#and the previous hints for those keeping track:

[seijorhi]

rhi could we get a hint about the line up??? cause I feel like everyone forgets higuruma and I have a feeling he's definitely in there...

hmmmm all five of the characters appear together in the same arc but not all on the same side

[artficlly]

sweetpea [one-shot]

post-apocalyptic marvel au

retired!hero!bucky x fem!reader After the Riftborn War, Bucky Barnes seeks to retire from his past as a hero and settle down, you might just be the peace he’s been looking for all along.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, p in v, against tree sex, outdoor sex, no protection, vague primal vibes, very consensual, kissing, underwear ripping, if you squint, there's some plot, teeth-rotting fluff, it's so cute, bucky barnes is the sweetest, beefy bucky, yelena meddles, steve rogers is horrified, spring festivals, paganism, masks, drinking, mentions of past violence, death and war, mentions of readers previous relationships, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.9k

A/N: hello! it's nearly my birthday so heres a treat for you all. i've been sitting on this idea for AGES. i've been working hard on the daughter of the rotsál first draft, so i decided to take a break from the angst for some fluffy, cute smut!! please let me know if you enjoy and your thoughts! sorry for any typos - not proof read. permanent tag list: @globetrotter28

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Being fucked over the table was not unwelcome but rather surprisingly pleasant, even if it derailed your breakfast plans. 

Leif had always been a rather attentive lover, skilled at pulling orgasm after orgasm out of your needy cunt. He possessed stamina and a hint of roughness that stirred warmth within you, yet something still felt absent. This elusive quality lingered throughout your year together—an unexpressed awareness that simmered between you. Leif was kind, diligent, attractive, and strong. He was considerate, often surprising you with gifts and regularly praising your looks and cooking. Your friends approved of him.

So even if that brief and passionate session had been perfect, him thrusting into you from behind so intensely that your toes curled and you had to press your face against the wooden surface to keep from screaming—you realised it was all somewhat melancholic. The thing that was missing between you and your Springbond was that fabled spark.

The decision to part ways had hurt, but you both knew it was right. A week before you had made the decision, on Mayflame he would move out, and the both of you would be single once more. The morning sex had been a goodbye of sorts, in typical Leif style. Even if you aligned perfectly, you inevitably amassed a long list of differences that broke the perfect illusion. You desired to settle down, concentrate on your work and home, and build connections with those nearby.

In contrast, Leif craved adventure and excitement—obviously, the Bleeding Age hadn’t brought enough danger and activity into his life. He later confessed that he was eager to sleep around more, as he was still a young man exploring his possibilities. This revelation didn’t necessarily shock or hurt you; you had captured his attention for the entire year, far beyond your predictions. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder... were you boring?

After years of undue stress, survival, and several near-death experiences, you were eager to take advantage of the calm that followed the defeat of the Riftborn and the end of the Bleeding Age. You had to remind yourself—somewhat bitterly—that Leif was not the first and would not be the last. 

“Did you see who that was?” Yelena exclaimed from beside you, her hand gripping your forearm tightly. You nearly leapt in surprise, abruptly pulled from your thoughts. Your head turned as you looked back, tracking Yelena’s gaze. “I swear to the fucking gods that was Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes—”

You squinted at the backs of the two men who had passed you by. 

They walked like soldiers—steady, assured, their movements streamlined but commanding. No hesitation, no wasted motion, just the certainty of men who had spent years on battlefields, who had fought and bled and survived when others hadn’t. They were massive, even under their coats, their broad shoulders and thick arms unmistakable beneath the heavy fabric. Towering over the people around them, they carried themselves with the kind of presence that didn’t demand attention but took it anyway.

“The captain and the sergeant?” You shot back, doubt curling around your words as your brow furrowed. “I thought they were stationed in Stonebrook until the village was built.”

“They were… but last I heard, Stonebrook’s finished.” Yelena’s voice had an eager edge; her gaze locked onto the two figures even as they disappeared around a street corner, swallowed by the cobbled streets. “They were invited back for the Mayflame celebrations. The word is that they want to retire from the soldier business now the war is over.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging at her arm with a huff. “Come on, we’re going to be late—”

“But do you think they’ll run in Mayflame?” Yelena pressed, barely budging under your pull. 

“I mean, gods, can you imagine if Steve Rogers was your Springbond?” She exhaled, almost breathless at the thought, her fingers tightening around your sleeve as if the mere idea was enough to set her heart racing.

You grit your teeth, heat rising in your face—not from excitement but from secondhand embarrassment. A group of older women lingered outside your destination, snickering between themselves at Yelena’s loud ponderings. With a sharp yank, you pulled her off the street and into the village hall, the heavy wooden doors thudding shut behind you, sealing away the crisp morning air and her starry-eyed ramblings.

“There you two are! I need all the hands I can get!”

A flustered-looking Pepper Potts intercepted you and Yelena before you could fully step inside, already ushering you towards a large pile of decorations. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, auburn hair pinned haphazardly at the nape of her neck, a sure sign that she had been running herself ragged in preparation for the festival.

“I’ve got half the boys working on the course and the bonfire,” she said, exhaling sharply. “Can you please cart these down and get started on the flowers?”

“Of course,” you replied with a quick nod, already sizing up the pile, considering how best to carry everything down in as few trips as possible.

Yelena, however, had other priorities. “Pepper, are the captain and sergeant joining the Mayflame?” She asked shamelessly, barely masking the anticipation in her tone.

But Pepper had already turned, swept away by the tide of arriving villagers, barking orders as she moved—clearly too busy to entertain Yelena’s curiosity.

You scoffed, sinking your hands into a collection of freshly cut flowers, their stems already bundled neatly for easy transport. You had grown and picked them yourself, much to Pepper’s praise. In recent years, you found comfort in your gardens and flowerbeds. The scent of wild blooms filled your nose, the petals soft against your fingers as you began sorting through them. “Yelena, stop meddling and help me.”

“Fine, but you are no fun!” Yelena groaned, throwing herself down beside you with dramatic flair. Then, as if compelled by some unseen force, she added with a wistful sigh, “I know you’re upset about Leif, but at least let me dream of a raunchy, hero-filled Mayflame.”

Her voice carried farther than she likely intended. Several nearby villagers—some heaving chairs, others hauling tables—stopped mid-task, casting curious glances in your direction. 

Mortified, you didn’t dignify her with a response. 

—

“I mean, you keep saying you’re not upset about Leif, but you’re obviously upset.”

Yelena’s voice drifted up from below, thick with scepticism. She was not taking her duty of stabilising the ladder very seriously. The wooden rungs wobbled beneath your feet, shifting with every careless movement she made. A quick glance down confirmed your suspicions. She was barely gripping the beams, more occupied with craning her neck up the hill, no doubt hoping for another glimpse of the fabled Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes.

You sighed, your arms burning from the strain. You had foolishly volunteered for the painstaking task of weaving flowers through the towering wooden archways that framed the festival’s entrances. The Mayflame decorations were meant to be intricate and beautiful—braided vines, bundles of wildflowers, bright ribbons fluttering in the evening breeze—but at this rate, you’d be lucky if you made it out of this task without breaking a limb.

“I’m not upset,” you grumbled, though your voice lacked conviction. You worked the soft stems of sweetpeas and baby’s breath into a sturdy braid, securing them with twine against the wooden frame. “We made a mutual decision. It wasn’t working. Just a Mayflame fling...”

Yelena snorted from below, unimpressed. The ladder swayed as she shifted, and you tightened your grip, heart stuttering. “You two lived together for a year. I think it was a little more than a fling.”

You exhaled sharply, your fingers tightening around the flowers. “If he wants to run off, sleep around, and travel, who am I to hold him back, Lena? He wanted something different than I did. It never would have worked.”

“I just…” Yelena hesitated. “I just don’t like thinking about you living up on that farm by yourself.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you reached for another bundle of flowers. “Then come visit me more often instead of spending all your nights at the tavern, bothering Nat. I need all the help I can get wrangling those weeds—”

The words barely left your mouth before the ladder jerked violently beneath you.

Your stomach lurched as you wobbled. You instinctively reached for the wooden arch to steady yourself but overcorrected. The shift in weight sent the ladder tilting dangerously, its legs twisting beneath you. The basket of flowers on your hip slipped free, tumbling towards the grass below in a flurry of petals.

“Yelena! The ladder—!”

“There’s a bee in my hair!” Yelena shrieked, her grip altogether abandoning the wooden beams as she flailed wildly. “Gods, if it stings me, I swear—”

You had no time to process her nonsense. The world lurched violently as the ladder lost its precarious balance, tipping sideways with terrifying speed.

Air whipped at your cheeks as you plunged downward. Your arms shot up in a feeble attempt to protect your head, your entire body bracing for the inevitable collision with the earth below.

But the pain never came.

Instead, you collided with something solid—something warm.

A pair of strong arms locked tightly around your middle, yanking you against a broad, muscled chest. The force of your fall sent both of you toppling over; your breath knocked from your lungs as your saviour twisted to absorb the impact. The two of you crashed into the grass in a tangled heap.

A startled squeak escaped your lips as you landed atop them, hands splayed flat against their chest. Their sheer size was dizzying—hard muscle beneath the thin fabric. The steady rise and fall of their breathing made you acutely aware of how firmly you were pressed against them.

For a long second, neither of you moved, your heart pounding as you processed what had just happened. Then, slowly, the arms around your waist loosened. A deep, low voice rumbled beneath you, quieter than you expected yet laced with a restrained amusement.

“Careful, angel. Keep this up, and people will talk.”

Your breath hitched, pulse stuttering as you realised who lay beneath you. Bucky Barnes.

A cold rush of realisation hit like a shock to the system. Your eyes widened in alarm as you took in the situation. Your hands braced against the solid plane of his chest, his body beneath yours, broad and unmoving. Worse, your legs were hooked around his hips, the warmth of him seeping through your clothes—oh gods, were you sitting on his—?

Panic jolted through you. Without a second thought, you scrambled off him in a flurry of movement, heat rushing to your face. Your hands shot up instinctively as if you could wave away the mortifying situation.

“I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Bucky didn’t move immediately. He remained where he was, lying on the ground, one arm bent behind his head. The dappled sunlight filtering through the trees cast shadows on his face, highlighting the defined angles of his cheekbones and the depth of his blue eyes. There was no teasing smirk, no cocky remark—just a quiet, lingering patience.

Finally, with a slow, fluid motion, he pushed himself upright, his expression unreadable. 

“It’s fine,” he assured, his voice smooth but low, edged with something thoughtful. Just a quiet confidence that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

You took a hurried step back, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but the erratic beat of your heart refused to settle. You’d always known of Bucky Barnes—the colder one, the quiet one. The man whose name carried a reputation as cutting as winter’s first frost. Yet now, looking at him, the weight of that reputation felt at odds with how he carried himself.

There was something measured about his movements, deliberate and careful, as though he were wary of taking up too much space.

The silence stretched between you until his voice, softer this time, broke through. “You’ve got a little something…”

His hand shot up before you could reply—quick yet remarkably gentle. His fingers delicately moved through your hair, his careful touch igniting a familiar warmth in your gut.

You froze.

He plucked something from your hair and turned it over in his fingers. A single sweetpea, its delicate petals trembling in the breeze. Bucky studied it with quiet intensity, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Sweetpea,” he murmured, as if the word carried weight, his gaze flicking back to meet yours. How he looked at you—calm yet piercing—made your breath catch. For a fleeting moment, the world felt impossibly still.

Your cheeks burned. You didn’t even know why.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Something flickered across his face, subtle but there. Not quite a smile, but something close, something softer than you would have expected from a man with his reputation.

“You don’t have to apologise,” he said simply. Then, after a beat, quieter: “You could’ve hurt yourself.”

It was such a small thing. Barely even a kindness. You were glad the hero couldn’t sense the throbbing between your legs. Maybe this break-up with Leif had indeed done a number on you, lusting after the first man who showed you kindness... but there was something rather magnetic about the sergeant you couldn’t quite understand. 

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus and gather the scattered remnants of your pride. Your gaze turned to the abandoned basket of flowers at your feet, a welcome distraction.

 "Right, well, thank you,” you muttered. “I should probably—” 

You motioned vaguely toward the half-finished floral arch, eager to redirect the moment into something less intense. But before Bucky could respond, a sharp, frantic voice shattered the moment.

“Oh, gods! I’m so sorry, there was a bee, and I just—are you okay?” You barely had time to brace before Yelena was upon you, hands gripping your shoulders, her wide green eyes scanning your face as if she expected to find a gaping wound. You squirmed under her touch, cheeks still burning.

“I’m fine, Lena,” you mumbled, trying to pry her hands off you. “Really.”

“Yes, of course! This gentleman saved you—” Yelena cut herself off mid-sentence, her entire body freezing as she finally got a good look at him. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in unfiltered shock. “Wait. You’re Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, barely, but you caught it. A flicker of something. Not quite discomfort, but something close. His posture stiffened, his fingers flexing once before settling back into stillness.

He didn’t confirm or deny it. He just gave a slow, short nod. You saw the way his throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, the way he held himself—not defensive, exactly, but closed off as if he had already braced for whatever reaction was coming next.

Yelena’s gaze darted between you, her sharp mind working fast. Too fast. There was a feral glint in her eyes, one you knew well. You could practically see the cogs turning in her mind, a meddling scheme already in action. You held back a groan.

Before she could say something truly insufferable, a sharp, shrill voice rang out from across the unlit bonfire.

“There you are! I need more flowers—can you believe it? I thought we’d have enough with all that you grew. Please tell me you have more in that garden of yours!” You blinked, grateful for the interruption, and immediately turned towards the sound of Pepper’s voice. 

“Yes, of course,” you called back, relief flooding through you. “I grew extra just in case. I had a feeling this might happen.” 

“Wonderful! Oh, you’re a lifesaver today,” Pepper’s voice rose in excitement. “Leave the floral arches for now. I’ll have one of the girls help finish them up. If you could just run up to your garden—” 

You didn’t need to hear the rest. 

“Of course!” You cut her off a little too eagerly, desperate to get away from Yelena’s looming interrogation. It was almost like an escape route had opened, and you weren’t about to hesitate. Pepper barely seemed to notice your enthusiasm as she continued.

“Oh, but you won’t be able to carry them all alone, will you? Yelena, you’ll help her, won’t you? And, oh, Bucky, I didn’t realise you were down here already. If I send you and Steve up as well, can you help these lovely ladies?”

You turned towards him instinctively, almost uncertain of what to expect. Bucky, who had been silent throughout the exchange, lifted his head slightly. His eyes jumped towards Pepper, then towards you. His blue eyes were unreadable, his expression impossible to decipher.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Yeah.”

That was it. No unnecessary words, no wasted breath. Just a quiet, steady answer, the same way he seemed to carry himself, like a man who only spoke when it was worth speaking.

Yelena, on the other hand, was already on you like a hawk, latched onto your arm, nails digging through even your clothing as she grinned in excitement. Instead, you held back any protest that wanted to bubble to the surface, donning a hesitant smile. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the afternoon was about to take a turn for the absurd.

There was no way out of this now. 

—

The sun sat high in the sky as the four of you climbed the hill towards the garden. The path was uneven, the dirt packed down from years of footsteps, the scent of wildflowers and earth thick in the warm air. You focused ahead, gripping the empty basket, determined not to meet anyone’s gaze—especially not Bucky’s.

Of course, Yelena had no such reservations. She walked beside Steve, hands clasped behind her back, the picture of feigned innocence. You could feel the question brewing before she even opened her mouth.

“So,” she began, her tone laced with a familiar mischief. “You two were some of the great heroes of the Blooded Age.”

Steve huffed a small, almost bashful laugh. “I wouldn’t call us heroes.”

“Really?” Yelena raised a brow. “Because I’ve heard plenty of stories that say otherwise. You fought monsters, saved villages, built armies—sounds pretty heroic to me.”

Steve glanced at Bucky as if expecting him to jump in, but the other man remained quiet, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. Steve sighed and shrugged. “We did what needed to be done. It wasn’t about being heroes. People were dying, and the world was falling apart. We just... fought to keep it together.”

Yelena hummed, unimpressed with his humility. “And now you’re here. Retired.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You must be very tired.” She smirked. “All that fighting. Saving the world. Carrying such a heavy burden on those broad, broad shoulders.”

You choked on absolutely nothing, coughing into your hand as warmth flared in your cheeks.

Steve cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was time to put the war behind us.”

Yelena turned to Bucky, who had been walking a step behind, silent as ever. “And what about you, Barnes? Tired of fighting too?”

Bucky finally glanced her way, his expression unreadable. 

“War doesn’t leave much room for a future.” His voice was low, quiet, but firm. “Figured it was time to start thinking about one.”

Yelena tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she was determined to solve. “And New Fernwick is the place to do that?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. His attention turned to you—brief and mysterious—before he looked back at the trail. “Seems as good a place as any.”

Yelena smirked, but you reached the garden before she could push further.

“Here we are!” You announced, a little too brightly, desperate to change the subject.

You set your basket down and knelt to gather the flowers, focusing intently on the task. Yelena crouched beside you, plucking a few stems with ease. Steve busied himself as well, his hands surprisingly gentle as he worked.

Bucky, however, remained standing with his arms crossed as he surveyed the field of blooms. After a brief pause, he crouched, reaching for a flower near your basket. You watched as his fingers brushed over the petals carefully and deliberately.

Yelena noticed too. “Didn’t peg you for a flower guy, Barnes.”

Bucky plucked the stem and twirled it between his fingers, his expression unreadable. “You learn to appreciate the small things when you don’t see ‘em for a long time.”

The words were simple, but they settled in your chest, something unspoken lingering beneath them.

Yelena, for once, said nothing.

The silence stretched as the four of you worked, the baskets gradually filling, until until Yelena, as always, shattered it with a single sentence—one that made your stomach drop the moment it left her mouth.

“So, are you two going to do the Mayflame Run?”

Your fingers tightened around the delicate stems of the flowers in your hands, nearly crushing them. Heat flared up your neck, and you snapped your head towards her. “Yelena.”

She only grinned, tilting her head in mock innocence. “What?”

 She batted her lashes. “It’s a fair question.”

Bucky and Steve glanced up from where they were crouched, picking through the wildflowers. The question had caught them off guard. Steve’s brow furrowed, curiosity laced with hesitation.

“What exactly is the Mayflame Run?” he asked.

You parted your lips, scrambling for a way to downplay it, but Yelena was already launching into her favourite pastime—oversharing.

“It’s a spring festival all about welcoming in the new season... new life... fertility and all that.” She wiggled her fingers for emphasis, an impish smirk tugging at her lips.

Steve blinked, his expression shifting into one of wary understanding. “Right…”

The mischief in Yelena’s eyes deepened as she continued.

“The main event is the run. We call it the Springbond Run, but let’s be honest—everyone knows what it’s really about. See, after the Blooded Age, people kind of… forgot how to date. Or just didn’t bother.” She waved a hand as if brushing aside years of devastation. “War, famine, monsters—it put a real damper on romance. And, well, people aren’t exactly repopulating at the rate they should be, so...” 

She shot Steve a pointed look. “The elders decided to encourage things.”

Steve still looked uncertain. "And how does it work?”

You exhaled through your nose, adjusting your basket.

“The women carry torches and run through the dark forest,” you explained, keeping your voice even as possible. “The goal is to reach the clearing on the other side and light the bonfire.” 

You hesitated, dreading the next part. “The men chase them.”

Steve’s brows lifted. “They chase them?”

You nodded stiffly, but Yelena was the one who answered.

“If you get caught,” she said breezily, “you have to date the guy who caught you for a week. You’re now each other’s Springbond. After that, you decide if you want to keep seeing each other or go your separate ways. Most end up sticking it out. Either for marriage or, at the very least, some fun.”

Your stomach twisted as Bucky’s gaze flickered towards you. He hadn’t spoken yet or reacted outwardly, but you felt the weight of his attention pressing against your skin like an unspoken question.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, clearly processing the information. “And what happens to the women who manage to light the bonfire?”

“Oh, then they get to choose who they spend the week with,” Yelena said. "Which honestly makes the whole thing even more exciting. It’s so dark, you don’t always know who’s chasing you until they’re right on top of you, pinning you to the ground—”

Steve choked on his own breath, shifting awkwardly. You clamped your eyes shut, pressing your fingers to your temples.

“Yelena.”

“What?” she said, all false innocence. 

“It’s true. And let’s be real, some people don’t even wait until after the run to start celebrating.” She smirked. “All that adrenaline, all that tension, out there all alone in the woods—”

Steve made another strangled sound, and you wished, for the first time in your life, that you had the power to smite Yelena where she stood.

“And this is normal?” he asked weakly.

You let out a long breath. “Yes. It’s… tradition.”

Yelena’s smirk stretched wider, and a pit of dread opened in your stomach just before she delivered the final blow.

“Oh, she would know,” she said airily. “She’s done it three times.”

Silence.

You felt the shift in the air before you even looked up. Steve was already glancing away politely, but Bucky—Bucky’s gaze was steady, unyielding, waiting. His expression was unreadable, but there was something sharp beneath it, something that made your pulse stutter.

Your mouth went dry. “I—uh—yeah.”

Yelena cackled, delighted. “And she had quite the reputation for it, too. She and Leif turned it into a year-long one-night stand."

Your stomach dropped. Heat flared at your ears, mortification wrapping around your ribs like a vice. Steve coughed into his fist, visibly uncomfortable, but Bucky—Bucky still hadn’t looked away. The weight of his silence pressed against you, heavier than any words could be. He didn’t flinch, didn’t frown, didn’t even raise a damn eyebrow. He just watched as if waiting for you to offer something. An explanation. A reaction.

You swallowed hard.

Yelena, meanwhile, had absolutely no shame.

“Some people take the week actually to get to know each other,” she continued with a smirk. “Others treat it like a festival fling. A week-long one-night stand, if you will.” 

She turned to Bucky then, eyes glinting. “You seem like the type who’d do a Mayflame run.”

Bucky finally exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “You get that from watching me pick flowers?”

Yelena leant in. “No, I got it from watching you look at her.”

Your breath hitched.

Bucky didn’t flinch. Didn’t react at all. He just held her gaze for a long moment before standing, dusting the dirt from his hands with deliberate ease.

“We should get these back,” he said.

That was it. No denial.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears as Yelena shot you a triumphant look, nudging your arm with her elbow. You shoved her back harder than necessary, grabbing your basket with too much force.

—

You had braided sweetpeas into your hair, their delicate petals—a cascade of soft pinks, purples, and whites—woven carefully through your strands. The fragrance clung to you, sweet and fleeting, barely noticeable except when the wind stirred just right. You didn’t know why you had done it. Maybe it was a whim, an idle distraction while you got ready for the Mayflame. Maybe it was some quiet hope you refused to name, a foolish sentiment born from the strange afternoon. Or maybe, worse than all of that, it was the loneliness of returning to an empty house.

Leif had left while you were gone. You hadn’t seen him pack or even heard the door shut behind him. Just silence, so much silence. His absence had been waiting for you like a ghost when you stepped inside. No trace of him remained, save for a few scuff marks on the wooden floor and a half-finished bottle of cider in the kitchen. You had stared at it for a long time before scrubbing the house clean in a fit of confused energy as if sweeping away the dust might sweep away the ache in your chest.

Did you even want to run tonight? If it always turned out this way?

Leif had been inevitable—his leaving, even more so. The one before him barely lasted the week. And the first... gods, the first. You didn’t let yourself think about that one.

Yet here you were, standing in the dark forest, a burning torch in your hand.

The other women huddled together, whispering in excited clusters, their laughter soft and secretive beneath the trees. The firelight flickered over their masked faces, catching on the gilded edges and painted symbols of the goddess of spring. Yelena was causing trouble somewhere in the throng, as always, her voice carrying through the dark.

“I swear, I can pick them out. I just need a second,” she was saying.

You sighed, already knowing exactly what she was up to.

“It’s a useless pursuit,” you had reminded her earlier. “They’ll be masked, everyone will. That’s the whole point.”

And yet, she was determined. You caught a glimpse of her through the shifting bodies, her blonde hair twisted into an elaborate crown braid behind her fox mask, taunting the gathered men. They stood on the opposite side of the clearing, a sea of darkened figures illuminated only by flickering torchlight. The line between hunter and hunted might have blurred if not for their masks.

You fiddled with the edges of your own mask, adjusting it once more against your face. Each mask bore the likeness of a creature of the forest—the women had prey animals: deer, rabbits, and foxes. You had chosen a wide-eyed doe, its carved wooden surface smooth against your fingertips. The men, in contrast, wore the guises of predators: wolves, bears, and great hunting birds.

A shiver trailed down your spine as you scanned their ranks, the shadows swallowing their bodies.

This was fate, they said. A tradition older than the Blooded Age. The goddess of spring would take the helm, guiding her children together. 

Destiny, not choice.

You weren’t sure you believed in fate anymore.

Still, you craned your neck, searching for Yelena again before the race began. Some women had already lined up at the start, their torches raised, waiting for the signal. You pushed through the crowd, weaving past a group of masked rabbits, your torch casting long, twisting shadows over the forest floor.

Yelena stood at the edge of the men’s group, utterly unbothered, her fox mask tilted slightly as she studied them. The smirk you couldn’t see was undoubtedly plastered across her face.

“Lena,” you called lightly.

She turned towards you, still distracted. “You’d think we’d be able to recognise them even with the masks, right? They should be massive, but it’s so hard to tell in the dark—”

You grabbed her wrist, pulling her away. “Come on.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled.

As you turned, your torchlight swept over a lone figure standing at the edge of the men’s group. Half-shrouded in shadow, his wolf mask glinted in the firelight. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, yet there was an unmistakable intensity in his standing and watching.

You swallowed hard and averted your gaze.

Tugging Yelena along, you stepped towards the start line.

The time was near.

You gathered your skirts with one hand, feeling the rough fabric in your fist. The cool night air licked at your skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. Around you, the other women shifted in anticipation, their torches flickering like stars in the dark. Somewhere beyond the trees, the men waited. Watching.

A hush fell over the gathered crowd. Then—

The drum sounded.

The tension snapped, and you ran.

Flames bobbed wildly as the women surged forward, feet pounding against the forest floor. Laughter rang through the night, breathless and high, voices calling to one another before being swallowed by the trees.

Yelena was gone in an instant, lost in the chaos.

You barely had time to register it before you were weaving between trunks, torchlight bouncing wildly in your periphery. Your skirts whipped around your legs, the rough fabric catching on twigs and undergrowth, but you didn’t slow. The forest stretched wide before you, vast and shrouded in shadows.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, heart hammering against your ribs.

It was exhilarating.

You could hear the others somewhere to your left, their laughter spilling through the trees, echoing their footfalls blending with your own. And behind you, somewhere in the dark, the men had begun their pursuit.

The sound of movement grew. Leaves rustled, and twigs snapped. 

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t dare look back.

Instead, you pushed forward, your torchlight slicing through the thick night. The distant hum of music reached your ears, the festival, just beyond the treeline. You were close. So close.

Then—impact.

A weight slammed into you from the side, knocking the air from your lungs. Your torch flew from your grasp, landing somewhere in the brush, its flame sputtering but not extinguished.

You hit the ground hard, back pressing into the cool earth, the scent of moss and crushed leaves filling your senses. Above you, a broad figure loomed, breathing heavily from the chase.

The dim torchlight barely illuminated him, casting jagged shadows across the carved wolf mask that stared down at you. The smooth, wooden surface gave away nothing—no expression, no hint of who was beneath it.

Your pulse thundered.

Around you, the chase still roared on. Footsteps pounded the earth, laughter echoing as others darted past, unseen but near.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming fast, your chest rising and falling. You had been caught.

But gods, it was thrilling.

The figure above you didn’t move, as if waiting—for what, you weren’t sure. His hands were braced on either side of you, caging you in, his breath still heavy from the chase. Yet he didn’t press his advantage or seize you like the others would have. Instead, he lingered, watching.

Then, in the flickering torchlight, he reached for your hair.

You barely breathed as his fingers tangled into the strands, the movement deliberate, almost reverent. Slowly, he plucked one of the deep violet sweetpeas from your braid, twirling it between his fingers before your masked face. The petals fluttered slightly with the motion, fragile between the ridges of his calloused fingertips.

A beat of silence stretched between you. Then, finally, his voice, low, deep, rough with exertion.

“Hey, sweetpea.”

The nickname sent a shock through you, something warm curling in your chest even as your breath hitched. Recognition dawned, sharp and sudden.

“Bucky?” You murmured, stunned.

Even if surprise coursed through you, it made sense. The sheer size of the body hovering above yours, the weight of him pressing into the earth, the controlled stillness…it was him. A reversed echo of your earlier position that day.

“How did you—”

“Your hair,” he interrupted, his voice quieter now, rougher. “You put flowers in your hair. I recognised it.”

He reached up, fingers catching the edge of his mask, and in a smooth motion, he pulled it free. The last flickers of the torch beside you cast just enough light to reveal the sweat beading on his brow, the shadows cutting across his sharp features—and the unmistakable, almost feral gleam in his eye.

Something deep inside you clenched at the sight.

You exhaled a breathless laugh, your hands instinctively sliding up his broad shoulders, fingers curling around the back of his neck. Beneath your palms, his skin was hot, his pulse hammering. “I didn’t think you were running.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He hesitated, head tilting slightly as footsteps dashed past, followed by an excited shriek from one of the other women. The sound faded into the trees, leaving you in perfect darkness, only the two of you remaining in the silence. “But—”

He trailed off, his voice thick with something unspoken. His weight above you was solid, immovable, and gods, you liked it.

“Do you want this?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Instead of answering, you twisted your arm, pulling your mask off. You weren’t sure he could see the grin curling your lips in the dark, so you let your actions speak for you. Tugging him closer, your chests collided, heat blooming between you.

“Yes,” you breathed.

And then his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was molten, searing through your veins like wildfire. He wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t uncertain—he kissed you like he had been holding himself back for far too long, like the chase had only wound him tighter, and now he was unravelling against you.

You gasped into his mouth as he shifted, his weight pressing down on you, one hand sliding to your waist, fingers digging in, anchoring you to him. His other hand tangled in your hair, gripping just enough to make your head tilt back, giving him full access. He took it eagerly, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, devastating stroke.

Heat pooled in your stomach, your legs shifting beneath him, but then—

With shocking ease, he moved.

For a brief second, you were weightless, a startled sound escaping your lips as he lifted you effortlessly from the ground. You barely had time to react before your back hit rough bark, the solid tree trunk now bracing you. His hands were firm as they guided your legs around his waist, pinning you in place. You could already feel his cock growing hard, pressed into one of your thighs as you squirmed beneath him.

A shudder wracked through you at his sheer strength, the way he handled you like you weighed nothing. The last remnants of your composure shattered when his lips found your throat, the scrape of his teeth ghosting over sensitive skin. You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, the sensation overwhelming and utterly intoxicating.

"You run fast, angel," he murmured against your skin, his voice dark and teasing. His lips trailed lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. "But not fast enough."

A breathless laugh escaped you, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling just enough to make him look at you. In the darkness, his blue eyes burned.

“I didn’t want to get away.”

Bucky’s breath hitched, and he just looked at you for a moment. Then, his grip on your waist loosened, fingers slipping beneath your skirts. He let out a deep groan as his digits navigated past your underwear, sweeping through the wetness already gathered. “You’re so wet already.”

You threw your head back at the small act of friction, your skull pressing hard into the rough bark as your chest heaved. He did one final pass, stroking through your folds. In the close distance between your faces, you could see a smirk lingering as your hips rocked involuntarily, begging for more. 

Bucky brought his fingers to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours as he pressed them flat against his tongue, dragging them slowly past his lips. His eyelids fluttered briefly, his breath coming heavier as he tasted you, a low, guttural sound rumbling in his chest. “Mmm.”

Heat coiled in your stomach at the sound, something deep and electric winding tight inside you. 

“Bucky—” The whine clawed unexpectedly from your throat, raw with desperation.

He smirked, his expression both teasing and dark, his hand slipping between your bodies.

“I know, sweetpea,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers fumbled blindly with his belt, metal clinking softly in the hush of the forest. You could feel his hunger in the way his body pressed against yours, restless, taut with restraint he was barely clinging to.

You rolled your hips against his hand, a breathless sigh spilling from your lips as friction sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. He inhaled sharply, his head tilting slightly as if savouring the way you reacted to him.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, his voice lower now, almost commanding.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, nails digging in. Your head tipped back against the tree's rough bark, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your lips parted around the words.

“I need you,” you whispered. “Now.”

Something snapped in his expression.

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat as his fingers hooked into the delicate fabric of your underwear. His patience was fraying. No careful undressing, no gentle peeling away. His grip was rough and decisive, a growl slipping from his throat as he gave one sharp tug. The fabric tore effortlessly beneath his fast fingers, the sound lost beneath the hammering of your pulse in your ears. He didn’t even bother pulling them down—too impatient, too consumed by need.

You could practically feel your wetness dripping down to your thighs as he blindly lined himself up, cock pushing into your needy heat. Your head dipped, your mouth finding the top of his shoulder as you bit down lightly with a soft cry. The world beyond this moment—the festival, the music, the laughter—blurred into nothingness. The only thing that existed was the feverish press of his body, the way his fingers dug into your skin, anchoring you to him as if he never wanted to let go.

“Fuck.” He hummed low in your ear. His voice strained as he slowly rocked in and out of you. You could tell he was restraining himself, his muscles taut along his back. You hooked your legs around his waist tighter, pulling your bodies flush. 

Bucky tilted his head, his lips ghosting over your jaw before finally finding your mouth, desperate and all-consuming. His pace faltered for a moment, a quiet groan slipping from his throat as you tightened around him.

“Gods, you’re so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ perfect—” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. Your breath was hot against his neck and ear as you whispered. “Then don’t stop.”

Any type of restraint the hero had been holding snapped, his hips immediately jerking into action, beginning a relentless pace, withdrawing from you only to slam back inside. Each thrust sent sparks through your body, pleasure coiling tighter, overwhelming in its intensity. One of his hands roamed, sliding down your thigh to where you connected.

You let out a gasping moan into his shoulder as his thumb found your clit, the added circling motion sending a spike of pleasure up your spine. You felt your cunt tighten around him again as you jolted from the sensation, back arching inward. 

“Bucky—” You groaned into his ear, head tilting as you laid hot, sloppy kisses that were all lips and tongue along his neck. You could taste salt on his skin, sweat beginning to mist both of you. The squelching and slapping sounds of your connected bodies echoed through the dark forest,  the both of you barely holding back the pleasured moans and gasps. 

“You gonna cum for me, angel?” Bucky growled against your throat. Your toes curled in delight. His strokes were already growing frantic and sloppy. You pushed yourself back against the trunk, chest heaving as you used your grip around his waist to grind yourself upon his thumb further. A coiling sensation grew in your gut, a knot beginning to tighten. You closed your eyes with a gasp, chasing the sensation. 

“Y-Yes.” You stammered through your pants, nails digging into his shoulders as your body began to shudder around him. Bucky let out a dark chuckle, straining through his grit teeth as he continued to plough into you. His thumb circled once more, gentle but practiced. You felt your back arch involuntarily—

You moan his name as every wave of pleasure washes over you. Your hips buck and your thighs shake, but he doesn’t let up. His cock strokes inside of you at a continued relentless pace, and he moans right along with you. Bucky’s hand began to roam along your legs, gripping your flesh tighter as he chased his own release. There would be finger-shaped bruises all over your hips and thighs by the time this was over. 

You’re panting above him. Eyes closed, the grip on his shoulders slackening as ropes of thick, hot cum fill you. His cock throbs, each pump releasing even more, only stopping as his hips stutter and his heated moans in your ear fade. 

The two of you panted in the aftermath. Bodies still pressed together as the sounds of the forest slowly filtered back into your ears—the distant thrum of festival music, the rustling leaves overhead, the occasional laughter of those still running through the trees. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

Bucky shifted first, pressing a lingering kiss to the base of your throat, his lips warm and soft against your sweat-dampened skin. His breath fanned over your collarbone as he slowly and carefully lowered you to your feet. Your knees nearly buckled when they touched the earth, your legs trembling with exhaustion. A startled gasp left you as you clung to him for support, fingers curling into his shirt.

“Easy, sweetpea,” he murmured, a quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest as he steadied you, one strong arm wrapping around your waist. His touch was grounding and reassuring, though the heat in his gaze told you he wasn’t entirely done with you yet.

You huffed a breathless laugh, tilting your head to look at him. 

“You know we have to go to the dance now, right?” Though amusement laced your tone, you could already picture the knowing smirks Yelena and the others would shoot you when you finally emerged.

Bucky smirked, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Even better,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “All I’ll be able to think about is those little noises you make... and that mess between your legs.”

Your breath hitched, a shiver rolling down your spine despite the lingering warmth in your limbs. You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your belly once more at the thought of his hands on you again, the way he had unravelled you so easily.

He tilted your chin up with a single finger, pressing a teasing kiss to your lips before stepping back slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 “Come on, sweetpea,” he murmured, his eyes flickering with mischief as he laced his fingers with yours. “Let’s go dance.”

—

By the time you and Bucky arrived, the festival was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced cider, and the smoky tang of bonfires. Laughter and music filled the clearing, the rhythmic beat of drums and the sweet hum of strings carrying through the night. Couples swayed to the music, feet shuffling against the packed earth as villagers danced in loose circles, the warmth of drink and celebration evident in every movement.

You barely had time to take it all in before a chorus of knowing smirks and raised brows greeted your arrival. Yelena, seated at a long wooden table with a tankard of something strong in hand, nearly choked on her drink when she spotted you—your slightly dishevelled hair, the flush still clinging to your skin, and Bucky’s possessive grip on your waist.

“About time,” she called with a grin, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Did you get lost?”

Bucky, unbothered, merely smirked and tugged you towards the dancing. “Something like that.”

You shot her a look, but it was impossible to ignore the amused glances and hushed whispers behind you. You tried not to think about the wet mess—a combination of both your fluids nesting between your thighs. Bucky had offered you a handkerchief to clean up, but the small square of fabric had done little against the wetness dripping down your thigh. What didn’t help was the thought of that handkerchief he casually tucked back into his pocket before you could protest. Your lips parted, ready with some half-hearted excuse, but Bucky spun you into his arms before you could respond.

The moment he pulled you into the dance, the rest of the festival seemed to fade into the background. His hands found your waist, guiding you through the steps with ease, music thrumming beneath your skin. Everything was intoxicating, with the warmth of his palm against the small of your back and the gentle pressure of his fingers as he led you.

His lips dipped close to your ear as you moved, swaying to the rhythm. “So, who is this Leif guy?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but then sighed, your fingers tightening slightly against his shoulder. “Oh—just… my last Springbond.” 

The words felt foreign on your tongue now, distant. “It didn’t really work out in the end.”

Bucky hummed, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over your hip. “Why not? Sounded like you lasted longer than a week.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, tilting your head back slightly to meet his gaze.

“Well… we just had different paths. He wanted to explore, adventure, sleep around…” You trailed off, gaze flickering to the firelight dancing in his blue eyes. “I was looking to settle. I’m just tired after everything. I feel you would understand that.”

His grip on you tightened ever so slightly, his gaze dark and steady as he murmured, “I understand you completely, angel.”

Something in the way he said it made your chest ache, warmth curling in your stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the fire or the wine or the exhilaration of the chase. He understood.

You held his gaze, the firelight dancing over his face. There was something ancient in his eyes, something heavy, worn by time and battle. You had known, of course, what he and Steve were before they arrived in New Fernwick—everyone did.

And yet, when the war ended, when the Riftborn were vanquished and peace finally settled over the world, they had simply walked away. But peace was a fickle thing, and you often wondered if it had truly found them in return.

Bucky’s fingers flexed against your waist, grounding you back in the present.

“You ever think about it?” you asked softly.

He tilted his head slightly, the movement curious. “Think about what?”

You hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “The way things used to be. Before.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t look away.

“Sometimes.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I don’t miss it. But it’s hard to let go of something that shaped you.”

You nodded, understanding. The past had a way of clinging to people, no matter how far they ran.

He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. 

“Steve took to peace like it was always meant for him. I think he’s been waiting for it his whole life. Me…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a faint line. “I think I’m still figuring it out.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. He deserved peace just as much as anyone else.

As the music slowed, your hands slid from his shoulders, fingers tracing the length of his arms before settling over his. His grip tightened instinctively like he knew what you were about to say.

“Come home with me.” The words were quiet, tentative, but certain.

Bucky stilled for half a beat, and then his lips parted, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Just certainty, as if he had been waiting for you to ask.

—

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open, stepping inside with Bucky close behind you. You moved awkwardly through the space, glancing at the walls, the furniture, anything but him, as though it could distract from the knot forming in your stomach. The house felt both too small and too big now, the empty rooms amplifying the tension in the air.

Bucky stepped in after you, his boots echoing softly on the wooden floor as he glanced around. His gaze lingered on the fire's warm glow in the hearth, he seemed at ease. His eyes scanned every corner of the space, taking in the simple comforts of home. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

You shifted nervously, breaking the silence with an anxious laugh. “You don’t actually have to do the full week if you don’t want to... I mean, most people just use it as an excuse to get off work—” Your words stumbled out, and you cut yourself off, realising how ridiculous you probably sounded.

Bucky turned toward you, his eyes dark with amusement but softened with something else, a quiet intensity. He was silent for a long moment, focusing entirely on you. Finally, his lips quirked up, and his voice was low and deliberate.

“Sweetpea, I love the sound of your beautiful voice, but just shut up... and kiss me.”

Before you could respond, his hands were already pulling you close, his mouth slanting over yours in a searing kiss that left no room for hesitation. You melted against him, your body pressing into his with a soft urgency, both of you stumbling as you navigated the space towards the bed. His grip on you was firm and reassuring, yet there was a rawness to it, an unspoken need that made your heart race faster.

You fumbled through the room together, bumping into furniture. Your hands sought purchase on his broad chest or tangled in his hair as you kissed desperately, blindly. The dim light from the hearth barely illuminated the path ahead. His lips were warm and hungry, pulling at yours with an intensity that made your pulse spike.

There was a quiet reassurance in how his hands roamed over your body, the steady pressure of his touch as though he wanted to anchor you in the here and now. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t treating this like a fleeting moment. You laughed softly against his lips as you stumbled into the bed, falling together in a tangled heap of limbs and tangled sheets. For a moment, all that mattered was the warmth of his skin against yours, the unspoken understanding that this was something different, something real. 

Something that could last.

[indulgentdaydream]

protective!jason hcs or blurb 🥰

Ok so I kinda touched on these in my latest fic but anyways i WILL elaborate bc those were just background

We all know that man is touch starved. We ALL know it.

We also all know he’s hesitant with sharing touch

It’s only once you both have been dating for a bit already, maybe three months in, that he really starts to show his protectiveness through his touch

Or at least when you notice it

He’s always at least holding your hand as you guys walk around Gotham. Depending on exactly whereabouts in Gotham is when he changes whether he’s between you and the road, or you and the alleyways.

You watched him change it up one time halfway through your shared walk, him letting go of your left hand, stepping behind you and around to grab your right instead.

“Oh? So you want me to get hit by a car and die?”

Jason only keeps his eyes on the passing buildings and the ones coming up, “The chance of that is much lower than somebody trying to mug you in this area, love.”

One day you’re both out at the bar together. He’s sitting on a stool behind you as you babble to oke of yours friends.

From over their shoulder, you see a man approaching, but don’t think anything of it.

Suddenly, you see the man stop in his tracks, freezing. You glance over at him. He looks terrified. He glances at you, his original target, then behind you again. He spins on his heel and walks back the way he came.

You look behind you, feeling Jason’s hand still resting on your hip. You almost feel a little scared yourself, seeing that killer glare that Jason’s pointing at the guy’s back.

He switches immediately the second he looks down to you, a soft smile and kind eyes, not a hint of the previous bloodlust a mere second ago. “What?” He asks, like watching his expression change wasn’t the biggest turn on in the world.

You’re sitting in your apartment at your desk typing away on your laptop. You’re trying to file your taxes, and Jason had come over to help you with it (surprisingly he knows how even though he’s still legally dead at this point and hasn’t had to pay any taxes. Ever.)

He had stood and was wondering around your room a bit while he waited for you to fill the next part out. You can hear shuffling, but you’re too focused to tune into it.

“Jay? What does this line mean?”

Jason grunts for a moment and you hear your window slide open.

You turn back around, “Jay?”

“One second.” He shuts your window again. You watch as he fiddles with the lock before easily sliding the window back open. He throws his hands in the air and looks at you. “How long have you lived here?”

You shrug, confused, “You helped me move in.”

Jason waves his hand through the air, “When?”

“Almost a year? Last November.”

Jason fiddles with the window again, slamming it back down, “This lock doesn’t work. You been sleeping in here and anyone could’ve just broken in?”

You shrug again, “I didn’t know it was broken! I don’t really lock my window often.”

Jason looks like he almost broke his neck by how fast his head whipped back to you, “You don’t lock your window????”

He finishes your taxes for you before he leaves, saying he’ll be back. Within the hour he’s knocking on your door again, a duffle bag in hand full of power tools, screws, and different assortments of heavy duty locks. He spends the rest of the night installing them.

A new one on your bedroom window that actually consisted of two different locks. A similar two on your kitchen window. Another three on your bedroom door itself. Then four on your front door.

As he leaned over your kitchen sink, screwing in the lock and blocking your way as you tried to make you both dinner.

“Is this really necessary?”

“I’m not having you practically open to every bad thing the city has to offer, love.”

“Then how are you going to come in through my window now?”

“I’ll learn to knock.”

That’s all I can think of right now okay byeee

[comfortscripts]

A Glimpse Of What I'd Do For You l Coriolanus Snow

Plot - As the First Lady of Panem, it is your duty to protect your husband. Even if it means dirtying your hands. But what is a little blood when the reward is so sweet? Pairing - Young!President!Coriolanus Snow x Wife!Female!Reader Warnings - Heavy plot + light porn. They are both mad, but sweet for each other. Murder/execution with guns, blood, body worship (??), nipple play, toxic language (??), light aspects of oral (fem receiving), softdom!corio. I fully believe he would be a total simp for someone on his wavelength Word Count - 1,288

Check out the rest of my kinktober fics

“Darling, could I trouble you for a moment?”

Words breaking through the tense atmosphere that Coriolanus has cultivated in his private office. Harsh oak furniture, meticulously organised bookcases, swirls of browns and reds with faint hints of a cool gold. The help liked to say the cold of the room matched Mr. Snow’s frozen heart, but even the ruthless President of Panem couldn’t help the way his shoulders relaxed at his wife’s delicate words.

“You are never a trouble,” he spoke with the push of his sturdy throne-like chair against the floor, punctuating his words. “Come in, my snowdrop.”.

The First Lady of Panem was nothing if not obedient. Perhaps that’s why Coriolanus allowed you into his kingdom after six months of marriage.

Wordlessly, you rounded the desk to perch yourself upon his navy-blue-clad leg and perfectly placed a light kiss against his lips. The kind of kiss that tempted him to become entangled in your sweet web regardless of duties. Piercing blues too busy consuming his prize, thinking of all the ways to corrupt his pretty petal. Not even noticing you slide a sleek silver tablet onto the desk.

“I have a gift for you, Corio.”

A glossy black screen stared back at him with a barely visible play button. Those pale digits broke from your waist to start the show before returning to their previous position. He could feel the shift of your body and took close note of how you were biting back a smile.

Suddenly a face that has haunted his dreams appeared: Lucy Gray Baird. Coriolanus could feel the bile rising in his throat at the sight of that traitor. Despite the fact she was strapped to a chair with thick masking tape covering her sickening mouth, he felt uneasy.

“What is this?”

“Freedom. Keep watching, my love.”

The tense grasp on your waist must have been aching, almost as if he was punishing you for showing him this she-devil. But it was soon alleviated as he saw your graceful figure walk into the cell of Lucy Gray. Stark white gown, as pure as snow, standing there inches away from her. Stoic guards either side of your regal stance, part of Coriolanus compared your image to the Queen being flanked by knights on his chessboard staring down a lowly pawn.

“Firstly, I'd like to say thank you, Lucy Gray. If you hadn’t betrayed the only good thing in your life, I wouldn’t have my darling husband. Truly, I appreciate it.”

This wasn’t his snowdrop. Never had he heard your voice that dominant and cold. Part of him preened at the words being spoken, yet he feared what was to come. Who had he married?

“You were very difficult to track down. See, originally, I wanted you gone because I knew he loved you, and I don’t like sharing. But then I found out that you wanted to destroy him. Drive him insane with your silly little tweety songs. And, well, no one can drive him crazy except me.”

Just as his mind caught up with the intentions of your words, a glistening of his father’s legendary pistol came into focus. Pointed between the eyes of the witch who once trapped his heart.

“Goodbye Lucy Gray. No one will remember you, and the Snow family will live forever.”

The bang of the bullet felt like an earthquake, but the image of you, his innocent little petal, with blood seeping into your porcelain dress was enough to silence all thoughts. Screen fading to black as the guards moved to remove the body.

“Did you like my gift?”

It was so small, as if you had made him a cake and were afraid that you’d added too little sugar. This was the wife he knew, and the wife he was growing to love. He always knew you were perfect; that is why he agreed to his marriage, but this was more than he could ask for.

He craved loyalty, obsession, ruthlessness, and compliance. You were everything he would ever need, wrapped in a pink bow. Finally, an equal, someone to love him the way he wished to be loved. Coriolanus would get rid of anyone you wished, and to know he has your devotion makes him feel invincible.

“It may be the best present anyone has ever given me. Let me thank you for it properly.”

Spider-like touches tingled down your spine before feeling the cool air prick your skin as Corio relieved the zip of its job, allowing your dress to pool in your lap. Three abrupt taps on the desk said everything, and within moments, you settled your bare body against the chill of the wood. There was nothing better than feeling his eyes map your body with such hunger. Swirls of lust flush through his eyes as he lightly runs his long digits over the exposed skin.

“Who knew my sweetheart could be so fierce? Those hands weren’t made for killing; they are far too pretty. And who would have expected those callous words to come from such beautiful lips? But you did it for me. Everything you do is for me.”

Standing to attention, he traced the expanse of your collarbone with featherlight touches. Eyes wide watching him in anticipation, every touch made your arousal swell. Never would you rush him; he ruled Panem and your heart. He was your purpose. He was yours. Coriolanus intoxicated you. Faint scents of leather and brandy washed over your senses; the heat of his body against your as he placed calculated kisses against your skin made you dizzy. With so little, he made you feel so much.

A gentle moan fell from your lips as the young president found his mouth on your taunt nipple, carefully flicking the tip with his talented tongue. Oh, how you wish that scandalous mouth was somewhere else right now. His appreciation was felt full force. Those large hands groped at your skin as if he were trying to consume you. Leaving a litter of marks and nips across your chest, as if he were an artist and you, his canvas.

“I would do anything for you, my dear. You gave me freedom from that whore, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have your love. You are my only obsession. So tell me. Name it, and it is yours.”

A sense of shock washes over you; he has never once asked what you wanted in the bedroom. As with many things in his life, Coriolanus was not open to advice or direction. Images flashed of what you wanted but your tongue tangled as you went to voice it. So caught in the moment, it felt impossible to string a coherent sentence.

“I want- I want you.”

“Be specific, my snowdrop.”

He knew what you wanted. Sinking to the floor as one arm curls around the thickness of your thigh, pulling you closer to his body. That smile told you that he knew, he always knows. Coriolanus wanted to see whether your boldness extended past the video.

“Tell me, Mrs. Snow, how can I please you? You have pleased me so, and I want to show my appreciation, so tell me. Now.”

The feeling of his breath against the wet patch growing on your panties sent a shiver down your spine, feeding the need for his mouth on you. You needed him carnally. Hands wrapped in those icy locks, pale fingers curling inside, and him acting as if he were a man starved.

“I need your mouth- your fingers. Please Corio. Thank me with your mouth. Worship my pussy with those fingers, please, my love.”

Fingers hooking the corners of your underwear, gently discarding the elegant lace. Stormy blues and a haunting smirk told you that he'd be thanking you for hours to come.

“As you wish, my love. I am yours to use, as you are mine.”

A King is only as good as his Queen.

[finnbbl]

Game of Love - Hwang Hyunjin SMAU

Chapter 21

Previous | Next

Masterlist

Word count: 0.9k

Warnings: Swearing, more hickey/sexual talks

A/N: Small written part below the cut

Time seemed to tick by slower than usual. That conversation left you slightly embarrassed, you’d honestly not expected Hongjoong to call you out like that in front of everyone. Jeongin on the other hand, felt slightly disgusted. But he was also left with a pit in his stomach. He couldn’t help but to watch you two as class neared to an end. You were rather normal, having mostly forgotten about the previous messages that were left as you payed close attention to the professor. Seungmin, on the other hand, didn’t keep his eyes off you for the rest of class. Yet, there was something odd behind his gaze. And even with Jeongin’s close observation, he couldn’t tell what it was. It was nothing like the look of admiration, and maybe the hint of lust that was there earlier. No, it was something else. And the more he stared into Seungmin’s eyes, the bigger the pit grew. It was such an awkward and uneasy feeling, he had no idea what was about to come.

As the bell rang, Jeongin watched as Seungmin quickly packed up his stuff. He walked over to your desk to hurry the process along, shoving everything in your bag and dragging you out of the classroom. You barely had enough time to grab your stuff, tripping over your feet as you were quickly lead away. This left the male frozen in his tracks, staring at the doorway where other students made their exit as well. His lips pursed as his head ran back through the same thoughts as before. It wasn’t until he heard a scoff behind him that he pulled his eyes away from the door. He glanced back at his friend Hyunjin who now had his arms crossed. Jeongin immediately recognized what this was and shook his head before finally packing up his stuff.

Meanwhile, you were getting dragged through halls left and right, and you were starting to get nervous. Part of you felt like you’d never been on this side of the building before, maybe it was the sudden uneasiness you were feeling. Before you knew it, your back was up against the wall, a strong pressure on your wrist where Seungmin’s hand rested. He bent down, his face nearing yours as you glanced around. That’s when you realized you were in a secluded hallway. It was quiet, the chatter of your peers grew more and more distant. “So you went to Hongjoong’s this morning, hm?” His tone was quiet but harsh. “I.. yeah, I don’t know I asked him to help me cover it.” Your voice was soft and shrunken. You could see his gaze flicker back and forth between your two eyes. His grip didn’t let up. “Then look what happened, now the entire group knows.”

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t think he would tell everyone.” Seungmin scoffed. “For someone that’s pretty adamant on keeping our relationship hidden you sure can’t keep something simple like that a secret.”

“That’s not- “ Your anxiety spiked as you inhaled, feeling your breath quiver. “I didn’t know he’d..” As if he knew what you were gonna say, he cut you off.

“Because you don’t think yn… When have you ever?” Unsure of why, you felt a pang in your chest. His words stuck to you, and ever so lightly would soon leave a dent on your heart.

“What, can’t speak?” Once again, you remained silent. Eventually, you were able to tear your eyes away from his, but that only did so much. “Look at me.” He said lowly, his hand yanking your head to face him again.

Silence followed once again.

“You’re scaring me Seungmin..” Those were the only words you could seem to utter as his eyes began to soften. His grip on your arm loosen and he brought his hand down from your face. “Sorry, yn..” His sudden change in demeanor was suspicious. It was like your words flipped a switch in his brain. Was this an act? Was he being genuine? But still even if that was the case..

“Just get a little overprotective, you know?” He leaned back up, his hand that had previously held a tight grip on your arm, traced down to interlock his fingers with you. “I don’t know why I acted like that.. forgive me?”

You were dumbfounded. What..? What the hell just happened? It was almost like it was an entirely different person a second ago. Now he was asking for forgiveness?? You were speechless, your mouth hung open as you looked into his eyes. There was no way you wanted to believe he was like this. That’s when Seungmin checked his watch, “Shit, we should both get to class. Walk with me to the cafe after?” Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, all your body could do was nod watching a smile appear on his face as you did so. “Great,” He leaned down and tilted his head planting his lips on yours. The kiss only lasted a few moments, “I’ll meet you outside the dining hall.”

Those were the last words he’d said in that moment before he shot you a smile and lightly jogged down the hallway before he was out of sight. You were confused, and slightly hurt. It seemed like that’s all you’d felt these days. Your eyes traveled down to your wrist, which was surprisingly not bruised. That wasn’t your boyfriend, that person just now. That wasn’t him.. right? Your head pounded as you brought your hand up to it. How the hell could you even go about this?

taglist: @rylea08 @estella-novella @gabriellamarie @elqivxstxr @4ln-stay8 @lostgirlinthewoodss @hwashua-luv @linavc @yaniluvs @ddroh @writtingrubberducky @vegetablesarefuntables @lixies-favorite-cookie @emilywjinnie @thecutiepieme @silly250 @energyjuice4life @solisyeah @renjunniex @nujeskz @lilylovelle @cunninglibrarian @luvv1anime @babrieeee @too-damn-joji

[just-aake]

Marry Me? Part 2

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary : Different times Natasha asks you to marry her, now if only you would believe that she was actually serious.

Part 1 | Love in Red

Warnings : fluff, light angst, hints of sexual themes

Words : 1455

“Marry me?”

Your feet stumble on the treadmill, startled by Natasha’s unexpected question.

It has been a few days since the doctors discharged you from the medical bay, and now that you’re feeling better, you decided to do some training to regain your strength.

Recovering your composure, you turn off the machine, slowing to a stop before looking to where Natasha was previously training against the punching bag. 

You had offered to hold the bag for her earlier, but she quickly declined and directed you towards the treadmill for a lighter training session instead, citing your still recovering condition.

At the sight of her in her black tank top with a sheen of sweat on her body, you go to take a drink for your suddenly dry throat and stall your response as you try to understand what she meant. 

“Oh, I get it. Is this because of what I said before, during the mission?” 

You remember how you had lightly hit Natasha’s hand and remarked about it during your last moments of consciousness, referencing her previous statement to you when you had uttered those two words to her before.

“Don’t worry about that, Natasha. I know you were just kidding.”

Giving her your usual convincing smile, you begin to gather your things, feeling a little worn out from the training and the painful reminder of the type of relationship you have with her.

You turn towards the exit with a small wave.

“I think I’m going to stop for today. I’ll see you later.”

With your back to her, you miss the way Natasha’s shoulders slump and her hands fall to her sides as she stares at your retreating back in disbelief.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Marry me?” 

You let out a slight chuckle in between the bites you are taking.

“Hey, that's my line,” you say jokingly with a slight bittersweet tone, oblivious to the soft look Natasha is giving you.

Your focus is currently on the array of dishes in front of you. The candles and flowers at the center of the table bring a warm and pleasant atmosphere to the dimly lit space around you.

A hand wipes at the corner of your lips with a napkin and offers you a glass of wine, and you take it gratefully, turning to face the redhead.

“Seriously, Natasha, you didn’t have to do all of this and make all of my favorites. It’s not like we’re celebrating anything.”

Natasha shakes her head slightly and lets out a huff of disbelief, but still, her lips quirk up into a fond smile as she listens to you talk about your day.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Marry me?”

The words were whispered so softly against your bare shoulder that you almost missed it, distracted by the gentle kisses that followed.

After the time she just spent making you scream her name, your mind is too blissfully dazed to process anything, much less what she just said to you. 

A brief moment of serene silence follows before you suddenly feel her hand move from innocently caressing your hips down across your stomach towards where you know she intends to begin another round.

You tap her lightly in exhaustion, letting her know that you don’t think you can keep going. For some reason, Natasha has been insatiable this night, bringing you to the point of pleasure so many times that you’ve lost track.

Understanding your action, Natasha returns her arm to wrap around you instead, pulling you close to her in a warm embrace.

This feels different. 

That was the last thought you had before you drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

When you wake up, you are surprised to see Natasha still beside you, instead of the usual empty space, and of course, she is already awake. Her head rests on her hand as she watches you slowly blink yourself awake and give her a confused look.  

“Don’t you have to get to your morning run?”

Natasha shakes her head.

“I’d rather stay here with you.” 

Your heart warms slightly at her words, but you quickly brush off the feeling, knowing better than to get your hopes up. Defaulting to your usual methods of coping during these kinds of situations, you tuck your face against the crook of her neck to hide your expression as you joke against her skin.

“Last night was that good, huh?”

You don’t see Natasha roll her eyes fondly at your teasing or throw her head back with a silent sigh, but you do feel her tighten her arms around you and place a soft kiss on your head.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Marry me?”

Earlier, you received a sudden request for you to join her on the rooftop of the Avengers Compound.

That’s how you found yourself at this point, standing with Natasha under the night sky as she says those two words to you again.

Well, you are standing.

Natasha is on the ground in front of you.

On one knee.

With an elegant little box in her hands.

“Y/n, I’m serious,” she says genuinely.

Your mouth hangs open in disbelief as your eyes shift back and forth between Natasha’s earnest face and the beautifully crafted ring in her hand.

Behind you, by the rooftop doorway, you can hear the whispers of the other Avengers watching.

“I think Nat broke her,” Clint says.

“Shush, just give her a minute to respond,” Wanda whispers.

“You know, in Asgard, one must battle other suitors and show their strength before they can propose,” Thor points out.

“I told her. She should have just used my drones,” Tony remarks. 

“This is a private moment. Everybody, leave. Now,” Steve orders firmly, shutting the cracked opening of the door.

Hearing their words and now understanding what is happening, you return your attention to Natasha who is now rubbing her head exasperatedly at their behavior.

Shaking her head, Natasha bites her lips nervously before releasing a shaky breath and meeting your eyes.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to be with. I’ve put you in situations that have not been fair to you. But despite all of that, you still stayed by my side, and in return, I kept you at a distance.” 

Your arms instinctively wrap around yourself in comfort at the thoughts of all the times you've felt hurt, patiently waiting for her.

Natasha's hand moves slightly as if she were about to reach for you, but she holds herself back, giving you a sad expression.

“I don’t have a good track record with those who stay around me. They get hurt, always do,” Natasha admits, her eyes drifting down to where the bullet had pierced you. Her lips twist regretfully, “I can’t promise that you will have a safe life with me. And honestly, you deserve better.”

She meets your eyes again with a small, hopeful smile, her own gaze reflecting her vulnerability.

“But one thing I can do is promise that I will do everything I can to give you the happiness you deserve. I want to be with you, Y/n…if you’re still willing to have me?”

With those final words, Natasha waits with a bated breath for your response. You observe her carefully.

The wind blows her auburn hair softly behind her while the rooftop lights cast her face in a scarlet glow, and her ruby lips are caught between her teeth in anticipation.

You can't help but think you were right before.

Red is a beautiful shade of color on her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Hey, Natasha…” you call for her attention among the joyous voices of your friends celebrating.

She turns her head to you, just as you put some of the wedding cake frosting on her cheek.

“…you have something on your face,” you say teasingly.

Natasha raises an unamused brow at you, but you spot the glint of fondness and love in her eyes. 

As she goes to wipe it off, you catch her hand, stopping her, and lean in to kiss the frosting from her cheek.

Before you can pull away too far, Natasha takes your chin in her hand and presses her lips to yours. 

With your small gasp of surprise, she deepens the kiss, entering your mouth to taste the frosting that you had just removed from her.

Sounds of cheer from everyone erupt around the two of you, and Natasha pulls away with a small smirk at your flushed expression.

Wrapping your arms around her to hold her close, you brush your lips lightly against her again before deciding to ask her one last time.

“Marry me?” 

Natasha’s grin widens happily, leaning in closer to whisper her response proudly against you. 

“I finally did.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading!

[justwinginglife]

Tomorrow

Guyssssss- I haven't written smut in a HOT minute, so sorry if it's sub par, I am warming back up lmao. But I just find it so funny that the thing that gets me back into writing smut is the new Caleb trailer. Anyway, yes this is NSFW, 18+, yada yada. Please don't send hate, I know as much about Caleb's character as you do, and probably less because I'm not as attentive as some of yall, but I am just as feral after the new trailer so I HAD to write a fic. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was-”

Familiar eyes gazed back at you, halting your train of thought in its ever spiraling tracks. Even in your dreams (and your nightmares, which had lately begun to outnumber the dreams), his eyes weren’t as vibrant as they were now, and you’d started to hate that you couldn’t even remember that one detail about him properly when you’d just laid him to rest not three months ago. You never thought you’d see those shimmering eyes of his ever again, but now there they were, bright as day, and your voice had chosen this moment to sink back down your throat and bury itself deep in your stomach. 

He looked away, only giving you a quick nod to convey his hasty acceptance of your apology, before he turned to leave. 

“You’re… you’re…” Your words stumbled through your lips like a baby learning how to walk for the first time and you cursed yourself internally for your sudden ineptitude. It wasn’t like you’d never thought about what you might say to him if you’d ever been given a chance to see him again, if it ever happened that there was some god out there to take pity on you and see fit to return his life to him, or if ever there came a time when you obtained the ability to travel back to the past and undo your previous mistakes, protect him like you should’ve, but now that he was actually standing here before you, seemingly alive and well, leaving you possibly blameless (when you’d done nothing but fault yourself these past few agonizing months), you found that any possible words you could summon fell short of anything you actually wanted to convey. 

You settled for a simple, “You’re… alive?”

At your words, his shoulders tensed and his eyes - the eyes you’d always loved so much, the eyes you’d grown to miss so much- suddenly began to dart back and forth, as though scanning his surroundings. You recognized that behavior. You’d been taught to assess for threats in the very same way. 

You weren’t sure what was going on, but you wanted to touch him. To reassure him. You reached a hand out but hesitated a moment before your fingers graced his sleeve. When you made the decision to rescind your touch, a flicker of pain flashed in his eyes but it quickly disappeared as though you’d merely imagined it. 

You cleared your throat, drawing his attention (and anxiety) once more. You knew you shouldn’t be talking to him, not like this, not in the middle of the street, but you didn’t know if you’d ever get the chance to again. Whoever was threatening him would have to wait. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone I once knew. He used to always climb up my balcony and sneak in without warning to play tricks on me. I miss him doing that. Sometimes I leave the door unlocked in case he ever wants to again.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “But it appears I was mistaken, so I’ll let you go about your day. Excuse me.” And with that, you continued on your way home, hoping and praying that he’d gotten your hint. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caleb hesitated at the door.

He shouldn’t be here. What the hell was he doing here? He’d stayed away all these months, endured all the emptiness and all the loneliness all on his own, suffering in silence to keep you safe, only to throw it all away again just because you’d asked, just because you’d missed him. He’d known you would miss him; it shouldn’t have changed anything. Shouldn’t have changed his goal, shouldn’t have affected his plans. But he hadn’t expected to run into you on the street like that, in a neighborhood so far from your own, at the most random hour of the day, and he hadn’t expected the way his heart would throb in his chest at the sight of you, at the sound of you. He hadn’t expected the way your words would move him. The way your words would remind him what you meant to him. How much you meant to him. How much you always meant to him. 

He knew he was being selfish, climbing up your balcony like this, when it could very well put the both of you in danger again, just because he wanted to see you, but was it so selfish to want to dry your tears? Was it so selfish to want to hold you in his arms, to stop your shaking? To remind you that he still loved you? To ask you not to forget him? 

So he turned the door handle. You had left it unlocked like you said. He wanted to laugh and he wanted to scream. How could you be so careless? Didn’t you know what kinds of people there were lurking in the shadows? He’d have to reprimand you properly before he took his leave. 

When he entered your room, shutting the door quietly behind him, there was no one in the bed. His brows furrowed. You’d left the door unlocked, so where were you? 

Arms surrounded him from behind and his heart thundered in his chest. If he hadn’t caught a whiff of your perfume, he might’ve assumed you were an assailant and slammed your head through a wall. God, you were so careless. Didn’t you know he could’ve hurt you when you snuck up on him like that?

“Idio-” He turned to hiss at you, but stopped when he saw your tear stained eyes and quivering smile. 

“You came.” You whispered. Your arms around him trembled but your grasp was firm, as though he might disappear at any moment if you let him slip away. It broke his heart. What had he done to you?

“I did. I’m here. I’m here.” He repeated, wrapping his arms around you protectively as he rested his head atop yours. He held you until the shaking subsided. “I’m… I’m sorry.” The words were strained, and he knew they’d never make up for anything, and they’d never change what diverging paths they’d have to return to after tonight was over, but he felt the need to offer his apology to you anyway, useless as it was. 

“It’s… it’s okay. I don’t know… I don’t know what’s going on, but I know you have your reasons. You wouldn’t do something like this to hurt me. I just… I missed you. More than you could possibly know.”

His heart shattered into pieces at your words. “I… I know. Because I missed you too. So much.”

You smiled at that and he felt undeserving of such a smile, not when he was the reason it’d disappeared in the first place. 

“Stay with me tonight.” You said firmly, your voice finally finding its strength.

He shook his head apologetically. “I can only stay for an hour or two. I shouldn’t even be here at all; it’s dangerous to stay the whole night.”

“But I won’t be able to see you again, right? After this, it’s all over? So stay with me for the night. Just one night. Give me something to hold onto for the rest of my days.”

He winced. When you put it like that, it was hard to refuse. Didn’t he owe you this? Didn’t you deserve this much? He’d be gone before you woke up; the least he could do was hold you tight and fight off your nightmares as you slept. So he begrudgingly agreed, telling himself it was for your sake that he laid beside you, not wanting to admit that he also just wanted one more chance to pretend that you were his. To pretend that he’d be waking up to find you singing some song in the shower or flipping pancakes in the kitchen in the morning. To pretend that you and him could go on like this forever, that you could simply belong to each other for an eternity. 

So he climbed into bed beside you. He climbed into bed and conveniently ignored the fact that, knowing you as well as he did, you should’ve asked him by now what was going on. Knowing you, you should’ve demanded that he stay. Knowing you, you should’ve insisted you could fight whoever was against them together. And he should’ve told you that you were being naive and that wasn’t how the world worked. He should’ve had to claim he was doing this to protect you. But you asked no questions and he gave no answers. So maybe he was being naive too, when he simply held you and figured that holding you was all there would be to it. 

And then you turned over and kissed him. 

And his heart stopped.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You could feel his tension.

You could almost drown in it- it was so thick.

But you kissed him again and again, until it began to melt away, as you murmured, “If all we have is tonight, I’m going to make the most of it.”

He was hesitant at first, and you figured he would be. You’d always had this unspoken connection with him, but neither of you had ever admitted to it and you were sure he chalked your relationship up as nothing more than adoptive siblings or childhood friends. But time was running out and you needed him with every fiber of your being. And you needed him to know that. 

You threaded your fingers through his hair as you pressed all your passion into his lips. Eventually, his hands began to find your waist, pulling you closer, as he deepened the kiss. His tongue snaked its way into your mouth, tangling with yours in a messy dance. When you let out a moan, he couldn’t help but groan, knocking his hips against yours in a desperate attempt to satisfy himself. You returned the friction, dry humping the bulge that had begun to grow in his pants. 

And suddenly, he was kissing you harshly now, not caring who heard you, not caring who could be lurking in the shadows. If he died tonight, he’d die happy. If he hurt you, he’d apologize later. 

His hands fisted in your hair as he tugged your head back so he could devour the length of your neck, leaving a burning trail of bruises in his wake. When he practically tore your nightgown off, hungrily sucking and biting at your breasts, pinching your peaked nipples in between his fingers, just like he’d always dreamed of doing, and you suddenly whined his name, he nearly lost it. 

His whole life, he’d always seen you as someone to protect, someone to safeguard, someone to watch over, even if he knew you could take care of yourself. But right now, with you arching at his touch, with you whimpering at every press of his lips, at every drag of his tongue, he couldn’t help but want to utterly ruin you. He wanted to make a mess of your hair, to make a mess of your pussy, to make a mess of your life. He wanted to make you need him, to make you obsessed with him, to make you entirely devoted and dependent on him and only him. 

He wanted to fuck you so hard that you were bedridden for the rest of your life. He wanted to fuck you so deep that you felt his dick in your throat when he drilled it into your pussy. He wanted to fill you up so entirely that his cum was still spilling out of your used up cunt months after he’d left you. If he got you pregnant, at least you were sure to remember him. 

He was completely lost in his addiction to you, mind swimming with salacious thoughts, when you suddenly cried out in pain, jolting him from his deranged state. He quickly let go of you, breathing heavily as he attempted to regain some control over his current, sorry state. He was about to apologize when you let out a frustrated huff.

“Why’d you stop?” You demanded.

He blinked. 

You could tell he didn’t understand. You dragged his hand to your soaked panties. “I didn’t want you to stop.” 

He sucked in a sharp breath in attempts to steady himself, but he couldn’t help the feeling that had begun to surge through his entire body. He wanted you. And he wanted you NOW. And if you weren’t going to stop him, he wasn’t going to stop until you were on the verge of losing consciousness and he was shooting blanks into your fucked out cunt. 

“You just woke up the devil, baby. Now you’re going to have to take everything I give you like a good, little girl.”

Wasting no time at all, he yanked down your panties, tossing them god knows where. You’d have no need for them tonight. You only had time to gasp, before he began jamming his fingers inside your dripping pussy. 

On more than one occasion (more than even ten or a hundred), he’d imagined how he’d take you for the first time. He’d be patient, gently coax you open with a finger, then two, maybe three. He’d lovingly dote on your clit, teasing it with his tongue, before trailing down to lap up your juices. Maybe his tongue would work your pussy open even wider for him before he finally, slowly, inserted himself inside you. He’d only go as fast as you wanted. He’d be as gentle as you needed. He’d tell you that you were doing so good, tell you that he loved you so much, tell you how perfect you were. 

But he’d already fucked that up tonight when he started with three fingers and pumped them so roughly, so hastily, into your cunt that if you hadn’t already been soaked, it might’ve hurt. And then he got impatient and decided you were spread wide enough for his cock and yanked his pants down his legs. Before you knew it, he was flipping you over, pinning your wrists harshly against your back, before he slammed his dick so deep inside you that you felt it in your stomach. 

“Caleb!” You groaned into the pillow, biting down on it. 

“Shiiit,” He hissed. “Shit, shit, shit.” With every cuss, he thrust into you harder and harder. “That’s right, baby. Say my fucking name. Remember who makes you feel this good. Not fucking Zayne, that’s for sure.”

Maybe you were feeling particularly masochistic tonight, but when you heard his words, noting the hint of insecurity he’d probably been hiding your entire life, you couldn’t help but feel devious. Letting out an exaggerated moan, you replied, “Ughhhhh, I bet Zayne would split open my pussy so nicely though… I bet he could last for hours.”

Suddenly the bed snapped as the weight of his evol drove you barreling into the floor. “Hours, huh? I’m going to make you mine all goddamn night and you won’t even remember your own name by the time I’m finished with you, let alone anyone else’s.”

He made good on his word.

It was a good thing you weren’t particularly attached to your furniture, because he nearly destroyed the entire bedroom, fucking you against every square inch of it. It wasn’t until you both literally had no cum left to release that he finally let you rest in his arms. The two of you quickly fell into a deep slumber beside each other, your bodies exhausted from the brutality of the night. 

When he woke up in the morning, both of his hands had been cuffed to the bed frame. He frowned, tugging at them as he called his evol to aid him, but it was no use. You’d put evol blocking cuffs on both his hands. When he searched what he could see of the room for you and didn’t find you, he called out your name, frustrated. When you didn’t answer, he called again. “Baby!” 

You popped your head into the room, grinning. “Mm, so I’m baby now? I like the sound of that.”

He was about to chide you when he saw a plate full of pancakes in your hands. Pancakes. He’d woken up to you making pancakes. Just like he dreamed of. His heart was practically bursting. 

“Open!” You smiled as you fed him a forkful. 

He groaned at how deliciously sweet they were. When he leaned forward for another bite, his cuffs yanked him back, reminding him of the situation he found himself in. He huffed. “Care to tell me why I’m handcuffed?”

You smiled again, your smile as sweet as the syrup on his tongue. “Oh, that’s an easy question to answer. Because you’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on, and when you do leave, you’re taking me with.” 

He scoffed. So that was why you hadn’t asked him any questions last night. You had already planned this. “Taking you with? Do you know how dangerous it is out there?”

You waved your gun in his face. “Hunter. Remember? I can handle myself.”

He rolled his eyes. And there it was. He knew you were like that. He knew you’d take on the world for him. This was the part where he said you were naive, that things didn’t always work out the way you wanted them to, that you’d be better if he stayed away from you. But as he watched you munch on your freshly made pancakes without a care in the world, snuggling up to him like it was just another Tuesday, he couldn’t bring himself to rebuke you. 

He only loved you more for it. 

Here you were, feeding him breakfast, sitting in his lap and telling him everything would be okay. So maybe it was his turn to be a little naive. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe, after all the secrecy and the lies and the hiding, maybe you were the only person in the world he could trust. And maybe he trusted you to make it okay. Maybe you would be safer without him, maybe you would have a good life without him, but maybe it’d never be a great life without him either. Maybe he didn’t want you to have a life without him. Maybe he didn’t want to have a life without you. 

Maybe tomorrow he’d make you pancakes.

Maybe tomorrow he’d make you babies. 

Maybe tomorrow could start today.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter @tbaluver

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

In Space - 2.0

Masterlist

Previous chapter

Pairing: Inquisitor Cal Kestis x (f)reader

Tags: slight NSFW, use of the force, first kiss, kissing, fluff, fear, violence, hurt, comfort, feelings,

Cal went on about his daily responsibilities, which consisted of training, carrying out tasks for the empire, more training, tracking persons of interest, sitting silent in classified meetings where people discussed him like a resource to be allocated or used, and lastly, more training.

He found at times his hands itched for the tools he found laid on the floor near workers occupied with fixes and jobs.

On occasion, his commander would assign him to spy on the crew, both soldiers and staff alike, and report back to him in case there was a "cause for concern" by which he meant thoughts of rebellion.

The soldiers were easy enough - they were either bred or raised to obey orders, so there was very little questioning coming from them. But the crew, especially those who joined against their will, often resented their overlords. However, they were smart enough to know they were outnumbered, and their chance of success against a whole warship command - not to mention a force weirlding inquisitor - were slim.

Some were bothersome still. You, for example. The young mechanic girl who'd picked up a dangerous fascination with his sabers. Further force empathy revealed that you had even started conducting experiments of your own during your limited breaks. Shoving your rations down and running off to with scraps you stashed away (also forbidden, each and every gear on the warship was the Empire’s property) and put together some toys, and test them out.

Cal found himself feeling conflicted when he'd search your thoughts. One side of him wanted to grab you and shake you for attempting to replicate powerful tech you knew nothing about - something that would certainly be considered an act of stupidity. Another part wanted to turn you over to his commander and have you face the torterous consequences for treason. But there was a third, quiet side of him, the side that loved working with his hands, to build and create, that itched to hint you in the right direction.

It wasn't a flint that sparked that activated the lightsaber like you thought, it was a magnetic stabilizer. And the power wasn't derived from combined Gasses with oxygen- the saber itself wasn't a sword on fire.

It was kind of... endearing in an alarming way, how cluekess yet curious you were. A faint, dangerous voice whispered to him in ways he didn’t like. He noticed things about you that had nothing to do with duty. The way the fabric of your uniform clung to your figure when you bent over an engine, the slope of your neck when you tilted your head to focus, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on your skin after hours of work. It wasn’t just curiosity that pulled his attention toward you. It was something far more dangerous.

Cal was currently on a mission. His pod had left with a small crew, you among them. He’d made it so, insisting on keeping you within close range. Whether it was duty or something far more unsettling, he couldn’t say.

While he and his commander went off to secure the main deal, the engineers were instructed to scour the bustling market for spare parts and machinery.

The streets were narrow and chaotic, brimming with stalls and vendors while children shouted deals and pitches on behalf of their parents, while salesmen gestured with polished tools and intricate pieces of machinery.

Cal didn’t need to focus on you to know your thoughts; they hummed in the back of his mind. You were debating if the offered screwdrivers were worth the price, weighing it in your hands and trying not to look to interested, lest you have to haggle for it.

He shifted, and his focus to the deal. The offer was as routine as it was effective.

"We can offer you protection," Cal’s commander said smoothly to the ruling house’s representative.

"From who?" asked the old man his voice cautious.

"From him." The commander tilted his head toward Cal.

On cue, the Inquisitor raised his hand. Blasters were torn from the guards’ grips, levitating in the air, their barrels slowly turning toward their owners. The guards froze, their fear palpable in the tense silence.

The representative swallowed hard, his ornate robes trembling as he nodded quickly, sealing the agreement. The Empire’s stranglehold on the galaxy tightened further.

The deal was completed in record time.

Later, as the crew celebrated their success at a local bar, Cal was approached by one of the generals.

"Here, son. A littke way of showing the empire's grattitude. Take your pick," the man said, gesturing toward a group of women gathered nearby. Each one was clearly chosen to appeal to the Empire’s elite. They were beautiful, barely clothed, and eager.

Cal barely glanced at them. "I want the mechanic. EM-3415," he said finally, his voice cold and deliberate. "From the west paddock."

The general raised an eyebrow but shrugged. "Alright. Like I said, whoever you want."

You were heading back to the bunk when two troopers intercepted you.

"Come with us," one of them said curtly.

"Where are we going?" you asked, but neither responded. They simply turned and began walking.

Unease twisted in your gut as you followed them through the warship’s labyrinthine halls. They led you to the wing reserved for high-ranking officials and military elites.

When they stopped at a door, they opened it without explanation and shoved you inside. The room was unlike anything you’d ever seen, a stark contrast to the drab quarters you were used to. The large bed was adorned with dark silk sheets, and a wide window revealed the vastness of space beyond, stars glittering like scattered diamonds.

You took a hesitant step forward, your boots sinking into the plush carpet. It was opulent, yes, but the silence felt heavy, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Your eyes roamed the room, catching on a chair draped with dark robes. Then you heard the sound of running water.

Your pulse quickened as you backed away from the nearby door. The water stopped, and the quiet footsteps that followed sent a shiver down your spine.

The door opened, and Inquisitor Kestis stepped out.

Steam curled around his frame as he walked toward you, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His bare chest, defined and glistening with droplets of water, rose and fell with each steady breath. The sharp, dangerous lines of his face were softened only slightly by the damp strands of red hair clinging to his forehead.

It was like something out of the smuggled romance novels you and your bunkmate whispered about in the dead of night. Only this wasn’t a fantasy. This was real. And far more terrifying.

His eyes locked onto yours, piercing and unrelenting.

"I-Inquisitor," you stammered, snapping into a stiff salute. "Glory to the Empire. I didn’t mean to intrude - I was brought here."

"I know," he said nonchalantly, his voice low and calm with authority. A bead of water rolled down his temple and disappeared into the taut muscle of his shoulder. "I requested it."

Your eyes widened as the realization set in. You swallowed nervously, your mind scrambling for a response, but the words caught in your throat as he raised his hand slowly, and you felt your feet rise above the ground. You gasped, the feeling of floating entirely foreign but simultaneously fascinating. The force pulled you towards him in quick time. In a breath, you were standing in front of you. The warmth omitted from his body enveloped you, and you felt your face grow hot.

"I've never..." You rushed to say, but he did not look surprised. Of course he already knew. Those jedi mind tricks were awesome but damn creepy. You tried to clear your mind. But what he said next surprised you for some reason.

"Neither have I." His tone was guarded despite the vulnerability in the confession. Your brow rose. He was so intimidating, yet so... intriguing, how was it possible he has never been intimate.

His arms circled your waist, and your breathing grew shallow.

"That wasn't the reason i wanted you here." He confessed then. "Not now, anyway."

You couldn't look him in the eyes, especially knowing he could sense your thoughts. You wished you could read his to understand what he'd implied.

"I only wanted your company." He answered the question on your mind.

You released a breath, feeling a sense of relief, but also some confusion. Mostly at the possible reason why he thought you were worth his time. What would your company bring him.

"The life of an inquisitor can be lonely." Cal explained. "I remember what it was like to be... around someone who understands."

"What could I possibly understand about you?" You wondered out loud.

"I'm not sure yet," he furrowed his brow. "I just find myself drawn to you. To your thoughts." He hand rose to brush a loose lock of your hair.

You became extremely aware of the grease covering your skin from a full day's work, especially at seeing his cleanliness.

"When was the last time you showered?" He asked, definitely reading your mind.

You didn't perceive the question as an insult. "Yesterday evening. I was on my way to the communal bath when the troopers ordered me here."

He nodded, then took a step back into the steamed bathroom. Clean tiles, folded towels, and organized soaps made you almost hate him out of envy.

He chuckled behind you, and you'd assumed he'd read your mind again. You looked at the mirror, seeing the two of you. The greasy mechanic girl and the inquisitor of the imperium standing at command behind her. He stood a head above you, golden red irises challenging you in the mirrors reflection. You gave another hard swallow as your hand rose to the zipper of your uniform and slowly pulled it down.

Cal watched, unblinking as the skin of your breasts was revealed. Did he like what he was seeing? You wondered. You pull the uniform off of your shoulders and let it drop to the floor at your feet before kicking off your boots.

You stepped into the shower, the dirt from the bottom of your feet seeped out on the tile. Your hand reached and turned the handle, and a spray of water rained down on your heard, you inhaled and exhaled, closing your eyes against the comforting feeling.

You felt the warmth of his skin surrounded you as his hands came to hold your hips. One of them rose up your body until he reached your chin, then he lifted it, turning you to face him. His breath brushed your lips and you turned to face him fully.

He brought his lips down to yours then, giving you your first kiss. You didn't know what you were doing at first, but you know what movements felt better than others, and soon you began to move your lips against his. Your hands rose to his nape and your lifted yourself onto your tiptoes to get better access. The two of you stayed entwined in each other's arms, kissing for what felt like hours.

After your shower, exhaustion took you and Cal dried you, lifted, and carried you to his bed. Wrapped up in the warm silk sheets, you wondered when you were ever going to be this clean again.

"Do you feel like youre betraying them?" You asked, as your eyelids grew more and more heavy. "The jedi."

He narrowed his gaze at you, prompting you to speak further, clarify.

"I heard about them." You continued nervously. "They preached peace, didn’t they?"

Cal looked off for a moment, then spoke quietly, "Peace is a concept of cowards, I stopped fighting the inevitable."

"How?" You asked, voice small.

"I embraced it."

"Thats..." You began, unable to imagine what he meant in your tired state.

"It's not so bad." He dismissed, his fingers lazily brushing your arm.

"I don't believe you." You said with a small voice.

This close, you had a clear view of his features. Faint freckles peppered across his nose and cheeks, red stubble covering the sharp edges of hus chin and across his jawline. You could tell he was clenching his teeth by the way his cheeks hollowed. He was in a state of perpetual inner conflict with himself. But for a minute you thought youd caught a rare shade of green peaking out behind the bloodshot gold rings of his irises. An indication of the boy he once was, buried alive by the hardened man standing in front of you now.

"The jedi are gone." He finally said, just as you gave yourself over to sleep.

[kikyoupdates]

Indebted ⭑˚🥀⭑ 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

Following your mother’s recent passing, you are visited by a group of men claiming that your father abandoned all his debt and obligations, leaving you to take his place.

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The car ride was unsurprisingly tense. You were crammed inside the same vehicle as Ryu, with his broad shoulders pressed up against yours in the back seat. He’d said that he intended for you to work and pay off your father’s debt, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he changed his mind and decided to kill you instead.

And yet he still had the nerve to try and make small talk with you.

“Oh, I suppose I should apologize for how sudden our visit was,” he commented offhandedly. “I am sorry for your loss. You must still be in the process of grieving, but life goes on, as they say.”

His tone was dripping with insincerity, and you had every right to want to knee him in the balls, but you also had no desire to accelerate your death. So, you stayed quiet. Avoided eye contact, avoided his questions. You just stayed as still as possible and tried to keep from breaking down.

After a little while, the car parked right outside your apartment. You couldn’t even pretend to act surprised. They’d looked into your family’s background and tracked down the location of the funeral; it went without saying that they had an idea of where you lived too.

Well, not for much longer, by the sounds of it.

“Pack a few belongings, and then leave your keys with one of my men,” Ryu instructed. His dark eyes narrowed. “And don’t even think about trying to run away. You don’t want to find out what happens when you test my patience.”

You nodded briskly. Two of his subordinates followed you up to your apartment and waited as you grabbed some clothes, your laptop, and a few other valuables. You didn’t want to drag this out too long. Ryu had already hinted that he wasn’t a particularly patient guy.

Once you were finished and had everything packed up in two suitcases, you looked back over your shoulder. It was a small, cheap one-bedroom place, but you’d been living here for a while now. Leaving so suddenly just didn’t feel natural. Well, not that any part of this arrangement was natural to begin with.

One of the men extended his hand out. “Give me the keys,” he ordered. “We’ll make sure the lease is settled.”

“What are you going to do? My contract isn’t up yet.”

“None of your business. All you need to do is listen up and keep your mouth shut. If the boss says to do something, you do it.”

They didn’t seem to care much for your company. Then again, you hadn’t really expected for a group of yakuza to be all that friendly.

Keeping your gaze low to the ground, you stepped out of the apartment, dragging your luggage behind you. They loaded all your belongings into the trunk, and then you were back in the car again, right by Ryu’s side. Much to your immense dismay.

“All good?” he asked.

You nodded.

“What, are you mute all of a sudden? When I speak to you, you’d better answer properly.”

“Everything’s good,” you affirmed, swallowing uncomfortably. Ryu stared at you for a few moments before eventually scoffing in your face. You didn’t really know what he expected. Your mother had just recently died, and you were scared for your life. It was taking all your strength not to cry in front of these people again.

The drive took a while. You had no clue where you were heading, but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyways. Ryu’s lackeys had taken the liberty of confiscating your cell phone, so you couldn’t call for help even if you were willing to take the risk. Ironically, the most frustrating part in all of this was not that you were being taken against your will, but that your father’s words from all those years ago were playing in your mind on a loop.

“Those men are going to take care of us. Once I become a fully-fledged member, things will turn around.”

What a fucking joke. In the end, he couldn’t even commit to the group he’d chosen to abandon his own family for. He’d messed everything up and destroyed your life in the process. He wasn’t even around anymore, and he was still ruining things for you.

Your expression shifted into a scowl without you even realizing it. Beside you, Ryu let out an amused chuckle.

“There’s finally some life in your eyes,” he hummed. “You look upset, sweetheart. Are you upset with me?”

“No. Not with you.”

“Really?”

“You’re only taking care of business,” you reluctantly admitted. “I know it isn’t personal. It’s just about money. And I… don’t have any money to give you.”

His lips curled into a smile. “Who are you upset with, then?”

“My father. He was a terrible person back when I knew him, and it seems like that still hasn’t changed.”

“It looks like that’s something we can agree on. It’s good for you to have someone to direct your anger towards. Anger, resentment—those are all things that will make you stronger. But don’t direct those emotions towards me,” he warned. “Never towards me.”

You pressed your lips together. You hadn’t exactly been completely honest. You did resent him, but he was a criminal to begin with, so you couldn’t expect for him to do the sane, rational thing. It didn’t matter how you felt about him, anyways. He was the leader of a group of dangerous, violent individuals. You didn’t stand a chance against any of them.

The trip dragged on, to the point that you were starting to feel quite groggy. All of the adrenaline that had kept you going until now had just about run out. It was late in the night, and you were exhausted. You just wanted to lay down and sleep, wherever that may be.  

“We’re here,” Ryu finally said. “Get out of the car.”

You did as you were told. The area didn’t look too familiar, but you tried not to panic immediately. You were in front of a large, traditional-style home. It was possibly one of the biggest you’d ever seen.

“Are we still in Yokohama?” you asked.

“What did I say about asking questions?” one of the men snapped.

“Yes, we are,” Ryu mercifully answered. “It’s a ways off from your old apartment, but we haven’t left the city. Come on. Let’s go inside.”

You grabbed your suitcases out of the trunk and followed behind him. It would be your first time staying in a traditional home. Most of your friends had gone on vacation to seaside inns and hot springs, but you’d never had the money growing up to take any trips like that. If nothing else, you would at least get to see what you’d been missing out on. Disregarding the fact that you’d basically just been kidnapped.

It looked even bigger inside than on the outside, and you could already predict that you would be getting lost trying to navigate the long hallways and countless sliding doors.

“In here,” Ryu gestured, sliding one of the larger doors open. He looked back over his shoulder, addressing his subordinates. “Wait around for a while longer. I need to deal with her first.”

“Yes, sir.”

He patted you on the lower back and roughly pushed you inside the room. You yelped a bit, nearly tripping over your own feet. Ryu slid the door to a close behind him.

It was just the two of you now. Granted, the place was very big, but you didn’t much like the idea of being left alone with him. At least in front of the rest of his group, you could tell he was acting out the part of a leader. Now… there was something eerily sinister about his expression. You didn’t like it one bit.

“This will be your room,” he said. “Mine is right next to yours. There’s still some stuff I need to clean out, but it should be more than big enough. Any concerns?”

You shook your head. “No. You’re right, this is plenty of space for one person. Thank you.”

“Thank you?” he repeated, laughing a bit. “You’re thanking me? After I basically told you that you have no choice but to work for me in order to pay off a debt that isn’t even yours in the first place?”

“I just meant… thank you for giving me this room. It’s a nice room. I’ve never had such a big place all to myself before.”

“Hm. Well, it’s certainly easier than having you struggle and try to make things needlessly difficult. We still need to figure out how exactly you’ll be earning my money back, though.”

“I have two part-time jobs,” you perked up. “It’s not a lot, but once I pay off my loans, I should be able to send you my earnings.”

Ryu stared at you in disbelief. “Seriously? You think two measly jobs that a university student qualifies for are going to be anywhere near enough to cover your debt?”

“I-I’m not sure. How much did he steal?”

“You don’t want to know, doll. I can guarantee it’ll only freak you out even more.” He brought his hand to his chin, dark eyes scanning you over from top to bottom. “Well… come to think of it, you’re very cute. You have a pretty face, and your figure is also nice, from what I can see in that dress. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d be willing to pay a nice sum to get better acquainted with your body.”

At first, you were dumbstruck, but the gravity of his words quickly set in.

You stared at him in horror. “Y-You want to pimp me out?”

“I’m considering it. Granted, it may be somewhat of a hassle given your lack of experience, but we could have someone show you the ropes. Get you settled in real nice.”

“No!” you cried out, easily the loudest you’d spoken since being kidnapped. You thought of your mother, who was still fresh in her grave. If she was watching over you from a better place right now, her poor heart would break to see you selling your body out. “Please,” you begged, dropping to your knees before him. “Anything but that. I’ll work as many jobs as you need—I’ll go without sleep, without rest. Just please… please don’t make me do that.”

Ryu stared down at you, eyes filled with mirth. “You can be really adorable at times, you know that? Look at you, already so docile and submissive. That’s a good selling point. The customers will like that.”

“Please,” you cried, “please don’t make me…”

“You seem to be forgetting something. It’s not for you to decide. From this moment onwards, I own your life. You can either do as I say, or I kill you.”

“I would rather die,” you told him defiantly. And you meant those words. You were no stranger to hard work, sleep deprivation, struggling not to buckle under all the stress. But this? You weren’t going to cling to your life only to live on in humiliation. You would rather go out with your dignity still intact.

Ryu gave you an unimpressed look. “You say that now, but that’s only because you haven’t looked death in the eyes yet. You don’t know the pain of torture, the fear of fading into nothingness. So, don’t get smart with me. Whatever you do, it’s my call, not yours.”

You dug your fingers into the fabric of your dress. You felt so small before him, so insignificant. Even more so when you were kneeling. It was true that you knew nothing of the world of the yakuza. But even as misinformed as you were, you weren’t completely ignorant. You saw full well the cruelty in Ryu’s black eyes. That wasn’t the look of a man—it was the look of a beast, a predator hunting for its next kill.

You were nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. He could kill you in a heartbeat and forget you’d ever existed the very next day.

“Relax,” he said, crouching down before you. He reached his hand out towards your head, and you involuntarily flinched, but held your ground. Ryu smiled coldly, running his fingers through your hair. “I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do. If you work hard, maybe you’ll change my mind. As long as you obey, I have no reason to hurt you.”

You were full-on glaring at him now, no longer trying to hide your animosity. He chuckled, clearly amused at your little show of defiance.

“Unpack your things and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll show around our main office.”

He turned away from you, and you felt a small sense of relief knowing that he was finally about to leave you alone. He didn’t leave, though. At least, not right away. His eyes scanned the corner of the room before he reached over and withdrew what looked to be a yukata.

Without warning, he began changing out of his suit. Your eyes widened, and you hurried to avert your gaze. He probably didn’t even care. As far as he was concerned, you were just an object to him, not a real human being. Still, you waited for some sort of signal that he was done changing, but that signal never came.

Cautiously, you peered back over your shoulder, just in time to see him pulling the yukata up over his shoulders. His back was exposed for a few moments, long enough for you to make a very big, discernible tattoo. It was a dragon, in black and green ink, coiled around itself as if it were dancing through the air. Bright dashes of crimson stood out amidst the dark ink, snaking around the dragon’s body and burning as vividly as a flame.

Ryu tightened the belt of his yukata and stepped out of the room without another word.

The next morning, Ryu stayed true to his words and brought you along to the group’s offices.

As members of an organized crime syndicate, you’d always known that the yakuza didn’t really bother with hiding from the public. If anything, it was a thing of pride for them to display their organization’s identity on nameplates outside the buildings. They skirted on the wrong side of the law, but were able to get by through their connections and the sense of fear they instilled in the authorities.

Still, you were surprised to find out just how normal everything looked.

The offices were no different than what you would see in any ordinary corporate building. Dressed in their suits and working at desks, they almost gave off the air of your day-to-day salarymen. Of course, you knew better than that. You couldn’t say for certainty, but you had a strong feeling that the majority of the members had killed someone before.

Everyone bowed as they greeted Ryu. You had to admit that the respect he commandeered was impressive. He walked with a quiet, strong sense of confidence. You could tell by looking around the room. No one would ever think of opposing him.

Except for your shithead of a dad, apparently.

Ryu eventually stopped in front of a desk. “Here we are. Yuki. I’m putting you in charge of [Name] for now. Show her around the place and teach her how to file all the paperwork. And make sure she doesn’t get any funny ideas. I don’t need another headache to deal with.”

The young man he’d just addressed stood up in a hurry. “Of course, boss. I’ll take care of her.”

“Good. Get to work.”

Ryu walked away, heading to what appeared to be his own private office near the back. You were relieved to know that he wouldn’t be supervising you himself. It felt you could finally breathe again.

“You’re [Name], right?” the man said. He turned towards you and extended his hand out, smiling pleasantly. “I’m Yuki. Maeno Yuki. It’s nice to have you on board.”

He looked to be around your age, much more boyish than the majority of the members. He had wavy golden hair that was practically shining, and pretty emerald eyes. You knew first impressions could be deceiving, but for now, he was definitely much more welcoming than the scary, buff middle-aged men that were all glaring you down.

He looked normal. You liked normal.

You shook Yuki’s hand and forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ll do my best to keep up.”

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💞 main masterlist ♡ character appearances

[generalluxun]

To clarify the previous ask, I confess I have two main but extremely divergent versions on it which makes it hard to specifcy things in an ask XD

One would be: how would you handle a post S3 fic where Chloe basically had this realization:

Chloe: This has been the worst day ever and those stupid Kwami didn't even listen! Chloe (Thinks back to the Kwami and what they looked like & then remembers the "Keychain") Chloe: . . . MARINETTE!!!

IE the starting premise is "Post Miracle Queen Chloe realizes Marinette is Ladybug, how does she respond?"

Idea two starts with the premise that Chloe had the above realization but canon otherwise followed its tracks until at least post Queen Mayor.

So basically, "Post Queen Mayor Chloe has known Marinette is Ladybug for a long time and is about to be sent away with her mother or already has been. What does she do with this information to maybe change her circumstances?"

Sorry if that's still too broad ><

No this is much easier to work with.

For your first scenario, with all canon off the table post S3-

Chloé corners Marinette and demands a Miraculous. Not the Ladybug(having it after you? ew!) and not the Bee(That ship has sailed!) but she demands in her words 'A good one!' Without any support(Fu is gone) Marinette hems and haws and actually does cave. (she doesn't know what to do!) She picks the Rooster(sorry Marc, it's thematic)

Marinette wants to know if Chloe is going to help fight Hawkmoth.

Chloe: Help? Help! Marinette I'm not going to play with your little band of losers. I'm going to be the best hero there ever was!

Enter: Crevecoeur (actual French Breed, and the name is perfect)

We're throwing the whole 'Cat Noir neglect' arc RIGHT in the trash to make room for a new arc. We can instead have Cat Noir & Ladybug grow closer dealing with the new situation. That makes a better transition into a S5 love-square collapse into the final ship.

Instead the 'vigilante' arc is the main throughline of S4 (Alongside the Shadowmoth&new heroes)

Crevecour presents the heroes with unique challenges. She is a hero, but also competition. She doesn't fall in line, but she is still a *hero*. She's both very driven, but also gets into trouble. It's a great way to introduce kids to 'third party' dynamics, which is something ML lacks completely.

The Rooster is a very difficult miraculous for Chloe to utilize, but also a good one for her to have *if* she can. Chloe isn't stupid, but she is impulsive. She *can* be clever, but defaults to short cuts. The rooster gives her the power to have *anything she wants* ... ... ONCE.

So she has to fight against her instinct to 'Gimmie!' the first thing that enters her mind. She has to consider, and weigh what she WANTS vs what she NEEDS.

On the upside for Marinette the *in class* bullying drops. Chloe has a new focus. Who cares about a dinky little classroom when you're a real superhero 24/7?

Initially it's very much frustrations and comedies for all involved, but as it progresses a loose affiliation and some teamwork grows out of it. Chloe realizes that *not* being a dick in class gets more attention and interaction. She still may not like/mingle with the commoners but the antagonism diminishes sharply.

As a part of the finale can have her actually return the rooster to Ladybug 'for safe keeping' (perhaps she almost blabbed her ID while under Risk's influence)

Of course then they all get stolen, and THAT might send things in any number of ways :)

for #2

I think the key here is that despite *everything* else, Chloe never blabbed about Marinette's secret identity.

This doesn't mean she is 'secretly good'. It DOES however mean(especially once Marinette finds out she knew- preferably NOT through Chloe telling her) that Marinette now has to grapple(and the audience!) with the notion that Chloe does have *some* sort of principles in there.

She might have despised Ladybug, she might have wanted to take her down, but she never did it in a way that would even hint she knew the two were one person. She would *not* give away the secret identity. Who else other than Chloe would know just how 'sacred' secret identities have to be? Who else could think 'I'll show them I can keep a secret better than anyone!'

The actual chain of events post Marinette finding out in S6 that Chloe knew are very up in the air. You can take it in many directions. The core idea is that people are more than the faces we see them wear in public. For a show about Masks and identities ML doesn't touch on this very much. Most of the cast are simply 'themselves in PJs' when heroing.

Cat Noir was the starkest example of this, but they kind of flattened him out in that regard. Not that merging the two sides was bad, but we didn't really have a solid self-actualization style story beat to go with it. (I mean, we can't give our boy trapped in a tower with no autonomy having a self actualization moment)

I think an interesting dynamic might be that Marinette knows Chloé knows... but Chloe doesn't know Marinette knows she knows. This allows us to have Marinette be the person reshaping the dynamics on her own terms, giving our protagonist something active to do for once in her own plot 🤣

[legacygirlingreen]

"Princess" || Commander Wolffe x OFC Perdita || Clone x Clone OC Week 2025

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x OFC Perdita Halle (Bio HERE)

Word Count: 6.8k+

Rating: SFW but Teen+

Warnings: heavy flirtation, mentions of order 66, grief

Author's Note: Day 3 of @clonexocweek! Shifting gears to one of my other OC's Perdita. You can find her Bio linked ahead! This is also the next installment of her story with Commander Wolffe! So thankful to this writing challenge to really push me to keep my stories going! As always, this story exists within @leenathegreengirl 's AU and she is responsible for helping bring Perdita to life!

Previous Work || Masterlist

Wolffe stormed through the swamp, fury in every step. How he had ended up here was something he still couldn't fully accept as his own doing. The decision to fire on his own troopers the moment he set foot on the landing platform with the Jedi in custody had set everything in motion—forcing them both into a frantic scramble for a shuttle to escape. While their initial flight had been successful, it became clear that no matter how many ships they commandeered, they were always being tracked. The Empire was waiting for them the moment they made it off-world. And so, their latest crash landing on Nal Hutta, the ship's descent still echoing in his mind…

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

“I’d brace yourself for a rough landing, Princess,” he muttered grumpily, his eyes scanning the damaged shuttle’s computer system. The trajectory was set, but that didn’t ease the gnawing sense of dread. The hyperspace jump hadn’t been the problem—no, it was the damage they’d sustained during the last firefight. When they entered the atmosphere, the shuttle had been torn apart even more, each burst of fire and each jolting impact chipping away at what was left of the ship. 

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she snapped back, her voice edged with irritation.

He wasn’t sure why the nickname had stuck. Maybe it was the undeniable truth that, despite everything, she did look every bit like royalty—her elegance even in chaos a sharp contrast to the grim reality of their situation. Or maybe it was just his way of dealing with everything—his passive-aggressive shield, the thin veil of sarcasm and annoyance that kept the world at bay. He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing: the name fit her, and it kept slipping off his tongue without a hint of regret.

The shuttle’s hull groaned in protest as it plunged further into the atmosphere, metal screeching under the strain. Wolffe’s fingers flew over the controls, trying to stabilize the craft, but it was like trying to tame a wild animal. Sparks flew from the dashboard, and alarms screamed in their ears as the ship's systems malfunctioned one by one.

“We’re not gonna make it,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. His hands tightened on the controls, his mind racing with calculations, but there was no escaping the inevitable.

Perdita’s voice cut through the chaos. “Wolffe, do something!”

He barely heard her over the sound of the wind whipping through the shuttle’s breaches, but he could feel her eyes on him. He knew she was scared. Hell, he was scared. His mind raced, thinking of a hundred ways to try and save them, but his heart kept coming back to one thing: her.

She was a fighter, he’d seen that time and again, but there was something about the way she sat there—straight-backed, almost too calm for someone about to crash into a swamp—something that gnawed at him. It wasn’t the same composure he saw in seasoned soldiers. It was something more fragile, hidden behind those defiant eyes of hers.

His breath hitched as he looked over at her, the storm of emotions he’d kept locked up inside surging to the surface. “Don’t worry, I’m not letting you die,” he growled, more to himself than her, his voice rough with the weight of the words. There was no time to explain, no time to reconcile his feelings, but that fact rang clear in his mind.

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly about to retort, but the shuttle bucked violently, throwing both of them against their seats. The world outside spun, a blur of treetops and sky, before the ground suddenly rose up to meet them with a bone-rattling jolt.

The crash itself felt like an eternity—a gut-wrenching mix of twisting metal and bone-shaking impacts. For a moment, Wolffe was sure they were done for. His grip on the controls tightened as the shuttle careened towards the swamp, its fuselage skidding through the muck before coming to an abrupt, jarring halt. The sound of groaning metal filled the air, followed by an eerie silence.

He was breathing hard, disoriented, and his ears rang. For a moment, he just sat there, fighting to clear the fog in his mind. Then, he turned to her. Perdita was still in her seat, eyes wide but alert, a few cuts and bruises on her face from the impact and her hitting the glass viewport, but—thank the stars—still breathing.

“Princess,” he breathed, his tone softer now, betraying the storm of emotions he’d tried to mask. “You okay?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her hand pressed against the side of her head as she checked herself for injuries. It was then that Wolffe realized how deeply he’d been holding his breath. The relief flooding through him was overwhelming, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he let himself be vulnerable, his concern for her slipping through the cracks of his tough exterior.

Perdita finally looked over at him, her lips curling into a small smirk, despite the blood trickling from a gash on her temple. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Wolffe’s lips twitched, but his gaze softened. "Maybe later," he muttered, then quickly turned his attention to the wreckage around them. "We need to get out of here. Now."

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

That was how he had ended up slogging through waist-deep, murky water, making his way toward what he could only loosely call civilization. If you could even label it that in Hutt-controlled territory. Still, it was precisely the area's reputation for being lawless and corrupt that had sparked the decision to come here in the first place. Nal Hutta, despite the Empire’s claims of dominance, remained firmly beyond their grasp. But in the chaos and uncertainty of this place, there was opportunity—a chance for both of them to regroup, to blend in with the shadows and find something they desperately needed: new clothes, supplies, and a ship the Empire wasn’t tracking.

The only problem now, however, was the eerie sound of water sloshing quietly beneath their boots, a constant reminder of how far from safety they truly were. There was no conversation, no words exchanged between them as they waded through the murky waters. Silence had become their constant companion. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, either. Their interactions had devolved into either tense, frustrated silence or harsh words. Gone were the days of lighthearted banter that had once filled their conversations during the war.

It hadn't taken long for Wolffe to realize that the fall of the Jedi Order had profoundly changed Perdita. The peaceful presence she had once projected, that calming aura she used to exude, had been dulled. In its place, there was a rawness to her emotions—a sharpness in her gaze and a palpable edge to her every move. Wolffe had seen glimpses of this before, flashes of intense emotion that cut through her usually serene exterior, but now, those moments were no longer rare. They were becoming the norm. And it was in this silence, as the water lapped at their feet, that he found himself unsure of where they stood now—or where they were heading.

He’d read her file shortly after the fall of the Jedi Order, desperate to find any shred of information that might explain which of the Jedi he had known were still alive—and, more hauntingly, which ones had perished, and how. Perdita’s name had appeared on the list of the missing, along with that of her padawan. At the time, that brief mention had sparked a small flicker of hope in him, something to hold onto as he navigated the confusion and loss of those early days. His ears had remained attuned, waiting for any news, any whisper that might tell him more.

But, despite all the time that had passed since their reunion, he still hadn’t found the courage to ask her about the whereabouts of her padawan. The silence surrounding that question had remained a heavy weight between them, one Wolffe wasn’t willing to lift. He could feel it in the air between them—an unspoken truth that the padawan had likely met the same grim fate as so many others. The odds were too high, the likelihood of survival too slim. He had seen too much in the aftermath of Order 66 to believe otherwise. He had learned, painfully, that the Empire’s reach was long and merciless.

"He’s fine—" Perdita's voice cut through the silence, her words tight with tension as they waded through the water. The sentence hung in the air, heavy with the unsaid. Wolffe hated it when she did that. He hated how she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, even without a single word exchanged between them. It wasn't that he could fault her for it; after all, she had never once intruded on his thoughts since they had found each other again. Perdita respected his boundaries, never reaching into his mind the way others might have. But she couldn’t help when his emotions grew too loud, too raw, for her to ignore.

She always seemed to sense it—when his heart clenched, when his thoughts wandered into the darker corners of his past. She could feel the weight of his unresolved questions, his guilt, his fears. But there was something else, too—something deeper in her tone that he couldn’t quite place. It was as if, in that one brief sentence, she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him.

Wolffe didn’t respond immediately, but the silence that followed was thick with the tension of unspoken truths. Perdita’s assurances weren’t enough to silence the nagging doubt in his mind, but he knew better than to press her on it. He assumed she wasn’t ready to share, and that was something he could respect, even if it ate away at him.

"You are free to ask what happened if you like," Perdita spoke softly, her voice devoid of the sharp edge that had marked most of their exchanges since they’d been reunited. Gone was the venom, the anger that had become familiar whenever she addressed him. Instead, there was a quiet resignation in her tone, something fragile that caught Wolffe off guard. She seemed different now—less guarded, but in a way that spoke of deep, hidden sorrow. That sadness, creeping into her voice, halted his movements. He paused mid-step, his boots sinking slightly deeper into the murky water as he turned to face her fully.

The air between them felt thick with something unspoken, an invitation to tread where they had never dared before. Her eyes were distant, almost lost in a memory, as though she had seen something he couldn’t, something far beyond the shadows of Nal Hutta. He searched her face for some sign of her usual composure, but it was no longer there. The flicker of vulnerability in her eyes made his heart tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. He swallowed, unsure of what to say.

"It is not my business—" he began, but she interrupted him, her voice firmer now, tinged with something that bordered on resolve.

"Nonsense," she said sharply, though the bite in her words was softened by the underlying emotion. "You threw away so much to help me. You are at the very least owed an explanation if you desire it."

Her words lingered between them, carrying the weight of a history neither of them had fully confronted. Wolffe felt a strange stirring in his chest. Perdita had always been one to keep her secrets, and to offer even a hint of explanation was something rare, something she clearly didn’t give lightly. He could see the effort it took for her to even offer this. She wasn’t asking for his pity, but perhaps, for understanding—a moment of honesty in the aftermath of all they had lost.

He took a step closer, his voice low, steady, as though each word carried weight he didn’t want to acknowledge. "I didn’t do it for an explanation, Princess. I did it because I know you are a good person, someone who didn’t deserve to suffer. I didn’t want to be complicit in causing you pain," he admitted, the truth falling from his lips without hesitation.

There was a long pause between them, the weight of his words sinking into the murky water surrounding them. For a moment, Wolffe wondered if she would respond with bitterness or if she would retreat into the walls she’d built so carefully around herself. But instead, she simply nodded, as though the admission was both expected and understood. It was a moment of quiet connection between them, a rare honesty amidst all the lies and deceit they had both endured.

Perdita inhaled deeply, her shoulders tightening, as if bracing herself for the weight of the memories she was about to relive. She spoke softly, almost to herself. "We were on an assignment off-world. Onderon. We were assisting Gerrera’s forces—fighting the Separatists trying to reclaim the system.” Her eyes unfocused, drifting back to the distant horizon as if the memory was replaying in her mind. "When it happened... when everything fell apart, his men helped Zatt and I escape."

Wolffe’s chest tightened at the mention of Zatt. The padawan. His thoughts flickered briefly to the child, imagining the fear in his eyes as his world crumbled. He said nothing, allowing Perdita to continue, knowing she needed to speak.

"Kenobi sent out a message from the temple, warning survivors not to return, so we did that—we ran. Hiding where we could, wherever we thought we were safe. But as the Empire began taking over system after system, it became harder for someone like me to stay hidden, especially with a child. A child who doesn’t look anything like me." She shook her head, the sorrow clear in her voice. "It draws attention, and we couldn’t keep pretending that he was my flesh and blood. The Empire’s reach was too long, and the risks... they became too high."

Her voice faltered for a moment, a brief crack in her otherwise composed demeanor. Wolffe’s heart ached at the thought of how much she had carried alone during that time. She had been a beacon of strength in the war, but even the strongest of people break when they carry too much.

"So, I got him back to his people." Perdita’s voice hardened slightly as she continued, as if her decision was one she had replayed in her mind a thousand times. "They promised me that they would protect him. And... I trust that he is alright. I trust in the Force. He’s—" She paused, her words catching in her throat for a moment, as though the weight of them was almost too much to bear. "He’s a good kid. He deserves the chance to be a kid."

Wolffe felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to her words. The image of a child, a bright and hopeful young soul, caught in the crossfire of a war he couldn’t fully understand, hit him harder than he expected. Perdita had risked everything to ensure the boy’s safety, even if it meant letting go of him. He could see the love and the pain in her eyes, the impossible decision she had made out of love for a child who wasn’t hers by blood, but had become her responsibility all the same.

"You did what you had to do," Wolffe said quietly, stepping closer still. "You did what was right."

Perdita looked at him then, her eyes searching his, almost as if looking for confirmation that she wasn’t alone in her choices. "I hope I did," she murmured, more to herself than to him, her voice breaking slightly. "I hope he’s safe. That he’s somewhere far from this war... that he can live a life outside of the Empire's reach."

The silence that followed was filled with the weight of everything they had both lost, everything they had both endured. And yet, despite the darkness surrounding them, Wolffe could feel a quiet strength growing between them. Perdita’s pain was raw, but she wasn’t letting it consume her. She had made sacrifices, had fought for a future that didn’t belong just to her, but to someone else—a child who deserved a chance to grow up, untouched by the horrors of the galaxy.

"You’ll find him again," Wolffe said, his voice firm with the certainty of his words. Perdita’s gaze softened slightly, the tiniest hint of hope flickering in her eyes. "I hope you’re right, Wolffe," she replied quietly. "I really do."

Wolffe watched as a small tear escaped the corner of her eye, a fragile drop of emotion she couldn’t quite hold back. For a moment, it hung there, suspended in time, before she quickly brushed it away, as though to erase the vulnerability that had slipped through her defenses. "We should keep moving," she said, her voice steady, but there was a faint tremor beneath the surface—one that Wolffe could feel, even if she tried to hide it.

"Hey—" Wolffe’s voice was hesitant, laced with concern. He took a step closer, unsure if she would push him away.

"Nightfall is approaching," she replied quickly, her tone resolute, though the effort to mask her emotions was clear. Wolffe knew the routine, the constant push forward, the need to keep moving. It had been their mantra ever since they’d been thrust into this war-torn galaxy together, but something about the cold finality in her voice made him hesitate.

He couldn’t just leave her like this—not when he saw the raw pain etched so deeply into her face.

Without thinking, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his grip light but firm. He turned her body slowly to face him, not allowing her to keep walking. Her eyes met his, wide with surprise, and in that brief moment, Wolffe saw a fresh wave of tears gathering at the corner of her eyes—tears that threatened to spill over, despite her best efforts to hold them in.

"Perdita," he whispered her name, his voice softer than he intended, but full of meaning. It was the first time he’d said her name, the first time since their reunion, and the sound of it seemed to cut through the thick, heavy air between them.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sound of it, as if hearing it aloud was a jolt to her system. Wolffe noticed the subtle shift in her expression—the way her eyes softened, the way her breath hitched, as though his voice had pierced a wall she had so carefully constructed around herself.

For a brief moment, she looked like the woman he had once known, back when they were fighting side by side in the war. But then, the mask cracked just enough for him to see the depth of the grief she had buried inside. "I... I don’t remember you ever saying my name," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It was almost as though saying it aloud brought the reality of everything they’d been through into sharper focus, forcing her to confront the distance that had grown between them.

Wolffe’s heart tightened at her words. He hadn’t meant to bring back those old wounds, but somehow, he had. He realized then that, for all the battles they had fought together, all the missions they had survived, they had never truly stopped long enough to talk, to heal. Back then, it had always been "General" or "General Halle" in the field. A title, a role. There had been no room for anything else. Since their reunion, he’d stuck to calling her by the nickname she had loathed, a habit formed from years of familiarity, but it had never been her. He had never truly seen her until now, in this fragile moment of shared silence.

“Sorry, Jedi aren’t supposed to be weak,” she muttered, her voice laced with self-derision. She reached up to brush the tears from her face, as though to erase the vulnerability she had just allowed herself to show. But before her hand could make contact, Wolffe stopped her, gently intercepting her movement.

“Perdita,” he spoke her name softly, his voice quiet but steady, “you aren’t weak.”

His hand found hers, but instead of simply holding it, he gently guided it away from her face. His thumb traced the delicate line of her cheek, his touch light, almost reverent, as though he was afraid of breaking something even more fragile than the tears she had shed. He had never been one to shy away from battle, from hard decisions, but this felt different. In that simple act, in that moment, he was offering something she had probably not had in far too long: tenderness.

The gesture wasn’t necessary, not in any practical sense. He knew she could wipe the tears away herself. But there was something inside him, something deep and unspoken, that made him want to help ease the burden she carried. And so, with each gentle sweep of his thumb, he felt a warmth spread inside him—an unexpected pride. This was not just about shielding her from the storm outside. It was about giving her the chance to fight the battles within herself, the ones she had been fighting alone for so long.

She had always been alone in this—carrying the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, trying to make sense of everything that had been ripped away. But for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t have to do it alone. He was here, and he wanted to be here.

Her breath caught in her throat as he traced the scar that ran along her cheek. It was an old one, from long ago when she was a padawan, yet it was still part of her. It was a reminder of what she had survived. And as his fingers lingered there, a quiet admission slipped from his lips, barely above a whisper, but filled with meaning. “And you always were better than most of them in that Temple,” he said quietly, the words rolling out with the ease of someone who had seen the truth from the start, but had never said it aloud. “You were always different. You are different.”

The words hung between them, heavy with sincerity, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though time stood still. Perdita blinked, taken aback, her chest tightening as his words settled in. No one had ever said that to her—not like this, not with this kind of raw honesty. There was no judgment, no expectation. Only the simple truth, spoken with care.

She didn’t know how to respond. There had been so many voices over the years, so many opinions of who she was, what she should have been, who she had failed to become. But Wolffe wasn’t like the others. His words weren’t meant to fix her. They weren’t some hollow comfort, a fleeting reassurance to make her feel better. They were a quiet acknowledgment of everything she had been through, everything she still carried. It wasn’t just about the battles she’d fought or the scars she wore, inside and out. It was about who she was—the woman standing before him, still fighting, still surviving, despite it all. And for the first time in a long time, she felt as though she didn’t have to hide from it. 

Wolffe, who had seen her at her best and her worst, who had fought alongside her before and now when the galaxy was falling apart,  stood before her not as a soldier, not as a comrade, but as someone who saw her. Really saw her.

Her breath shuddered, but this time, the tears that welled up were different. They were not born of sorrow or loss, but of something more profound—a release. A moment of pure honesty, of being seen, of being understood.

For a long moment, she couldn’t speak, the words stuck in her throat, but she didn’t need to. Instead, she simply met his gaze, her hand reaching up to rest on his wrist, the quiet connection between them saying everything that needed to be said.

Wolffe, in turn, held her gaze with a quiet determination. He wasn’t going to push her. He wasn’t going to demand anything from her. He simply stayed there, his presence solid and unwavering, offering her the one thing she had always needed more than anything else: understanding.

“Thank you, Wolffe,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with gratitude. It wasn’t just for saving her, not just for the battles he had fought for her, but for something deeper—something she hadn’t realized she needed until now. Thankful for the way he had listened, how he had seen her when no one else had, and for the care he was offering so freely, without asking for anything in return.

How the Jedi had seen attachments like this as a danger showed Perdita just how misguided the order was. 

For a moment, everything else faded away. There was no war, no Empire hunting them down, no scarred past between them. It was just the two of them, standing in this fragile space where words didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be understood.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Wolffe’s lips—one she hadn’t seen in what felt like ages, not since that last day at the Jedi Temple, before everything fell apart. A quiet, familiar expression, filled with that old, comforting confidence. It was a smirk that reminded her of the man she once fought alongside, and yet, there was something different about it now—something softer, something more.

Without warning, Wolffe leaned in, and the smirk, like a subtle, unspoken promise, grazed her skin as he pressed the lightest of kisses to her temple. It was brief, but it lingered in a way that left her breathless, like a gentle caress against both her skin and a part of her soul she’d not quite acknowledged before. She could feel the warmth of his lips, the softness, the tenderness in the gesture—a contrast to the rugged soldier she had always known him to be.

Her heart skipped a beat, and for the briefest of moments, it felt as though the world had slowed down, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the moment between them. She didn’t pull away, didn’t move, instead she closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of him there, so close, yet so carefully distant.

When he pulled back, his face softened, but the smirk was still there, like a secret they shared.

“Anytime, Princess,” he said, his voice low, but his tone teasing—though there was something more in it now. Something that hadn’t been there before. He called her “Princess” but now instead of in the heat of an argument, the word now carried a weight she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t a jest anymore. 

Her breath caught for a moment, and she found herself searching his eyes, as if trying to make sense of the moment, of the unexpected depth in his words, his touch. There was no pretense between them now—no shields, no walls. Just the raw honesty that had grown between them in the shared emotions of their joint situation.

She could see it now. The way he looked at her was different. Not with the same respect he had shown in the heat of battle, but with something warmer, softer—something that made her heart race a little faster. It wasn’t just the soldier standing before her anymore. It was Wolffe—the man who had always respected her and was grateful for saving his life. Now, as if trying to prove he was worthy of her by tossing away all he’d known to keep her safe.

“Wolffe…” Her voice trailed off, and she didn’t quite know what to say. There was too much between them now, too many emotions swirling in the space they shared, to fit into just a few words. She didn’t need to say it all out loud. He already knew.

His hand, still resting lightly on her shoulder, tightened ever so slightly, not possessive, but protective—gentle, yet firm. Her eyes, searching his face, spoke volumes—questions, uncertainties, and perhaps even a hint of something she wasn’t yet ready to name. He saw it all, the raw vulnerability behind her gaze, and yet, there was no fear in it. Just honesty. 

Wolffe knew she wasn’t the kind of woman to let herself need anyone, especially not someone like him. He had seen the way she fought alone, the way she carried the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders with the stoic grace of a Jedi. But now, in this quiet space between them, he could sense the shift. She didn’t need to say everything. He already knew.

Gently, as though allowing her the space to pull away if she needed, he moved his hand to tenderly cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against the smoothness of her skin. He wasn’t trying to push, only to offer her the quiet reassurance that he was there, unwavering. His fingers lingered at the side of her head, where the soft, shorn hair met her scalp. He hadn’t yet asked whether that style had been a choice, or a necessity born of their circumstances. They hadn’t been running long, but already, he’d grown unkempt—his face dotted with the beginnings of a beard, his hair far past regulation. Yet, there was something captivating about the contrast between her long hair and the one side she’d kept so short. It highlighted the delicate curve of her neck, leading down to her nape. As his fingertips brushed over it, he found himself mesmerized by the beauty in the unexpected—a striking blend of sharpness and softness that left him almost breathless. 

Her breath caught, just a whisper of a sound, as his touch lingered against her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, as though afraid that if she opened them, the softness of the sensation would slip away, leaving nothing but the cold reality of their world.

"I like this," he confessed, his voice low, tinged with a quiet warmth. His fingers brushed over the short hair again, the gesture casual, yet it carried a weight he hadn’t expected.

Wolffe couldn’t quite understand it—the way his stomach fluttered at something so simple, so seemingly trivial. To touch her hair, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips—it was enough to make his heart race, to stir a feeling deep inside him that he couldn't place. It was a strange blend of yearning, of wanting more, and yet, at the same time, a quiet anticipation that left him breathless, as though this moment was something more than he could put into words.

Perdita let out a soft scoff, the sound tinged with an edge of frustration. "I didn’t really have much choice in the matter," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. The puzzled furrow of his brows seemed to silently demand more, urging her to explain. With a reluctant sigh, she did. "Hair got caught trying to escape not too long ago. It was easier to just cut myself free and deal with the consequences later," she confessed, the words coming out heavier than she intended. There was a fleeting vulnerability in her tone, one she quickly buried beneath the weight of practicality.

Inside, she knew it sounded ridiculous. The Jedi had always taught her that vanity was a frivolous concern, something beneath the greater mission. It was one of the reasons she had always kept herself veiled. She had listened to the council’s recommendation to cover herself in fear of leading her peers to stumble with their own vows, as many women at the temple did.

But standing here now, with Wolffe's gaze lingering on her, she felt a sudden self-consciousness she hadn’t expected. There was something raw in the way his eyes held her—something that seemed almost hungry. And in that moment, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of uncertainty about the simplest of things: the unexpected and frankly unwanted cut made her worry about his opinion. It seemed so trivial, yet she couldn’t help but wonder how he would view it. 

Wolffe’s hand remained at her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin with a slow, deliberate rhythm. He watched her carefully, the softness in her eyes, the faint tension in her posture as she spoke. There was something about the way she seemed so conflicted over something as trivial as an unwanted haircut that made him smile. But it wasn’t just any smile—it was a smile filled with admiration, warmth, and, surprisingly, a bit of boldness.

He took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto hers with a playful intensity, as though testing the waters before plunging in. "I’m about to say something that would’ve definitely landed me in hot water when you were my superior..." His voice was low, steady, and there was a subtle weight to his words that hinted at something more. "But the truth is, you’re an incredibly attractive woman. I always noticed things—like how the faint shape of your body would show through those robes, or how your eyes, no matter how stoic, could still be so captivating."

He paused, meeting her gaze. There was no sense in pretending anymore. They had too little to lose, and he knew she'd likely sensed his thoughts already. This confession, he decided, needed to come from his lips, not his mind.

He leaned in slightly, the intensity of the moment drawing them even closer. “But right now? In this filthy swamp, covered in blood, sweat, and tears?” He let out a quiet chuckle, one that mixed affection with something deeper, more genuine. "Even with your... unique hairstyle," he teased with a warm smile, "you’re damn enticing, if you ask me."

The words hung in the air between them, charged with honesty and something far more intimate than he'd expected to reveal.

She blinked at him, the comment catching her off guard, and for a second, Wolffe thought she might blush. Instead, she quirked an eyebrow at him, her lips pulling into a teasing smirk.

“Well, aren’t you the smooth talker,” she replied with a sarcastic, yet amused tone, trying to cover the way her heart fluttered at his words. She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before responding with a slight chuckle of her own. “If I’m being honest, I’ve kind of gotten used to the scruffy look,” she teased, her eyes lighting up with playful mischief. “I think it suits you. We’ve both seen better days, after all. It kind of fits this whole... runaway, no-one’s-gonna-catch-us vibe we’ve got going on.”

Wolffe let out a low laugh at that, the sound rich and genuine, and his thumb brushed across her cheek one more time before he dropped his hand. “Scruffy, huh?” he mused, his lips curving into a sly grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Perdita shrugged, her expression shifting into something softer, more genuine beneath the teasing facade. “I’m just saying,” she added, her voice quieter now, “there’s something... enticing about someone who’s lost the need to keep up appearances.” She repeated his choice of words back to him.

He studied her for a moment, taking in the lightness in her words and the warmth in her eyes. He could see the change in her—the way she let down the walls just a little bit more, the way she let herself be a little more real with him.

“You’d better get used to the scruff. No guarantees we’ll be able to find razors anytime soon, so it’s going to be this for the foreseeable future,” he warned, referring to his own appearance. 

Perdita’s lips curved into a playful smile, her eyes glinting with amusement as she regarded him. “Oh, trust me, I think I can handle it. It's not like I’m exactly looking pristine myself,” she teased, gesturing toward her own disheveled state. “Besides, if I’m going to keep surviving this runaway life, I’ll have to learn to appreciate the little things. Like scruffy Wolffe,” she added with a wink, the teasing tone in her voice softer now, the playful banter offering a shield, but beneath it was something more sincere.

Wolffe chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, and his gaze lingered on her a little longer than before, not just taking in her teasing words but the subtle way her posture had shifted, the quiet vulnerability that had seeped into her demeanor. She leaned into his hold, and at some point he hadn’t noticed that she’d settled her hands on his waist. There was something refreshing about the way they could still find humor in all of this, despite the chaos surrounding them.

“I’m not exactly worried about my looks right now,” he admitted, his voice quieting just a touch, something more serious weaving through. “But if you think I look good this way, then maybe I should hold onto it a little longer.” He raised an eyebrow, the playfulness still there, but now it was paired with a flicker of something deeper, something that hadn’t been there before.

Perdita tilted her head, studying him closely. Her expression softened, and the teasing edge from earlier seemed to fade, replaced by something more sincere. “I’ll admit... there’s something more real about it. It's like the soldier is finally disappearing, and what's left is just... Well, Wolffe.”

“Well, good to know Princess…” he said. Perdita raised an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Princess again?” she asked, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You really can’t let that go, can you?”

Wolffe grinned, his eyes glinting with mischievous humor. “What can I say? It suits you. You’ve got that royal vibe, even when you’re covered in dirt and mud.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Royal vibe? Please, I’m far from royalty.” She gave him a nudge with her shoulder, her voice light but laced with curiosity. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

He let out a chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. “I don’t know... I guess it’s just suited to you at the moment. If I didn’t know who you were, I’d assume someone as pretty as you would be royalty.”

Perdita blinked, her expression softening. “Well, I don’t know if that’s true,” 

Wolffe’s grin deepened. “Don’t sell yourself short, Princess. You’ve got a lot more going on than you give yourself credit for.”

She shook her head with a smile, the playfulness in her eyes still dancing. “Alright, alright. But I’m not letting you off the hook for that nickname anytime soon.”

He shrugged with an exaggerated nonchalance, though there was a glint of warmth in his eyes. “Sorry but you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Perdita’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the teasing faded, leaving something more honest, more vulnerable behind. “You know,” she said quietly, “even though it’s been... insane, I don’t mind these moments. The ones where we can laugh, forget the world for a little while. And hey, we’re not screaming at each other for once.”

Wolffe met her gaze, his smile slipping into something more genuine, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “I get what you mean,” he said softly. “But just so you know, I’m still going to argue with you. Count on it.”

Perdita raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at her lips. “Oh yeah? You’re not done with that?”

“Of course not. You’re easily the most vexing woman I’ve ever met,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Vexing?” she repeated, a mischievous glint in her eyes before she shoved him playfully. The sudden motion caught him off guard, and he stumbled backward, sinking deeper into the murky water than he’d planned.

“Oh, you are not getting away with that one, Princess.” Wolffe scoffed, reaching for her, but his hand froze mid-air, caught in some unseen force. He blinked, startled, as Perdita flashed a sly grin and wiggled her brows at him.

“Sorry, what was that?” she teased, her voice light as she turned to walk away. “Can’t hear you over being this vexing.”

Wolffe stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before finally feeling the hold around his hand loosen. As she started walking, he could still feel the playful tug of her teasing energy. She glanced back over her shoulder, tossing him a look that spoke volumes—like maybe, just maybe, things could be okay if they kept going down this path.

With a quiet chuckle, he followed her, the promise of more moments like this could make his decision worthwhile. It wouldn’t be easy. They’d still clash. Danger was always there, lurking in the background. But if life on the run could be this... chaotic, but somehow enjoyable, he was more than willing to take on a little more conflict.

Tag List: @leenathegreengirl @asgre @badbatch-bitch @cw80831 @heidnspeak

[armpirate]

Until You're Mine || Choi San | Ch. 8

MASTERLIST Previous || Next

Pairings: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, obsession, mafia love

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, explicit language, mention of drug and guns, violence, rough sex.

Summary: San, a notorious and feared mafia boss, has always lived in the shadows of power and violence. When an ambush leaves him wounded and on the run, he finds refuge in an empty event hall. Inside, Y/n, a rising star in the world of event planning, is nursing her own wounds -a career on the line after a confrontation with a powerful client. The last thing she expects is for her night to take a dark turn when San stumbles into her life, bloodied and dangerous.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Y/n can't turn away. She helps him clean up, binding more than just his wounds in the process. What begins as an intense, chance encounter spirals into a dangerous obsession. San, used to being the hunter, becomes fixated on the one woman who dared to help him, even in his darkest moment. Meanwhile, Y/n, caught in the mystery of that powerful man, finds herself tracking his every move, unable to shake the dangerous allure of his world.

Neither knows that their fascination with each other is mutual. In a city teeming with danger, power, and deceit, their secret obsessions will pull them deeper into a deadly game -one where love, power, and obsession intertwine, and nothing is as it seems.

Chapter duration: 13 minutes

The soft blue and red glow of the police cruiser lights flickered against the walls of Y/n's apartment, painting the disarray in alternating hues of urgency. Two officers moved methodically through the space, inspecting the ransacked remains of what had once been her sanctuary.

One of them, a woman in her mid-thirties with a stern yet understanding demeanor, approached Y/n where she stood near the kitchen, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

—Is there anything missing? Whoever came, they didn't just break into your place for fun —the officer said, jotting notes into her pad—. Not just random vandalism. When they do stuff like this, it's because they want to get something. But the most evident things were untouched. You know, the TV, your laptop...

—I don't know what it could be. I checked my room and nothing seems to be missing —Y/n murmured, her voice small, almost drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat.

— Do you keep anything valuable here? Documents, jewelry, maybe?

—Nothing more than what most people have —she replied, faltering as her eyes darted toward the mess strewn across the living room floor—. And, like I said, none of that is missing.

The officer frowned, casting a glance at the broken lock on the front door.

—Whoever did this knew what they were doing. I don't want to scare you, but there are bands who come looking for something else that isn't... something to resell —her tone was dark, a hint of a scary reality for some people—. Have you seen something weird lately? Someone following you, or maybe a fight...?

Her mind immediately went to the black car that had been parked two buildings away from her apartment, but that she was still able to see every day she set foot outside. But she didn't say anything, she didn't even think of mentioning it. Why? It was a good question she couldn't answer.

—No. Nothing.

—Still, watch out for any signs that could mean you're in danger —she insisted—. A mark in your car, if you have one, that could keep you from driving, a mark on your door... Anything can work to prevent something worse —she let her know—. My advice? Get a security system installed as soon as possible. Alarms, cameras... everything that could help yourself to feel safer. It's the only way to keep safe in situations like this, and it kinda scares those people away.

Y/n nodded absently, her mind spiraling as she replayed the events leading up to this moment. Who would do this? And why?

As the officers prepared to leave, the woman handed Y/n a small card.

—We've got a list of vetted security companies. Give them a call. Don't wait too long.

Y/n took the card with trembling fingers, her gaze falling on the neatly printed text. A list of names and numbers greeted her, but one stood out among the others, bolded in sleek lettering: Echelon Security Services.

The officer gave a reassuring nod before stepping toward the door.

—If anything else comes to mind, don't hesitate to contact us.

Y/n nodded again, clutching the card tightly, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. She stood motionless as the officers exited, the silence that followed pressing down on her chest like an invisible force.

Her eyes returned to the card, its black-and-gold logo glinting under the dim light. Something about the name sent a shiver down her spine, though she couldn't quite say why.

The next morning, sun streamed through Y/n's broken blinds, casting long, jagged shadows across her apartment. She sat at the kitchen counter, staring at the business card the officer had left her the night before. The words Echelon Security Services felt heavier than the paper they were printed on. Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her phone and dialed the number.

There were many other options, but the fact that that company was somehow related to Obsidian Ventures, and San in consequence, gave her a strange feel of overprotection that she was sure no other company would give her.

After two rings, a calm, professional feminine voice answered.

—Echelon Security Services, how may I assist you?

—Hi, um... I need a security system installed —Y/n said, her voice tinged with exhaustion—. It's a bit urgent.

—Of course. We can dispatch a representative within the hour to assess your property and discuss the best options. Would that work for you?

—Yes, that would be great. Thank you.

The call ended quickly, leaving Y/n to pace her apartment, anxiety buzzing in her veins. As much as she didn't want to think too deeply about who broke into her place, her mind kept wandering... Who did it? And why? The remotely idea of Derek being behind it just to scare her made her breathe in deeply, trying to control the bubbling anger.

True to their promise, less than an hour later, a sharp knock sounded at her door.

When she opened it, a man in a neatly pressed navy suit stood before her, carrying a sleek black case. His expression was polite and professional, with a practiced smile that exuded reassurance.

—Good morning. I'm Mr. Gomez from Echelon Security Services. You called us about a security installation?

—Yes, come in —Y/n said, stepping aside to let him in.

Mr. Gomez walked into her apartment, his sharp eyes scanning the space with precision.

—May I take a quick look around to identify potential vulnerabilities?

—Sure.

As he moved through the apartment, he pointed out areas of concern with a tone that was warm yet impersonal.

—Your front door will need a reinforced lock to prevent forced entry. The windows are another weak point; we recommend contact sensors. And of course, we'll set up state-of-the-art systems: motion detectors, high-resolution cameras, and an alarm system that connects directly to our monitoring hub. It's the best in the industry.

Y/n nodded, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

—Anything to make this place feel normal again —she said softly, her voice shaky.

—Completely understandable, miss. We'll take care of everything. You'll feel safe again in no time.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, the man standing in her apartment wasn't just an ordinary technician. Mr. Gomez worked directly under San, and that visit was carefully orchestrated. Every word, every movement, was calculated.

By the evening, a team arrived to install the equipment. Cameras were placed in strategic locations -some of them being placed without Y/n being aware of it, or being told they were motion detectors-, everything she needed was quickly set up, and a sleek control panel installed by her front door.

—Everything is good to go —Mr. Gomez said as he handed her the manual—. If you have any issues, don't hesitate to call us.

As Y/n thanked him and closed the door behind him, she finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Hours later, the apartment was silent except for the soft hum of her laptop. Y/n sat cross-legged on her bed, the bright light from the screen casting an eerie glow across her face. Her search bar blinked, waiting. Hesitation gripped her fingers as they hovered over the keys before she typed: San Choi Obsidian Ventures.

She hit "Enter," and a flood of results appeared.

There were articles detailing his meteoric rise in the corporate world, glowing reviews of his leadership, and photos from charity events and galas. Y/n clicked through each link, soaking in every detail, her heart beating faster with every piece of information.

San's face, confident and enigmatic, stared back at her from countless photos. He had a way of commanding attention, always perfectly poised, his sharp gaze piercing through the lens.

Her stomach twisted as she scrolled past an image of him with a group of high-profile businesspeople. She began looking deeper, her focus narrowing to his connections. Names, faces, dates... they were added to the growing web of information in her mind.

Hours passed, but she didn't stop. Her obsession only deepened when she stumbled across a recent post on a social media account linked to an upscale magazine. It was a photo from a glittering charity event: San in a tailored black suit, his hand resting lightly on the waist of a stunning woman.

The caption read:

"Power couple vibes! Obsidian's owner Choi San and the lovely Evelyn Parker spotted last night in the city."

Y/n froze, her chest tightening. Her fingers trembled as she zoomed in on the photo. Evelyn was tall and elegant, her figure draped in a flowing emerald gown that sparkled under the event lights. She was laughing, her gaze locked on San, her smile intimate and effortless.

Jealousy burned in Y/n's chest, sharp and unwelcome. She felt her breath hitch as her grip tightened on the laptop. Why did it bother her so much? Why did the sight of Evelyn leaning so close to him send a bitter taste to her tongue? The mere thought of that smile being answered back by San made her stomach twist, her frown deepened for no reason. The article was recent, which made her wonder whether San was ever really interested in her or her imagination made things up that had nothing to do with reality.

Without thinking, she saved the photo, the click of her mouse almost deafening in the quiet room. It sat there on her desktop, taunting her, as though Evelyn's laugh could echo through the image. For some reason, it didn't feel right to mix that picture with the few she had already saved of him.

She went even further, picking up her phone to look up Evelyn on social media and realize all of her accounts were public, quite oversharing for her taste. It was ironic: San was such an enigmatic and mysterious man, yet he always surrounded himself with overly public people.

Y/n snapped the laptop shut, but the image lingered in her mind, vivid and unshakable. The thoughts that evolved from it almost drove her crazy.

Her frustration boiled over. She shoved papers and books off her bed, pacing the room.

—What's going on with me —she muttered to herself. But the words felt hollow, even as she said them.

When she finally opened her laptop again, it was past midnight. The screen flickered to life, revealing the cluttered desktop: photos, articles, and notes she'd pieced together about San and his connections.

Yet, despite all the information she had, she felt no closer to understanding him. If anything, her obsession only made him more unreachable, more enigmatic. And, somehow, that kept drawing her even more to him.

As Y/n leaned back against the headboard, her gaze flickered to the saved photo of San and Evelyn again.

Her jaw clenched. If she was going to figure him out, she would have to do more than just watch from the shadows. She would have to step into his world, and make sure she wasn't left behind.

Meanwhile, among the darkness of his own room, San leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on a high-resolution screen displaying the live feeds from Y/n's apartment. His lips curled into a faint, satisfied smirk. His two screens were a reflection of all the control he had over her life: both in her workplace and her privacy, from that moment and on. And the best part was that she was the one who let him in.

He smirked satisfied, watching as Y/n moved through her apartment, blissfully unaware of his omnipresent gaze.

The city lights twinkled outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of San's penthouse, a sprawling view of endless possibilities. Yet his attention was fixed on the screen in front of him.

San sat in his leather chair, one hand cradling a crystal glass of whiskey, the other idly tapping the edge of his desk. The soft glow of multiple monitors illuminated his face, their flickering images reflecting in his dark, predatory eyes.

On the largest screen, a live feed from Y/n's apartment played in muted clarity. The angle captured her entire bedroom, where she sat on her bed, her laptop perched on her knees. Her brows were furrowed in focus, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

He couldn't see what she was working on, but her intensity fascinated him.

San swirled the whiskey in his glass, the faint clink of ice against crystal breaking the silence. His lips curled into a slow, calculating smirk as he watched her lean forward, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The simple motion held his gaze, every detail of her body language feeding his growing obsession.

—What are you working so hard on, hmm? —he murmured to himself, his voice low and amused.

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight, and set the glass down. The feed continued uninterrupted, showing her shifting positions, her frustration evident as she ran a hand through her hair.

The predator in him delighted in her unknowing vulnerability. She had no idea she was under his watchful eye, that every moment of her solitude was laid bare before him.

San's gaze darkened as he took in the chaos of her apartment, a reminder of the recent break-in. The chaos bothered him -not because it affected her, but because it disrupted the pristine image of control he wanted to maintain.

Why didn't she pick it all up yet?

His fingers drummed against the desk, a subtle rhythm that mirrored the calculated thoughts running through his mind.

—If only you knew how fascinating you are... —he mused, his tone almost admiring.

Still, a flicker of possessiveness sparked in his chest. Her obsession wasn't his to control yet. Not entirely. And that wouldn't do.

San's eyes narrowed as Y/n suddenly stopped typing. She stared at the screen for a long moment before shutting her laptop with a soft thud. She leaned back against her pillows, her expression clouded with something between determination and frustration.

He tilted his head, studying her as though trying to decipher a puzzle.

—Soon, you'll realize you don't need to look elsewhere, Y/n. Everything you're searching for leads back to me. Soon you'll realize I'm everything you need.

The hunt was just beginning, and San was always patient when it came to his prey.

The ice in San's whiskey glass had melted, leaving the amber liquid undisturbed. He stared at the screen, captivated by the image of Y/n still lying in her bed. She was motionless, her face serene but distant, as though her thoughts were miles away.

Then she stirred.

San's brows furrowed as she sat up suddenly, her movements hurried. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, brushed her hair back, and walked toward the door.

The view shifted as she opened it, revealing a man standing in the hallway. San's body went rigid.

The man was tall, dressed casually, his posture relaxed but confident. He leaned against the doorframe, his hands shoved into his pockets, a slight smirk on his lips. San's jaw tightened as he watched the exchange.

Y/n folded her arms, clearly hesitant, but she didn't close the door. She stepped back, letting the man into her apartment.

San's fingers curled into a fist, his knuckles whitening as the stranger moved closer to Y/n. They were speaking, though the feed didn't capture sound. The man gestured toward her, his expression softening, almost pleading.

The moment the man reached out, lightly brushing Y/n's arm, something inside San snapped.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his eyes narrowed into slits. The proximity was unbearable to watch.

—Who the hell is he? —San muttered under his breath, his voice laced with venom— Y/n, don't let him touch you —he commanded, as if she was able to hear him.

The man's touch lingered a second too long before Y/n pulled away, her expression conflicted but not dismissive. She crossed her arms tighter, as though shielding herself. The man stepped closer, closing the space she'd tried to create.

San's lips curled into a snarl, his possessive streak flaring. The thought of someone else intruding into what he considered his domain was intolerable.

He grabbed his phone and typed a quick message to Wooyoung.

"Find out who was at her apartment tonight. I want everything on him. Now."

San's hand hovered over the desk as his fingers drummed with growing impatience. He picked up the phone again, adding another message.

"Come to my place immediately."

His gaze returned to the screen, his expression unreadable but dark. The man was still there, standing too close, his presence a glaring intrusion.

San downed the rest of his whiskey in one sharp motion, slamming the glass onto the desk. His smirk returned, cold and calculating.

—If he thinks he can take what's mine, he'll learn the hard way.

The live feed flickered slightly, but his focus never wavered. This was no longer just about control; this was personal. Nobody touched what was his and left without consequences. 

Taglist: @a-tiny-thing @brown88

https://www.wattpad.com/1509253426-until-you%27re-mine-choi-san-chapter-8

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku x fem!reader

ao3 • masterlist • << previous chapter • next chapter >>

summary: finally moving on, you learn to let go of your past self.

a/n: back to posting series :) finished up a chapter last night, you can probably expect another chapter this month after this one.

trigger warning: referenced death

Chapter 6. New Impressions

Although it felt odd driving down the long and winding road with him, a sense of deja vu crept into the back of your mind, reminding you that you had been in this situation once before, except now you didn’t feel a crisis with your own identity.

All you needed was to feel shock, maybe. Something deliberating enough to jolt and shake your system. It was surely jarring though and you wondered if he thought he went too far with how much he showed you, although that likely wasn’t it. Something stirred beyond his occasionally pointed gaze, hinting at something… darker.

Was it want…? Or need? Or both…?

You couldn’t quite tell properly, yet his returning body language was still just on the cusp of being barely explorative as he drove you both through the night. You tried to relax, your mind still reeling at the events that had transpired, but you were starting to understand him more and more now, feeling the care for others slip away so long as you had your validation met with someone who enabled it.

He broke the silence after a short while, slowing down the car before it had a chance to enter the busier road that led into the city. He seemed to be taking a detour, perhaps? Or otherwise just maybe cruising around before he committed to the second part of his plan.

“You know, you’re surprisingly difficult to read,” he began while staring straight ahead at the road, partially to focus but also figuring that you wouldn’t be too fond of the pressuring stare, “is that because of…?”

Of course he had picked up on that. How strange it was for him to claim that he thought that you were a difficult read when his assessment was in fact, incredibly accurate.

You shrugged with an unsure tone. “I… I guess I was just never allowed to express myself, that’s all.”

Kenjaku nodded, the motion of him doing so ever so slightly visible from a sideways glance. “Need me to turn this car around and take care of him for you?”

You laughed at the offer, shaking your head at the very thought. “Surprisingly nice of you to volunteer, but it’s complicated. I don’t think you can.”

“Ah, you underestimate me,” he teased.

With a weary sigh, you decided to shed some light on the situation, “It’s just… he’s part of a renowned clan within the region,” you paused, considering how to explain it further before continuing, “the members from his clan have a long-running track record of participating in corrupt practices. A fair share of them are involved in national politics and well, he… he’s involved in law enforcement. You could try to touch him, but he hides behind his connections like the coward I know he is deep down.”

Kenjaku could only scoff. “Ah, so one of those,” he thought to himself in the meanwhile, letting the sound of the road bridge the gap of the inflicted silence. There was one clan in particular known for such a thing and it would be very unfortunate if you were involved in such a thing. Not just for your sake, but for his own, too. Now that you were involved with him, he had to figure out how to keep that personal conundrum from catching up to you.

He let his thoughts run again, leading to a heavy silence to further fester in the car. Given your tense and almost nervous spirit after the ramble, you were likely still also processing the torture he had inflicted upon the noodle shop guy. That was just his assessment though, he could have been wrong. Being the asshole that he was, however, he looked for the right opportunity to work such a topic into getting a reaction from you. Given that you were so terribly unsure of yourself, he could likely work that into his favour.

“It’s very unlikely that he will catch up to you,” he decided to assure, adopting a cleaner tone, one that was partially reserved for when he needed to manipulate someone with one of his many smoothly crafted lies. This ‘manipulation’ was for your own good, though, because he was damned if he was going to be travelling with someone who had scammed him of the chaotic dynamic that he was initially swooned by. He wanted that strange, slightly unhinged person back. The one that joked in the face of death. Was this really so manipulative if he was forcing you to… let go? Surely he was actually doing a nice thing instead?

You sucked at your teeth, tutting in disagreement, “Yeah, you say that, but—”

“—he wont,” he cut you off, lying through his teeth. On the off chance that it was the clan that he was thinking of, the guy was already likely on your tail. There was no way that he would have accepted your death, even if you both didn’t get along. Any grieving performance that he acted out in the media was likely just a cover to save his own face. “Just… listen to me for once, will you? Enjoy your newfound freedom. Let go. Be the person you actually want to be, not the person you’re running away from—and I’m not talking about your boyfriend.”

Kenjaku continued to coax you in with a slight touch, the back of his hand tempting your skin. The night air that sept into the partially ajar windows of the car prickled goosebumps along your arm, causing an electrifying sort of sensation when his touch met yours. You tried not to pull away, trying to ease yourself into it, but it still felt wrong.

The way you flinched didn’t go entirely unnoticed by him either, as he logged a mental note into his mind that you tried to see it through, but your reaction still wasn’t fully accepting just yet. Despite the walls you kept in place around you constantly, he continued to sweep his hand back and forth, studying your reaction carefully. He needed you still compliant, so whatever followed next wouldn’t be anything against your wishes—even though he could very much get away with applying force—but he figured that it’s actually less fun and not quite the same as opposed to when you were willing. No, he wanted for you to become clingy, needy, dependent, even. Then it would be truly fun.

He repeated those languid, soothing motions before getting the car back onto the main road and retracting his touch from you at long last. He quietly watched as you struggled to piece together what was going on, finding the sight to be nothing short of entertaining. Watching closely, he was able to at least successfully determine that this particular action comforted you, so that’s something he could use to his benefit in the future.

To get you used to his touch until you didn’t flinch anymore and then, only then, would he move forward with you. Slowly but surely, he would mould you to match his egoistic energy, making you crave the possibility of being touched by him—of being used.

Until then however, he had places to be and matters to settle. Tokyo was just over the horizon and he had a small studio in one of the lesser populated districts in a worse-off neighbourhood. By some odd stroke of luck, despite his lengthy absence, that one unit had neither been broken into nor used for god knows what.

He planned to reconnect and mingle with some old allies from about a year ago, although perhaps the term ‘allies’ was too generous of a word to use for them. Perhaps they were closer to being contacted acquaintances. It was a small unorganised(?) crime group that wanted to see a world without law, so maybe, just maybe you could get along with those misfits on your your shared trait of sticking it to authority figures, but then again… they were also a bad influence. He would know. So maybe he should keep your interactions with the bunch limited instead.

For now, he would try to dig up some dirt on the clan you were involved with. Again, he had an inkling of an idea of which one it was given that you had already fed him a couple of context clues. Either from the appointed location of the clan or the professions. Essentially, in order to maintain his position of having the upper hand, he needed to know what he was working with—or who. He joked about it in the car, but he was otherwise perfectly content with getting rid of the guy if there was such a possibility. Not because he was doing it for you, though, but rather for his interests. If he planted the idea that he did something major for you, then you would forever be in his debt.

Then you would be even more fun to toy with.

Kenjaku then parked the vehicle on the off-street parking, locking up the thing with you in tow. He then walked with you up the block, letting you inside and to his surprise, the place was completely untouched, albeit dusty. He looked around before reaching for the light, illuminating the small stretch of space, gesturing that you once again take the bed because he didn’t mind the futon otherwise and besides, he needed for you to trust him even more, so he was happy to play the waiting game with you.

“We’ll rest up and then we’ll go ‘identity shopping’ tomorrow in Shinjuku,” he announced, sprawling out on the sofa, lifting his hips up before widening his legs ever so slightly to relax.

“Yeah, okay,” you murmured before crawling into the bed feeling very much worn and although your words were surely curt and quick to the point, he could have almost sworn that were was genuine warmth in your voice.

(Was he finally getting to you?)

~~~

The streets in the Shinjuku were just as crowded as they were during the day as they were at night and Kenjaku roamed the vicinity with you closely beside him, searching for the perfect someone who would be a good face match with you. A couple of people with similar features came to mind, but it also had to be the right type of person to disappear. There was one woman in particular that he had latched onto, that given the lack of confidence and meek demeanour, that she wasn’t in the best place in life.

He made you follow along, guiding you to the road that she stuck to, taking the same train and tailing her before finally reaching a place that was just as much, if not more run down than his own studio.

Oh, this was perfect, he thought.

Breaking in was surely enough and due to the exhausted state that the mystery woman seemed to be in, it was very easy to take her out too. You wondered to yourself why identity theft had to result in murder, but didn’t question his methods too much, lest he lectured you on the sanctity of sentiment yet again.

“Now, I’m going to teach you how to really steal an identity,” he spoke up, muttering more words from under his breath. “Watch closely.”

You stared at the unconscious woman on the floor. “She doesn’t even look like me.”

He rolled his eyes in response. “She looks like you enough. As long as the look in your eyes is similar then it’ll work. My best stolen identity was a guy who was full of himself and look where that got me.”

“Fair enough,” you sulked. “In that case, anyone with the look of depression would make do, surely?”

Kenjaku could only scoff. “Is that what that is? Sure. Fine. You match her look of being dead inside, that’s why this’ll work.”

“So, what now…?” you asked, watching him dig out all forms of her identity. “Do we just bounce…? Or…? I don’t think she’s waking up after such a heavy blow.”

“Not so fast,” he replied, tugging you back with a grappled arm. “We have to make sure that the other person disappears first. This means scrubbing them clean of their fingerprints and removing major identifiers like her hair, teeth and nails—”

“—so, why not just skin her?” you asked. “It’ll take care of the hair and then all you have left is the teeth… maybe nails too.”

He looked at you for what felt like a very long time, the look on his face slowly morphing into something… genuinely concerned for the way your mind operated. “I beg your finest pardon?”

“...Just a suggestion,” you replied, “also don’t you ‘I beg your finest pardon’ me, you literally burned someone’s eyes into blindness.”

“Yeah,” he agreed before deflecting his actions, “as a spur of the moment thing,” he then cleared his throat. “I looked around and utilised the environment towards my own benefit, whereas you just had that idea floating around at the top of your head.”

“I’m just saying that if you can get rid of the skin, then you can get rid of everything,” you shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

“Right,” he replied with a deadpan tone, “and how do you suppose I do that, then? Skinning isn’t something as easy as just pulling apart their flesh from muscle. You need to mark off and section skin, making special sorts of incisions as you go along.”

You shrugged yet again, continuing to bicker with him. “Yeah? It sounds like you know what you’re talking about, so…”

“I have a background, that’s why,” he disclosed, “but… it’s more effort than it’s worth. It’s easier to break her down and then scatter the parts instead. Let’s save the effort for when I get another feeling about someone and want to study them, alright?”

“Oh, in that case, you could probably study humanity by processing decay. Cure someone in salt and then preserve them forever,” you suggested in an eerily nonchalant tone.

“What?” he blinked.

“You know, like… curing meat in salt?” you elaborated.

“I…” he sighed, holding up his hand, “I might need a moment.”

Kenjaku then stared at you again for a very, very long time, putting down the pliers in his hand over a table and then returning his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He tweezed it tight and then simply just sighed. There was something… off about you, that he couldn’t quite stay away from. You went from being very lively to very closed off to being very creepy in just a matter of days.

For now, he chose to encourage whatever… this… was. “Glad to see you're back to being unhinged, I guess! I’d hate to admit it, but I missed that weirdo.”

In the meantime, he proceeded to break the body down as you watched for the ‘lesson’. He took out many sealable plastic bags that he brought with him and started to fold them in between piled towels. He then borrowed some bleach from her bathroom before beginning to sweep clean every single nook and crevice within the studio—luckily it was small enough—all the while you continued to talk. He listened with a troubled look on his face as you prattled on and on about how salt was actually a good curing agent, so imagine the look on the authorities’ faces when they discover a mummified body preserved like beef jerky. Despite his quickly building unease however, he felt almost… turned on?

Was this really what got him going?

You eventually quietened down however, looking down at your phone with a deep focused stare. It could have been dizziness from the sight or the smell, but something about the look on your face argued against that. No, you looked… troubled, almost.

“Something up?” he asked.

You replied with a fretting hum, “Boyfriend’s made the news,” you admitted, appearing to be reading some sort of article. From the look of it, it seemed to be one of the national papers rather than something locally confined.

Rather than asking you more about the topic, he decided to instead temporarily confiscate the phone to read it. He was damned if he was about to do this one major lead slip.

[Chief of Police] were the first few words that caught his eye, causing him to stare at the screen for a moment. Not just an officer, but an entire leader? What? Oh no, no, no. You had some explaining to do.

“What is this?” he asked, holding up the phone to you.

You tilted your head to the side. “The news?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he scoffed, “I thought you said that he was just an officer.”

You seemed momentarily dumbfounded. “But… he is?”

Kenjaku sighed and made you read the article again.

“Oh…” you finally replied, sounding a touch more surprised than before. “I guess that he got promoted? I suppose that this makes sense… his father was the old chief.”

“Fucking nepo babies,” he muttured in annoyance, “is he any good at all at his job?”

“Sorta,” you considered, “he’s very perceptive.”

He nodded, resuming his scrubbing at a faster, harder rate, leaving no trace of evidence that they were ever here. There was the hotel that was handled sloppily though, but maybe that’s one way his allies could be utilised right away. If only he could throw off the trail by a bit and clear the path.

…Maybe Mahito? If he was going to be reconnecting with the group anyway, then he could appoint that oddball for the job. If anyone was capable of replicating his sadistic nature to not be cast away as a copycat, then Mahito was the right one for the job. All he needed to do was shake off your boyfriend’s trail for now as the main course of action.

“So, he’s a challenge then, is he?” he asked you, having an idea to corner the guy now and maybe probe the answer to humanity through him one day, seeming almost giddy at the thought. “Luckily for us both, I enjoy a good challenge.”

~~~

Back at the studio, he sat back down on the sofa, patting against the pillow to have you join him. To his surprise, you listened to his silent request, seeming to be a little curious. In truth, you were tired with being so closed off all of the time, so you initiated the touch for a change, feeling around him in a slightly suggestive way.

Feeling his mind going blank, Kenjaku wondered if his luck was finally going towards that direction at long last. He reciprocated with a dominating touch, only to be met with surprise when you insisted on taking the lead.

“Are you doing this because you want to?” he asked, unsure was to why he was even stopping you. He wanted this too. He was slightly touch starved, after all.

You paused in your motions for a second before responding, “I had… a relationship of convenience with my boyfriend. We were together essentially due to politics because of my family owning a construction company and due to them having a few deals ongoing with the clan, Naoya Zenin never quite gave me a chance to say no when he first began to pursue me,” you chose to outwardly reveal, continuing to sound very sure of yourself, “and being so shy and maybe… stupid, like a fool, I never once complained.”

Kenjaku nodded, not being surprised that you even managed to get manipulated into something like that. Despite wanting to manipulate you to further his own personal gain, he would have to teach you how to avoid falling victim to such a thing. He was feeling ever so slightly territorial, after all, without a single clue as to why.

“But it was bleak, of course,” you added, resuming the touch, “I never learned what I like nor dislike in bed. I want to figure this out by myself, so no leading the way.”

He nodded once more, not turning the touch away. So be it.

Although something new made sense to him.

That thing about not knowing what you like.

After living so many identities and having to pretend to be so many people, was it perhaps… similar for him?

Maybe for once in his life, he had actually managed to find someone who understands.

[telekineticseance]

DANCER (PT. 4)

pairing: 90s!trey parker x f!stripper reader

summary: the morning after - part four

genre: fluff

word count: 664 (small but really a filler part)

cw: reader is exotic dancer, she/her pronouns for reader

author's note: woohoo it's been a while for this one

part one can be found here! previous part can be found here!

“I think I’m in love with you..” The words replaying in your mind made it harder for you to sleep as Trey definitely didn’t feel the same. His arm wrapped tightly around your nude waist as he snored gently while sleeping next to you.

By now everything had worn off so you were now sober and the party outside had died down so there weren’t any sounds going on out there. It was just you, alone, with your thoughts. Maybe Trey had just been too drunk and/or high and that’s why he said what he said. I mean you two just met there’s no way he could already be in love with you. And does that mean he would want more from you? Or maybe he was just one of those guys who slept around and said that to all the girls so they;d hopefully keep coming back to him. No matter the outcome, he just couldn’t have meant it.

You noticed the sun starting to shine in through the window meaning you had gotten absolutely no sleep and it was already morning as you let out a small sigh. Shortly after sighing, you noticed Trey starting to stir awake as you quickly closed your eyes to pretend to sleep before you felt Trey’s arm pull away as the mattresses shifted slightly before the movement stopped and you slightly opened your eyes to see Trey had just rolled over.

You bit your bottom lip before deciding to slowly move out of the bed as you looked around for the articles of clothing Trey had lazily taken off of you by just throwing them around. The buttons from your flannel were also scattered around as you rolled your eyes before grabbing the shirt Trey had been wearing the night before taking it as payment for messing with your shirt. It was a Denver Broncos shirt and although you didn’t know anything about football, at that moment you didn’t really give a shit.

Just as you were about to put your shoes on you heard a soft but raspy voice speak up, “Leaving so soon?” The words stopped you in your tracks as you slowly turned and saw Trey looking over at you with half lidded eyes, clearly barely awake.

“O-Oh hey. Yeah I uh need to get home and shower and run some errands before work tonight.” You spoke trying to come up with the best lie but in reality you kind of just wanted to get some sleep and possibly never see Trey again. You finished getting dressed as you turned back to Trey and saw him looking at you with a hint of sadness to his eyes, or maybe that’s just the way he always looked.

“You sure you don’t wanna go for another round before you leave?”

You gave him a small laugh before shaking your head, “Sorry lover boy I really have to go. You have a nice life though.”

And you left it at that. You quickly found your way out, giving a small goodbye to Matt who was half asleep cooking in the kitchen before closing the door behind you.

The walk to your place was long as you were too embarrassed to call for a taxi or take the bus. You were never one to do the walk of shame yet here you were. You didn’t realize how nice Trey’s place was to yours until you got back home, ignoring your pervy neighbor from across the hall as you unlocked your door and got in, locking it behind you.

You kicked off the heeled boots that were officially killing your feet as you definitely walked way more than you should’ve in them. As you started to strip from your clothes you couldn’t help but get a whiff of Trey as you bit your bottom lip. That was the first time you ever slept with someone from the club..and you hoped it would be the last.

[melkyt]

3D2Y Where Law wants nothing more then to stay with Luffy but knows he has no reason too, until he is given one.

Luffy trains every day, he is determined to get stronger, to protect his friends no matter what. Taking out the pain of Ace's death on something he can control.

Law sees his determination and feels as though he is wasting time by just sitting there. He needs to do something. He needs to leave. Only Luffy's presence that he has gotten so accustomed to is making him hesitate. He has not been this comfortable with anyone outside his crew in a long time. The warmth of an enthusiastic hug. The feeling of Luffy's curls brushing over his cheeks as he towers over Law from behind, calloused hand resting on his shoulders.

Luffy taking the time in the few minutes Rayleigh gives him a break to always track down Law and check on him, even if his training is on the other side of the island. This only makes it harder to leave.

Law sighs as he watches Luffy leave for the next round. It's almost lunchtime, if Luffy doesn't fail in today's exercise, he will drag Law to have some food. It will only make Law come up with more reasons to stay another day. He gets up before he starts thinking about those reasons. "Time to go, kikoku"

It seems to vibrate as it senses that they will be back to drawing blood soon. The pain that comes with her curse thrums under his skin, a familiar dull ache that reminds him of his goals. That pain always helps remind him that he is still alive and has to keep going.

"Leaving now is foolish, Trafalgar Law."

Shakky, the previous queen of Amazon Lily. The one who made their safety and Luffy's training possible taps her cigarette, sending ashes dropping down into the sand.

"I have wasted enough time here," he rests Kikoku on his back. "I have a goal that can't wait."

"Strawhat will leave you behind"

Law tenses. He knows that she means in terms of power. That once this training is done, he will be a force most can't defeat. Law never cared about that. What made him tense is that Luffy would leave him behind as a person, that he would never feel his warm touch ever again.

Shakky smirks, immediately more interested in his reactions, glancing over at her husband instructing the boy. She remembers when Rayleigh first came to train on Amazon Lily's adjacent islands as a young man. She looked at him much the same way as Law is looking at Luffy now. "Do you have a plan?" Shakky takes a puff of her thin pipe. "How much do you know about the web of Doflamingo's influence?"

Law bites his bottom lip. He never told anyone his goal. Her information network could rival Doffy's. With the family's love for codenames. Law avoided anyone discovering his past. Yet here she is, knowing seemingly everything with that confident look in her eyes that hints at decades of experience beyond what Law can even fathom.

"Stay, train with the boy." Shakky nods towards Luffy, who is sprawled out on the ground, trying to catch his breath before the next attack that will come too soon. "It will only help you"

Law can't deny she is right. Training with the generation that once achieved everything they strived for will only make them stronger, but Law is a doctor first. That is how his power works. The skills that Rayleigh can teach him are not what he needs.

Shakky senses his hesitation. "The Kuja have a history of medicine, poison, and poultice that can kill or paralyze a man." She can see that is enough to catch his attention. "Thousands of texts in the studies of blood and the mortal body." She takes a step closer, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "They do not allow men, but I could make an exception for you, kid."

Law takes a deep breath. This is access to texts he has never read. It could even have info on his fruit. The discoveries he could make would easily upgrade his power. If he refuses, he will not get another chance. Yet it also means he is wasting two years of his life, the time he could be using to go after Doflamingo. His thirst for knowledge wins out as it does every time. "Fine, I'll stay" he sighs, hoping that he will not regret those words.

"Really?!" Luffy jumps up from his sprawled position. "Traffy, that's great --- ow!"

"Great use of observation haki," Rayleigh chuckles, tapping the stick on his shoulders. "Next time, use it on not getting hit"

"Didn't have to hit me that hard," Luffy rubs at the sore spot. He turns back towards Law with a wide grin. "Let's train really hard together, Traffy! Shishishi"

Law feels a blush on his cheeks. He can't deny that a large part of him is staying for Luffy and the hope of seeing that smile every day for the next two years

-end-

Aka how Law goes from a skinny little gremlin that has never had a good meal ever to getting enough to bulk from just being near Luffy who shares everything he hunts with Law while he has his nose in a book 24/7 and slowly they fall in love with each other in new domestic ways.

Shakky and Rayleigh gossip about the young love that is blooming before their eyes as they train their respective boi xd

[yuseirra]

Kamiki's feelings towards Ai- an analysis

Chapter 154 was so interesting and it happened just as I imagined the way it would, actually. What I can't fully predict is what'd happen AFTER this- there are so many things left undisclosed and yet to be uncovered, too. But it's allowed me to think about a lot of things.

Today I wrote up an analysis of how I feel Kamiki's character could be and his feelings towards Ai.

I'd speculated on Ai's relationship with him before this chapter was out. I was pretty much on the right track in a general sense (and another analysis on Aqua and how he feels about kana, too.)This seems like the best time to break out how I think about how kamiki would have felt about her from his end- before it's actually going to be told.

(This full post was originally written in a different language and I asked chatgpt-4 to help translate it in bulk because it got so long..! wow, and it did a really great job. I guess I'll use THAT to translate now)

The last episode made it clear how the protagonist's parents ended up the way they did and the deep emotions they had for each other, so I have quite a bit to say about that. Psychology is an area of interest for me. To put it extremely, it's everything in my creations (though it would be embarrassing if I missed the mark after saying this) to the point where I'd go, 'if I can't even do this, I'd wonder what I'm good at...' In other words, it's the area where I'm most confident... I enjoy watching, analyzing, and understanding things. It's a topic I can talk about enthusiastically and endlessly if the opportunity arises.

As I mentioned in a previous post, understanding others' emotions, whether in reality or fiction, is a tricky part to pin down definitively, so I'm always hesitant to speak rashly about it. I keep thinking, "Maybe it's this?" but because I really dislike being wrong, I don't speak strongly about it. And I think how one "feels" something is too personal a realm.

Therefore, when a story confirms things through dialogue, flashbacks, or actions, I get very excited. It’s like, "Now I can talk about it!" That's how I brought this post forth today.

Getting to the point, this manga is very well-written when it comes to emotional aspects (the emotions and the persuasiveness of the situations that evoke those emotions) of well-crafted characters. In my opinion, characters like Ai, Aqua, and Kana are quite well-developed, and other characters, even in their personal episodes or specific points, have at least a desirable level of persuasiveness as needed. In most cases, at least. Some scenes left me a lil confused time to time still, but at most, the scenes written with a clear perspective often show and evoke strong emotions, which I consider a strength of this manga. Considering the author's previous work was a romance manga... I guess someone who comes from writing romance manga is built differently! (I haven't watched Kaguya-sama though).

As for Kamiki, his past was as I expected. Looking at the small hints that were sprinkled earlier, I didn't think it would turn out much different from what was actually depicted. Realistically, a child who became the father of twins at the age of 15 (a highly unusual age by modern standards) couldn't have been so calculating and meticulous in using Ai or intentionally manipulating them to have their children, no matter how crazy he was, even if considering the manga’s verisimilitude. Ai is a smart person. She might not have received a proper education compared to the average person due to her inability to fit into the social safety net, but I think her innate intelligence was quite good... For Ai, Kamiki was someone who could maintain a good relationship with her, with her being the older out of the two, even. Being the cautious and careful person she is. Ai's would have coolly cut ties and walked away rather than being used if there was a need to. So I always thought their relationship would have been genuine at some point, at least.

And looking at his past, as expected... (even if it’s a manga, the whole situation he was in was too dreadful...) looking at his personality, he was a gentle and pure child who was tossed around a lot when he was younger. If an 11-year-old child had a relationship with an adult, the adult is absolutely not a proper human being. There’s no room for another interpretation. Even if the child said "it was okay", there’s no room for leniency. It’s nonsense. Kamiki had been sexually abused from a very young age, so it was almost impossible for him to form a proper concept about it, and he was at a resignation to the things that were happening to him... Ai was the one person who got close to him and wanted to help him escape from that situation. But since Ai was only a middle schooler, she realistically had no power to do anything drastic... Both lacked proper guardians and had a deficiency in love, so when they were fully exposed to an environment where outward attractiveness was heavily utilized, they had no means to protect themselves. The best they could do was create a mask to show others and keep convincing themselves that they were okay with it... They were drawn to each other because they shared that similarity and understood that part of each other. I liked that these two were set as peers around the same aga because, especially for young children, age difference has a significant impact on social experience and individual standing. It's better to have a similar age if they are to have an equal relationship. Adults should be with adults, and children should be with children. Their worlds are different, and even a completely insignificant adult can easily exploit and manipulate a child. I believe that relationships should be with people who share a similar perspective and have similar emotional resources to offer each other.

The scene where Ai goes to Airi and calls her just a sex offender might be exaggerated, but if we say exaggerated... it means there was some face-to-face interaction and that Ai helped Kamiki separate from Airi. Ai probably wanted to do what was depicted in the movie. In reality, you have to deal with the aftermath, and it probably didn’t go smoothly like the adult just backing off or listening to a teenager. However, Ai’s actions had some effect in helping Kamiki get away from Airi to some extent, leading to a period where they officially dated. During this time, Kamiki must have truly loved and been happy with Ai. The adults around didn’t know about the situation, and they never helped Kamiki. The one who listened, understood, and shared the troubling and dreadful situation that Kamiki had grown accustomed to for years was Ai.

For Kamiki, there was only Ai.

When Airi blackmailed and gaslit him into despair, Kamiki’s thoughts were to turn to Ai for help because there was only Ai for him. Ai was indeed everything to Kamiki, supporting and pulling him out of tough situations. Ai was like a light in his life. They already had mutual affection, so it wasn’t surprising.

Meeting someone who truly understands, accepts, and loves you is extremely precious and significant. The statement that he sincerely loved Ai is true because there was truly no one else in the world for him to love. He led a very isolated life.

I won't delve deeply into Ai’s analysis here since I covered that last time. But the statement that Ai wanted to shoulder everything together and share a future with kamiki was absoultely genuine. Then why did he leave and say such heartless things that would break Kamiki’s heart?

That'd be because having a child meant more responsibility for Kamiki, and Ai thought Kamiki couldn't handle it. So Ai decided to leave to lessen Kamiki’s burden, thinking that would be less painful for him than staying together. Ai probably felt that no matter what, Kamiki wouldn't break up with her unless she said something really harsh. Kamiki's mindset at that time, as shown in his thoughts, was that it was just the two of them against the world, and they could bear any pressure together. That feeling is understandable. So pitiable, really. Ai, however, also wasn’t someone who was very mentally healthy. I'm sure she wanted to help him, but her ways of "helping" wasn't and couldn't be so ideal because she too was only a child. Additionally, I feel Ai was quite conscious of being a year older, wanting to take care of the struggling Kamiki (Ai seems to have a maternal instinct despite not receiving such care herself). She wanted to share Kamiki’s burdens but couldn't share her own dark and difficult parts because she felt Kamiki was too fragile. So, to unburden Kamiki, she left with very harsh and definitive words, thinking Kamiki would be better off without her and their children. Hearing such harsh words, Kamiki immediately thought, "Oh... I am the problem," and understood why Ai left, hence couldn’t hold her back. Ultimately, he ended up believing that even Ai couldn’t love and accept him, which led to Kamiki’s self-deprecation, thinking he was the problem all along. After realizing she had clung to Ai, he thought, "Ai didn't love me, she was there because she just couldn't avoid me being too pure and innocent"

However, his love for Ai wouldn’t have disappeared just like that. Ai was too significant for Kamiki. He loved her to the extent that he felt he heard his whole world collapsed from the breakup.

When Kamiki was near the hospital during Ai's delivery, I don’t think he intended to harm Ai. Why would he harm the person he truly loved who was having his children? He was probably heartbroken for a while after Ai’s breakup with him and, upon hearing about Ai’s health issues on the news, worriedly searched for her until he found about the hospital she was admitted to. On the day the children were born, it could be that he couldn’t approach Ai due to him being self-conscious about Ai’s refusal. He just nervously lingered nearby, and that's when he could have encountered Ryosuke, who was stalking Ai. I might be interpreting too favorably...

When Kamiki learned that Ai was going to give birth, even though Ai had said she wouldn't, he was probably surprised but not resentful. He might have been confused and curious about why she decided to have the children, but upon seeing the newborns from afar, he likely felt overwhelmed with emotion, thinking they were his children.

Perhaps he even thought it would have been nice if they could have been a family together. Though Ai intended to show the children to Kamiki for the first time when they were around four, I suspect Kamiki had been concerned and affectionate about them even before that.

If they had kept in touch intermittently and Ai had sent pictures of the children, things might not have become so extreme. Regardless, I believe Kamiki felt affection for their children. Though Taiki was a trauma for him...

The phone call scene should be shown from Kamiki's perspective once. Having kept a distant watch over Ai and the children, he would have felt internal familiarity and gladness, thinking, "Could we meet again?" After being firmly rejected, he might have made bad decisions. It's hard to know how much of what he said regarding Ryosuke is true, but the idea that Kamiki wanted to kill Ai? If that were true, the more detailed confession (that it wasn’t intentional) would not have come out when Aqua had pushed for it. He said that he was the one that clung to her and killed her and tried to leave it at that at first. Kamiki’s willingness to accept lifelong infamy for his actions, by his own child, implies something different. What he's said after he was inquired further by Aqua seems more truthful than what was initially told. There's probably more to this because it still seems illogical and weird to some extent, but we have to remember he was okay with being perceived at being solely responsible Ai's murderer to Aqua in Ch 153, but his detailed explanations that may not have been even told tells to be a bit different from that. That means he probably feels guilty enough to blame himself entirely for what's happened.

Kamiki advising Aqua and Ruby aligns with my interpretation of his character. These actions seem sincere. Given his affection for Ai, he may feel some warmth towards their children, as he once referred to Ruby as "our" children. He's also been able to see through how Aqua is in a very accurate sense, he seems to have watched him intently. Hence, when Aqua approached him, he expressed his feelings honestly.

To Aqua, he says stuff like "you might find me detestable, but I was glad to talk like this with you", and he gives some advice to Ruby too in a pretty kind way, actually. These actions are likely genuine. It's only natural to find the children, who resemble themselves and their loved one, adorable. Just as Ai told the twins, while dying, that she was glad to have given birth to the children, I think Kamiki, even if they didn't love the children as much as they do for Ai, would at least be happy about their existence. I believe Kamiki would have kept a distant watch over them all along. It's just that he couldn't approach them. As I mentioned before, if he really is a god or possesses some powers, he, along with Ai, who's become a star, might have been supporting the children together in their own respective ways. Though the children were not born intentionally, they were still born out of love.

I got it right, didn't I? In my post about Ai, I wrote that Kamiki might have wanted to take responsibility for the children, but Ai could've had hid and left to avoid burdening him. When Kamiki heard about the pregnancy, he immediately proposed marriage, didn't he? If they had been in their early twenties, they might have really been able to get together. They might have raised the children well as a young couple, finding them quite adorable. If they had become parents at a more typical age, they wouldn't have been incapable of raising the children. In fact, Ai contacted him when the children were about four years old, and she was twenty. She couldn't reunite with Kamiki because of her thriving idol career and the potential scandal.

From Ai's perspective!! If she had hoped for and imagined raising their children together, it means she believed Kamiki would take good care of them, and she was probably right. Also, Ai's idea of happiness included this. Ai, when you look closer, was inexperienced due to her youth but still loved the children in her own way and had a maternal instinct. Talking to Ryosuke to distract him when the door chain wasn't on and he could have invaded and harmed the children was a wise choice.

Haha, speaking of that, maybe because I fell asleep thinking about this manga, I had a terrifying dream last night. I was threatened by a crazy person with a razor blade in a large shopping mall, walking with them like a hostage. I kept talking to avoid being killed, seized the blade, and ran for my life. I got in a car, thinking I was safe, but people were fleeing in panic. The person had more than one blade and started swinging it when their hostage escaped. I felt guilty. I'm so glad it was just a dream.

It's my first time having such a dream. Even though it's not real, experiencing it in a dream makes me respect Ai's response. She managed to calm and turn away Ryosuke, protecting the children. Ai is smart and thoughtful. Her ways of speech to induce not getting back together was really blunt and hurtful not not exactly the best in terms of the emotions it could bring forth, but understandable. Her character is often lacking in emotional responses but sharp in thinking. Between the two, Kamiki is the more emotional one, but Ai was more mature in their relationship. Still, Ai loved Kamiki to the point of wishing he would rely on her and wanting to be his support and that says a lot. That was her way of loving.

Back to Kamiki, what are his current feelings about Ai? He still loves her and was once(and even now) is willing to give everything for her. His feelings for Ai were genuinely deep. Even when he resigned himself to believing Ai never loved him, he was willing to be avenged by Aqua if that's what she wanted. This wasn't a lie. He wouldn't lie to his children. His parental feelings are also genuine.

But there's something more. Kamiki has something in common with Aqua. There's something vast that he carries without revealing everything. After breaking up with Ai, he might have done a lot of wrong things, but his base nature actually seems to be on the timid side, even gentle. He couldn't properly communicate with Ai when she decided to break up all of a sudden, and just let her go, indicating his mild nature. For someone like him to take extreme actions, something extreme must have happened. Ai's death would be such a trigger. If he were to act extremely, it would be related to Ai. He lived a life of being pushed around, with little attachment to himself, being saved by Ai and deeply wanting to be with her. Ai caused him pain but was also his savior. For Kamiki, Ai was his reason for living.

When I saw the lyrics of "Fatal," I immediately had a huge hunch. The psychological state reflected in the song perfectly matches Kamiki's feelings towards Ai. It's very blind and desperate, with what he's originally had twisted negatively. The narrator of the song keeps trying to give and do something, feeling it's still not enough. This song fills in the gaps in Kamiki's character that were hinted at but not explicitly described. The narrator couldn't be anyone but Kamiki.

I understood why Kamiki came to love Ai so deeply through the flashbacks. Given their backgrounds, it made sense that he would love Ai immensely. So when I heard the song and read the lyrics, I immediately felt it was right. Do you think my analysis will be way off?

It seems like Ai and Kamiki's story draws motifs from Japanese mythology. One motif comes from the gods of entertainment, Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko (in terms of abilities), and the other from the couple Izanagi and Izanami (with Amaterasu—she has something to do with Ruby-, Tsukuyomi, Susanoo—the sea god—Aqua). In the myth, Izanagi tries to bring back Izanami, who died giving birth, from the underworld but ultimately fails to revive her.

This narrative aligns with the first season's ending song "Mephisto" and the second season's opening "Fatal," which are about wanting to save someone and meet them again. So far, all efforts have been in vain, and the songs mention continuously offering something. If these songs reflect Kamiki's feelings, then Kamiki must still love Ai and desperately wish for her to come back to life. This seems very likely.

The concept of the "stage" is also mentioned in both songs. The protagonist struggles on stage, which won't let them go. They don't actually want to live that way, but their only purpose for enduring it is to reunite with their loved one. These songs seem like spoilers, hinting at future developments. Otherwise, why would such lyrics appear? It feels like there's a stage set by the gods, and the characters are trapped within it.

The first season's ending is titled "Mephisto," referring to a demon who grants wishes in exchange for one's soul.

Whether it's Aqua, Kamiki, or both, there's clearly a deal involving risking their existence or life to see Ai again. But it can't be Aqua because he was told by the Tsukuyomi girl that Ai could no longer reincarnate. Aqua's goal would be to fulfill Ai's wishes, not to meet her again. However, the songs' themes are clearly different from that. Something is up.

There are definitely suspicious gaps in Kamiki's actions, but thinking this way brings consistency to his sparse psychological reveals. One way or another, this character is obsessed with Ai, and Ai wants to help him.

When he realizes that the person he loved loved him back, he should be either sad or happy. But there's a reason for his shock (which is, also natural, but he's in utter shock). It might be that he's in a state where he cannot be saved.

When this character asked Ai for help as a child, Ai sincerely wanted to help but couldn't do enough alone. So, she wanted to help him along with their children. Comparing now to then, he might have walked into a much deeper pit on his own, for Ai's sake. Depending on the extent of what he did, he might end up still being unforgivable.. or maybe he might not have actually committed something as serious as it's been hinted and have a chance to be actually brought back to happiness But I can't envision a future where Kamiki lives happily for now. His life has been too miserable, so unfortunate.. and it's probably really messed up at this point too, so sacrificing himself for his children and following Ai might be his happy ending. Ai wants to see him, so it could be most happy if she came to take him with her. Considering the scenes shown so far, it's unclear if he deserves a happy ending. But anyhow, there's likely some special circumstance the guy's in that's going to bring a new light about his character

That's it. I had to talk about it all before the next episode comes up! If I'm wrong, well, that's that! But it was so fun analyzing him~