluvsbillie, @bilssturns, @bla1rxoxo, @billiesrighthand, @weluvwbb, @belleishot, @wilfdflwr8, @likefirenrain, @amara-eilish, @sevikasleftbicep // let me know if you'd like to be removed!! ]

You had an interesting relationship with your boss, to say the least.

You had been working under her as her assistant for months now, and have gotten well accustomed to her not just as your boss, but as a person. You were keen on every little thing that made her tic, and you could pick up on even the slightest shift in her demeanor. As the CEO of the company you worked under, she had a lot on her plate. Regardless, she never made the stress she was under apparent. She was always calm, composed, and collected.

She was very straightforward and direct; she was honest when she was disappointed with her employees' work, and her disappointment was always clear. You could practically feel it if you happened to walk into her office on a bad day. But it was clear when she was pleased, too; because she never really cracked so much as a grin during work hours, everyone knew that if Billie was smiling, it meant she was satisfied, and that things at the company were going smoothly.

To make the long story, Billie was rather intimidating; she carried with her a strong sense of confidence, and her very presence, even if she wasn't saying anything, was imposing, almost electric. With a single glance, a single quirk of the eyebrow, Billie could communicate everything she needed.

Being her assistant also meant knowing her a bit more personally than others. You knew she liked having a medium Iced Americano every morning from the local coffee shop. When forwarding emails to her, you knew exactly which ones she wouldn't care for and which ones she'd respond to instantly. You knew that she valued punctuality and efficiency and people who were good at following orders but also knew how to generate new ideas. When you first started working for her, you had to prove to her that you could live up to the challenge. That you were more than capable of balancing her workload, and giving her above average results. It took an immense amount of effort, and impressing her certaintly wasn't easy; but now, several months later, Billie had made it clear that she wouldn't let you go, more than pleased with your work.

The dynamic you shared with her was strictly professional, one built off of mutual respect. For a while.

Neither of you expected it to become anything more.

There was no denying that you were attracted to Billie from the start; aside from the fact that she was easily the most stunning women you've ever seen, with her long, dark hair, striking eyes and tailored suits, there was something else about her that was alluring to you. She was so mysterious, so reserved, and the more time that passed, the more you wanted to learn more about her. Not as Billie Eilish, the serious CEO, but just as Billie, the person behind the authoritative mask.

It was risky; becoming increasingly more flirtatious with your boss. You complimented her more often, purposefully letting your fingers brush hers when you were handing her things, so on, so forth. You were putting your entire career on the line, the one you worked so hard for. At first, after weeks of not really getting any kind of reaction from her, you were about to bury your feelings for good.

But slowly, Billie made it more and more obvious that she liked your little games; she smiled at you more often, let your faint touches linger a bit instead of immediately pulling away, and you've even caught her gazing at you during meetings, bottom lip pulled between her teeth as you tried to take notes.

The desire that you both shared for each other was palpable, the tension between you two rising gradually like lava in a volcano, and it was only a matter of time before you both acted on it.

The relationship that formed as a result of weeks of flirting was not… a traditional one, so-to-speak. It was one built on rules. Power dynamics. Punishments and rewards.

And you enjoyed every minute of it.

Billie loved how obedient you were. She noticed it as soon as you started working for her. You followed her instructions so perfectly, and that did something to Billie; it made her realize something about herself that she hadn't even been aware of before. She felt a certain fluttery feeling in her stomach whenever you successfully completed a task of hers, and you would look at her, smiling, communicating to her with your eyes that you wanted to be praised.

And of course, she'd do just that, quickly uttering "good girl" under her breath. It always made your knees weak, hearing those words in her low and silky voice.

On days where you made her really proud, she'd reward you by inviting you in her office and trailing her hands up your pencil skirt, her fingers pistoning into you with such precision and skill that she'd make you come undone in minutes, all while she had her tie in your mouth to muffle your sobs of pleasure.

Sometimes, but only sometimes, she'd bring her sparkly, midnight black strap, and take you while bent over her desk, keeping your arms behind your back, often bound together with her tie just because she knew you liked the loss of control. Those days, you left her office with a slight limp, disheveled clothes, and a satisfied smile.

But as much as you loved pleasing her, at some point you wanted to switch things up with the existing dynamic you had with her, and you soon realized that pissing her off was far more enjoyable than following orders.

It started off with small things. Making a small mistake with her Iced Americano order and getting a small instead of her preferred medium. Sometimes you'd purposefully hand her the wrong files, or show up just minutes late to a meeting, knowing how much she disliked when her employees weren't on time. And then it escalated, and you gradually became more bold. You talked back to her on the days where she wasn't in a great mood, muttered sarcastic comments under your breath.

Billie, of course, quickly caught onto the game you were playing, and like a cat to a mouse, she played along.

That's when she introduced punishments to the dynamic. In the privacy of her office, sometimes she'd get you riled up, only to make you kneel in front of her while she typed away at her computer, ignoring your pleading eyes and the growing wetness in your panties. She'd leave you like that the whole day; unsatisfied and begging for more.

A punishment of hers that was her favorite was edging you to near insanity; either with her mouth or fingers or strap, she'd constantly bring you close to an orgasm before pulling away, and she'd do it so many times that it almost bordered on torture. Sometimes you'd get so worked up that you would eventually have an orgasm anyway if she even just lightly touched you, your body so aroused that you didn't even need much stimulation before coming undone. This would only make your situation worse, as you were only allowed to cum with Billie's permission. Whenever that happened, she'd lean in close, smiling evilly, whispering in your ear:

"My baby wanted to cum? Then I'll give you all the orgasms you want, since you wanna be so impatient."

You knew what those words meant. It meant she'd overstimulate you until you could barely hold yourself up, fresh tears streaming down your face.

But you loved it. Every second of it.

So, when you walked into Billie's office today after being particularly mouthy with her after a meeting, you knew what you were in for.

There Billie sat, looking as regal as ever in her chair, hands folded in her lap. She was clearly waiting for you, a lopsided grin etched onto her features as she burned holes into you with her gaze.

"Lock the door." Was all she said; no warm greeting, just a firm command.

You obeyed, turning the lock until you heard that all too familiar click. You felt the anticipation bubbling within you, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

You watched as Billie stood up from her desk, walking closer to you but still keeping her distance. She crossed her arms, eyeing you like a predator stalking its prey.

"You've been giving me attitude the entire fucking day. Bend over the desk." She stated, leaving absolutely no room for disagreement.

But you weren't done messing with her. No, your little game was far from finished.

With a smirk, you didn't move.

"I don't want to." You retorted, jutting out your bottom lip.

Billie quirked an eyebrow, her confident grin faltering. "You know I don't like repeating myself. Bend over the fucking desk."

You still didn't move. You mirrored her stance, crossing your arms as well as you continued to stare right back at her.

"Make me." You said, and as soon as those words left you, you could feel the atmosphere in the room change. It only made you smirk wider, knowing that you were really getting under her skin.

Billie just chuckled, the sound low and dark, and it gave you a rush of adrenaline. When you heard her laugh, that was a sign she was truly fed up with your antics.

You were about to make another snarky comment about her silence until Billie finally spoke up.

"Oh, I see. You're really asking for it, huh? Seems like you've forgotten who the fuck you're talking to."

She stepped closer to you, standing in front of you. She reached a hand out and gently caressed your cheek.

You were perplexed at first. The gentle action contrasted starkly with her harsh words. But it only made you more excited.

She leaned in, whispering her next words, her breath hitting your face.

"You just never learn. Good thing I like putting stupid brats like you in your place."

And with that, her hand suddenly went up to your hair, and she tugged. Hard.

You immediately hissed in pain, hand going up to her wrist, but you made no move to remove it. With her hand still in your hair, Billie dragged you to her desk, before forcefully bending you over it.

It all happened so quick that you were still registering what had just happened, all while Billie had both your hands pulled behind your back, removing her tie as quickly as she could with one hand. You knew exactly where that tie was going.

But suddenly, she had paused before putting the tie in your mouth. From behind, you heard her say, "What do you do when you want me stop but you can't speak?" She asked the question softly, breaking out of her colder, more strict persona for just a moment.

"I… I snap my fingers," you said breathlessly, so aroused you didn't even know what to do with yourself.

"Good," Billie praised. "And how many times do you snap?"

"Three times." You replied.

"Show me." She urged.

You obeyed, snapping your fingers exactly three times in quick succession.

"Very good," Billie said with a grin. "Color?"

You could hear the grin in her voice, a small smile of your own taking over your features.

"Green." You told her.

Once Billie got confirmation to keep going, in the blink of an eye, she returned to her meaner, more brutal attitude. It nearly gave you whiplash with how quickly she was able to switch.

She wasted no time in putting the tie in your mouth, tying it behind your head. You were wearing slacks today, so she pulled them down, tugging harshly, exposing your ass to the cool air of her office.

She took sight of the white lace panties that you wore, specifically for her. You could hear Billie curse under her breath.

"You naughty, naughty girl." She said, rubbing her palm against your backside gently. You knew what was coming; you just didn't know when. The anticipation was practically killing you.

"I want you to count," Billie commanded. "I usually tell you how many I'm giving you, but this time? I'll surprise you." She spoke, her shit-eating grin going from ear to ear.

And then, her hand came crashing down.

The smack reverberated throughout the room and bounced of the walls, it was so loud. It was toward the end of the day, so most people had already left the building, but there were still some people working late, and the thought of them overhearing just made your panties even more soaked. The thought of someone listening was certaintly humiliating and yet it just turned you on even more. All it took was someone walking by. But you couldn't think about that; you had to focus on counting.

"One!" You said through the fabric of Billie's tie, your voice muffled.

Another smack.

"Two!"

She then gave you three, in quick succession, alternating between each cheek.

"Fuck—" you swore, your asscheeks already burning.

Billie tugged your hair angrily. The pain was exhilarating.

"That's not a fucking number. Count."

"Three, four, five—shit—"

It kept going and going, and the minutes started to stretch on seemingly forever. Eventually, you made it to twenty.

By the last one, your ass felt raw, and a few lone tears had escaped your eyes.

"You did so good, baby. You're such a good girl." Billie cooed, removing the tie.

You didn't immediately straighten yourself up, too overwhelmed to even move. Billie just gently caressed your upper back, letting you calm down.

Once you caught your breath again, and you felt like you could speak without it coming out as a incoherent mess, with a dazed smile, you said: "Do I get a reward for being such a good girl?"

"My pretty baby wants a reward? Well then, what do you say?"

"Please."

Billie raised an eyebrow at you. "Please, what?"

"Please, sir. I would like a reward." You said.

"Well, since you asked nicely. You took yout punishment so well, who am I to deny you?" She said, slowly pulling your lace panties to the side, rubbing her fingers through your drenched folds.

A sigh escaped you as Billie didn't waste a second in slipping in finger. It slid in so easily because of how wet you were. She let you adjust to the feeling before slipping in a second one, the office so quiet that you could hear the soft squelching noises coming from your pussy that made your face hot.

"Such a good girl," Billie muttered, finding that sweet spot inside of you within a seconds. "Need you to make a mess all over my fingers, yeah?"

You nodded fervently, trying to keep your moans at a low volume. You were biting your lip so hard you were sure it would start bleeding.

"Please make me cum. Please—" You said, the words just tumbling out of you, some of them slurring together.

Billie let out an amused laugh. "Oh, I will, baby. I will—"

Suddenly, at that moment, a knock was heard on Billie's door. You tensed up at the sound, completely caught off guard.

You thought Billie would stop, but much to your surprise (and delight) she kept going.

The other voice outside the door spoke first. It belonged to a man. "Hey, uh, Miss B? Are you still there?"

"Yes, Charles. What do you need?" Billie replied casually, as if two of her fingers weren't deep inside of you and making you see stars. You slapped a hand over your mouth as you felt Billie speed up, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. Your knees buckled as their conversation continued.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know while you're still here that I won't be coming into work tomorrow. It's a family emergency. So I'll miss the meeting, obviously. I'm terribly sorry." Charles explained.

"That's perfectly fine, Charles. We'll get you all caught up, no problem. My assistant will send everyone the notes, anyway."

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as Billie gave you one final thrust that sent you over the edge. Your hand was clamped so tightly over your mouth it almost hurt as your orgasm washed over you in waves. Billie's fingers kept moving as she fingered you through it.

On the other side of the door, you heard Charles just chuckle in relief, seemingly oblivious to the absolutely inappropriate act happening inside. "Okay. Great. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss B."

"You too." Billie said sweetly, pulling her fingers out of you. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

Finally, you attempted to stand up. You still didn't have full control over your legs, so Billie helped you, holding both of your hands, even helping you pull your pants back up. You winced once you felt the fabric of your slacks gently rub against your still very sensitive backside.

Billie was smiling at you as you leaned against her desk, leaning in to give you a chaste peck.

"You're insane," you said when she pulled away. "I can't believe you just did that."

Billie chuckled. "I can't believe I did it either, to be honest. Thank god the door was locked."

"Yeah," You agreed. "Now, you owe me a hot bath and some cuddles."

Billie held your hand, squeezing gently. "Of course. Was already thinking it."

You both get ready to exit the office. Billie doesn't have to do much to appear presentable. She does stuff her tie in her back pocket though, which is still damp from your saliva. You're able to fix your hair and smooth out your clothes, but there's no hiding the puffiness in your eyes from all the tears. You weren't too worried about that, though. You and Billie were going to be out the building before anyone could even take notice.

Before Billie opens the door, she pauses, and turns to you.

"Will you be on your best behavior next week?" She asks with a smirk.

You giggle. "No promises."

[yanadolls]

preying on u tonight

18+, mdni ୨୧

jealous!nagi x fem reader, unprotected sex, degrading, praising, overstimulation, size kink, sending ur nude pics to reo

part one

part two of this req <3

at first, nagi was overjoyed to be with you. after all, this was the girl of his dreams we were talking about. you were perfect- so sweet to him, always giving him a smile and cheering him on during his games and spending time with him when nobody else wouls. then, when he had asked you out and started dating you, it was only going uphill. you made him feel special and loved, always making sure he felt cared for and even making meals for him whenever he was too lazy to eat. nagi was sure he was in love with you from the very start.

so when he eventually found out that you had been sleeping with his best friend for MONTHS, it made his heart drop.

nagi felt betrayed for the first time in his life- both by reo who he trusted, and a bit by you. the white haired boy had gushed over you for god knows how long and the other man who was always supportive; how could reo have been fucking you while encouraging nagi?! then..there was you. after confronting you about this entire situation, he did understand that it was just a friends with benefits thing, and nothing more. he knew you had no feelings for reo and he really did believe you when you said you had loved nagi all along. you were just doing it for stress relief.

however, just because he understood didn't mean he wasn't seething with jealous, blood boiling the entire conversation. nagi didn't hate reo per say, he was just very angry with him at the moment. it was a normal reaction to discovering the fact his best friend was sleeping with his crush for half a year, and had even called you over to fuck the night prior to nagi's confession to you. it made his stomach twist in an uncomfortable feeling, and maybe even causing him to feel anxious.

what if you got bored of him, and went back to reo? what if he couldn't pleasure you as good as his best friend could? nagi needed to prove that he was the right choice, not the other rich man.

"hah..s-shit sei! aah, too much! slow down!"

nagi clicked his tongue at your crying, holding you down by your wrists with one of his larger hands which entirely covered both of yours, thrusting brutally in and out of you. nagi wasn't one to get so worked up emotionally, but this was different. he was jealous and angry, so what better way to make himself feel a bit less bad than burying himself deep into your pussy and showing you who you belonged to? you always took it like a good girl, anyway.

"shut up." he growled against your neck, "sluts like you don't get to command. take all of it and stop complaining."

he didn't intend to be so mean to you, but could you blame him? multiple feelings were bubbling in his chest, primarily jealousy and lust. his intense gaze locked onto your fucked out face, before bringing his vision down to your sopping little hole which had cum leaking out. this was, what- maybe the third time he made you cum already? you were so sensitive it was overwhelming, yet it felt too good to stop. your boyfriend's hand grabbed your face and squished your cheeks, slamming his lips down onto yours with a heated passion.

"do you even understand how it feels to find out- shit.. t-that my girlfriend was fucking around with my best friend before all of this? what are you, some hooker? were you with other men as well?"

he moved his hands to your thighs, pushing them up to your chest so he could dick you down even more. your mind was clouded at this point, and the only thing you could babble out unconsciously were apologies that fell from your lips like a chant, and cries of his name. you really were sorry- you felt awful about it.

"m'so sorry sei! f-fuck, so sorry!!" you choked a sob, trying to bring your eyes to meet his. "was only reo- m'so sorry, baby! please please, w-wish i never did it..!"

nagi's eyes softened at the way your dolly ones were filled with fat tears, guilt written all over them with a hint of lust from how good he was fucking you. he knew that you couldn't have known about his feelings for you while sleeping with reo- if you had, then you definitely wouldn't have been going to him instead of the lazy genius. the purple haired man was the one at blame.

"mh.. such a cute thing, aren't you? can't believe fucking reo got to see this as well."

the mere thought made him feel jealous all over again, although he wasn't mad at you anymore. if he was gonna be angry at anyone, it was 100% going to be his best friend who went behind his back knowing how much nagi liked you.

"m'sorry, so sorry sei! i-if i knew you liked me-"

"shh, love. i know, i know."

with another kiss to your lips, you felt more reassured. nagi wasn't really good at expressing his feelings, but he was starting to feel a bit bad for being so mean during the entire night you two were having sex, even if being a bit more rough with you was turning him on secretly. while the fact reo slept with you still would be on his mind for a month or so.. nagi couldn't find it in him to stay frustrated at you, even if he wanted to.

"you're mine now, yeah? reo could never fuck you the way i do, only my dick could make you get like this.."

nagi was confident in his words for once as he intently watched your expressions, slamming his heavy, fat cock into your overstimulated cunt over and over. you were squirming under him, smaller body bucking up into his larger, much more muscular one without even meaning to. the mere size difference between you and him made his dick throb in your gummy walls, groaning at the bulge his length made every time he thrusted inside you.

"i'm all yours, sei! love you so much..! haah, love your dick s'much.."

"such a cute little thing, aren't you? so tiny and easy to manhandle.."

he pressed deeper into you, tip kissing your cervix and stretching out your walls so deliciously. he didn't miss the way your walls clenched around his dick when he mentioned how small you were compared to him, silently noting that reaction. you felt so full, so connected to him on an intimate level- something you never felt when you were fucking with reo. you never wanted nagi to feel insecure or jealous again- you just loved him too much.

"aah.. g-gunna cum again! oh sei, please please please-"

nagi moved his head back to yours, pressing more gentle yet passionate kisses to your lips, tongue clashing with yours. his rhythm became more sloppy as he buried himself deep inside you, dumping his load into your tummy once more while you cried out and came on his cock.

looking down, the messy sight made his dick twitch again. your hole was leaking with both your cum, dripping onto the bed- and your sweaty, fucked body was just the perfect sight; eyes rolled to your skull, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling quickly, hips still bucking a bit from how stimulated you had been..it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"stay still, babe."

nagi reached out and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, snapping a photo of you (and you were far too delirious right now to even acknowledge what he just did), before opening a certain someone's messages..

nagi: attachment: 1 image

nagi: you jealous, reo? ur never fucking her again lol

would he regret sending that in the morning? probably. however, he was far too tired now to care. with a lazy clean up and a kiss to your forehead, he held your tinier body in his arms and fell asleep, happy you were only his from now on.

AN; new layout! i hope yall like it xoxo i loved writing this sm ugh jealous nagi is so hot <3

[gunstellations]

MAG39

[inquisitor-apologist]

Been thinking about Grogu a bit recently, and isn’t it weird that he can’t talk?

He seems to be developmentally around toddler age in Book of Boba Fett/Mando Season 3; he can walk, he can perform complex motor functions like jumping, flipping, and balancing on one leg, and he can effectively communicate with his assistive device. He is able to make noises—you can hear him making cooing sounds in his training montage with Luke—but he doesn’t ever try to speak, or even communicate verbally. We never see/hear him trying to form words, he doesn’t scream or cry, and he never babbles.

Which is fucking weird, for a baby. Babies are literally wired for language comprehension and learning; it’s one of the main things their brains do. Learning to communicate verbally is a vital stage of infancy/early childhood, and it starts only a few months after birth. Babies, infants, and toddlers, unless they have some kind of speech-language disorder or other disability, are constantly talking.

So Grogu should absolutely be talking throughout the Mandalorian, even if he’s just babbling. But Grogu’s not a Human child; while most of the species in Star Wars function more or less like Humans with superficial differences, we famously know nothing about his species, and thus can’t really assume that human standards apply.

And once you think about it, there’s good evidence that human standards around speech don’t apply. One of the only things we know about his species is that they struggle to speak normally. Both Yoda and Yaddle, the two members of his species that we’ve seen in canon, have an extremely distinctive speech disorder, consistently misordering words and phrases.

So, given this common difficulty and Grogu’s unusual lack of speech, it seems entirely plausible that the species as a whole might have language difficulties. Maybe their brains, unlike Human brains, just aren’t wired for verbal communication. They can do it, eventually, but it doesn’t come naturally to them.

However, it does seem like they might be wired for a different kind of communication: telepathy. Immediately upon meeting Luke and Ahsoka, two Jedi who are not telepaths and who don’t communicate using only the Force very often, Grogu is able to have full conversations with them. He’s not just relaying sensations or feelings, like we most commonly see with mind-to-mind communication in Star Wars, but actual words and sounds (see: him telling Ahsoka his name).

That’s not super common in Star Wars. Most Jedi don’t hold full conversations telepathically, yet Grogu’s able to converse like that extremely easily 30 years after the last time he could’ve conceivably talked to anyone in that manner. He seems naturally very good at mental communication, something that we can see from very early on in the series: one of the first things we see him do in Season 1 is use a primitive kind of Beast Control, a form of telepathic communication, to hold the Mudhorn in place (there’s definitely some telekinesis going on too, but he holds up his hand like Jedi do when communicating with animals, so I’m guessing he’s using both to keep it from moving).

Additionally, every single member of Grogu’s species is a Jedi/is Force-sensitive (and I believe this goes for Legends too, where there’s more of them), and extremely Force-sensitive at that. It seems quite likely that they would all be able to communicate through the Force, and given their difficulties with verbal speech, it’s probably their preferred form of communication.

That would also explain why Grogu, who at the time would’ve been developmentally a newborn (aka way younger than the 1-3 year olds the Jedi generally seem to adopt), was in the temple during Order 66. His species doesn’t seem to be very common, and the Jedi are the only other large culture that could communicate with him in his native mental language.

Because kids absolutely need some kind of language in order to develop normally, Grogu’s people might generally give their kids to the Order. This could be another reason Grogu is so slow to develop throughout the Mandalorian, and starts advancing much quicker after he interacts with Ahsoka and Luke: he’s been deprived of his natural language for most of his formative years.

Not sure how to end this, it’s just a thought that I had that kept on making more and more sense as I kept thinking about it