#The Shadow Syndicate (Set)

[alphamecha-mkii]

Devastator by Leos Ng

[aleksatia]

You had an argument, and in the heat of the moment, you took on a secret mission—disappearing without a trace or warning for six days. He won’t let that slide, will he?

(⚠️ Warning: Slightly angsty and dramatic) 🔥 UPD: Guys, I hear you loud and clear about Xavier, and I'm already working on his full story. Let me know if you want more about the others (or any specific one).

🖐️💥😈 Sylus 

You don’t even make it home.

One second—you’re stepping toward your door. The next—you're grabbed.

A sharp yelp leaves your lips, but it’s already too late.

One hand clamps down on your shoulder, the other hooks around your legs, and suddenly—you're airborne.

"Cargo secured."

A second voice. Muffled. Hollow.

You twist wildly.

Two figures in black masks, sharp beaked visors, curved horns on their hoods.

Luke and Kieran.

You thrash. “Put me down—”

"No can do, Miss," Kieran hums, flipping you upside down just slightly.

"Our Boss gave very strict orders," Luke murmurs.

Your stomach sinks. The car door swings open—

And you’re shoved inside.

Kieran and Luke plop down beside you, silent as shadows.

Then—

Luke sighs. Long and exaggerated.

"Such a shame," he muses. "She was so pretty."

Kieran hums. "So full of life."

Your eyes narrow. “What.”

They tilt their heads in unison. Luke’s fingers drum against the seat.

"He was so worried."

Kieran exhales. "On the first day, he simply waited."

Luke nods. "Second day, he sent people out. Checked hospitals. Crime scenes."

Kieran’s head tilts. "By day three… well, we all knew something had to bleed."

Your stomach drops.

Luke stretches, relaxed. "Four syndicates fell in one night. Just in case one of them had you."

Kieran sighs. "On the fourth day, he realized that wasn’t enough."

Luke hums. "So he started getting creative."

Your breath hitches. "Creative?"

Kieran taps his chin. "That warehouse in N109 Zone? The one that burned to the ground?"

Luke leans closer. "Day five. Still no sign of you. He collapsed an entire district."

Kieran shrugs. "Nothing personal. Just a message."

Luke tilts his head. "And then day six came."

A beat of silence.

Kieran chuckles. "You know, Miss… If you hadn’t shown up today, N109 Zone would’ve been repainted in blood by sundown."

Luke sighs dreamily. "It still might be."

Your blood turns to ice.

And then—Luke’s head tilts toward you.

"Now…?"

Kieran completes it, a beat later.

"Now he has you."

The car slows. Your chest tightens. And then—you realize where you are.

N109 Zone. His estate.

The car door swings open—

And you’re hauled out like luggage.

"Handle with care," Luke hums.

“I am handling with care," Kieran murmurs.

They carry you inside. Set you down with eerie gentleness. Smooth out your jacket. Brush imaginary dust off your shoulders.

Then—they step back. Bow, deep and slow.

“Welcome home, Miss.”

And then—they’re gone.

You whirl after them. “HEY—”

A quiet sound.

Fabric rustling. A slow, deliberate exhale.

You freeze.

And then—you turn.

Sylus is standing across the room. Calm. Collected. Expression unreadable.

But his eyes. They burn.

You swallow.

“What the fuck was that?” you snap, motioning toward the door.

Silence.

He just… watches you.

Then—slowly, smoothly—

He shrugs off his jacket. Lets it fall onto the chair. His fingers move to his cuffs. Undoing them.

One. Then the other.

Rolling his sleeves up, inch by inch.

Your stomach twists.

“Sylus.”

He doesn’t answer. His hands move to his belt. He unbuckles it. Pulls it free.

And you—

You fucking run.

You BOLT.

Straight toward the door. It’s locked.

You curse.

Behind you—he clicks his tongue.

“Oh, Kitten,” he murmurs, voice low, almost amused.

You spin, darting behind the desk. He follows. Casually. Slowly.

“You disappear for six days,” he murmurs, voice smooth, mocking, deadly.

You sidestep. He matches you.

“You ignore my calls.”

You swerve left. He steps right.

“I tear this city apart looking for you.”

You dodge back. He adjusts effortlessly.

“And now,” he exhales, tilting his head, smirking lazily, “you’re running.”

You hurl a stapler at him. He catches it. Drops it. Sighs.

Then—his patience snaps.

A sharp pulse of red energy explodes outward. The desk flips. The chairs crash against the wall.

And suddenly—

You are out of places to run. Before you can move—

He has you.

A sharp yelp rips from your throat as he grabs you, spins, and drops into his chair—

Bringing you down over his lap.

Your breath catches. “Sylus—”

"Ah, ah, ah.”

His palm glides down your back. Teasing. Amused. Smug.

"You made a very poor choice, Kitten."

Your heart pounds. His fingers hook into your waistband. And in one sharp motion—

He pulls your pants down.

Your entire body jolts. “Wait—”

The first smack lands. Sharp. Stinging.

You jerk violently.

Then—the second.

Then—the third.

“Sylus—you absolute bastard!”

A low chuckle vibrates through his chest.

“Six days, Sweetie.”

Another smack.

“You think you get away with that?”

You snarl, thrashing. “You—I’ll kill you!”

"Oh?" His hand presses against your lower back, keeping you pinned.

Then—lower now, smooth as silk, dripping with mockery—

“You sure you can handle that right now?”

You growl.

And then—

You bite him. Hard. Right on the thigh.

His breath hitches. Then—a slow, dangerous laugh.

He grabs you. Turns you over, setting you between his legs, hands gripping your chin—forcing you to look at him.

And then—

You see it. The rage is gone.

And in its place—

Something raw. Something wrecked. Like he’s aged years in just six days.

His voice—when it comes—is low. Hoarse. Unsteady.

“…I thought Ever carved you up for spare parts.”

Your stomach drops.

"You really think," his fingers twitch against your skin, "I was just waiting?"

His eyes flick over your face, scanning, memorizing. And then—softer now, almost broken—

"If you hadn’t come back tomorrow, I would’ve wiped them off the face of the earth."

Your eyes sting. Your hands reach for him, trembling.

You slide forward, onto his lap.

His breath stutters.

And then—you kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Unyielding.

He shudders.

Then—his hands clench around your waist, crushing you to him. When he pulls back—forehead pressed against yours, breath uneven—

“…Next time you disappear,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, voice shaking with something terrifyingly real, “I’m not looking for you.”

Your heart cracks. You shake your head. You cup his face. Hold him there.

“…You won’t have to.”

Silence.

Then—

His grip tightens. And just like that—

He is never letting you go again.

❄️🩸💔 Zayne

You already know where he is.

Zayne isn’t home. Of course, he isn’t.

So you do the only thing that makes sense—you head straight for Akso Hospital.

By the time you step through the pristine glass doors, you’re already talking.

“I know how this looks, but I can explain—”

And then—you see him.

Standing near the nurses’ station, uniform crisp, posture rigid, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat like he’s carved from ice.

For a second—just a second—his breath catches.

But then—

A switch flips. His entire presence shifts.

Cold. Professional. Untouchable.

His eyes meet yours. And he says nothing.

No relief. No anger. Nothing.

Just pure, hollow emptiness.

You swallow hard. Force yourself to continue.

“Zayne—”

“You need medical attention.”

His voice is calm. Impersonal. A doctor speaking to a patient. Not the man you know.

Your stomach twists.

He doesn’t ask where you’ve been. Doesn’t ask why you disappeared. Instead—he starts listing symptoms.

“You’re pale. Have you lost blood?”

You inhale sharply. “Zay—”

“Concussion?”

“No—”

“Fever? Infection?”

His eyes flick to your scraped knuckles, the dried blood on your sleeve.

And you realize—

He’s not angry. He’s protecting himself. He’s shutting down. Like he already convinced himself you weren’t coming back. Like he already mourned you.

And something inside you breaks.

Your legs wobble.

You sway—

And then—

You collapse.

The reaction is instantaneous.

A sharp inhale. A rush of movement. A sudden, firm grip catching you before you hit the ground.

Zayne’s arms lock around you. One around your back, one under your legs, holding you effortlessly. His breathing is uneven. His fingers tremble against your skin.

“Hey—!” His voice is no longer detached. It’s urgent. Terrified.

He tilts your face up, eyes scanning for injuries, pupils blown wide with panic.

"You—" His breath shudders. “Shit, you're—”

But you don’t answer. Because you keep your eyes closed. Because you know exactly what you’re doing.

And for a moment, it works. For a moment, he’s yours again. For a moment, his walls are completely, irreparably shattered.

Then—

His steps slow. His breathing evens.

And suddenly—

He stops. And you feel it. That one single, damning second of realization.

Your eyes are closed, but you can hear it. The sharp, cold click in his mind as he figures it out.

His arms loosen. Too loose. Too fast.

And suddenly—you're falling.

You gasp sharply, hands instinctively grabbing at him—

But he catches you at the last second, lowering you onto the cold, sterile floor of his office with just enough control to keep you from truly getting hurt.

But barely.

His jaw is tight. His nostrils flare. His hands press into his thighs like he’s physically holding himself back from losing control.

Then—flat, quiet, lethal—

“You lied.”

Your stomach drops. You open your mouth—and then you feel it.

A sharp, aching throb in your knee. It hits all at once—the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of everything that happened.

Your throat tightens.

And then—before you can stop it—

Tears prick at your eyes.

Your voice comes out small, weak, broken.

“Zayne… my leg hurts.”

Everything stops. The air in the room shifts.

And suddenly—

The rage is gone. His walls crumble.

His gaze snaps to your knee—swollen, bruised, torn fabric revealing skin already darkening with a deep, painful contusion.

And just like that—he’s on his knees. The doctor in him takes over.

His hands tremble as they press to your leg, fingertips ghosting over the bruised flesh like it physically pains him to touch.

He leans down. And presses a soft, lingering kiss to the bruised skin.

Your breath catches.

His forehead presses gently against your knee. And then—a whisper, barely audible, like he’s afraid of his own voice.

“…I lost you.”

Your heart cracks wide open.

He inhales sharply, his fingers tightening against your leg, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real.

You slide off the chair. Sink onto the cold, sterile floor. Your hands come up, cup his face.

His breath stutters.

You press your forehead to his.

Hot. Unwavering. Eternal.

“Only death could take me from you.”

His eyes squeeze shut. And when they open again—

There’s nothing left but raw, agonizing devotion.

Then—

His hands reach for you. And this time, he doesn’t let go.

🪑🍎🎖️ Caleb

The door clicks shut behind you.

Something feels wrong. The air is too still. Too perfectly controlled.

And then—you see it.

The chair.

Placed dead center in the room.

The apartment is spotless. Too spotless. Like someone scrubbed it raw, wiped away every trace of warmth, every sign of life.

Your stomach tightens. And then—a voice.

Cold. Measured. Absolute.

"Sit down."

You turn sharply—

And there he is.

Colonel Caleb. Not your Caleb.

Not the man who kisses your forehead every morning. Not the man who makes you breakfast even when he’s running on two hours of sleep.

No.

This is the soldier. The commander. The man who could level entire cities with a single order.

And you are his captive.

Your jaw tightens. “Caleb, what the hell—”

"Sit. Down."

Your spine stiffens. “No.”

A flick of his fingers. The chair scrapes forward, slamming into the back of your knees.

You stumble, cursing—

But before you can react—a force clamps around you. G-forces shift. Gravity bends. The chair drags you back to the center of the room.

Then—weight locks around your limbs. You can’t stand. Can’t move. Your pulse spikes.

His face is unreadable. His eyes—stormy, dark, endless.

Like he hasn’t slept in six days.

A tablet activates in his hand.

Several floating screens appear around you, flickering with surveillance footage.

And then—his interrogation begins.

His voice is calm. Clinical. Devoid of warmth.

"In the hours before your disappearance, this man entered your building. Do you know him?"

You blink. “What—?”

He gestures at the screen. A blurry security cam shot.

You squint. “That’s—a fucking courier.”

"Interesting."

A swipe of his fingers. Another screen appears.

"You placed an order at a bookstore six days ago. Three books were delivered. For what purpose?"

You stare. “...For reading?”

His brows twitch.

"Curious. You spoke to the courier for over five minutes. What was discussed?"

Your hands clench into fists. “How the hell would I know?”

A beat of silence.

Then—softer now, dangerous in its evenness—

"You really expect me to believe you don’t remember?"

Your blood boils. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

He swipes again. More footage. More records. More evidence that means nothing.

And you snap.

"You are losing your fucking mind."

His jaw tightens.

And then—

The gravity releases.

You lurch forward, finally able to move—

But before you can get up—

he’s already there.

A single step. One hand gripping the back of your chair, tilting it back—

His face is inches from yours. His gaze burns.

"Are you fucking someone else?"

Your breath catches. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

And then—

You laugh.

Sharp. Bitter. Furious.

You gesture at yourself—the dirt, the bruises, the blood still crusted on your sleeve.

“Look at me, Caleb.”

He doesn’t move.

“Does this look like a woman having an affair?”

His fingers twitch against the chair. His voice drops to a whisper.

"I’m on the edge of it."

Your chest tightens.

“I don’t doubt that, you psychopath.” You shove against his arm, but he doesn’t budge. “Now let me up so I can strangle you.”

His fingers loosen.

And then—

"Six days."

Your breath hitches. His hand moves. Curls around your jaw, firm but careful.

"Six days. Eight thousand six hundred forty minutes."

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone.

"I couldn't breathe without pain."

Your throat tightens. Your rage collapses into something else entirely.

“Caleb—”

"I searched. I traced every lead. I turned this country inside out."

His voice wavers.

And then—softer, rawer, almost desperate—

"If you hadn’t come back, I would have burned everything to the ground."

Your chest aches.

“…I had a mission. It was classified.”

His jaw twitches.

"Then tell me—" His voice turns sharp, edged with something almost pleading. "Tell me you weren’t running."

You exhale shakily.

“You’re so obsessed with losing me, Caleb—maybe that’s why you always do.”

Silence.

Something in his face breaks. He straightens. Turns away.

Leaves.

The door slams.

And you collapse to your knees. Your hands come up—cover your face—

And finally, finally, the tears fall.

But then—

A soft creak. A shift in the air. Warmth.

Arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a crushing embrace.

You freeze.

His voice is hoarse, quiet, trembling with something raw.

"You’re the only one who can destroy me without lifting a hand."

Your breath shudders. His grip tightens.

"One word from you," he murmurs, "and I’m gone."

You shake your head.

“Caleb…”

His forehead presses against your shoulder.

"I tried. Every day. Every second. I tried not to hold on too tight." He exhales shakily. "But I can’t."

Your heart clenches.

“Caleb, I always come back.”

He flinches.

You pull back just enough to cup his face. His eyes are stormy, desperate, flickering with pain.

"You have to trust me."

His lips part, but no sound comes out.

Then—barely above a whisper—

"I can't lose you."

Your fingers tighten against his jaw.

"You won’t."

Silence.

Then—

He kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Devouring. Starved.

His hands tangle in your hair, holding you to him like he’ll die if you pull away.

A single tear escapes down his cheek. And you catch it with your lips.

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Caleb, I’m so sorry.”

His breath shudders. He shakes his head. 

“No.” His voice breaks. "You don’t apologize to me." 

Your brows furrow. “Caleb—” 

He swallows. 

"If you’re better off without me—" 

Your hand flies up, slaps over his mouth. He freezes. Tears well in your eyes. 

“Don’t. Say. That.” His chest rises sharply. You lean in, press your forehead to his. 

“…You are my universe,” you whisper. 

His hands shake against your back. 

“No matter what we do, no matter what happens—” You press your lips to his, slow, deep, endless. “I will always come back to you.” 

His breath shudders against your lips.

And then—his voice drops, quiet but unshakable. 

"You will never disappear on me again without warning. Not now. Not ever."

🗡✨🌥 Xavier 

The door clicks shut behind you.

You barely take a step inside before a voice cuts through the air—

Calm. Measured. Unshakable.

"Ah." A quiet exhale. "Look who finally remembered they have a home."

You freeze.

Xavier is already there.

Sitting in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a book balanced in his hand—like your sudden reappearance was nothing more than an interesting plot twist.

He doesn’t look up immediately. He finishes the sentence he’s reading first.

Then—calmly, unhurriedly—he turns the page.

And finally—his gaze lifts to yours.

Cold. Slow. Too calculating.

"Six days."

Your stomach tightens. "Xav—"

"Mm. No." He holds up a single finger.

The room falls silent. And somehow, that’s worse.

You watch as he closes the book. Carefully. Precisely. Then—without breaking eye contact—he sets it aside.

And then—a small smile.

Soft. Almost friendly.

Which means you’re in deep, deep trouble.

"You look tired," he murmurs, tilting his head. "Traveling, were you?"

You exhale. "Xavier—"

"Oh, no. Let me guess." His fingers tap idly against the armrest. "You were simply busy."

A pause.

"Too busy, in fact, to answer a single message."

Your jaw tightens. "It wasn’t—"

"Ah," he interrupts softly, as if realizing something.

His eyes flick over your torn sleeve, the faint bruises on your arms. Then, slowly—he smiles.

"Or," he murmurs, "did you lose your phone again?"

Your stomach drops. Because he knows.

You inhale sharply. "Xav—"

He shakes his head.

"No, it’s alright. I understand." He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his knuckles. "I’m sure you had an excellent reason."

A beat of silence. Then—mild amusement, carefully laced with steel:

"Would you like to tell me what it was?"

You hesitate.

Because you were on a mission. A classified one.

Because he wasn’t supposed to know. Because you work together.

And yet—he knew nothing.

You try anyway.

"I had a—"

"A mission?" His brow lifts, a polite flicker of curiosity. "Fascinating."

His tone is smooth, unbothered. And that—that is when you know how angry he really is.

He gestures vaguely toward the stacks of reports on the table.

"Tell me, darling, which mission was it?"

You swallow hard. "I can’t—"

"Mm. Right. Classified."

Another small nod. A slow, deliberate blink.

"As are all major operations within the Association."

His fingers drum lightly against the armrest.

"And yet, strangely—" He tilts his head. "Not a single record of your assignment exists."

You say nothing.

Xavier exhales through his nose—almost disappointed.

"And here I thought," he murmurs, "we were supposed to trust each other."

You flinch.

His gaze softens. Not with kindness. But with something far worse.

Pity.

"You must have had your reasons, of course," he muses.

A small sigh, like he’s humoring a child.

"I imagine you thought it was necessary. Sensible, even."

His fingers lace together.

"Just as I found it necessary to send out a search party on day three."

Your breath catches.

"You what?"

He hums.

"By day four, I expanded my resources. You'd be surprised how quickly information spreads when you know where to look."

Your hands clench.

"Xavier—"

"Day five, I began considering alternative outcomes. Some of them, admittedly, rather unpleasant."

A flicker of something colder in his expression.

"Ever been forced to sit in a room full of people trying to convince you that your partner is dead?"

Your stomach turns.

"Xavier, I wasn’t—"

He clicks his tongue.

"Day six, I received word that you had finally resurfaced."

He leans back. Folds his arms. And then—a soft chuckle, utterly humorless.

"Imagine my relief."

Silence.

You exhale sharply. "Xav, I—"

"Did you know," he interrupts, voice light, conversational, detached, "that people tend to avoid looking a grieving man in the eye?"

Your throat tightens.

"Not that I was grieving, of course." He taps a finger against his chin. "I don’t make a habit of mourning people until I see a body."

He tilts his head slightly, studying you.

"But I imagine it must have been quite the inconvenience, being dead for six days."

Your chest tightens.

"You think I wanted to—"

"Oh, I know," he murmurs. "You didn’t want to disappear."

His voice lowers.

"But you still did."

And for the first time—he is no longer smirking. His blue eyes bore into yours, steady, sharp.

"You made a decision that left me in the dark."

A long, slow breath.

"And I need to know," he says softly, "if you would do it again."

Silence.

You don’t have an answer. You don’t think there is one.

He exhales.

Finally, he leans back. Gazes at you for a moment longer.

Then, calmly—he stands. Smooth. Effortless. Precise. And then—he walks past you.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

"Xavier—"

He doesn’t stop. You push to your feet.

"Xavier, you’re coming back, right?"

Finally—he pauses. Turns his head, just slightly.

And then—

"Ask me again in six days."

The door closes behind him. And this time—you’re the one left behind.

🧜🏻‍♂️🧑🏻‍🎨🌊 Rafayel 

You are exhausted.

Every part of you aches. Your body demands sleep, warmth, peace.

Instead—

You come home to chaos.

Loud music. Laughter. The scent of wine, perfume, candle wax, and indulgence.

And then—the sight of him.

Rafayel.

Lounging near the pool, half-leaning against an ornate chair, a glass of red wine dangling lazily between his fingers.

His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to hint at toned muscle beneath, his sleeves rolled up, his perfectly tousled hair falling over his forehead in an effortlessly careless way.

And surrounding him—beautiful women.

Drinking, laughing, leaning toward him like he’s some fallen deity of temptation and excess.

Your stomach twists. A tight, burning rage coils in your chest.

And then—

He sees you. His eyes widen—just slightly. And then—a slow, almost lazy smirk.

"Ah." He lifts his glass dramatically, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look who's finally returned!"

You tense.

He rises to his feet, arms spread as if welcoming royalty.

"My muse. My inspiration."

His voice carries over the music, over the murmurs of people starting to notice the tension.

"The very heart of my art!"

A sweeping gesture.

And then—

He motions toward the canvas-lined walls.

Your breath catches. Because they’re all of you. Dozens of paintings.

But—ruined.

Slashes through the canvas.

Paint smeared and splattered over your likeness like an artist in rage, in agony, in heartbreak.

The fury in you erupts. Your voice cuts through the music.

"What the actual fuck is this?!"

He gasps, mock scandalized.

"Oh, you don’t like them? What a tragedy!"

He downs the rest of his wine in one smooth gulp, tossing the glass aside with a careless flick of his wrist.

Then—he grins.

Crooked. Reckless. Infuriating.

"And here I was, drowning in sorrow, channeling my unbearable suffering into art."

A sigh.

"But alas." He shrugs dramatically. "Seems the muse herself has returned."

You march toward him. He tilts his head.

"Careful, cutie. You seem upset."

"You’re a fucking disaster."

He laughs.

"You’re six days late to that realization."

You grab his wrist, yanking him toward the exit.

“We’re talking. Now.”

His body moves, but his feet don’t follow. Instead—he pulls against your grip.

His smile widens.

"Oh?" His voice drips with amusement. "Dragging me away already? Jealous, cutie?"

Your jaw clenches.

"This is pathetic."

Another laugh, lighter this time.

"Ah, but it was all I had!" He places a hand over his heart. Theatrical. Overdramatic. Perfectly insufferable.

You snap.

And shove him into the pool.

He barely has time to react—water crashes around him, drenching his white shirt, dragging him under.

And for a brief, glorious second—silence.

Until—

His hand grabs your wrist. You yelp, but it’s too late.

He pulls you down with him.

Cold water engulfs you, shocking your senses.

When you resurface, gasping, furious, he’s already brushing his hair back, blinking at you through wet lashes.

And suddenly—

The playfulness is gone. The crowd has vanished. Thomas made sure of it.

And now—it’s just you and him.

And for the first time tonight—he’s quiet. His voice is lower, slower.

"You storm into my house. Onto my estate. Into my party. And then..."

He gestures lazily toward the water.

"You throw me in my own fucking pool?"

You pant, teeth gritted. “Your—house? Great! I’ll leave you in your fucking house—”

You turn to climb out—

And he grabs you again. A firm grip. Unshaking.

His eyes—darker now. Sharper. Focused.

"Make another move, cutie." His voice is dangerously low.

"And we’ll have problems."

You glare. "Let. Go."

He doesn’t. Instead—he pulls you closer.

“You’re not walking away from this.”

Your pulse spikes.

"Rafayel—"

"Do it," he whispers. "Say it to my face."

Your breath catches.

"You want to leave?" His hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer, forcing you to feel the heat radiating from his soaked body.

"Then say it."

Your hands shake. You flick water into his face, desperate to break the tension.

He doesn’t even blink. Instead—his eyes drop.

To your clothes.

Soaked. Clinging. Revealing everything.

His pupils darken. And then—his jaw tightens.

"You left me for six days," he murmurs.

Your breath stutters.

"I left for work, not you, you hysterical maniac."

He tilts his head.

"That’s the same thing. And your phone?"

"A Wanderer shattered it!"

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Ah, yes. And I suppose you were also too busy fighting for your life to send me one. Single. Fucking. Message?"

You exhale sharply. "Raf, you’re insufferable. A party? Seriously?"

"How else am I supposed to handle soul-crushing heartbreak?"

His voice drops.

"Tell me, cutie." His fingers skim your waist, trailing fire in their wake. "How else was I supposed to drown my suffering?"

He leans in, breath hot against your lips.

And then—

He kisses you. Desperate. Possessive.

Your legs wrap around his waist, instinct taking over.

His grip tightens.

"You threw me in a pool," he whispers against your lips.

"You deserved it."

His fingers dig into your hips.

"You waltz in after six days and just—throw me?"

"Maybe I should throw you again."

He grins against your skin.

"I should make you pay for that."

"Raf—"

"Mm. Shh."

His hands travel lower, pressing you harder against him.

Your breathing turns shallow.

"Your paintings," you murmur.

"I’ll paint more."

"You hated me for six days."

"Endlessly." He kisses your throat, voice dropping further.

"You didn’t want to see me again?"

He grins against your collarbone.

"Try leaving me again, cutie."

His grip tightens, unshakable.

His breath is hot against your ear.

"And I promise—"

His hips press forward, slow and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt of heat through you.

"You won’t be able to walk for a week."

[duchess-of-mandalore]

If Filoni were smart, he'd make Satine Kryze a main character in the new Maul: Shadow Lord show and I am 1000% serious.

We know Maul stole Satine’s portrait from Sundari. We see it in his lair in Rebels, where he sets up a kind of shrine which includes Satine's portrait and the Darksaber Maul used to kill her. We also see that he has scrawled "KENOBI" on the wall in the Mando'a script.

It's implied that Maul physically attacks the portrait. He slashes Satine's throat (over and over), which suggests that the need for revenge against Obi-Wan that he had hoped would be satisfied by killing Satine still resides in him.

He also scratches out her eyes, which doesn't make a lot of sense until you remember that in the Rebels episode "Twin Suns" Maul. was originally going to be plagued by visions of Savage and Satine while he goes mad in the Tatooine deserts. Filoni pretty quickly cut this for time (boooooo), but it makes the fact that Maul scratches out Satine's eyes make sense because it suggests that he still feels Satine watching him.

(The place Satine occupies in Maul's mind is also suggested by an earlier script/storyboard of Maul and Obi-Wan's final showdown. If you can't read the chicken-scratch, Maul's line is, "I took your master. I took your beloved ... I will hunt down whatever ... no ... whoever it is you are protecting and take them as well.")

But the thing is, it doesn't make sense if Maul is only seeing these visions because he's dying of dehydration or heat stroke in the desert. It only makes sense if Maul was having the visions of her long before he ever went to Tatooine.

So imagine Maul ... fresh off his defeat on Mandalore and acclimating to a new galaxy ruled by the Sith he'd hoped to defeat. The criminal enterprises he pursues will surely tie back to the crime syndicates that he helped form alliances with for Pre Vizsla and Death Watch.

Maul's amassing power (and apparently training a padawan) but all the while ... popping up at the most inopportune times, is the Duchess of Mandalore (whom no one else can see, of course) either standing serenely in the background and (in Maul's mind) silently judging him for all of his criminal dealings, or perhaps even interjecting her own opinions, most of which are reminding Maul of how wrong everything he is doing is.

Just imagine how funny the bickering would be:

"You could trust your lackeys more if you treated them as allies instead of slugs to be trod upon. Perhaps you'd even find a friend." "Go away. Or if you won't, at least shut up." "Domination will never make you feel whole, and strength attained through intimidation is hollow." "You know nothing of strength. I killed you." "You didn't do a very good job."

At the same time, perhaps Maul recognizes that Satine's voice in his head is a call to the Light that he has always rejected. How she was at peace before her death and how he could have that peace too, if only he would turn from the path of revenge that he thinks is the only way.

The tragedy is that Maul would never be able to listen to Satine, even if a part of him wants the peace she offers. Her presence instead drives him to the place of insanity we see in Rebels and ultimately to Tatooine, where he is (mercifully) put out of his misery by Obi-Wan.

His enemy comforts him, showing him the same love that Satine has always promised is possible, but with his last words, he still holds on to the belief that vengeance is coming (for both him and Obi-Wan).

His eyes close, and in the last shot we see Satine (the last manifestation of Maul's conscious mind? An apparition? A Force ghost?) still watching over him as he lies in her beloved Jedi's arms.

[kitkat13001]

✦ — 5. jump the gun

⋆.˚✮ prev ⟡ m. list ⟡ next ✮ 3.2k words

-> hitoshi shinsou x pro-hero!reader

✮ something unexpected happens during the shipment raid, and you and hitoshi are forced to hide away. it’s hard to hide feelings in such close quarters, isn’t it? ✮ tracklist: trouble - cage the elephant, take me to church - hozier, here with me - d4vid, young folks - peter bjorn and john, wildflower - billie eilish

“you should lay off on the caffeine, you know. i can see you jittering from all the way over here.”

you scowl when hitoshi’s voice fills your ear. you glare at him from where he’s standing opposite you on a rooftop across the street, even though from that distance you know he can’t see your expression. “oh, i know mr. existential eyebags is not talking right now,” you retort, and you can hear him snort over the comms. 

you two have been perched here for hours already, and the eveningg sun is beaming down on you. needless to say, the heat has made you both a little testy. 

still, things are…different now. they’ve been different, of course, but they’re a good different now. ever since that night at the aizawa house, it feels like you have some part of you back. like you have some part of hitoshi back. there’s no malice behind your bickering, and you can sit in silence without feeling suffocated by the distance between you. 

you’ve managed to capture a couple other grunts from the syndicate, but all of them had said the same thing as the first. the shipment is supposed to come in tonight, so you and hitoshi are on stakeout until then. 

it’s not a bad location for an illegal exchange. it’s the backwaters of the city, mostly abandoned even now in the daytime. there’s a couple of buildings, then a sea of warehouses all the way out to the docks. you don’t know exactly which one will be the location, hence the waiting. 

you’re there for hours longer, the evening sun beginning to dip behind the cityscape, when there’s finally a sign of movement. 

you jump to attention, signaling hitoshi when a boat approaches the docks. you both line up in position, keeping to the shadows of the rooftops as you follow the small group of people toting large black crates.

they all disappear into a warehouse off to your left and the two of you pivot in silent pursuit. 

you meet on the roof, both of you trying to peer into the darkness below. hitoshi signals you before moving to drop down from an opening near the middle, ready to apprehend whoever is inside. 

you’re right behind him, nothing but trust as you drop down into the abyss at his side. 

you hit the floor without a sound, waiting for a moment with bated breath, unable to see anything in the black of the warehouse. you listen for something, any sign of hitoshi (who should be right in front of you), but there’s only silence. 

you flinch when blinding lights come on, only worsening your vision. 

you hear hitoshi shout your name, and then blows landing as you blink rapidly to regain vision. 

the first thing you see is hitoshi, locked in combat with figures dressed in all black. he’s on the defensive, his back to you as he tries to entangle as many of them as he can. and oh, are there many. the entire warehouse is filled with nameless, shapeless villains. enigmas dressed in identical black suits and masks, attacking from every angle. you’re quick to run to hitoshi’s aid, but even with both of you fighting at max strength, there’s too many. 

it’s all you can do to keep them off, hitoshi at your back yelling to retreat. 

“we need to get out of here and call for backup!” you urge, scanning for an opening as hitoshi jumps in front of you to give you cover. 

the two of you burst out of the warehouse, momentarily blinded by the setting sun as you flee. 

hitoshi takes to the air, whipping his capture weapon up to the buildings above and swinging. your muscles burn as you run to catch up, but he’s getting farther and farther ahead. 

“jump!” he shouts, arm outstretched to you with panic in his eyes. you’re falling too far behind. you won’t make it. 

“i can’t!” you yell back, whipping your head back to see the hordes of lackeys gaining on you. 

you won’t reach him in time, but maybe you could help him get away…

your quirk is combat-efficient — good for attack and defense. you could take a stand, hold off the syndicate until hitoshi gets away and calls for backup. 

he sees the flicker of trouble in your eyes, you can tell by the way his expression sharpens and his pupils dilate. his mouth is forming the shape of a shouted “no!” but you’re already scaling the side of a building. you stare down for a second at the mob below, steeling yourself, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you launch off the ledge. 

there’s a moment as you jump, hair whipping in the wind and thinking of hitoshi, where time freezes in midair. you feel strong and capable, like nothing could stop you. this crowd of villains beneath you is nothing. and that maybe, just maybe this minuscule act is a step towards repaying hitoshi for everything he’s done for you, to repent for all the wrong you’ve done him (even though he’s insisted he never held it against you). 

it’s a fleeting moment of infinite power as you arc through the air, time frozen for one brief second before something seizes you around the middle and suddenly you’re flying backwards. 

you scream, hands darting to whatever’s caught you around the waist to disentangle yourself. your fingers close around familiar fabric that you barely have time to register and then your back collides with something warm and solid. hitoshi’s arm is wrapped tight around your waist and you’re sailing backwards as he swings away on his capture scarf. 

it’s a scene right out of the spider-man comics you two would read in high school, hitoshi swinging away in midair with you in his arms, both of you battle-rugged and windswept. 

you cling tight to him as you sail away, eyes watering from more than just the biting wind. you ball your fingers in the fabric of his suit, your silent thank-you for the save. 

“i’m not gonna lose you for something as stupid as that…!” he says, though you can barely hear it over the wind. even with your stomach tied up in knots you don’t say anything back, just grip him that little bit tighter. 

edgeshot had given you an address to go to in the event anything were to go wrong on this mission. he made you memorize it, assured you no one besides you and him would know about it. a safe house of sorts, a place to wait while backup is enacted. 

you and hitoshi make quite the sight standing in front of it now. both of you are disheveled, covered in dirt and some blood, bodies heavy with exhaustion as you trudge into the lobby of an upscale hotel. 

you slide your hero id across the counter to the meek-looking attendant, who takes it and scurries off to find their boss in the back. you and hitoshi wait in silence for a long moment before someone else comes out to show you to your room. 

none of you speak until the attendant stops on one of the top floors, standing in front of a door at the end of the deserted hall. you wait for them to indicate a second room, but they turn to leave as soon as they hand you a key. 

you and hitoshi exchange an odd glance. maybe the rooms are adjoining…?

you open the door, ready to collapse on the bed and forget the entire day altogether. the room itself is nice, spacious enough and spotlessly clean, with a large glass door that opens out to a balcony. 

and one big, comfortable bed. 

“you’re kidding,” you deadpan, staring in disbelief. one bed. one room. one key. and no adjoining door. 

you can feel the rage creeping up your neck like insects on a hot summer day. your entire body hurts from the day’s actions, you haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, and you’re still a little raw and emotionally vulnerable from your close-call and save earlier. and now you won’t get even a moment to yourself. 

“of all the fuckin’ ways to cut a budget!” you snap, throwing your shoes down carelessly and resisting the urge to put your fist (or head) through the wall. 

it’s not that you’re opposed to sharing the room with hitoshi. it’s not the first time, not by a longshot. but after the whiplash today has been, you’re not sure you can sort out or confront your feelings just yet. 

hitoshi just heaves a sigh, still standing unmoved by the door. “whatever. i’ll take the floor then, i could really care less.”

you don’t say anything else, shedding the adornments on your hero costume as you tromp over to the bathroom and lock yourself in. you slide down the door, head in your hands. you sit like that for a long time while the water runs, trying to collect yourself. 

you’re not sure how long you spend in the shower (though you’re certain it’s a very long time), and the hot water mellows you out. you take your sweet time getting out, changing into lounge clothes you’ve found in one of the drawers. you stare at yourself in the mirror for a long time, trying to decipher if you look any different. sure feels like it, anyway. 

steam billows out of the bathroom when you open the door and hitoshi looks up, staring at you with a look that’s hard to read. he doesn’t say anything, the flash of a ghost smile, and then he’s disappearing into the bathroom for an equally long shower. 

you lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a while and trying to make sense of the day. 

guilt begins to creep up when you think too hard about it. the mean voices in your head you thought you were rid of since climbing the charts are back. 

why didn’t you see it was a trap?

why couldn’t you get out of there faster? why couldn’t you even do your part and protect your partner? why was he the one who had to save you? 

why, why, why flying around your mind until you can’t take it anymore. you bury your face in the pillow and yell until you can’t hear them anymore, and then you put on the tv so you don’t have to sit in silence any longer. 

“no word from edgeshot?” you look up when hitoshi exits the bathroom. his purple hair is damp, hanging in his face and dripping. you try very hard not to stare at his exposed back muscles when he shuffles over to the drawers in search of clothes, gripping the towel around his waist for dear life. 

“no,” you reply, busying yourself with checking your phone. “still nothing.”

he hums, disappearing into the bathroom once more. 

you get up to poke around the rest of the room, but nothing seems out of place. it’s a regular hotel room, classy and spotless. 

hitoshi comes out again, dressed this time, and leans on the wall beside you where you’re rifling through the minifridge under the desk. 

“so what’s on the agenda for the night?”

“oh, i’ve got an idea,” you reply with a wicked grin, leaning back on your hands. “you know what they didn’t cut from the budget?”

hitoshi eyes the large bottle you’re holding up with skeptical eyes. “they’ll just take it out of our wage.”

you scoff, already popping the lid off. “who cares? we deserve a treat after this godawful day.”

hitoshi studies you for one second longer before he shrugs. “can’t argue with that, i guess.”

you grab two flimsy paper cups from the coffee station atop the fridge, sliding open the door to the balcony. the night air on your flushed face is so heavenly you almost laugh. 

the two of you take a seat on the balcony floor, the concrete cool on your skin even through your clothes. you stick your legs through the bars of the railing, letting your feet dangle over the city below. 

you make idle small talk for a while, more enjoying the silence than anything else. it’s nice, not having too much to say for once.

the drink is godsent, too. you can’t read the foreign label, but you can tell it’s fancy and it tastes expensive. once hitoshi’s cup tears, you both give up the feeble things and just share the bottle. 

“i didn’t get a chance to say earlier, but…thank you,” you say quietly after a minute, taking another sip. “for the save, i mean.”

hitoshi snorts, more to himself than to you. his fingers are warm against yours when he takes the bottle from you to drink. “like i was gonna let you get into all that trouble by yourself.”

“i could’ve handled it,” you insist, snatching the drink back from him. 

“that’s not the point.”

“and what was the point then?” you ask, bumping his shoulder with your own.

he heaves a dramatic sigh. “the point is that i wasn’t going to let you ‘sacrifice’ yourself for me when we were both going to get out fine. and i know you, so i knew you were going to do something stupid and end up hurt and i just didn’t want to see all that, not when there was something i could have done.”

you stare at him, though his gaze remains down at the bottle in his lap. your eyes wander his side profile, the crease of his eyebrow, the way his damp hair has dried fluffy and falling in his face, the flutter of his long lavender eyelashes (why do boys always have such long lashes?). 

you’re not sure what gives you the courage (probably the alcohol), but you let your head fall on his shoulder. 

he startles under you at first, but he doesn’t make any moves to get you off him. 

“sorry i made you worry,” you murmur. you feel the reverb of his chuckle. 

“can’t be helped, i guess. for what it’s worth, you were pretty great out there.”

you tilt your head up to grin at him. “even though the mission got fucked?”

he laughs this time, deep and full. “yeah, even then.”

you snake your hands around his arm, seeking his warmth as the breeze runs colder. he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind. 

“hey, ’toshi?”

“mm.”

“can i—”

“can you ask me something? you know you can just ask, right?”

you press your cheek further into his shoulder, bemused and almost embarrassed (but not quite). “whatever. i was going to say that it sounds weird but…”

“but what?” he hums, and you feel the weight of his head resting atop yours. 

“but i’m kind of…glad everything got all screwed up there at the end.”

“what do you mean?”

“i don’t know, i guess with the bust being moved up, i thought this was all going to end too fast,” you admit. hitoshi is silent, waiting for you to continue. “and i…it just felt like our time was running out too quick and we were just starting to get each other back and i…”

you turn your head again to be able to look up at him. “i missed you, ‘toshi. and i don’t want to let you go again.”

you’re close. you’re so close all over again, and now you’re remembering sitting on his bed with nothing but a hair’s width between your lips. it feels like you dreamt it, even though it was just a few days ago. neither of you had brought it up after that, and it had you wondering if that was ever even his intention. if it was, why didn’t he kiss you on the porch when you were both alone again? was he afraid? did he sense that you were afraid? 

why are you afraid? 

you look up into hitoshi’s deep purple eyes, which are low and centered entirely on you. but there’s no fear in them, just…want. a soft kind of fondness that’s hard to describe, a vision that you lose when your eyes flutter shut as you lean in to meet him halfway. 

it’s not like you’ve never kissed hitoshi before, but this time feels different somehow. more real, you guess. 

contrary to (incredibly) popular belief, you and hitoshi had never actually dated. 

you have been on a date, though. technically. in third year, when your class was formally invited as guests to the hero gala. 

it was like prom on steroids. everyone was partnering up by then, so you and hitoshi just…decided to go together. neither one of you specifically asked the other, nor did either of you specify if it was a date. it was just understood. so you picked out semi-matching outfits, he brought you one singular flower (your favorite), and you hung off each other’s arms all night. 

the first time you ever kissed was on the roof that night. the two of you had snuck some champagne, but that’s not the only reason. in all honesty, it was probably a long time coming. you felt then like you do now — like some weird string of coincidence led to the two of you to each other, and a deep desire in your gut to never let go.  

that night it felt like a dream, standing in the corner of the rooftop railing, wedged tight against each other, all fluttering lashes and glittery clothes and body heat. 

you’re awake tonight, every inch of your body alight with some kind of warmth that’s more than physical. you can taste the drink on his lips, smell the lavender of his shampoo. his bangs brush against your forehead and your hand comes up to brush against the side of his face.

it feels like both an eternity and barely a second, and when you pull away your eyes are still closed. 

when they open, he’s staring again. you’ve grown used to it, but you still feel your heart jump a little even after so long.

“what?” you ask, unable to wipe the dopey grin off your face. 

“nothing,” he replies, quirking a small smile in return as he turns his gaze back out to the city and takes another drink. 

you stay out there a long time after that, listening to the city noises beneath and gazing up at the stars barely visible in the deep night sky. you’re beginning to doze off on hitoshi’s shoulder when he finally says you should get back inside. 

you give a little noise of protest, not wanting the warmth of his arm around you to leave, but he puts them both around you to get you to your feet. 

you settle into bed in a sleepy daze, but prop yourself up on your elbows to find shinsou setting blankets down on the ground beside you. 

your bottom lip pushes out and you make a face when he lifts his eyebrow at the way you’re staring. 

“what?”

“i’m not going to make you sleep on the floor,” you huff out. “this is ridiculous, we’re both adults. just…just come up here before you make me feel even more stupid. we can file a complaint in the morning.”

he gives you another look, but shakes his head and lifts the covers to climb in beside you. 

his back is sturdy and warm against yours, reminiscent of times long past. 

it’s habit when you murmur a soft, “goodnight.”

it’s quiet, but you think you hear him say it back before you drift off. 

dividers by @/saradika-graphics, header by kitty with pics from pinterest!

taglist: @deadhands69 @frvv @cccandynecklaces @tokeposts @lover-no-lover61 @getvaccinated @accidentpronedork @crushmeeren @p4rkcha3w0n @cyberesc @bloomness @eloshifts @bythevay @cc1306 @nobodybutnnoorr (ask/comment if you’d like to be added!)

double series update whaattttt i am on a roll todayyy (controlling the only thing i know how to!!). estimating maybe two or three more chapters so we r getting down to the end of the line omggg 🫢🫣 hope you enjoyed this one!! looking forward to making u cry in the next one teehee 🤭

[sunshineangel0]

control. (part two) ⋆｡°

pairing- mafia boss!bang chan x enforcer!reader summary- What started as a mistake became routine—stolen moments behind locked doors, heated glances across the conference table, his hands on you when you should be working. Bang Chan is your boss, your leader, the man who holds the entire Syndicate in his palm—and yet, when it comes to you, control is nothing but an illusion. genre- mafia au, workplace romance, dark romance, forbidden relationship word count- 1.7k warnings- slight smut (fingering), powerplay, mentions of fights, implied dom/sub, power imbalance, choking, strong language, mentions of alcohol, bang chan being dangerously seductive a/n- part two of control since a few of you asked!! also this is my first time writing something rather explicit? i dont know, i just tried haha. part one

The first time, you convinced yourself it was a mistake.

It had been a moment of recklessness, a product of frayed tempers and adrenaline still thrumming beneath your skin. The aftermath of that meeting lingered like electricity in the air, neither of you willing to back down, to acknowledge what had just happened. You told yourself it was inevitable—two forces colliding, a fire catching where neither of you had intended to spark one.

But that didn’t mean it had to happen again.

The second time, you called it a lapse in judgment.

A late night, a dimly lit bar, the sharp burn of whiskey on your tongue. You had both been drinking, the tension between you settling into something looser, something more dangerous. One drink turned into two, into three. Words slurred, touches lingered. And before you knew it, your back was against cool sheets, your body aching in ways you hadn’t expected, hadn’t prepared for.

You woke up sore, his scent clinging to your skin, and still—you convinced yourself it was nothing.

The third time, you stopped pretending.

Because by then, this wasn’t just a fleeting moment of indulgence between the boss and his second-in-command. It wasn’t just the way his hands knew exactly where to grip, how to pull you apart, how to put you back together again.

It was in the way he looked at you in meetings, his gaze dark and knowing. The way his fingers would brush against yours when passing a drink, a silent reminder of the night before. The way he pulled you into his office between discussions of business and bloodshed, pressed you against his desk, and reminded you exactly who you belonged to—even if neither of you dared to say it out loud.

By the third time, you knew.

And there was no going back.

Now, it was every other night. Or during work. Or when he passed you in the hallway, and something in his gaze—low, knowing, dark with intent—set your skin on fire.

It never started the same way twice. But it always ended the same way.

Bodies tangled together. Breaths stolen. Whispers unraveling into the sheets.

Neither of you spoke about it. Not in words. But in the way his hand always found the small of your back when he walked past. The way his gaze lingered in meetings, dark and unreadable. The way he let you get away with more than anyone else ever could. That was its own kind of conversation.

You weren’t foolish enough to ask what it meant, either.

Not when Chan showed up at your door at 3 AM like clockwork. Not when he pulled you into the shadows between meetings, his lips claiming yours before either of you had time to think. Not when his hands pressed into your skin with desperation, his breath hot against your ear as he muttered your name like a curse, like a prayer.

Tonight, the city bled neon through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the office, casting streaks of red and blue across polished floors, across his skin. You were supposed to be working—sorting through the aftermath of a deal gone sideways—but the tension in the air had made it impossible.

Chan sat across from you, one hand wrapped around his glass, the other scrolling through something on his laptop. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms flexing as he frowned in concentration. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, a small, unconscious habit.

He looked effortless like this. Composed. In control. Unshaken, as if nothing touched him. It made you restless.

"You’re quiet tonight," Chan murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen.

You tilted your head, watching him. "Would you rather I entertain you?"

That got his attention. He glanced up, one brow lifting slightly, the corner of his mouth curving just so. "You always do."

Your smirk mirrored his, slow and deliberate. "And here I thought you didn’t enjoy distractions."

His fingers stilled against the touchpad.

For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you, gaze unreadable, heavy enough to send heat curling low in your stomach. Then, with unhurried precision, he stood up and pushed back his chair.

You knew what was coming before he moved.

The moment stretched, thick with anticipation, the kind that made your breath catch in your throat. Then he was standing, closing the space between you with slow, measured steps.

By the time he reached you, the air had turned stifling.

He planted both hands on either side of your chair, caging you in. His presence was suffocating, his scent wrapping around you—clean, warm, something sharp beneath the surface.

Chan leaned in, close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath against your lips.

"Is that what you want?" His voice was low, a murmur of amusement laced with something darker. "For me to be distracted?"

Your pulse jumped.

You held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching you falter. "It wouldn’t be the first time."

His jaw tightened. His eyes flickered over your face—your lips, the curve of your throat, the way your chest rose and fell just a little too quickly.

"Careful," he murmured. "You keep pushing, and you might get exactly what you want."

A slow smile curled at the corners of your mouth. "Would that be so bad?"

Chan exhaled sharply, his frustration bleeding through in the way his grip on the chair tightened. He dragged his gaze away, like he was trying to compose himself.

Then, in a voice lower than before, rougher, he said, "Get back to work."

You tilted your head, feigning curiosity. "Make me." The challenge hung between you like a lit fuse.

His fingers wrapped around your throat before you could blink—not tight, not rough, just enough to feel the weight of his hand. Just enough to remind you exactly who was in control.

Your breath hitched.

Chan’s thumb traced the rapid beat of your pulse, slow and deliberate. "You don’t know when to stop," he muttered.

You swallowed, the movement barely noticeable beneath his grip. "And you don’t know when to walk away." His eyes darkened.

His fingers flexed against your skin, as if considering. As if weighing whether he wanted to give in or let the tension simmer.

Then, just as you thought he might step back, his lips crashed against yours.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation curling low in your stomach. You barely had time to react before Chan’s mouth was on you again—hot, demanding, claiming every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. You gasped when he bit down, just enough to leave a mark, just enough to remind you that you were his to touch, to take.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails pressing through the fabric of his shirt as you arched into him, craving more, needing more. His hands were already moving, pushing beneath your shirt, palms skimming over your ribs, your stomach, fingers exploring with an agonizing slowness.

“Chan,” you breathed, half a plea, half a challenge.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration shooting straight through you. His grip on your waist tightened as he lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, his body slotting between your thighs, pressing into you in a way that made your head spin.

The edge of the desk bit into the backs of your thighs, but you barely noticed. Not when his hands were gripping your hips, fingers pressing bruises into your skin. Not when his mouth was back on yours, this time slower, deeper, a sharp contrast to the heat simmering between you.

“You always act so untouchable,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, teasing. “But look at you now.”

Your breath hitched as he slid his hands higher, fingers brushing over your ribs before slipping beneath the lace of your bra. His touch was firm, confident, leaving no space for doubt or hesitation.

“I could say the same about you,” you shot back, voice shakier than you intended. “Acting like you don’t want this just as much as I do.”

Chan let out a quiet laugh, dark and knowing, before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with something you recognized all too well.

“Oh, I don’t think that was ever in question,” he murmured, dragging his hands down your body, nails grazing just enough to make you squirm.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as he pushed your shirt up, his fingers splaying over your stomach before skimming lower, toying with the waistband of your skirt. His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, taking his time.

And then—just when you thought you’d have to beg for him to stop teasing—his fingers dipped beneath the fabric, pressing against the heat of you, finding you already soaked.

A low curse slipped past his lips. “Fuck. You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but Chan wasn’t having it. His fingers pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through you.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Tell me how badly you want this.”

Your body was already betraying you, hips rolling into his touch, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Still, you held onto what little defiance you had left.

“Why don’t you make me?” you whispered.

Chan’s eyes darkened, something dangerous flickering in them just before he kissed you again—this time harder, rougher, a clear punishment for your insolence. His fingers slipped past the last barrier of fabric, dipping into your heat, spreading you open with practiced ease.

A broken moan slipped past your lips as he worked you open, his touch firm and precise, his free hand bracing against your hip, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“You’re going to regret that,” he murmured against your throat, fingers curling inside you, stroking that spot that made you see stars.

You didn’t have time to respond before pleasure overtook you, your body shuddering beneath his hands, his name falling from your lips like a whispered prayer.

And from the look in his eyes, you knew—he wasn’t even close to being done with you.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

[auroralwriting]

illicit affairs chapter four

pairing: biker!bucky barnes x stark!reader

summary: bucky takes you home where he learns more about you and the stark syndicates

warnings: violence, language, small age gap (6~ years), angst, arguing, drinking, overall crime and gang stuff, sort of enemies to lovers

a/n: it's probably been more than six months since i last left off. thank you all for the support with this series. thank you to thunderbolts* for reminding me why i love bucky so much. we are so back.

: ̗̀➛ series masterlist | masterlist

"Bucky, do you think you could take Stark home for me?"

Bucky had frozen at Steve's words. Take her home? To Tony Stark's place? That was out of the question; absolutely no. The look on Steve's face, however, was a sign that Bucky wasn't going to get let off the hook for this one.

You had also frozen at Steve's words. Bucky Barnes taking you home? He had yet to once send you any sort of look that said, hey, you're alright. Plus, your history with him still wasn't the greatest. In some way, he was responsible for your parents untimely death. That much was a fact. You just didn't know how.

"Sure," Bucky hesitantly replied, still not looking at you, but giving a short nod to Steve.

Steve gave a tight smile, clapping Bucky on the shoulder before turning back to the group. You watched his broad frame, leaving you alone with the very person you’d rather avoid. Bucky still hadn’t looked at you, his jaw set and shoulders tense, as if bracing for impact.

“Ready?” he muttered, already moving toward the door. His metal arm swung slightly at his side, the vibranium catching the soft glow of the hallway lights. You'd always wondered about that arm. Story was he lost it in a fight, but for that sort of damage, there was no way it was a simple gang fight.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, the ghost of a dozen unsaid words lingering on your tongue. Then you followed, clutching your bag a little tighter, as if it could shield you from the strained silence that now filled the space between you.

The cool night air hit your face as you stepped out of The Grove, the neon lights of the city casting sharp shadows against the wet pavement. Bucky’s bike was parked a few feet away, its sleek black frame gleaming under the streetlights. He pulled a helmet from the back and held it out to you, still avoiding direct eye contact. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line as he waited for you to take it.

You hesitated for a second before grabbing it, the metal still warm from the ride over. You were acutely aware of how close you had to stand to him, the warmth of his body radiating through the cool night air. You slid the helmet on, catching a faint whiff of leather and gunpowder, a sharp scent.

“Get on,” he muttered, voice gruff, already swinging his leg over the bike. You felt your stomach flip as you climbed on behind him, the seat slightly higher than you expected, pushing you closer to him. You had to wrap your arms around his torso to steady yourself, fingers brushing against the cool metal of his arm. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed, a deep, steady breath escaping his lips.

"Tony's place?"

The engine roared to life beneath you, vibrating through your chest, making your heart race. "No, mine," you replied, giving him your personal address.

Bucky kicked off the stand and pulled out onto the street, the world around you becoming a blur of lights and sound as he weaved through traffic with ease. You tightened your grip instinctively, pressing yourself closer to his broad back, feeling the solid muscle beneath his leather jacket.

The ride was both too long and too short. The city lights flashed by, neon reflections dancing across the glass skyscrapers as you sped through the streets. You caught glimpses of Bucky’s profile in the side mirrors. Sharp jaw, eyes focused, lips pressed into that same unreadable line.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, the sudden silence as he cut the engine felt deafening. You swung your leg over the bike, helmet still clutched in your hand as you tried to steady your breathing. Bucky climbed off as well, stretching his metal arm with a faint creak, the dark vibranium catching the dull glow of the streetlight.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice sounding strange to your own ears. “For the ride.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, then just gave a curt nod, his jaw working like he was biting back words.

“Get inside safe,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. Then he turned, swung his leg back over the bike, and took off down the street, the roar of the engine echoing against the brick walls.

You stood there for a moment, heart still pounding, the warmth of his body lingering like a ghost against your chest. You watched his taillights disappear around the corner, a strange, unfamiliar ache settling in your chest as you turned and headed into your building.

You closed the door to your apartment, the faint hum of the city seeping through the thin walls, mixing with the rapid thud of your heartbeat. Your fingers still tingled where they’d brushed against Bucky’s, the cool, unsettling touch of his metal hand lingering in your memory.

Dropping your bag on the couch, you exhaled a shaky breath, rubbing at your arms like you could somehow wipe away the strange, electric tension that clung to your skin. Bucky Barnes had never been more than a dark shadow in the corners of your life--a whispered name in stories of war, a half-remembered figure from late-night intel meetings, a ghost that haunted your family’s past.

And now, he was the man who had just dropped you off at your front door, his steady, silent presence still echoing in the empty apartment.

You sank onto the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to shake the feeling that you’d just crossed some unspoken line. What had Steve been thinking, making Bucky take you home? What was his angle? Steve never did anything without a reason. You’d heard of how he would plan and strategize, his mind always three steps ahead, playing some invisible chess game that everyone else was just stumbling through.

That's what made him better than Tony. Tony didn't strategize, he acted. Steve was careful and thoughtful.

You glanced at your phone, the screen lighting up with a series of new messages from Clint:

Clint: You good?

Clint: Been a few hours. Vision and I got worried.

Clint: Bruce asked about you, too.

You typed back your reply curiously. Had Tony asked about you at all? About your hand he had broken? About where you were? Even if it wasn't a good answer, you still wanted--no, needed to know. Your loyalty was flimsy. A valuable, fragile thing, and right now, Tony was slowly breaking it.

You: what about tony?

Clint: Hasn't asked. Sorry, Stark.

You: i'm fine. at home. thanks for checking in.

Before you could send another text, there was a knock at your door. You froze, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. There was no way it could've been Tony, and Clint would’ve just texted first. That only left one other possibility.

You stood slowly, your bare feet whispering against the cool hardwood as you crossed the room. You hesitated for a moment, hand on the door handle, before swinging it open.

Bucky stood there, his jaw clenched, eyes hard but uncertain. He’d taken off his jacket, leaving him in a dark, fitted t-shirt that clung to the curves of muscle you hadn’t allowed yourself to notice before. His metal arm caught the hallway light, the faint grooves of the vibranium reflecting a dull, ghostly glow.

“Forgot to get back the helmet,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, like the rumble of his bike. He leaned against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the small space, blocking out the light behind him.

You blinked up at him, your brain scrambling to catch up with the sudden turn of events. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, standing in your doorway, checking on you. You felt your heart stutter, a strange warmth spreading through your chest that you quickly crushed down.

“Oh, yeah,” you managed, your voice a touch too breathless. You forced a small, tight smile. “Here. Sorry, I forgot."

"I did, too," Bucky nodded, his fingers grazing yours as he took back the big helmet from your hands. He gave a short, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes flicking over your face, like he was trying to read something in the curve of your lips, the set of your jaw. For a moment, you thought he might say something else, but then he just straightened, his jaw tightening as he took a step back.

Before he could completely walk away, you opened your mouth, taking in a deep breath. "The arm--" you hesitated, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. "How did it happen?"

"What do you think?" Bucky vaguely replied, his voice holding no malice, but instead curiosity. Like he genuinely wanted to know your response.

Shrugging lightly, you hesitated with your reply. "I heard it was from a fight. Never heard of a fight getting that bad before."

"It was no fight," Bucky nodded. "I don't lose, let alone that badly." He lingered on that last sentence for a moment before continuing. "Bike accident. Some idiot with a pick-up decided to run the light. Crushed my bones flat like a pancake. One of the SHIELD guys made it for me."

You nodded. "I'm sorry."

"It's not like you did it," Bucky replied. "How's it you're still with Stark?" A brutal question, but one you expected after your own personal question.

"He's my brother. I don't know anything else," you answered honestly.

Bucky’s eyes softened for just a moment, a flicker of something almost like understanding passing over his features. He shifted his weight, the fingers of his metal hand flexing subtly, a small, instinctive motion that caught your attention. You wondered how often he thought about it. The loss, the replacement, the price he’d paid for a life he didn’t choose.

“Family’s a tricky thing,” he murmured, his eyes flicking down the hallway, as if suddenly aware of how exposed the two of you were, standing in your doorway, suspended in this strange, fragile truce. “Sometimes it feels like you’re stuck with them, no matter what.”

You found yourself nodding, a bitter, knowing smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah, I get that. Tony… he’s not easy, but he’s all I’ve got.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to yours, his jaw tightening again, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his eyes. He opened his mouth, like he might say something--maybe even something important--but then he seemed to catch himself, his face smoothing back into that familiar, impassive mask.

“Get some sleep, Stark,” he said, his tone carefully neutral, as if he’d suddenly remembered the wall he was supposed to be keeping between you. “Long day.”

With that, he turned on his heel, his broad shoulders cutting through the dim hallway light as he disappeared around the corner, his boots thudding against the worn linoleum.

You closed the door slowly, pressing your back against the cool wood as you tried to process the strange, unexpectedly human conversation you’d just had with Bucky Barnes. For a moment, you’d glimpsed something behind that cold, stoic exterior – a hint of the man he might’ve been, or maybe still could be, if the world hadn’t twisted him into something else.

As you wandered back to your couch, you caught sight of your phone still lighting up with Clint’s messages:

Clint: Don't show up for meeting tomorrow.

Clint: Tony knows you called off Quill n the boys.

You dropped your phone next to you on the couch. Of course Tony found out. The Guardians had no loyalty. For the right price, of course they'd tell him, and it wasn't like Tony didn't have the right kind of money they'd want.

However, your mind was still replaying the way Bucky had looked at you, the way his fingers had brushed yours when he took the helmet, the strange, guarded softness in his voice when he’d said your name.

Maybe Steve had been right – maybe you didn’t know the whole story. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Bucky Barnes than the cold, unfeeling ghost you’d always imagined.

But that didn’t change the fact that he was still, in some small, twisted way, tied to the loss of your parents. And that, no matter how human he seemed in the quiet of a dimly lit hallway, was something you weren’t sure you could ever truly forgive.

[littlefireball]

can a yeosang x reader be requested? Where she's been active long before meeting Yeosang but she's never been eaten out or had someone the size of Yeosang so she asks about what each feels like to him and offers to show her instead. After he eats her out he starts to f**k her and makes her squirter. Which she didn't even know what it was or what happened etc

I combined yours with another request as i think they can be merged as a one shot (but i changed the setting a little bit)

Another request: yeosang being obsessed with breeding reader especially the sight of him cum oozing out of her hole.

ʏꜱ|ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ (ᴍ)

ᴅᴏʙᴇʀᴍᴀɴ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ꜱᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴏʀᴀʟ|ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴋ|ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.3ᴋ

Masterlist

Yeosang and his companion took refuge against the formidable outer wall of the stronghold, their weapons poised in perfect synchrony, anticipating commands. Just yesterday, they had been informed of the human trafficking syndicate's stronghold nestled in the distant west, prompting their swift arrival at the scene. This nefarious organization had been abducting adult female Hybrids, ruthlessly exploiting them for illicit reproductive endeavors. 

The captain signaled with his hands, expertly guiding his team into their designated positions. Despite the gas mask obscuring Yeosang's face, he could still detect a subtle, lingering fragrance in the air. 

Because the stronghold was now teeming with hybrids in heat. 

The criminals had administered powerful substances engineered to trigger estrus, paving the way for effortless conception. This operation was perilously risky; should they inadvertently enter a state of heat, the repercussions would be catastrophic.

The mission teams were distinctly categorized into those composed of women and those of men. The women's teams were tasked with rescuing victims, while the men focused on apprehending the nefarious criminals. 

Everything was meticulously prepared. With a decisive motion, the captain raised his left hand, executing a downward slash, and the entire unit surged into the stronghold in perfect synchrony, igniting a fierce gunfight with the gangsters. The tide quickly turned against the criminals, who fell one by one, leaving behind a grim tableau of lifeless bodies strewn across the hall.

"Find the victims!" The captain's commands were heeded without question as each member dispersed throughout the stronghold in search of their targets. Intense gunfire erupted, yet the gangsters were swiftly overpowered. 

Yeosang ascended to the pinnacle of the stronghold, proceeding with utmost caution. The only sound that pierced the silence was the soft rhythm of moaning emanating from a nearby chamber. A wave of embarrassment washed over him, yet he maintained his composure as he approached the room slowly.

As the door slowly creaked ajar, Yeosang's eyes fell upon the sight of you, bare upon the bed, breathless and alluring. Instinctively, he averted his gaze, scanning the room for any signs of danger. In an instant, a werewolf lunged at him from the shadows, its claws raking fiercely. The unexpected assault left Yeosang no time to evade, and the gas mask he wore was violently shattered in the chaos.

"Fuck!" The intoxicating aroma poured into him, shattering his composure in an instant. Your fragrance was far more potent than that of ordinary hybrids. Perhaps the werewolf's drug had intensified your scent. Yeosang battled fiercely against the werewolf, likely driven by the fervor of his own instincts, as their strikes were directed with lethal intent. Yet, it was clear that the werewolf stood no chance against Yeosang's prowess.

"Go back to hell." With a strong punch on the werewolf's face, Yeosang sent him flying to the wooden table which was broken because of the huge impact. He died, with no doubts. But, it was not over. Yeosang's sanity has faded away since this battle for spouse. And now, it's time to claim you as his. 

He knew he couldn't but there was no way to stop. 

"Goodness, you're beautiful." He discarded his weapon before bending toward you, his face burying itself in the curve of your neck, tasting your skin as if he were a famished man. You found yourself utterly powerless to resist, your body succumbing to a delicious weakness. Any attempt to resist only served to stoke the fire of his insatiable longing. 

He let out a deep, wild growl as his lips moved down to your breast, sucking your left nipple while caressing the other. The struggle no longer existed and you found yourself enjoying the pleasure he brought you. You whimpered when he gave you a hard press on your nipple, making him suck harder. Clear red marks were left on every part of your skin as his lips trailed down from your chest to your stomach, making you hiss when your nipples were exposed to the cold air. 

You couldn't help but tremble when he dropped a kiss on your clit. The sensation was amazing even though that was only a simple kiss. You have never felt this before. You needed more, not just a kiss, but his tongue, his lips, just everything. 

"Please, please. Kiss me one more time." Yeosang lifted up his gaze to meet yours, feeling confused. "You want this?" He once again kissed and licked your clit, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips when you threw your head against the pillow. "Please, ahh, fuck!" "As you wish, girl." 

His face dived into your thighs, his hot breath landed on your clit making your hands fly to his hair to pull him closer. "Be patient, girl." Before he finished his words, his tongue met your fold, licking from the bottom to the top. "God!" "How sweet you are." Shutting your eyes, you gripped the sheet tightly when he sucked hard on your bud. Everything was overwhelming and your chest tightened, leaving you breathless. You could feel something was about to burst out but not sure what that was. 

He pushed your thighs to either side for better licking and sucking, totally lost in your sweetness. "Hm…I'm gonna…" You cried because it was uncomfortable that needed to be released. "Cum, girl. I want to taste you." "Fuck!" You tried to push him away but he gripped your thighs to pull you closer, his tongue was deep inside you. Sucking hard, you couldn't help but cum on his face, dripping onto the sheet. 

"That's the sweetest I ever tasted." A smirk played on his lips as he stood up straight, removing his armor and pants just enough to pull out his cock. You have never seen that size before, making you curious how it felt when he entered you. This erotic fantasy raced your heartbeat, blush creeping up your cheek. "Haven't take this size before?" You shook your head. "Wanna try?Huh?Tell me, little girl." "I want to feel that, please." "Oh gosh, your voice is beautiful. Beg me again, I love it." Yeosang climbed over you while guiding his member to your soaked hole. 

Had he regained his clarity, he would find it utterly inconceivable that he could utter such words or act in this manner towards you. Yet, in that moment, he was powerless to restrain himself. The instant your intoxicating scent reached him, all rational thought vanished, leaving only the untamed and primal yearnings that lay dormant within his soul.

"Please, I want you deep inside me." You too, couldn't believe you begging a stranger to satisfy you. Yet, the substances coursing through your veins continually ignite your longing, plunging you into despair. You crave his presence, yearning for him to satiate the void within you.

Your begging soon died out as he rubbed his tip against you, moving up and down on your clit before eased into you. His size was overwhelming, causing you to throw your head at the pillow and your mouth to form a perfect 'O' shape. "Take it so well, honey." Your cunt squeezed his member from time to time to better adjust. He rolled his hips against you slowly, trying to find out where your sensitive spot was. 

"I may not last long, shit!" Intertwining with your fingers, he tightened the grip and thrusted at a faster pace. His cock rubbed against your velvet wall deliciously, hitting your sweet spot. "Gosh!" You moaned out, the numbness he gave you caused a pleasure to run through your body. 

"You like it?" Again, he collided with your g spot dead on. "Oh, please." He aimed at the same spot and hit it over and over again, the skin slapping sound echoed in the room, combined with your soft whimpers and moans, just like a beautiful melody rang in Yeosang's ears. 

Pushing your thighs to either side once again, he pinned your ankles against the sheet, thrusting so deep and so fast. You have never felt such pleasure during sex, no one could satisfy you but only the man above you—even though you didn't know his name. "You're so deep."  A flush crept across your cheeks, as if an unseen force had seized your throat, rendering you momentarily breathless. 

He lowered himself, guiding your hands to your head, moving in a deliberate rhythm that was both steady and exquisite. Nestling his face into the curve of your neck, he savored your intoxicating fragrance with an insatiable hunger. He could hardly believe how he could lose himself in your scent for an eternity while fucking you. "I'm so close…" he gasped, his breath hitching as his movements grew erratic, a symphony of moans and curses escaping his lips. 

"That feeling…again…" You sobbed, your stomach tightened again but it was stronger than last time. There was something that burst out. Shutting your eyes, your nail dug into his skin and the pain brought him to the peak. "Fuck!!" He hissed at the pain and the pleasure, thrusting so fast without caring about your begging. "Stop…stop!!Ah!" You squirted with a loud, high-pitched moan, wetting his thighs and cock. The warmth and the wetness broke his limit and he came all in your cunt. 

"Goodnes…" He was  supposed to calm down from the heat after withdrawing from you…No, he couldn't. His cum filled you literally, even oozing from your hole. The way of your lower core squeezed for nothing but to suck his cum drove him insane. The most primitive desires in his body once again dominated his thoughts. "You need more, honey. Your pussy is made for breeding, you know?" He left a kiss on your clit, causing you to whine at overstimulation. 

"No…no…I can't take it anymore." Tears welled up in your eyes, head spinned. "You can, just one more time. Take all my cum and breed for me, girl." He slammed back into you again, making you sit up straight and wrap your arms around his neck. "Let my cum be the only thing in your cunt, puppy." Pressing his lips against yours, he pushed upward to make your body move up and down from his movement. 

"Be mine, puppy." 

—----

He came twice more before he calmed down and drifted to a quick nap. After some time, he stirred from a haze of pain, only to find himself and you entwined in a state of undress upon the bed. You had succumbed to slumber long ago, your exhaustion evident.

"What..." Confusion washed over him, but as memories surged forth like a torrential wave, his astonishment rendered him speechless. A profound guilt enveloped his heart, leaving him to ponder how he could be any different from those he despised. His hands trembled, regret gnawing at him for the choices he had made. Yet, he resolved to take responsibility for you. Should you desire him to face the law or meet a more dire fate, he would embrace it without hesitation.

"hehemon…over….Can you hear us?" In that moment, the urgent calls of his comrades echoed from the pager resting on the ground, shattering Yeosang's contemplations and rousing you from your slumber. "Over," he responded, his tone laced with a hint of remorse. "Where have you disappeared to? We are unable to locate you." His gaze fell upon the splintered remnants of the door that obstructed their path. Perhaps this was the reason for their inability to find him. "I am in the attic. I sustained injuries during a confrontation with the enemy moments ago, but I have now regained my mobility..." "That's good to hear. Please come back to the team." "Yes,sir." 

As the last remnants of the calls faded into the ether, he turned to confront you. "Are…are you here to save me?" you asked, your voice tinged with a fragile hope. "I…" he stammered, caught in the web of his own guilt. Yes, he was meant to be your protector, yet the shadows of his actions haunted him. He had indulged in his desires at your expense. 

"I deeply regret my actions. I did something terrible to you, and I know that an apology cannot suffice. I am prepared to do anything you wish, even if it means laying down my life for you." He insisted. Upon absorbing his words, your mind became a tempest of confusion, a cacophony of opposing thoughts swirling within. You ought to despise him, akin to the disdain you hold for those thugs; yet, curiously, you find no animosity towards him at all. Maybe it's because he knot you… Wait…he knot you? 

"Do you want to be irresponsible?" You met his confused gaze and you continued. "You know you knot me…" He took a deep breath, wearing a serious look. "No, I'll take responsibility. I can do anything for you to make up, no matter what. I'm truly sorry." "Then can you bring me to leave this place?" "Of course." He grabbed a blanket to cover your body and dressed himself up. 

"Can you walk?" He asked you softly and you shook your head slightly. Your limbs were still weak, let alone to stand up and walk out yourself. 

"Come." He turned around and knelt down, facing you with his back, posturing his hand to let you climb on him. "It's okay. I promise I won't hurt you." 

You were a little hesitant at first, but you climbed on top of him after a while so he could carry you down the stairs. After all, he was the only man here. 

"All the criminals died. Don't worry." He comforted you, his voice softened. You nodded and whispered in his ears. "What's your name anyway? "Yeosang." "I'm Y/N." "Y/N…" He murmured your name under his breath but you could hear it clearly. To be honest, you liked how he called you so softly. 

"Yeosang." 

Hm?" 

"Would you do anything for me?" 

"Yes, I will." 

"Then can you stay with me after we go back to your camp? I'm scared…" You buried your face in his neck, murmuring. 

"Sure. I'm here for you." 

"No regret?" 

"No regret." 

[snapmite1998]

With Maul: Shadow Lord set to debut next year, there’s so much story to tell, especially if they make this a multi season show, similar to Bad Batch, either three or perhaps four seasons. Because they need to tell how Maul got the galaxy's crime families and syndicates back under his control as well as ruling Crimson Dawn from the shadows through both Dryden Vos and for a time, Qi'ra. Showing how the Empire deploys Inquisitors after Maul, only for them to fall by his blade, earning him the nickname "The Shadow." But most importantly showing how Maul ended up being stranded on Malachor during the events of Rebels. Was he betrayed? Did he leave his Crimson Dawn syndicate to fend for itself? Or was his infatuation with revenge so great that he forsook those under his command so that he could attempt to activate the super weapon on Malachor?

Questions that I hope are answered in this show as well as other bits of content that are fleshed out. Here's what I want to see personally though.

Regaining control of the Galactic Underworld:

Remember, after Darth Maul: Son of Dathomir Issue 4, Black Sun and the Pyke Syndicate withdraw from Maul's Shadow Collective because the Separatist droid armies are attacking them simultaneously while Maul himself, alongside Mother Talzin fight Darth Sidious, Count Dooku, and General Grievous on Dathomir.

Then, during the events of Crimson Climb, by E.K. Johnston, which is focusing on Qi'ra's story, she, Dryden Vos and his enforcers attend a party where representatives of the Hutts, Pykes, Black Sun, and other crime syndicates are mingling. During this party, there's an attempted coup that takes place and one of these rebellious Black Sun criminals mentions the following to Dryden Vos "he keeps us under his boot, and you know it. Once we were great, all of us! And now we wait for instructions like academy cadets. Black Sun will be independent again!" Emphasis on "he," meaning Maul, who is in the shadows, playing the role of Sidious in this sense while he has figureheads like Dryden Vos to be the face of Crimson Dawn, when Maul is the one calling the shots.

The only reason Maul united these crime families together during the Clone Wars was to challenge Darth Sidious and exact revenge against his former master with the aid of Mother Talzin, this was revealed in the Darth Maul: Son of Dathomir comics. But now, with Maul: Shadow Lord starting a year after the Clone Wars, I'm curious how Maul is not only going to get these criminals back under his thumb, but also how he'll extort their resources to help him fund his operations in his futile quest for revenge against Sidious.

Rook Kast and Mandalorian enforcers:

So, if you caught the leaked trailer for Maul: Shadow Lord when it dropped, Rook Kast, one of Maul's top Mandalorian lieutenants, next to Gar Saxon, not only seems to have survived the Siege of Mandalore, but will be acting as Maul's personal enforcer for the first season of this new show. It’s unclear whether Rook was captured during the Siege of Mandalore, because I’d say a majority of, if not ALL of Maul's remaining Mandalorian Super Commandos, those who didn’t die, were captured. Gar Saxon among them, who Maul betrayed, and would then become Imperial Viceroy of Mandalore.

But clearly, Rook Kast and perhaps a small number of remaining Mandalorian Super Commandos still loyal to Maul either escaped the siege or escaped Republic/Imperial custody when Order 66 was given to find their Dathomiri master. Maybe Rook Kast was piloting the Kom'rk that would've picked up Maul in Sundari's rafters, but if that was her, she'd have a small crew of Mandalorian Super Commandos accompanying her. A Kom'rk-class fighter/transport could hold up to 24 Mandalorian commandos in its troop drop bay. So that may not be too much, but it's certainly enough for Maul to use these commandos as his personal grim reapers to get the crime syndicates back under his control.

Rook really is Maul's ride or die, has been the moment he won the Darksaber from Pre Vizsla, so it'll be interesting to see where her story takes her in this show. Will she die in devotion to Maul? Will survive and become the Armorer we see in the Mandalorian? Or will she drift into the void of space? We'll see. Hopefully, Rook and the Mandalorians still working alongside Maul will have a huge impact, since they’re some of Maul's last true allies in the galaxy. Also, it’s unclear whether they even know Maul BETRAYED Gar Saxon during the Siege of Mandalore, because Rook is shown briefly fighting Bo-Katan, and that’s the last we see her, so I hope this show reveals if Rook and the Mandalorians accompanying her knew Maul betrayed Saxon and the rest of their forces or not. Hopefully this is revealed. But I’m excited to see more of Rook Kast and Mandalorian Super Commandos causing chaos in the name of Maul!

Post traumatic stress:

Of course, Maul has to be experiencing A LOT of ptsd, especially now that he's living in a galaxy where his former master wants him dead, still coming to terms that Savage Opress and Mother Talzin were killed right before his eyes, and stuck in this cycle of trying to exact his revenge, only to fail again and again. This is a guy that didn't choose evil, but he was brought into the cold embrace of it and was nothing but an instrument of evil until he was no longer deemed useful and then watched as his former master take away the only two people he seemed to love and tear down his criminal empire.

I hope we see flashbacks of these scenes, or even nightmares. Maul is a tortured being, and these two losses will have undoubtedly weighed heavily on his heart and mind. Yes, he has allies, but not like Savage and Talzin, they were his FAMILY, and Sidious took them from him, just like he took away his Shadow Collective.

This is perhaps one of the many reasons to sympathize with Maul, because no matter what he does and how much achieves, he's destined to fail.

Boogeyman of the Inquisitorious & possible fight with Darth Vader:

So, thanks to Rebels, Maul has been nicknamed "The Shadow" and with it confirmed that the Inquisitor Marrok will be in this show, whether Maul kills him or not is yet to be seen, but I just love the idea of Maul being a boogeyman among the Imperial Inquisitors, because they are an absolute JOKE against someone like Maul. We know he kills multiple Inquisitors in Rebels and an Inquisitor to forge his new lightsaber around the events of Solo, whether the pieces that were acquired to forge his new lightsaber are from Marrok are yet to be seen.

Against Darth Vader, however, Maul would not survive such an encounter. In Rebels, Twilight of the Apprentice part I, Maul says "I cannot defeat Vader alone," that implies he fought him in the past and barely survived the encounter. Where he fought him alongside his new apprentice in this show who may or may not be Darth Talon, is yet to be determined. But if we get Maul vs Darth Vader in this show, this will be a sight to BEHOLD!

Training Twi'lek female who might be Talon and Qi'ra:

This show is heavily inspired by George Lucas' sequel trilogy idea where Maul is essentially the godfather of all crime and he trains a new apprentice that would've been Darth Talon and essentially the new Darth Vader. However, during this show, this new apprentice of Maul's whether she's Talon or not, will play a big role, and it would be incredibly stupid to kill her off so soon, she better stick around long enough for us to learn whether she's former Jedi or such someone with Force sensitivity and was never trained. And like I said earlier, if we see Maul vs Darth Vader, this new apprentice has to play a role in that fight, whether she’s dies is yet to be seen, hopefully not.

If this show has multiple seasons, hopefully we'll see Maul eventually taking Qi'ra under his wing too, as he summons her to Dathomir after Solo. It's unclear if she betrays him and leaves him stranded on Malachor or not, but this is one of those questions I hope we get an answer to, because it would make sense why Maul is alone during Rebels. The image here is from the Crimson Reign issue 1 comic, Maul clearly had a plan to exact revenge against Sidious, but of course, he died on Tatooine by Obi-Wan to see this plan come to fruition himself, so hopefully we'll get better insight of Maul's ultimate endgame to exact revenge against his former master in this new show.

Anyway, I'm rambling at this point. Nonetheless, I cannot wait for Maul: Shadow Lord to come out!

[444st4rg1rl]

→ Decathect (v); To withdraw one’s self from someone you think you’re going to loose

→ Jason Todd x f!reader, 5k words

- Tags → Slowburn, (little bit) angst, frenemies to ???, ‘Hey we kinda know each other bc you work with my brother but we don’t mention it’, pinning, violence, more violence, reader just wants to figure shit out, this is the build up for part 2 guys.

- synopsis → You and Hood never really spoke much before, but when he comes in your territory to take down the corrupt ex-cop you’re both after; you don’t have much of a choice.

Part 1 , Part 2

Written in collaboration with - @samiyahcc

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Blüdhaven’s sky was choked with a layer of gray clouds, streets slick with the aftermath of last night’s rain, reflecting the neon lights from dive bars and the scattered police sirens in the distance. The air had a familiar heaviness.

You crouched in the shadows of an alleyway, eyes scanning the rundown warehouse ahead. Your breath was steady, each exhale visible in the cool night air.

The dim light of a flickering streetlamp cast harsh shadows across your face, revealing the half-mask that covered your lower face, the rest hidden beneath your hood. The sleek black fabric clung to your frame, reinforced with armor plating at your shoulders and forearms. Your boots silent against the wet concrete, moving as if you were a shadow itself.

You’d been tracking the local gangs’ movements for days now, and it had led you here. The syndicate was rumored to be involved in something big tonight—something that would send ripples through Blüdhaven’s underworld.

You weren't one for brute force; you preferred to gather intel first, to understand the scope before diving in. But tonight was different. Tonight, you’d finally get a look at the men behind the strings, and if things went according to plan, they’d never know you were there.

You adjusted your gloves, checking the weapons hidden beneath your jacket—a few smoke pellets, a set of throwing knives, a grappling hook—and then moved forward. Your footsteps were quiet, calculated.

The warehouse door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out. You could make out figures inside, though they were still too far for a clear shot. A low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of metal on metal echoed through the air.

Just as you were about to step closer, a voice cut through the air, low and gritty - unmistakable.

“I knew you’d show up.”

You froze.

Your hand instinctively reached for a throwing knife. Red Hood had a reputation—a violent, unpredictable, vigilante who didn’t care for rules, and certainly didn’t care for working with anyone. You’d heard of him, seen his work. He was exactly the kind of person Blüdhaven didn’t need—yet he seemed to be everywhere lately.

You lowered your knife but stayed hidden. You could feel your pulse quicken, a mix of irritation and something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“Did’ya really think you’d get all the way in without me noticing?” Red Hood’s voice came again, closer this time. “You’re not as quiet as you think.”

From the darkness, he stepped into the dim light of the alley, his silhouette framed by the faint neon glow of a nearby sign. He was taller than you, broad-shouldered in his combat gear, his red helmet glinting under the light.

“You’re getting sloppy, doll,” Hood added, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Thought you were smarter than this.”

You clenched your jaw. “Is that so?” you asked, your voice low.. “What are you doing here, Hood?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back. “I’m here for the syndicate. Same as you, I imagine. Only difference is, I don’t waste my time with intel gathering.”

“Gotham not have anymore crime?” You ask suspiciously, confused on why Hood has been in your territory recently.

“Gothams’ crime has run into Blüdhaven, I’m not here for you.” He shoots back quickly, defensively.

“Funny, I didn’t see you at the docks last week,” you replied, eyeing him. “You must have missed that shipment of weapons they moved.”

Hood’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the air between the two of you crackled with a familiar tension. You could feel the weight of his gaze through the glass of his helmet—sharp, as if he were looking right through you.

“I don’t play by your rules,” he finally responded, voice low and firm.

“You’re better off staying out of this.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “I don’t think I have that luxury, do I? Seems like we’re after the same thing, Hood. That ex-cop, the one behind this syndicate. You’ve been after him, haven’t you?”

For a brief moment, there was a flicker of something in Jason’s eyes—recognition, perhaps, or something darker, something angry—but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“That’s none of your business,” he growled, taking a step closer.

“You’re treading in dangerous waters. You’re better off going back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

You didn’t flinch, standing your ground. “Last I checked, you were in my territory, Hood. If you want to get to the top of this syndicate, you’ll need more than just your ego.”

Hood was silent for a moment, weighing his options. He didn’t trust you—that was obvious. But you knew things he didn’t, and that could make you a valuable asset.

“Fine,” his voice was quiet and measured. “We’re doing this my way,” his voice rumbled through the helmet, closing the distance between you.

“Understand?”

You nodded at him avoiding tilting your head up, your stance relaxed but alert. “Sure. Your way. Just try not to get in my way.”

For a brief second, your eyes met. The moment passed as quickly as it came, and Hood turned back toward the warehouse. “Follow my lead.”

Without a word, you followed him into the shadows.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Inside the warehouse, the air was thick and stale, the faint smell of rust and mildew clinging to every breath. Stacks of crates lined the walls, some labeled with fading, cryptic codes, others bearing the marks of rough handling.

Flickering bulbs swung from the rafters, casting shadows across the cracked concrete floor. The occasional drip of water echoed through the space, a steady metronome to the tension building between you and Hood.

Hood moved first, his steps quiet but purposeful, his frame blending into the shadows. You followed, slipping through the darkness with a practiced ease.

You stayed just a step behind, close enough to catch his scent—a faint mix of leather and gunpowder—and notice the subtle shifts in his posture as he scanned the space.

He stopped suddenly, crouching behind a stack of crates near the center of the warehouse. You mirrored his movement, your gloved hands pressing lightly against the cool concrete as she leaned forward to peer around the edge.

“Three men,” Jason murmured. “One at the desk, two near the loading dock. Armed.”

You squinted, sharp eyes picking out the figures he described. The man at the desk was hunched over something—papers, maybe—while the others paced near the dock, rifles slung over their shoulders.

“Light security,” you whispered back, “This isn’t their main operation. They’re protecting something important, though. Look at the crates near the desk.”

His gaze flicked to the area you indicated - several smaller boxes sat stacked haphazardly, their edges pristine and their surfaces marked with the logo of a well-known tech company.

“Smuggling high-end gear,” Hood muttered. “Looks like someone’s got a taste for expensive toys.”

“Could be weapon components,” you added, brows furrowing. “Or surveillance tech. Either way, they’re funneling it somewhere.”

“Why don’t we ask them ourselves?”

Before you could respond, he moved.

Red Hood was fast—faster than you’d anticipated for someone his size. He surged forward, vaulting over the crates. You hesitated for only a moment, cursing under your breath as you followed, your movements far more careful.

The man at the desk barely had time to react before Hood’s boot connected with the edge of the table, flipping it sideways and scattering the papers into the air.

The man stumbled backward, hand fumbling for his sidearm, but Hood’s fist found his jaw first, dropping him onto the concrete floor with a single strike.

“Shit!” one of the men near the dock shouted, raising his rifle.

You moved in before he could fire, sliding low, your leg sweeping out to knock his feet from under him. As he hit the ground, you twisted, driving your elbow into abdomen. The rifle clattered away, and you snatched it up, dismantling it with a practiced ease before tossing the pieces aside.

The third man bolted for the nearest exit, but Hood was already on him. He grabbed the thug by the back of his collar, yanking him off his feet and slamming him into the nearest wall.

“Where’s your boss?” he growled, his voice cold.

The man choked out something unintelligible, hands scrabbling at Red Hood’s grip.

“Speak up,” Hood demanded, pushing him further into the wall.

“Wait.”

You stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Hood’s forearm. “Let me talk to him.”

Hood glanced at you, his helmet betraying no emotion, but you could feel his hesitation. He let go, stepping back and crossing his arms as you turned your attention to the trembling man.

You crouched slightly, bringing yourself to eye level with him. Your voice was calm, almost soothing.

“You don’t want to die here tonight,” you said quietly. “And you definitely don’t want him to get involved again. So why don’t you make this easy on yourself and tell me what’s in those crates?”

The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting between you and Hood. “I-I don’t know exactly,” he managed to stammer out. “Some kind of equipment - High-end stuff! We’re just supposed to hold it here until the next pickup.”

You nodded. “And who’s picking it up?”

He hesitated, eyes darting between you and Hood, and you leaned in closer - voice dropping to a whisper. “If you lie to me, he’ll know. And I won’t stop him next time.”

“Rogers!” the man blurted out. “Detective Rogers. He’s the one running the whole thing.”

Hood stiffened at the name, fists clenching at his sides.

“Rogers?” You echoed, “Blüdhaven PD’s Detective Rogers?”

The man nodded frantically. “Yeah! Yeah, that’s him. He’s supposed to be here tomorrow night to check on the shipment.”

Hood stepped forward, looming over the man. “Where?”

“Here!” the man yelped. “He’s coming here!”

Hood’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s collar again. “If you’re lying—”

“I’m not!” he cried. “I swear!”

You placed a hand on Hood’s shoulder again, keeping your touch firm but not forceful. “That’s enough,” you said quietly. “He’s telling the truth.”

Hood released the man with a shove, sending him sprawling to the ground. He turned away, his shoulders tense and his breathing heavy.

You watched him for a moment, thoughts racing. Rogers. The name brought back memories you’d rather forget - memories of corruption, betrayal - and the realization that the system you’d once believed in was irreparably broken.

“He’s mine,” Hood said suddenly, his voice low.

You met his gaze, your expression unreadable. “We’ll see.” Without another word, Hood turned away, heading toward the crates.

You followed, mind already calculating your next move. You couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The warehouse was empty now, silence broken by the faint groans of the man Jason had left sprawled against the floor.

You were silent as you crouched down toward the crates, gloved fingers tracing the faint logo embossed into the wood. You could feel Hood’s presence behind you—he was impossible to ignore, even when he wasn’t speaking. His quiet contemplation filled the space.

“Rogers,” Jason muttered the name like a curse.

You turned your head slightly to glance at him. He was leaning against one of the crates, helmet tilted down just enough to cast a shadow. But you didn’t need to see his expression to know what he was thinking.

“You’ve got history with him,” you muttered - more of a statement than a question.

Jason scoffed. “You could say that.”

You stood, brushing off your gloves. “Care to share?”

As he turned his gaze back towards you, you could feel the weight of it, sharp and probing. “I don’t do story time, doll. Especially not with someone I don’t trust.”

You folded your arms. “Funny. You trusted me enough to let me handle that guy back there.”

Jason’s lips curved into a smile you couldn’t see, but was apparent in his voice. “Let’s not get carried away. I just wanted to see if you’d screw it up.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the crates. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re nosy,” he shot back, stepping closer. “What’s your deal with Rogers? You knew his name the second that guy said it.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s personal.”

“Isn’t it always?” Hood quipped, his tone lighter now but still edged with curiosity.

You turned to face him fully, hood falling back slightly to reveal more of her face. Your eyes locked onto the crimson metallic mask, and for a moment, you considered not answering.

But there was something in his posture, the way he leaned forward just slightly, that told you he wasn’t asking just to push your buttons.

“Rogers was one of the reasons I left Blüdhaven PD,” you said quietly, your voice steady but quieter now. “He was dirty, feeding intel to the syndicate while pretending to be one of the good guys. I couldn’t prove it at the time, but I knew. And when I pushed too hard, he made sure I was… encouraged to leave.”

Jason was silent for a moment, head tilting slightly as he studied you. “That’s why you’re doing this? The whole brooding in the dark with a mask thing?”

You shook your head. “No. That’s - that’s different. He’s just… unfinished business.”

Hood took another step closer, close enough now that you could see the faint scuff marks on his helmet and the gleam of his armor in the dim light. He was watching you intently, and it suddenly became much harder to keep your breathing steady.

It was moment’s like this - when he was quietly analyzing you - that you noticed just how easily he dwarfed your figure.

“Unfinished business has a way of getting messy,” he said, his voice low but no less intense.

You didn’t reply right away, your gaze drifting to the floor for just a second before snapping back to him. “I don’t need your advice, Hood.”

“No, but you're going to want my help,” he countered, his tone almost teasing.

The silence stretched between the two of you. You could feel the tension building, the kind that wasn’t just about your mission or uneasy alliance. It was something else, something unspoken that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Hood shifted his weight slightly, arm brushing against yours. The contact was brief, barely there, but it sent a jolt through you that you couldn’t ignore. You glanced up, startled, and found that he was already staring at you.

For a moment, the world outside the warehouse seemed to fade away. You were acutely aware of how close you were, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the way his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than they should.

“You should keep your distance,” Hood muttered quietly, dipping his head to your level.

Your lips curved into a faint smirk, though your voice wavered just slightly. “You’re the one standing too close.”

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

You could feel your heartbeat picking up, could see the subtle tension in his posture. He wasn’t backing down, and for some reason, you didn’t want him to.

“What are you afraid of?” you asked tentatively, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Hood’s helmet tilted just slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“No,” you said, voice unsteady. “But you’re afraid of something.”

His jaw tightened beneath the helmet, and for a second, you thought he might push you away—end the moment before it could spiral into something you’d both regret.

Instead, he leaned in closer - close enough that you couldn’t help but inhale the familiar scent of his leather jacket. He had to know what this was doing to you. His own posture had shifted, no longer angry and closed off, but tense - almost eager. His voice was so low it was almost a growl.

“I’m not afraid. I’m just not stupid.”

“You’re infuriating,” is all you could manage to whisper.

“And you’re stubborn,” the grin behind his helmet apparent in his voice.

The moment broke when a loud crash echoed from deeper in the warehouse, snapping you both back to reality. Hood straightened immediately, hand moving toward his weapon as his body shifted back into a defensive stance.

You cursed under you breath, pulling your hood back up as you turned toward the sound. The moment was gone, but the weight of it lingered, hanging in the air between you two.

“Up ahead,” he said abruptly.

You nodded, expression unreadable as you moved ahead. Yet as you walked, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, catching Hood lingering for just a second longer than he needed to.

The noise echoed again, sharp and deliberate this time, as if whoever was responsible wanted to be heard. You froze mid-step, ears straining for any further sound. Hood was already moving, his gun in hand as he took the lead without so much as a glance back.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice low but firm.

You bristled at the command. “I don’t take orders from you, Hood.”

He shot you a look over his shoulder, the faint glint of light catching on the edge of his helmet. “Fine. Walk in front, then. Let me know how that works out.”

Gritting your teeth, you relented, falling in behind him as you both crept toward the source of the sound. The back of the warehouse was darker, with fewer working lights, and the shadows seemed to deepen with every step they took.

“You think it’s Rogers?” you whispered, lost in thought of him. Trying to connect the dots.

“Too early,” Hood replied, his eyes scanning the rows of crates and shelving units ahead. “Might be someone who got spooked and came back to clean up.”

“Or set a trap,” you added grimly.

He didn’t respond, but the way his shoulders tensed told you he was already thinking the same thing.

As you both rounded the corner, a figure darted into view, disappearing between two towering stacks of crates. You caught the faint glint of metal in their hand—something sharp, maybe a knife or a crowbar.

“Split up,” Hood muttered, moving to the left without waiting for your agreement.

You hesitated for only a second before veering right, movements silent as you followed the figure’s trail. The dim light made it harder to see, but you could still make out faint scratch marks on the floor, signs of hurried movement.

You caught up with the figure near the far wall, where a series of smaller crates were stacked precariously. The person—male, early thirties, scruffy—was fumbling with one of the boxes, trying to pry it open with a crowbar.

“Hey,” you said sharply, stepping out of the shadows.

The man froze, the crowbar slipping from his hands and clattering to the ground. He turned slowly, his face pale and his eyes wide with panic.

“I-I didn’t see anything,” he stammered, holding up his hands. “I swear, I was just—”

“Save it,” you cut him off, stepping closer. “You’re trespassing in a warehouse full of illegal tech. I don’t think you’re here for the view.”

The man opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, Hood appeared behind him, his gun pressed firmly against the back of his head.

“She’s not much for small talk,” Hood said, his tone casual but dangerous. “So why don’t you skip the excuses and tell us what you’re doing here?”

The man whimpered, his knees buckling slightly. “I-I just came back for something I left! That’s all, I swear!”

Hood rolled his shoulders, the movement causing his leather jacket to make a shrill sound. “Try again.”

“I’m serious!” the man cried, his voice cracking. “It was just a personal stash! I don’t even know what they use this warehouse for!”

You stepped closer, sharp eyes narrowing. “What kind of stash?”

The man hesitated, his gaze darting between you and Hood. “Cash,” he finally admitted. “I hid some cash here a while back. I didn’t think anyone would notice if I came back for it.”

Hood scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

“I don’t care if you believe me!” the man snapped, though his voice wavered with fear. “It’s the truth!”

You tilted your head, studying him. He didn’t seem like much of a threat—desperate and sloppy, sure, but not connected to Rogers or the shipment. Still, his sudden presence complicated things.

Hood seemed to reach the same conclusion. With a low growl, he stepped back, lowering his gun but keeping it in hand. “Get out of here,” he said coldly. “And if I see you again, I won’t be so nice.”

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the nearest exit, tripping over a loose plank on his way but not stopping to look back.

You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Think he was telling the truth?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, slipping his gun back into its holster. “He’s not our problem.”

You nodded, though a part of you wasn’t entirely convinced. Something about the man’s presence felt… off, but it was less of a problem to worry about.

Hood turned to face you fully, arms crossed, “You okay?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I can handle one panicked idiot with a pipe, thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant,” his voice was softer now.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. You hesitated, gaze trying to search his mask for any sign of what he really meant.

“I’m fine,” you said finally, though the words felt hollow.

Hood didn’t press it, but the way he looked at you—like he could see through every wall you’d built—it made your stomach twist.

“You don’t have to go after him alone,” he said quietly.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The words were simple, but they carried a weight that felt almost unbearable.

“I’ve been doing this alone for a long time,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Hood took a step closer, his hand almost brushing against yours before he caught himself and pulled back. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

The silence between you stretched again, heavy and charged. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you hated how badly he affected you like this—that his words, his presence, could make you feel things you’d tried so hard to bury.

“We should focus on Rogers,” you said finally, tone sharper than intended.

Hood’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

You moved toward the crates together, the air between you thick with everything left unsaid.

The night darkened as you and Hood pushed further into the warehouse. The air smelled of rust and oil, a heavy, suffocating scent that clung to everything.

Rogers had to be here—you’d pieced together too many clues for him to slip away again. Hood led the way, his boots thudding against the concrete floor, while you moved beside him, breathing steady and shallow.

You kept glancing his way, mind running in circles. It was the way he carried himself, the way his voice had softened earlier, how he'd almost reached out to you…You shook the thoughts away. There was no time for this now.

"Back corner," he whispered, jerking his head toward a section of the warehouse illuminated by flickering yellow lights. You nodded and followed. As the two of you approached, muffled voices grew louder.

You peeked around the corner to see Rogers standing with two armed men near a stack of crates. His slicked-back hair gleamed under the weak light as he gestured angrily toward one of the crates, barking orders.

"Looks like he brought backup," you murmured. Hood smirked faintly, pulling out one of his pistols.

"Doesn't matter. I'll take left; you handle the right."

"You always this bossy?"

"Only when it works," he replied, his tone playful. Without waiting for your reply, he crept forward, disappearing into the shadows. You hesitated for only a moment before slipping into position on the opposite side.

The plan was simple: take out Rogers' guards silently and leave him exposed. But things never went according to plan. One of the guards shifted just as you lunged forward, his boot scraping loudly against the floor. The noise made the other guard whip around, his hand going for his gun.

"Fuck," you hissed as you tackled the first man, driving your knee into his ribs before slamming him to the ground.

A gunshot rang out, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. Hood had already taken down his target, but now the second guard had him pinned, a knife glinting dangerously in the dim light. You didn't think - you just moved.

You hurled one of your throwing knives, the blade embedding itself in the guard's shoulder. He cried out and stumbled, giving Hood just enough time to twist free and knock him unconscious with the butt of his gun.

"Could've handled that," he muttered, shooting you a glance.

"You're welcome," you shot back, pulling your knife free from the guard's shoulder.

The commotion had drawn Rogers' attention. He was already backing toward an exit, his face pale but determined.

"Where you goin?", Jason growled, raising his gun. Rogers froze, his hands slowly lifting in mock surrender.

"Easy, Hood. We're all friends here, right?"

Hood's finger twitched on the trigger. "You've got about five seconds to explain why I shouldn't-"

A sudden burst of movement cut him off. One of the unconscious guards, barely conscious now, had reached for a detonator lying nearby. You saw it before Hood did.

"Quick, get down!" You lunged forward, grabbing Hood by the arm and pulling him to the ground just as the detonator clicked.

A deafening explosion tore through the air, sending crates flying and plunging the warehouse into chaos. The force of the blast threw the both of you against a wall.

Your head slammed into the concrete, and for a moment, the world spun. You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the ringing in your ears. Hood was already on his feet, blood dripping from the bottom of his helmet.

His eyes scanned the debris and searched for you through the fog. As his eyes finally found yours, he rushed towards you, hands firmly grabbing your arms. Before he could even ask you managed to say,

"I'm fine," though your vision was still swimming, a throbbing pain in the back of your head. Rogers was making his escape now, limping toward a side door with a hand clutching his side.

Hood swore under his breath, his movements slower than usual as he sprinted after him.

You pushed yourself up, your body protesting every step as you followed. By the time you caught up, Hood had Rogers cornered in a narrow hallway, his gun trained on the man's chest.

"You don't get to walk away," Hood snarled, his voice low and gritty.

Rogers laughed weakly, face twisted in pain. "You think killing me solves anything? I'm just a cog in the machine, Hood. Take me out, and someone worse will take my place."

His hand trembled slightly, gun wavering. You stepped closer, gaze flicking between the two men.

"Hey," you said quietly to Hood, voice cutting through the tension. "This isn't about him. It's about shutting this whole operation down."

He didn't look at you, but you could see the conflict in his posture, the way his jaw tightened. Hood’s hand trembled slightly as you stepped closer - and, finally, with a frustrated growl, he lowered the gun and slammed the butt of it against Rogers' head, knocking him unconscious.

"He's not worth the bullet," Hood muttered. You exhaled in relief, but the moment was short-lived. A fresh wave of armed men burst into the hallway, shouting orders as they raised their weapons.

"Move!" Hood shouted, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back toward the main floor.

The next few minutes were a blur of gunfire and shouting. Hood covered their retreat, his aim precise despite his injuries, while you did your best to fight off anyone who got too close. They ducked behind crates, weaving through the chaos as the sound of reinforcements grew louder.

Hood’s movements slowed as he noticed blood seeping from a wound on his side, his breathing labored. You saw him falter and immediately doubled back, throwing yourself between him and the attackers.

"Go!" you shouted. "I got it!"

He glared at you but didn't have the energy to argue. He stumbled toward an exit, leaving you to hold off the remaining men.

You fought like a woman possessed, blades flashing in the dim light. But even you couldn't keep it up forever. Just as one of the men raised his gun, Hood reappeared, slamming into him with enough force to knock him out cold.

"Thought I told you to go," you muttered as you helped him limp toward the exit.

"And miss saving your ass?" he shot back, his smirk faint but genuine.

The two of you finally burst out into the open air, collapsing against the side of the building as sirens blared in the distance. Hood was slumped against the wall, his breathing was labored and wavered.

"You're an idiot," you said, tone harsh but it was an empty insult, as you checked his wound.

“Back at you" he replied, voice heavy.

The tension from earlier returned, heavier now with the weight of everything you two had just been through. Your hands stilled against his side, your breath catching as you realized how close you were.

"Don't," he warned, though his voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

"I'm not doing anything," you whispered, gaze locked on his, staring at your reflection. With a quiet sigh, you pulled back, breaking the moment.

"Let's get out of here," your voice came out unsteady. He nodded, though his gaze lingered on you for just a second longer. "Yeah, c’mon.”

[mythalism]

it's crazy to me how even though the shadow dragons are a prominent faction in thw game there's literally not a single side quest that involves setting free a group of slaves, hell why is neve's personal quest about some random boring ex enemy of hers and aiding a criminal syndicate instead of something involving helping the slaves (or even the poor) of tevinter??

they thought they couldnt be criticized on twitter if they didnt put any topics in the game that they had the potential to mishandle. amazing that they managed to be racist and weird about like 17 different things anyway

[inhurtandincomfort]

The Black Syndicate Survival Guide

Have you found yourself caught up in a powerful criminal organisation? Did they neglect to tell you the rules, letting you find out the hard way? Well don't worry: Eldwin’s here to help! Begrudgingly. Don’t fuck up next time.

Aka what started out as me just making some rules for my own reference and amusement turned into them being accompanied by little drablets or snippets. Just a little something to tide us all over whilst I plan the next fic >:)

CW: Implied noncon, just the italics under number Eleven, it's very brief.

There are rules in the Black Syndicate that must be followed to maintain order. Although perhaps they’re less Syndicate rules and more Family rules. Lower ranks get away with more; the closer you are to the head Family, the more important rules are.

One: Do not speak unless you are spoken to. You better be good socially because woe betide you if you answer a rhetorical question, or neglect to speak when you were expected to. 

His jaw ached, a humiliating gag forcing his mouth open for long hours. Saliva dribbled down his chin and his face burned when Clyde knelt in front of him, tilting his head up to look in his eyes with amusement dancing in his own. “What a state you are,” He tutted, tenderly running his hand through Eldwin’s hair before yanking his head back further. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before disrespecting me, hmm?”

Two: Do not look at your seniors unless given permission. Stand up when they enter a room, always keep your head bowed in submission, and make sure you kneel when you beg for forgiveness. 

“It won’t happen again sir.” He sounded pathetic. He must look it too, bowing so low his head touched the floor. In a way, the blindfold made it easier - he didn’t have to see the smug look on Clyde’s face. “Please sir, I’m sorry.” His own voice made him feel sick. How had he fallen so far? Clyde hummed thoughtfully, no doubt enjoying the sight.

“Grovel a little more for me,” he said, and oh Eldwin was glad he couldn't see because that tone alone made him want to wipe the smirk off his face. "Then perhaps I'll take it off before the week ends."

Three: Respect senior ranks. They do not owe you the same courtesy.

A sharp slap resounded through the room. “Yes, what?” The Handler demanded, towering over him as a new bruise blossomed on his cheek. 

“Yes, sir,” Eldwin hissed through gritted teeth. The word still felt like lead on his tongue.

Four: Appearance can make or break a good impression. Be neat, maintain good posture and dress nicely when representing the Family. 

He fixed his collar, smoothing it out to carefully sit over the bandages on his neck. He folded the sleeves back with a set of engraved cufflinks carrying the Family crest before drawing on a sleek waistcoat, wincing as his shoulders tugged on sore muscles and healing wounds. Black gloves were his final addition, softer and more elegant than the rough fingerless ones he usually wore, hiding bruised knuckles and the demon's brand, his ultimate mark of shame. He looked in the mirror only briefly, for he didn’t recognise the man he saw. It wasn’t just because of the makeup concealing dark shadows under cold, lifeless eyes staring back at him, hiding contusions that decorated his skin like paint on a canvas. He couldn't explain it if you asked; he looked like himself, yet at the same time he looked a stranger. 

He flattened his hair, checking one last time that he was appropriately covered before grabbing his coat by the door. Alastair was meeting with business partners tonight - it would not do to embarrass him in front of them.

Five: Do not cry in front of The Handler. He will not sympathise with you.

"Such weakness has no place here. You want to be a man so badly, act like one."

Six: Treat your fellow members with respect. Do not touch their wives or children, nor their property.

“It was a mistake, please, please,” A man cried as he was held down by others, legs outstretched. Eldwin pretended to muse over the implements he had been provided. Crowbars, cleavers, pistols, and more. There was only one thing he needed today, though. “I’m begging you, please, I won’t do it again, I swear-”

“You’re right,” Eldwin said pleasantly as he picked up a large hammer, swinging it around to get a feel for it. A rare smile graced his lips as the man squeaked, growing evermore frantic to the point the others were almost struggling to keep him still. Gods, those terrified pleas were intoxicating. “You won’t.” 

Seven: Alistair is exempt from this rule. Alistair can do what he wants.

“That fucking bastard,” Clyde growled, banging his fist on the desk. Eldwin had never seen him break composure like this - he wondered what happened to make it so. “He has no right!”

“What are you going to do?” The Handler asked. “His word is law.”

“I know that! Fucking damn it, I know that.” Clyde ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. His face twisted in various expressions, none of them pleasant. He eventually came to a stop in front of Eldwin, placing a hand on his shoulder almost comfortingly though his words were anything but. “You better do as he says.” Clyde tried to sound calm, confident in his command but his face hardened and he couldn’t hide the ripple of anger in his voice. “Just remember who you really belong to. Don’t you dare disappoint me now.”

Eight: You are not allowed to say no. You cannot fight back, you cannot refuse an order.

"No more, please I can't do it, no-" His words turned into a scream as Mordwen lazily flicked her wrist sending an agonising pain coursing through his body like a shock of lightning, yet there was no physical sign anything had occurred. Her brand of magic was something he couldn't begin to fathom, effortless torture without the barest trace. There was something wrong with it. There was something wrong with her.

When she decided to stop he lay crumpled on the floor, gasping for breath, his muscles still twitching.

"I don't care if you can't do it." Her voice was sickly sweet. "You will. We'll go through this as many times as it takes."

Nine: It can always be worse. 

That's what they all tell him. Other's have it worse. Be grateful.

Ten: Be grateful for what you are given. 

He is grateful.  He knows what it’s like out there.  People like him don’t last long out there alone. He has the scars to prove it. If Clyde hadn’t got there when he did… 

The Family grants him protection. He bears their mark and it keeps him safe. With them he is safe.

Eleven: Remember it can always get worse. 

That’s what he tells himself whenever he closes his eyes with a lump in his throat, hot breath on his neck as he lies still, too afraid to move, can barely bring himself to even breathe as he pretends hands aren’t wandering, trying to let go, to go anywhere but here… 

It can always get worse.

Can it?

Twelve: Do not die. Reviving people takes a lot of work; you will be punished. 

"I'm getting tired of this." Mordwen's voice rang clear with an uncharacteristic bite in her tone. "I don't think you appreciate how much work I put in for you. You ought to be more grateful."

"I'm sorry," He said robotically. He's not sorry. He's not much of anything anymore. Every resurrection, he feels a little piece of himself is left behind. How much more of him is left? How many times can he be broken and put together again before he's no longer considered human?

Her eyes narrowed. "I only do this because I have to. If it were up to me, I'd leave you to rot.

"Maybe some time in isolation will fix your attitude."

Thirteen: It’s your fault. 

“You brought this on yourself,” The Handler shrugged as he closed the door, leaving him chained up in the darkness. Desperate pleas were swallowed by the void. His chest tightened. Faces lurked in the dark, taunting him. Their voices overlap crying out at him demanding to know why. Why did he hurt them? Why did he deserve to live while they don't?

Why did you do it, Eldwin?

Why did you do it.

Why why whywhywhy-

Chains dragged along the floor as he began to tremble. There wasn't enough air. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Why wouldn't they leave him alone?

Fourteen: It is always your fault. 

He drew his knees up to his chest grasping a fistful of his own hair, his breathing increasingly quick and shallow. “Shut up shut up shut up!” He hissed into the empty room. Cackling laughter echoed in the back of his mind. He tugged harder, squeezing his eyes shut. His nails dug into his scalp. Reminiscent of a child, sitting on the stairs listening to his parents arguing, arguing over him, they argue so much these days. Hearing his mother wailing at her husband's bedside. Her piercing scream that awoke the neighbourhood when she gazed upon her second son, fear reflected in her eyes as she saw what he had done.

"Why should I?" The demon purred in delight. "You brought it all upon yourself, my dear." Eldwin flinched,  feeling cold hands snake around his shoulders, the presence of a looming figure behind him. If he were to look, there would be nothing there. But he knew. He could feel the icy breath on his skin and he knew, he knew when the demon whispered, can sense his wicked grin. 

“You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

----

If you enjoyed this story please consider reblogging, it really helps the reach for others to enjoy it too!

Taglist: @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees (let me know anytime you want to be added or removed!)

UPDATE FEB 2025: Revised it a little, it's still mostly the same with some rephrasing and grammatical corrections.

[gyutopia]

world of sinners viii | sim jaeyun

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: your parents are the head of one of the nation’s most lucrative syndicates and your older brother is heir to the throne which leaves you free to leave this world of evil behind. you’ve been waiting for this day for twenty years of your life, you can practically taste the freedom. what will you do, however, when your parents arrange a marriage for you to bind together their empire with the lee’s to stop a full on gang war?

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: sim jaeyun x f!reader ft brother sungchan & heesung

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 14.9k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: tooth rotting fluff, slight suggestive scenes towards the end, mentions of death, forced marriage, mentions of pregnancy, slight talk about childhood trauma, lots and lots of kissing.

| previous | masterlist |

The morning light filters through the kitchen windows, casting a soft glow over the table as you and Jake settle into the comfortable rhythm of breakfast. He’s reading over some reports on his tablet, the subtle clinking of dishes filling the air, while you savor the quiet of your new life. This is what peace feels like, you think—far from the chaos, the danger, the weight of the syndicate.

You glance at the art sketches scattered across the kitchen counter, the remnants of last night’s brainstorming session. Since Jake set up the art subsidiary for you, your career has taken off in ways you never imagined. Galleries and exhibitions have been reaching out, and your work is finally being seen for what it is—not because of your family name, but because of your talent. It’s everything you dreamed of when you were younger, back when you used to imagine a future far away from the violence and power struggles of your family’s world.

Jake’s world.

You look over at him now, the man who has become both your partner and your greatest supporter over these past two years. He’s no longer tied to the syndicate either—he truly left that life behind when he handed the reins to Heeseung, focusing now on managing the legitimate businesses he’s grown over the years. He’s built an empire of his own, one based on integrity and vision, a stark contrast to the shadows of his old life. The way he thrives in this role, the confidence he carries as CEO, fills you with pride every time you think about it.

You smile to yourself, content with how far both of you have come, when Jake’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Let’s get married.”

You freeze mid-bite, fork halfway to your mouth, blinking in confusion. “Jake, we’re already married,” you remind him, letting out a soft laugh. It’s such an odd thing for him to say, considering the years that have passed since that arranged wedding—the one that felt more like a death sentence than a celebration of love.

But Jake sets his tablet down and turns fully toward you, his expression soft but serious. “I know,” he says, his tone gentle but purposeful. “But that wasn’t the wedding I want to remember.”

You furrow your brow, lowering your fork. “What do you mean?”

He takes a breath, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “That wedding wasn’t for us. It was for them. For our families. We did what we had to do to stop a war. It wasn’t about love. Not then.”

You swallow, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. He’s right. That day had been more about survival than anything else, the union meant to bring two rival families together and prevent bloodshed. Love hadn’t been part of the equation back then.

But now…

“I don’t want that to be the wedding we talk about when we look back,” Jake continues, his voice low, almost reverent. “I don’t want that to be the wedding we tell our kids about one day.”

Your heart stutters at the mention of kids. You and Jake haven’t discussed that part of your future since opening the chest his mother left for him two years ago, but hearing him say it now, it feels… right. Like it’s always been part of the plan, just waiting for the right moment.

He squeezes your hand, his gaze searching yours. “This time, I want it to be different. I want a wedding that’s just for us. Small, quiet. Something meaningful. Something that you actually get to be a part of.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. The idea of another wedding—a real wedding—starts to form in your mind. Not the grand, suffocating affair from before, where every powerful person from both families was watching your every move. But something intimate, personal. A celebration of who you and Jake have become together, not who you were forced to be.

“I didn’t think…” you start, your voice soft, “I didn’t think you cared about that day anymore.”

Jake’s eyes soften, a small smile playing at his lips. “Of course I care. That day changed everything. It brought us together. But it didn’t happen the way it should have. You deserve more than a wedding built on an agreement between our parents. You deserve a day that’s all about us.”

Your heart swells at his words. It’s not that you’ve spent time resenting that first wedding—after all, it’s what led you here, to this life of love and peace. But now that Jake’s saying it, you realize how much it matters. How much it would mean to have a wedding that was truly yours.

“And this time,” Jake continues, “it’ll be small. Just a few close friends, our siblings, maybe some of your artist friends. No media, no politics. Just us.”

You smile, the thought of it filling you with a warmth you didn’t know you needed. “A small wedding,” you echo, nodding. “I like that.”

Jake’s eyes brighten, a flicker of excitement behind the calm determination. “So, what do you think?” he asks, leaning forward slightly, his thumb still tracing circles over your hand. “Will you marry me? For real this time?”

The sincerity in his question, the vulnerability of it, makes your chest tighten in the best way possible. You’ve come so far together, overcome so much. The idea of rewriting that part of your story, of creating something new and entirely yours, feels like the final piece falling into place.

You take a deep breath, your smile growing as you nod. “Yes, Jake. I’ll marry you again.”

His smile is wide now, and you can see the weight lift from his shoulders, the sense of relief and happiness he’s been holding back. “Good,” he says, squeezing your hand one last time before releasing it. “Because I already started thinking about the details.”

You raise an eyebrow, your amusement returning. “You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gives him away. “Maybe a little. I wanted to make sure it’d be perfect.”

“Perfect, huh?” you tease, leaning back in your chair. “What’s your idea of perfection, Mr. Sim?”

Jake chuckles, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Something simple. Somewhere quiet, maybe by the beach or in the mountains. Just us, the people we love, and no distractions. We’ll say our vows, have dinner, and celebrate the way we want to.”

The thought of it—the simplicity, the intimacy—makes your heart flutter. You can picture it now, standing with Jake under the open sky, surrounded by the people who have seen you both through the toughest times. The idea of a wedding without all the trappings of power and status feels like the truest celebration of what you and Jake have become together.

“And this time,” Jake adds, his voice softening as he leans closer, “you’ll get to plan it with me. You’ll get to choose everything, from the flowers to the music. It’ll be the wedding you want.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, overwhelmed by how thoughtful he is. You’d never openly admitted how little the first wedding meant to you, but Jake had seen it. He’d known, just like he always does.

“Jake…” you whisper, but he shakes his head, cutting you off with a gentle smile.

“You deserve perfect,” he says softly, his gaze holding yours. “And I’m going to make sure you get it.”

Before you can respond, the warmth in his eyes shifts to something more playful. “You know,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin, “I was thinking maybe we could start planning today.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Already? You just asked!”

“Exactly.” He stands and walks over to your side of the table, his hands resting on your shoulders as he bends down, kissing the top of your head. “No time like the present.”

You feel his hands gently pull you from your chair, a lighthearted laugh escaping your lips as he spins you around to face him. The mischievous glint in his eyes deepens, making you feel like you’re falling in love with him all over again.

As the morning sunlight bathes the room in golden light, you realize this is the life you always wanted. Free from the shadows of your past, filled with love, creativity, and peace. Jake has given you everything he promised, and now, together, you’ll rewrite the beginning of your love story.

“Alright, let’s do this,” you say with a smile, your heart full. “Let’s plan our real wedding.”

There’s an easy warmth in the air as you sit together, a notebook open between you, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair. The two of you have been going back and forth for hours, discussing every little detail, and you can’t help but laugh at how much he’s getting into it.

As you flip through venues, a playful thought strikes you. “What if we just went down to city hall?” you joke, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “It’d be simple, easy—no planning required.”

Jake gives you a look of mock horror, his lips pulling into a pout. “City hall? Really?” He crosses his arms, leaning back slightly with a dramatic sigh. “Come on, be serious. This is our wedding we’re talking about.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I am serious! I mean, it could be romantic in its own way.”

He leans closer, his hand finding yours. “Maybe, but you deserve something better than ‘simple and easy,’” he says softly, his pout gone, replaced by the sincerity that makes your heart flutter every time. “What if we made it a destination wedding?”

“A destination wedding?” You arch an eyebrow, glancing at him with playful skepticism. “That sounds pricey, Jake. I don’t think we need to go all out like that.”

Jake’s expression doesn’t waver. “We can afford it,” he says firmly. “And you deserve it.”

He watches you for a moment, his gaze soft but intent, and you realize he’s not just saying this to spoil you—he genuinely wants to give you everything he can. Before you can argue further, Jake’s voice drops to a more tender tone. “How about the coast of France?”

Your breath catches in your throat. France. The place you had always dreamed of escaping to before your life had taken a sharp turn with the marriage arrangement. The coast of France had been your dream, the start of a new chapter away from the syndicate. That fact that Jake remembered, that he wants to give you that piece of your past, overwhelms you.

Your vision blurs with tears you’re not sure how to hold back. “Jake…” you whisper, trying to steady yourself, but the emotion chokes you for a moment. “You remembered?”

“Of course I did.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand gently. “I know how much it meant to you, starting a new life there. So, let’s start this new chapter together. In France. How does that sound?”

A tear slips down your cheek, and you quickly wipe it away, nodding. “It sounds perfect.”

The two of you agree on the destination, your heart swelling with love for the man sitting beside you, and the excitement of planning a wedding that truly belongs to both of you fills the air.

The second week of planning brings a whole new level of excitement. You and Jake sit in your living room, the morning sunlight filtering through the windows, sipping coffee as you scroll through portfolios of wedding planners. After a few hours, you finally find someone who specializes in destination weddings. She’s based in France and has a great reputation for handling small, intimate affairs. It feels like fate.

You and Jake schedule a video call with her the next day, and you can already tell by her enthusiasm and creative ideas that she’s perfect for helping bring your vision to life. The two of you discuss what you want—something elegant but relaxed, a wedding that feels like a natural extension of your love rather than a grand event. The planner immediately suggests a handful of venues on the French Riviera, sending you pictures of quiet beaches with crystal-clear waters and cliffside views that take your breath away.

Jake’s eyes light up as he points to one of the images. “This one,” he says, his tone definitive. “This is the place.”

It’s a private beach near Nice, a secluded spot with soft, golden sand and a view that stretches endlessly over the blue waters of the Mediterranean. You can practically see the two of you exchanging vows there, surrounded by the people you love most.

Jake reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “What do you think? This feels right, doesn’t it?”

You nod, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. “It’s perfect,” you whisper.

That night, after finalizing the venue, the two of you sit in bed, flipping through color swatches and mood boards the planner sent over. Jake is more invested than you ever thought he would be, debating between shades of blue as if it were a business decision. Eventually, you both settle on white and baby blue—a soft, calming palette that mirrors the beachside setting.

As you rest your head on his shoulder, watching him get excited over even the smallest details, you realize just how lucky you are. Jake’s passion for the wedding isn’t about grandeur; it’s about making this moment special for both of you. He wants it to reflect your love, your shared journey, and the fresh start you’re both building.

By week three, the wedding planning is in full swing, and you’ve entered the world of cake tasting, menu planning, and choosing flowers. Jake’s schedule has gotten more hectic, with business deals and meetings piling up as his conglomerate grows, but he’s still determined to make time for the wedding.

“I’ll drive us to the tasting,” he insists one afternoon when you suggest going alone so he can focus on work. “This wedding comes first.”

The cake tasting is far more enjoyable than you expected. The two of you sit in a quaint bakery, plates of assorted flavors and frostings spread out before you. Jake, ever the businessman, analyzes each bite as if it’s a critical decision.

“This one’s too sweet,” he says, scrunching his nose at a raspberry-filled slice.

You stifle a laugh. “Jake, it’s cake. It’s supposed to be sweet.”

“I know, but this one’s going to make people pass out from sugar overload.” He slides the plate aside and reaches for the next flavor, offering you a bite of the chocolate mousse.

You laugh, shaking your head as you take a bite. “Fine, but don’t expect me to give up on dessert just because you think it’s too sugary.”

After a few more rounds of tasting, you settle on a small classic vanilla cake with buttercream frosting and a layer of strawberry jam. It’s light, fresh, and perfect for a summer wedding on the beach.

From there, the two of you head to the florist. Despite Jake’s busy schedule, he stays present and engaged, discussing flower arrangements as though it’s the most important task on his list. You decide on white and blue roses, simple and elegant, perfectly complementing your color scheme.

After finalizing the details, Jake surprises you by pulling into another nearby flower shop. “Wait here,” he says, hopping out of the car before you can ask why.

A few minutes later, he returns with a bouquet of white roses. “These are for now,” he says, handing them to you with a grin. “Just because.”

Your heart swells as you take the flowers, the sweet fragrance filling the air. He leans in, kissing your forehead softly, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. It’s these little gestures that remind you of just how deeply Jake cares about you, not just in grand, sweeping ways, but in the small, thoughtful moments that mean the most.

The two of you stop for lunch at a quiet restaurant by the water, sharing plates of pasta and salad while talking about the wedding. Jake checks his phone occasionally, balancing work and life as he always does, but he’s here with you, fully present when it matters. As you sip your drink, you watch him, grateful for every part of this journey—how far you’ve come from your old life, and how much you have to look forward to in this new chapter together.

Week four is when everything starts to feel real. The wedding planner has sent over digital mockups of the invitations, and you’ve both made a final guest list. It’s a small gathering, just your closest friends and select family, exactly as you wanted.

You send out invitations to your brothers, Anton and Haru, Jay and Sunghoon, and of course, Jungwon, Sunno, and Niki—friends who left the syndicate behind and followed Jake into a new life, now working with him in his conglomerate.

The moment the invites go out, your phone buzzes. Haru is the first to call, her excitement spilling through the line as soon as you pick up.

“Oh my gosh, you’re getting married! Again!” Haru practically screams, her voice brimming with joy. “I knew you’d find love, but this is beyond perfect. Jake is everything you deserve, and more!”

You smile, her enthusiasm making your heart lighter. “I’m so happy you’ll be there,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “It wouldn’t be the same without you, Haru.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Haru says, and you can almost see her bouncing on her toes. “And in France? It’s like something out of a fairy tale! You’re living the dream, girl!”

Next, Anton calls, you merge it with Haru’s call. His tone is more subdued but equally heartfelt. “I’m really happy for you,” he says, his voice warm. “You and Jake… you’re good together. I can see it. I’m glad you found someone who makes you feel that way.”

You bite back a tear at his words. You’re reminded of the crush Anton had on you, a quiet crush carried for years, but there’s no sadness in his voice now—only genuine happiness for the life you’ve built. “Thank you, Anton,” you say softly. “It means a lot that you’ll be there.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he replies. There’s a pause, and then he adds, “I’m proud of you. You deserve this.”

After a beat, you work up the courage to ask, “Before I let the two of you go, will you both be my bridesmaids?”  There’s a brief pause before both Haru and Anton respond simultaneously, their excitement and warmth coming through the phone. “Of course!” Haru chirps, while Anton laughs softly and says, “I’d be honored.”

It’s then that you realize just how important these people are to you—not just as friends, but as part of your new family, the one you’re building alongside Jake. 

By the time week five arrives, Haru and Anton have flown in from France to go dress shopping with you. The arrival hall at the airport buzzes with the usual mix of hurried travelers, greetings, and farewells, but none of that matters as you wait eagerly by the large glass windows. It’s been months since you’ve seen Anton and Haru, and today they’re flying in for the wedding. Standing beside you, Niki scrolls through his phone, casually waiting, but you can tell he’s just as excited as you. After all, Anton and Haru haven’t seen him since everything went down—and back then, he wasn’t the carefree Niki who stood next to you now, cracking jokes and making you laugh.

You spot Anton first, his familiar figure emerging from the crowd, followed by Haru, her laughter already ringing out as she spots you. But as they get closer, it’s clear their attention shifts, eyes landing on Niki.

“Niki?” Haru’s voice holds a note of disbelief. “Is that… you?” Her gaze flits between you and him, as if she’s trying to reconcile the image of the lighthearted guy beside you with the stoic, silent bodyguard she once knew.

Anton, his eyes wide with surprise, points at Niki. “Last time we saw you, you were getting arrested with her, and now you’re—” He gestures at the grin on Niki’s face. “Now you’re like… normal.”

Niki grins mischievously, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m still pretty dangerous,” he quips, then leans closer to you, dropping his voice playfully. “At least, that’s what they tell me.”

Haru blinks at him, then bursts into laughter. “You’re louder than I ever imagined!”

Without missing a beat, Niki shoots her a mock glare. “Hey, I’m not that loud! It’s called having a personality.”

You can’t help but giggle at their banter as Anton shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you coming with us for the dress fitting, then?” he asks, though it’s clear he expects Niki to decline.

Niki shakes his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “Nope. I’m just the chauffeur today. Someone had an exhibit last night and barely slept, so Jake made me drive her around to keep an eye on her.”

You roll your eyes but smile as you all head towards the car. Niki, ever the responsible one when Jake isn’t around, holds the passenger door open for you while Anton and Haru pile into the back. Once everyone’s settled, Niki starts the engine, the soft hum of the car filling the space as you pull out of the airport.

“So,” Haru chimes in after a few minutes of silence, “how’s the wedding planning going? Are you nervous? Is Jake helping?”

You lean back in your seat, trying not to laugh at the mention of Jake. “Oh, he’s helping alright,” you say, a teasing note in your voice. “He’s been involved in every single detail.”

Niki lets out a scoff from the driver’s seat. “Helping? He had a whole conference meeting with the boys just to decide on cufflinks and hairstyles.”

That grabs your attention. You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at Niki. “He never told me about that.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Niki mutters, casting you a dramatic side-eye. “It was the most stressful meeting I’ve ever sat in. We spent an hour talking about loafers. Loafers.”

Anton and Haru burst into laughter from the backseat, and you can’t help but join in. “Loafers? What could possibly be stressful about loafers?”

Niki turns to you, his eyes narrowed in exasperation. “Oh, that wasn’t the stressful part. Jake nearly lost his mind over whether he should grow out his hair or cut it before the wedding. He was this close to uninviting us because we all voted for the cut. Apparently, you like his hair grown out, and that little detail almost cost us our lives.”

Your laughter fills the car, and you clutch your sides as Niki glares at you. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” you manage between fits of giggles. “I’ll apologize on his behalf.”

Anton chuckles, shaking his head. “Jake seems more like the bridezilla than you do.”

The conversation flows naturally as Niki drives, the sound of their voices making the car feel alive. You chat about the wedding, the beachside venue, the colors, and the excitement of seeing everything finally come together. Soon, you pull into the parking lot of the boutique where your dress fitting is scheduled. Niki parks the car and turns to you with a grin.

“I’ll drop off Anton and Haru’s bags at your place and pick you up later,” he says, giving you a thumbs-up. Anton and Haru thank him, and the three of you head into the boutique, excitement buzzing in the air.

The moment you step into the boutique, the elegance of the space washes over you. Soft lighting illuminates rows of stunning gowns, each one looking more beautiful than the last. A sales associate approaches, offering you a welcoming smile. “Good afternoon, would you care for some champagne while we get everything ready?”

You nod, nerves fluttering in your chest, and the associate leads you to a plush seating area with a table set for dress viewing. Anton and Haru take their seats beside you, accepting glasses of champagne while you sip yours slowly, eyes darting over the dresses on display.

“Alright,” the associate says as she returns with a tablet, “let’s get started. I’ve pulled a few gowns based on your preferences. But of course, feel free to let me know if anything catches your eye.”

Dress after dress is brought out, each more intricate and dazzling than the last. Haru’s opinions are lively and precise, pointing out the elegant detailing or a certain silhouette she loves, while Anton’s feedback is quieter, though equally thoughtful.

“You’d look great in sleeves,” Haru says as she holds up a slim-fit gown with delicate lace sleeves. “It’s perfect for the venue.”

But as beautiful as the dresses are, something just isn’t clicking. You admire the craftsmanship, the elegance, but none of them feel like your dress. The longer it goes on, the more your nerves start to rise, creeping up your spine as doubt begins to settle in.

Haru catches the change in your mood, leaning over to give your hand a gentle squeeze. “Hey, we’ll find it. Don’t worry.”

You nod, trying to push down the rising anxiety. Anton stands, eyeing a few gowns on the other side of the boutique. “What about these?” he asks, bringing over two sleeveless ball gowns covered in intricate beading. “You wanted something more dramatic, right?”

You try them on, admiring the beading and flow of the fabric, but something still feels off. You twirl in front of the mirror, biting your lip as tears prick the corners of your eyes. The frustration is bubbling up, threatening to spill over.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whisper. “I can’t find anything.”

Anton exchanges a glance with Haru, who immediately stands and takes your hands. “Hey, don’t freak out. We’ve got this,” she says softly, her voice soothing. “What do you like about the dresses you’ve tried?”

You take a deep breath, focusing on the details you loved—the sleeves on Haru’s picks, the beading on Anton’s. “I like the sleeves, but it’ll be too hot for the beach. And the beading is gorgeous, but…”

Anton’s eyes light up with an idea. “Why not customize your dress? You can have the best of both worlds—keep the sleeves, but maybe make the back open for some air. And the beading? We can work that in too.”

The suggestion feels like a revelation, and your shoulders relax as you consider it. “But… a custom dress will cost so much.”

Haru scoffs, rolling her eyes playfully. “Jake can more than afford it. He told me to make sure you don’t leave without a dress you love, no matter the price tag.”

You laugh, feeling the tension finally release from your body. Of course Jake had thought of that. He always seemed to know exactly what you needed, even before you did.

“Okay,” you agree, smiling at the idea. “Let’s do it.”

The associate returns, and the three of you discuss the alterations, excitement building once more. By the time you leave the boutique, you feel lighter, happier, and more certain that your dress will be everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

After the fitting, Niki picks you up and drives you to meet Jake for lunch. When you arrive at the restaurant, Jake is already seated at a table near the window, his eyes lighting up the moment he sees you.

“Hey, how did dress shopping go?” he asks, standing to kiss your cheek as you sit down.

You shrug, a wry smile on your lips. “It didn’t go great at first. I couldn’t find anything I liked, but Anton and Haru helped me come up with an alternative.”

Jake frowns, immediately looking concerned. “I’m sorry it didn’t go the way you wanted.”

You wave him off, smiling. “It’s okay. We’re customizing the dress now, so it’ll be perfect.”

Jake smiles in relief, and you spend the rest of lunch laughing with Haru and Anton, enjoying the easy company and delicious food. Jake, as always, is attentive and warm, his hand resting on yours beneath the table. You feel the warmth and reassurance from him as you chat with Haru and Anton about the rest of the wedding plans. The conversation flows effortlessly, and the restaurant is filled with the comfortable energy of friends coming together for an important moment in your life.

Jake leans back, grinning as Anton shares a funny story about their mutual friend, someone Jake had introduced him to a few months ago. You find yourself watching Jake as he laughs, the crinkles around his eyes showing his genuine joy. It’s moments like these that remind you just how far you and Jake have come, from the arranged marriage full of complications to this—shared happiness with close friends and a wedding that’s now only days away.

As you finish up lunch, Jake checks his watch. “We should probably head home. You’ve got another exhibit to prepare for, and I still have a couple of meetings this afternoon.”

You nod, feeling a little more at ease than you did at the beginning of the day. Jake pays the bill, and the four of you make your way out of the restaurant and back to Jake’s car, laughing and talking the whole way.

The next few weeks pass in a blur of fittings, meetings with the florist, and double-checking every small detail for the big day. You attend your final dress fitting, and the custom gown turns out even better than you imagined—sleek, elegant, and adorned with the perfect amount of beading. Haru and Anton cheer when they see you in it, and your heart soars, knowing you’ll walk down the aisle in something that feels uniquely yours.

Jake is busy too, finalizing everything on his end. He insists on being involved in every aspect, and although you tease him for being so particular about the cufflinks or table settings, you can’t help but love how dedicated he is to making sure everything is perfect.

Finally, it’s three days before the wedding, and you find yourself back at the airport once more—this time with Jake by your side as you wait for the last group of guests to arrive. Haru and Anton stand beside you, chatting excitedly as they scroll through pictures of the venue villa.

Jake looks at his watch again, tapping his foot impatiently. He’s been pouty all morning, mostly because his friends are running late. “They better not make us miss our flight,” he grumbles, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall.

You chuckle, squeezing his hand. “They’ll be here soon.”

Just as you say that, you spot two familiar figures coming toward you—Sungchan and Heeseung, laughing as they walk through the terminal. Their friendship was a shock to you when it first happened, you couldn’t fathom how close they had gotten over such a short period of time. Especially given Sungchan’s previous…relationship with Heeseung’s mother but it’s clear the two had gotten over it and are now thick as thieves. Jake’s mood brightens immediately, a grin spreading across his face as he waves them over.

Heeseung is his usual self, making jokes even before they reach you. “What can I say? Beauty like mine takes time,” he says, flipping his hair dramatically. Jake rolls his eyes.

Jake scowls, but it’s clear he’s only teasing. “I’m starting to regret inviting you.”

Sungchan, on the other hand, rushes forward and pulls you into a tight hug. “Oh my gosh, I’m so excited for you!” His voice is full of warmth, and his excitement is contagious. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

“I know,” you say, smiling widely. “It feels surreal.”

Before you can say anything else, Jay and Sunghoon arrive, slightly out of breath. Jay scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry for the delay. Sunghoon left his carry-on at home.”

Sunghoon shrugs, unfazed. “You rushed me.”

“Hey, at least you made it,” you laugh, giving them both a hug. Finally, Niki, Sunoo, and Jungwon come into view. Jungwon looks slightly embarrassed as he admits, “I, uh, waited until the last minute to pack…” He clears his throat when he sees the glare Jake is sending his way. “And Niki overpacked, so Sunoo had to help him,” Jungwon adds, shooting Niki a glance.

Jake scoffs, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve uninvited them.”

Niki rolls his eyes dramatically and looks at you. “Can you control your fiancé, please? He’s out here acting like a tyrant.”

You laugh and lean up to press a kiss to Jake’s cheek. “It’s okay,” you say, smoothing a hand over his arm. “We’re all here now.”

The group makes their way to check in and heads through the maze that is airport security. There’s the usual hassle of removing shoes, unpacking electronics, and patiently waiting as security checks each item. But despite the stress, everyone is in good spirits, chatting about the wedding and the upcoming celebrations.

Jake keeps close to you the whole time, his hand either resting on your back or intertwined with yours as you make your way through the airport. His usual calm demeanor seems a bit more on edge, but you can tell it’s just the excitement and anticipation building up.

Once you’ve all passed through security, you head to your gate. Since you’re flying business class, you get to board first, and soon, everyone is settled into their seats. You and Jake are in a private cabin, the rest of your friends scattered throughout the business class section.

As the flight gets underway, the excitement and busyness of the past few days finally catch up with you. You feel your eyelids growing heavier, the gentle hum of the plane lulling you to sleep. You snuggle into your seat, pulling the blanket up around you as you let out a content sigh.

Just as you’re drifting off, you hear the sound of someone sliding open the door to your cabin. You feel a sudden warmth as the blanket is lifted and someone slips in behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist. Turning slightly, you see Jake getting comfortable, his face only inches from yours.

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Jake, what are you doing?”

He pouts, his voice soft as he pulls you closer. “I can’t sleep unless I’m holding you.”

His words melt your heart, and you don’t argue. Instead, you settle against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Jake presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and within minutes, the both of you are fast asleep, wrapped up in each other as the plane continues its journey.

When you wake again, the cabin is bright with sunlight streaming through the windows. The quiet murmur of passengers fills the air, some watching movies, others chatting softly. You groan softly, your face still nestled against Jake’s chest, and rub your eyes, reluctant to fully wake up. His arm tightens around your waist as if sensing your movement, pulling you closer. For a brief moment, you feel like drifting back to sleep, but the light dims when someone stands over your seat, casting a shadow.

Peeking up, you see Heeseung grinning down at you, his expression nothing short of mischievous. His eyes gleam with amusement as he loudly announces, “They’re awake!”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “What—?”

Before you can finish, a group of familiar faces crowds around your seat. Jake groans from behind you, his grip on your waist loosening as he slowly sits up. At the front of the group is Haru and Niki, both of them exchanging knowing glances. Sungchan is beside them, arms crossed but grinning like he’s thoroughly entertained by the scene. Behind them, Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Sunoo are grinning ear to ear, as if they’ve just caught you in the act of some big secret.

Niki shakes his head, clucking his tongue disapprovingly but with a smile. “Can’t even keep your hands to yourself for the whole flight?”

“We thought Jake had gone missing somewhere on the plane,” Jay says, looking far too pleased with himself. “But no surprise, he’s with you.”

Jongwon, peering over the group, smirks at you. “Figured as much.”

Heeseung, never one to miss a moment, leans in slightly, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “So… how was the mile-high club?”

Your face burns red instantly, and you gape at him while the rest of the group bursts into laughter. Jake lets out a deep, sleepy groan behind you, his face half-hidden in your hair, clearly not in the mood for Heeseung’s teasing. “How much longer until we land?” Jake mumbles, completely ignoring the joke.

“Two hours,” Niki replies, still smirking.

“They’re serving breakfast soon,” Anton adds, raising an eyebrow at Jake. “You might want to get back to your own seat before they do.”

Jake doesn’t respond right away. Instead, to your embarrassment, he pulls you back against his chest and buries his face in your hair, mumbling, “Just a bit longer.”

There’s a chorus of coos and squeals, not just from Haru but from some of the guys too, amused by Jake’s stubbornness. You can feel your face heat up even more, completely mortified by the whole scene. But instead of saying anything, the group just shakes their heads, exchanging glances before they slowly disperse, leaving the two of you alone again.

You sigh in relief, but Jake remains unfazed, his arms still firmly wrapped around you. “Are you seriously going to stay here?” you whisper, glancing toward the door of your cabin.

Jake just hums, his eyes still closed, clearly not ready to move. “Mm-hmm.”

You sigh again, but his warmth is too comforting to resist. Before long, you let yourself relax back against him, your eyelids growing heavy once more. A few minutes later, you hear the clinking of breakfast carts coming down the aisle, signaling the end of your stolen moment.

Jake eventually shifts, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before muttering into your ear, “We’ll pick this up again once we’re off the plane.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. He leaves your cabin to return to his own seat, and you settle back into your own, already anticipating what’s to come once you land.

Nice France is stunning.

The waters are so blue that it almost blinds you, shimmering under the sunlight like diamonds scattered across the sea. The villa—beautifully secluded—is grouped in a semicircle, each one tucked away just enough for privacy, yet close enough to give the group a shared sense of connection. You and Jake have your own villa, a gorgeous spot nestled right at the edge of the platform, offering a view that stretches across the horizon. Haru and Anton are staying in another, while the rest of the group has paired off.

Jake’s hand lingers on the small of your back as you take it all in, the excitement of the upcoming wedding and the breathtaking scenery filling the air. Everything feels perfect, almost surreal. You say your goodbyes to your friends and make plans to meet back on the beach to go swimming together in thirty minutes.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at your suitcase trying to decide which bikini to wear. The wedding is tomorrow evening, but all you can think about now is the beach waiting just a few steps away. When Jake emerges from the bathroom, he’s only wearing a pair of board shorts, hanging low on his hips, his muscles still glistening from the shower. The sight of him makes your breath hitch, your eyes tracing the line of his abs, which look just defined enough to be distracting.

Pouting slightly, you glance up at him. “What if I look ugly in the photos tomorrow?”

Jake raises an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Impossible. You could never look ugly.” His words, though simple, make your heart flutter in your chest.

Before you can protest, he points at the navy blue one-piece bikini lying on top of your suitcase. “Wear that one,” he says, his voice teasingly firm. “You can save the red one for our honeymoon.”

You laugh softly, feeling your nerves fade as you nod. “Okay.”

You change into the swimsuit, not at all fazed by Jake’s pickiness. He helps you apply sunscreen, his hands gentle as they smooth the lotion over your skin. Afterward, you take his hand, and the two of you head outside, where the sun warms your skin almost instantly. Along the boardwalk, you spot Jungwon and Sunghoon walking together, laughing at something Sungchan said.

The beach is buzzing with energy as the group slowly gathers by the shore, each person already shedding their cover-ups and kicking off their sandals. The sky is painted a perfect shade of blue, stretching endlessly above, and the sun kisses the horizon where the water sparkles, inviting them in. There’s a feeling of freedom in the air, something nostalgic yet new, as if this moment could last forever.

Jake leads you toward the water, his hand warm and steady in yours. “Race you there?” he challenges, his grin wide and playful. Before you can even respond, he’s already taken off, splashing into the waves with an unrestrained laugh.

“Hey! No fair!” you shout, chasing after him, the sand hot beneath your feet. You plunge into the cool water, the initial shock of it exhilarating as you swim to catch up. Jake glances back, and when he sees you gaining on him, he dives deeper into the turquoise water, disappearing below the surface.

You don’t let him get away that easily. Pushing yourself further, you dive too, the world around you turning muted and serene. You catch sight of him just ahead, his form sleek in the water like some kind of sea creature. In a swift move, you reach out and grab his wrist, pulling him back toward you. Jake breaks the surface, laughing as you emerge beside him, both of you breathless and grinning.

“You cheated,” you accuse, splashing water at him.

Jake catches your hand and pulls you closer, his wet hair dripping and eyes bright. “You just need to be faster,” he teases, leaning in to steal a quick kiss before diving under again.

Nearby, the rest of the group is also immersed in the fun. Jungwon and Niki are having a splash war, each trying to outdo the other with bigger waves. Haru and Anton are farther out, floating on their backs and chatting idly about the scenery. Sungchan and Sunghoon take turns diving beneath the surface, seeing who can hold their breath the longest, while Heeseung and Jay toss a beach ball back and forth. Laughter echoes across the beach, each moment brimming with lightness that none of you could have imagined a few years ago.

Eventually, you and Jake drift back toward the shore, finding your way to a spot just above where the waves break. You lie down on the warm sand, catching your breath, while Jake settles beside you, propped up on one elbow as he watches you.

“Having fun?” he asks, his tone soft now, the playful edge gone.

You nod, gazing up at him with a smile. “It’s perfect. And I can’t believe we’re actually doing this… getting married tomorrow.”

He traces a line along your arm, the touch delicate and thoughtful. “It feels right, though, doesn’t it? Like it was always supposed to happen.”

His words fill you with a quiet kind of joy, a warmth that blooms from somewhere deep within. You reach up, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “Yeah, it does.”

The two of you spend a little longer lying there in the sun, but as the afternoon wears on, it’s time to head back and get ready for dinner. You peel yourselves off the sand and walk back to the villa, hand in hand.

Once inside, you and Jake head straight to the shower. The water cascades down over both of you, washing away the salt and sand. Jake lathers body wash on you, his hands gentle as they work through the knots in your shoulder. You do the same for him, the two of you taking your time, turning even the simplest act into something intimate and tender.

As you rinse the last of the body scrub from your body, Jake’s hands slide over your waist, his touch lingering, and you look up at him, meeting his gaze. “Are you nervous for tomorrow?” you ask.

He shakes his head slightly, leaning closer. “No. Not about marrying you,” he replies softly, the conviction in his voice unmistakable. “I’m just excited.”

You smile and press a kiss to his lips. “Me too.”

After the shower, you both get ready, dressing up for dinner at a beachside restaurant. You slip into a flowy sundress that flutters in the ocean breeze, while Jake wears a crisp linen shirt and slacks. The restaurant is beautifully set up, with twinkling fairy lights and an unobstructed view of the water. The table reserved for your group is long and elegantly arranged, right on the sand, just a few steps from the shore.

The dinner starts out lighthearted, with everyone catching up and sharing stories, but as the meal progresses, it’s clear there’s a moment approaching where words need to be said. The atmosphere shifts when Heeseung stands up first, raising his glass. The conversations taper off, and everyone turns to face him.

Heeseung looks at Jake, then at you, his expression fond and contemplative. “I’ve grown up with Jake and if there’s one thing I can say, it’s that I’ve never seen him as happy as he is when he’s with you.” His gaze shifts back to you, a hint of something solemn in his eyes. “Both of us grew up in… a tough environment. Love wasn’t something we really understood back then, but you’ve given him something real. You’ve brought a warmth to his life that I didn’t think was possible. And for that… I’ll always be grateful to you.”

The words catch in your chest, their sincerity piercing. Jake’s hand tightens around yours under the table, and you blink back tears.

Heeseung’s lips quirk up into a soft smile, and he raises his glass higher. “To Jake and ____. I know you’ll make a beautiful life together.”

The group echoes his toast, and Jake leans over to kiss you, his eyes shining with emotion.

Sungchan is next. He clears his throat as he stands, a bit awkwardly at first, but then his voice strengthens. “___, you’re my sister, and I know we didn’t have it easy growing up either. Our family’s history isn’t exactly picture-perfect, We didn’t have a lot of love in our lives…not the kind that most people take for granted and love always seemed… conditional. We had each other, though, and we made do.” His voice wavers slightly, but he continues. “I always prayed she’d find someone who could love her as much as she deserved. Not just love her, but understand her—every part of her. And Jake… you’ve done that and more.”

He pauses, his eyes glistening as he looks at you and Jake. “You took something that was supposed to be a business arrangement, and you turned it into something beautiful. Something real. And now, she’s surrounded by more love than I ever thought possible. Not just from you, but from everyone here.” He raises his glass. “To my sister and the man who loves her selflessly. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

The group erupts in cheers, glasses clinking together as you rise from your seat to pull Sungchan into a tight hug. Tears prick at your eyes as he squeezes you back. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking.

The dinner continues with others chiming in to share their memories and well-wishes. The evening air is cool now, the sound of the waves in the background adding to the magic of the moment. After dessert, the group decides to take a walk along the beach, the soft sand shifting under your feet as you stroll side by side.

You and Jake walk a little ahead of the group, your hands linked as you chat about the speeches. But then Heeseung comes up behind you, clearing his throat. “Mind if I steal her for a bit?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Jake groans dramatically. “Do you have to?”

“Yes,” Heeseung says firmly, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Just for a little while.”

You give Jake a reassuring squeeze before letting go of his hand. “Go on,” you encourage with a grin. “I’ll be back soon.”

Jake sighs with exaggerated reluctance. “Fine,” he relents, “but don’t keep her too long.”

As you and Heeseung start walking along the shore, you glance at him with a curious expression. “What’s on your mind?”

He’s silent for a moment, then he takes a deep breath. “I just wanted to thank you,” he says quietly. “For bringing joy back into Jake’s life.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. “Heeseung, if anything, it’s Jake who brought joy back into mine,” you say gently.

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand,” he insists, his tone unwavering. “Jake isn’t the same person he used to be. There’s a new warmth in him now, and it’s because of you.”

His words touch you deeply, and you walk in silence for a few moments, processing everything. 

The sun dips lower over the horizon, casting a golden glow on the beach as you and Heeseung walk along the shore, the conversation winding through lighthearted topics and deeper matters. The laughter shared just moments ago settles into a quieter tone, leaving space for thoughts left unspoken.

You glance up at Heeseung as you walk. “How have you been, really?” you ask softly. “I know I haven’t checked in as much as I should’ve since… the funeral.”

Heeseung’s steps slow, and he clears his throat. His gaze shifts to the waves lapping against the sand, his expression unreadable as if he’s measuring his thoughts. “I’m doing much better now,” he says finally, though his voice is a little rough. “It was… rough at first.”

Your mind drifts back to that day, nearly a year ago now, when you, Jake, and Heeseung stood together at Yerin’s funeral. It was a muted, cold affair despite the bright sun that had shone down, a stark contrast to the dark circumstances surrounding her death. Jake and Heeseung’s father had dealt with Yerin in the only way they knew how after her plans to kill Heeseung and seize control of the syndicate came to light. There had been no mercy, no time for tears when decisions had to be made, alliances maintained, and lives secured.

And even knowing what Yerin had plotted—that she would have killed Heeseung, her own son, if it meant securing power—hadn’t made it easier for him. At the funeral, Heeseung had been a shattered mess, overwhelmed by grief tangled with resentment and guilt. He had stumbled down the aisle carrying her portrait in the procession, his hands trembling so badly that Jake had to step in, steadying him. There had been whispers from the gathered mourners, but you and Jake had paid them no mind, focusing instead on keeping Heeseung upright, physically and emotionally.

Jake had never been one to falter in the face of loss, having long ago become an expert at handling grief. It was he who had helped Heeseung get back on his feet in the months following Yerin’s death, staying patient and steady as Heeseung wavered. Jake had even insisted that Heeseung stay with the two of you for nearly three months, doing whatever it took to help his brother begin to heal, no matter how often Heeseung had tried to push him away.

“I know it wasn’t easy for you,” you say gently, glancing at Heeseung’s profile. “Jake and I could see how much it hurt.”

Heeseung lets out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “It did hurt,” he admits, voice quiet. “It was… complicated. I hated her for what she did, but I still couldn’t help… loving her, in a way. She was the only mother I ever really knew, even if she wasn’t a good one.”

The raw honesty in his tone makes your chest tighten, and you reach out, gently squeezing his arm. “It makes sense. Losing her, even under those circumstances, doesn’t erase what she meant to you… or what you had hoped she could have been.”

Heeseung’s eyes glisten for a moment before he looks away, nodding. “Yeah. I think that’s the hardest part—realizing she was never going to be the person I needed her to be.”

For a moment, neither of you speak, just the sound of waves rushing over the sand filling the space between you. You can tell that he’s thinking back to those nights after the funeral when he had stayed up with you and Jake, trying to drink away the grief, his sorrow spilling out in slurred confessions and bouts of anger. It had been exhausting to witness—Jake was stretched thin trying to balance supporting Heeseung and handling the syndicate while also trying to set the foundation for his life apart from crime. You had done your best to fill in the gaps, offering Heeseung comfort when Jake couldn’t.

But you have seen the subtle shifts in Heeseung over the last year. You’ve noticed how his smile has slowly begun to reach his eyes again, how he no longer looked so haunted when he glanced in the mirror. And now, as he turns back to face you, there’s a hint of that old spark in his gaze, the light that had been dimmed but never extinguished.

“I’m actually seeing someone,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. The surprise flickers in your eyes, and he chuckles at your expression. “Sungchan convinced me to start going to therapy, and I’ve been giving it a chance.”

Your shock is almost comical, and you can’t help but crack a joke. “Sungchan got you to go to therapy? I’d have believed you’d joined the circus first.”

Heeseung laughs, a real, unguarded sound. “I know, it sounds insane. But… It's been good. I’m not sure if I’m ‘fixed’ or whatever, but I’m actually starting to feel happy again.”

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of him like this. “I’m really glad, Heeseung. You deserve to be happy.” The sincerity in your voice makes him look at you, a flicker of gratitude crossing his face.

The conversation drifts to lighter topics for a moment before you pause, considering your words carefully. “How’s the syndicate?” you ask gently, knowing the weight the question carries. “Do you still want to keep running it?”

Heeseung is quiet for a long moment, the distant crash of waves filling the silence as he thinks. “It’s all I’ve ever known,” he admits. “So, yeah, for now, I’m content with it. But… I’m not opposed to walking away if I find my person—someone who makes it feel worth it to start over, like Jake found with you.”

His words touch something deep within you, and you feel a swell of emotion rising up. “You’ll find them, Heeseung,” you say softly. “And when you do, you’ll know it’s time.”

The conversation falls into a comfortable silence after that, your feet sinking into the sand as you walk together. It’s not long before you see Jake and the others waiting up ahead, their laughter and banter carrying over the sea breeze.

As you draw closer, Jake playfully shouts, “There you are! I was starting to get jealous.”

Heeseung grins at his brother, then turns to you and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks for the talk,” he says quietly before letting you go.

You rejoin the group, but before you can get too close to Jake, the boys close ranks around him, declaring, “No sharing a bed with your fiancée tonight!”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror, and he sputters, “What? No way! I’m not sleeping without her.”

Niki is the first to roll his eyes. “You’ll live if you don’t cuddle for one night, Jake. Come on, stop being dramatic.”

“I might die,” Jake protests, reaching out to you as the boys drag him away. “____, tell them they’re being unreasonable!”

You laugh, shaking your head as the boys tease him, calling him a “simp” and reminding him that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Eventually, they succeed in pulling him away, his whining carrying through the night as you head to your villa with Haru and Anton for a quiet sleepover.

The villa is cozy and peaceful compared to the lively beach, and as you slip into your pajamas, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for moments like this—moments where, for just a while, the past’s darkness gives way to laughter and love.

As you settle in with Haru and Anton, Haru can hardly contain her excitement. “I still can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow!” she exclaims, bouncing slightly on the bed.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” you giggle. “Technically, Jake and I have been married for two years, but this… this feels brand new.”

Anton smiles at you knowingly. “That’s because you’re in love,” he says simply, the words resonating with a truth that warms your heart.

The three of you settle in for the night, watching movies and catching up on life. It feels like the perfect ending to a long day—a reminder that no matter the darkness you’ve all walked through, the present holds light and love worth embracing. And tomorrow, you’ll walk down the aisle with Jake again, only this time, it’ll be as two people who truly chose each other.

The morning light filters through the sheer curtains of the villa, casting a soft glow over the quiet room. A gentle knock on the door breaks the silence, followed by Anton’s voice, calm but excited. “Ladies, it’s time to wake up,” he calls out. “We’ve got a wedding to get ready for!”

You and Haru groan in unison, neither of you quite ready to let go of the comfort of the warm blankets. But the thought of what the day holds is enough to stir you both into motion. You rub your eyes and sit up, exchanging a sleepy but eager look with Haru as Anton opens the door. He’s grinning widely, a tray of coffee and pastries in his hands.

“Breakfast is served,” he announces, setting the tray on the bedside table. “Eat up, we’ve got a long day ahead.”

As you nibble on a croissant, the realization sinks in—today is your wedding day. A mix of nerves and joy flutters in your stomach. You and Jake are doing this again, but this time, for the right reasons.

“So,” Haru says, glancing at you with a playful glint in her eyes as she sips her coffee, “where’s Jake taking you for the honeymoon?”

You smile, excitement bubbling up inside you. “Saint Lucia,” you reply. “We’re going to explore the temples, visit some islands, and just… relax.”

Anton raises an eyebrow. “Saint Lucia, huh? Sounds adventurous.” He takes a bite of his pastry and then gives you a knowing look. “So… have you two talked about kids?”

The question catches you off guard, though you knew it would come up sooner or later. “We have,” you admit, glancing down at your plate. “Jake really wants a daughter, but… I feel like we still need some more time to know each other first, you know?”

Anton gives a light chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, ____. You’ve been married for two years already. How much more time do you need?” There’s a teasing tone in his voice, but his words make you pause, a thought settling in your mind.

He’s right. You and Jake had indeed spent the past two years learning how to love one another, how to be there for each other in ways that matter. You’ve seen the best and worst of each other, endured moments of hardship and celebrated moments of joy. Those two years hadn’t just been about overcoming the initial betrayal and conflict; they’d been about discovering who you are together—falling in love in a real and unbreakable way.

You picture Jake in your mind—his bright smile, the way he looks at you like you’re his whole world, and the warmth that fills his eyes whenever the topic of children comes up. You know, deep down, that he’ll be a great dad. The kind of father who would do anything for his kids, just as he’s done for you.

The realization leaves a warmth in your chest, and you find yourself smiling, your heart already a little more open to the idea. “Maybe you’re right,” you say softly. “Maybe… it’s not such a bad idea after all.”

Haru and Anton exchange a grin, and the three of you finish breakfast, chatting about wedding plans and memories from the past two years. Soon, the makeup artist arrives, ushering Haru and you to the vanity to begin your transformation for the day.

As the makeup artist works, Anton moves to get dressed in his suit. Niki arrives not long after, looking a bit flustered as he walks in, holding his tie awkwardly in one hand. “Hey, Anton,” he says, “mind helping me with this? You know I’m useless with ties.”

Anton chuckles and steps over to assist. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Niki,” he teases, skillfully looping and adjusting the tie. “There. Now you look presentable.”

You glance over at them from the mirror, your smile widening at the sight of Niki in his suit. It had been your idea to ask him to be one of your ’bridesmaids,’ a gesture that made him blush initially, but he had embraced it wholeheartedly. Meanwhile, Jake had chosen Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon to stand by his side as his groomsmen, making up a small but close-knit group.

When your makeup is finished, Haru takes your hand and guides you to a separate room where your dress awaits. You slip into the gown, Haru fastening each button down the back with care, and when you turn to look in the mirror, you almost don’t recognize yourself. The delicate lace and flowing fabric hug your figure perfectly, the dress shining with a soft shimmer that catches the light.

Haru’s eyes glisten as she steps back to take you in. “You look stunning, ____,” she whispers.

With her help, you make your way back to the main room. Anton and Niki turn to look, and their reactions are immediate. Anton’s jaw drops slightly, and Niki’s eyes go wide with awe.

“Wow,” Anton breathes. “You look… incredible.”

Niki nods emphatically. “Jake is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at their compliments. Before you can respond, there’s a knock at the door. Niki hurries over to answer, revealing Sungchan standing there. As he steps inside, his eyes fall on you, and they instantly begin to water.

“You look so beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he steps closer. “Like… unbelievably beautiful.”

You smile softly, stepping forward to give him a tight hug. “Thank you, Sungchan,” you whisper. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He hugs you back, his arms wrapped around you protectively. “Of course I’m here,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

For a moment, it’s just the two of you sharing in the moment, the years of being each other’s constant support and confidant pouring into this one embrace. Then, Niki’s voice breaks in, though he sounds almost apologetic. “Hate to break up the cute moment, but… it’s time.”

You pull back from Sungchan, a wide smile spreading across your face. During your last wedding, there hadn’t been a single genuine smile. You’d walked down the aisle as though heading to your own execution, tears of sadness streaming down your face. It had felt like the end of your life, not the beginning of something new. But today… today, you were rewriting that story.

The five of you make your way out of the villa and down towards the beach, where the ceremony is set up. The transformation is breathtaking—blue and white flowers and strands of pearls are everywhere, decorating the arch and lining the aisle. The sound of waves gently lapping against the shore provides a serene background, creating the perfect setting for the day.

Sungchan gives your arm a squeeze, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got this,” he says, though the encouraging words aren’t really necessary.

The music begins, and one by one, your entourage—Haru, Anton, and Niki—start walking down the aisle. You take a deep breath as Sungchan turns to face you, his expression tender. “Ready?” he asks.

You nod, slipping your arm through his. “More than ready.”

As you start down the aisle together, you lift your gaze and find Jake at the end. He’s standing there in his suit, his expression so full of emotion that it takes your breath away. His tears fall freely as he watches you draw closer, not bothering to hide his joy. Jay, beside him, discreetly hands him a pocket tissue, which Jake gratefully takes to dab at his eyes.

You feel your own tears prickling, and when you reach the end of the aisle, Sungchan gently hands you over to Jake. He wipes your tears with his thumb, his voice low and affectionate as he whispers, “Smile. It’s a happy day.”

He kisses your cheek, then steps aside to take his seat between Sunoo and Jungwon. Haru steps forward to wipe away your tears and takes your bouquet, holding it for you as you and Jake face each other.

The officiant begins the ceremony, but your mind is almost entirely focused on Jake. His hand squeezes yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. The vows come next, and Jake goes first, his voice trembling with emotion as he speaks.

“___,” he says, voice wavering slightly, “I never thought I’d get a second chance at marrying you. But when I look at you now, I realize that it wasn’t a second chance… It was just the right time.” He chuckles softly, blinking back tears. “The first time, we were strangers trying to find a way to survive together. But now, you’re my best friend, my partner, my heart.”

You feel the tears slipping down your cheeks again, but you don’t bother to stop them. Jake’s voice grows steadier, a smile tugging at his lips. “I promise to be the man you deserve, to support your dreams, and to make you laugh every single day. I want us to build a life that’s full of joy, not just because we’ve earned it, but because we choose it.” He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that cuts deep. “You’re the love of my life, ___, and I want everyone here to know that I’d marry you a thousand times over if it meant always being with you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the weight of Jake’s words sink in, each one like a tender embrace. The sincerity in his gaze makes your heart swell with so much love, you can barely contain it. You squeeze his hand, your tears flowing freely, not caring in the slightest how they make your makeup run. This time, they’re tears of overwhelming joy.

Jake takes a step closer, his voice steady and filled with emotion as he continues. “I vow to always be there for you, in every high and low, every joy and every sorrow. We’ve already been through so much, but I know that the best is yet to come. I want to grow old with you, to laugh at the silly things and hold each other through the storms. To be your partner in all things, to love you fiercely, and to always find my way back to you no matter what. You have my whole heart, now and always.”

The wind carries the sound of the waves gently crashing behind you, the sun casting a glow over the ceremony. It’s as though even the universe is smiling down on you both at this moment. You take a deep breath, blinking away the tears as you gather your own thoughts.

Your turn.

You let your thumb brush over Jake’s hand, grounding yourself in his warmth. “Jake,” you begin, voice wavering, “I don’t think I ever truly believed in fate until I met you. The first time, it felt like we were thrust together, and I was so scared of what that would mean for us. But through every trial, every moment of doubt, we found something real—something worth fighting for. We’ve already lived a lifetime in two years, but it’s not enough. I want a hundred more with you.”

Jake’s eyes remain fixed on you, a glimmer of tears in them as you speak. You take a shaky breath and continue, your voice gaining strength. “You weren’t just a man I was forced to marry. You became my best friend, the person who sees me for who I really am—my joys, my flaws, all of it—and loves me anyway. You’ve shown me what it means to love and be loved with everything we have. You are the first man I’ve ever loved… and I promise you will be the last. You’ve helped me become a better person, Jake, and I vow to do the same for you. I will be there, not just in the easy moments but especially in the hard ones. I will celebrate with you in every victory, and I will stand by you in every challenge. I promise to love you every day as deeply as I do now… and even more.”

You pause, your own smile tugging at your lips. “I didn’t know what love was until you showed me. And today, I’m choosing you again, as I will choose you every day for the rest of our lives.”

A collective sigh moves through the gathered guests as the officiant steps forward, beaming as he speaks. “Jake and ___, your words today show the depth of your love and the strength of the bond you share. You have spoken your vows from the heart and now, as a symbol of your promise, I ask you to exchange rings.”

Jay passes the ring to Jake, who takes your hand in his. He slips the band onto your finger, his touch steady and gentle as he does. “With this ring,” he says, “I give you my heart. Forever.”

Haru hands you Jake’s ring, and as you slide it onto his finger, you echo the words, your voice strong and clear. “With this ring, I give you my heart. Forever.”

The officiant’s smile widens as he looks at you both. “By the power vested in me, and by the love that you two have chosen to share, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” His gaze shifts to Jake. “You may kiss the bride.”

Jake wastes no time, pulling you to him as the cheers erupt around you. His hands cradle your face as he presses his lips to yours, the kiss deep and tender, like he’s pouring every promise, every vow, every ounce of love he holds for you into it. You kiss him back with just as much fervor, losing yourself in the way he tastes like salt and sweetness, in the way his hands are steady and sure against your skin. It feels like the first kiss, but so much more profound—because this time, you’re not kissing a stranger. You’re kissing the man you’ve grown to love, the man you’ve chosen, and who has chosen you in return.

The world seems to fall away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, tangled in a love that feels endless and new all at once. When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers, “I love you, Mrs. Sim.”

Your heart stumbles at the sound of his voice, at the name that holds a meaning so different now than it did the first time you took it. “I love you too,” you whisper back, your smile brighter than the sun overhead.

The crowd bursts into applause, cheers and laughter filling the air as Jake sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around before setting you gently back on your feet. You turn to see your family and friends beaming at you—Haru wiping away a tear, Anton and Niki clapping loudly, Sungchan with his arm slung over Sunoo’s shoulders, both grinning widely. The joy is infectious, spreading like a wave through the gathered guests.

You catch a glimpse of Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon, each one smiling and cheering for you both. The energy of the moment is undeniable, and as you and Jake walk hand-in-hand down the aisle, you feel a lightness that had been absent at your first wedding—a sense of true, unburdened happiness.

This time, you’re not walking into an uncertain future. You’re walking into a life you’ve chosen, with a man who loves you in the truest sense, and who you love with every fiber of your being.

As you reach the end of the aisle, Jake gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes sparkling with a kind of excitement you’ve never seen before. “Are you ready for forever?” he asks, his voice soft but sure.

You look up at him, your heart swelling in your chest. “I’ve been ready for a while now,” you reply, and then, with a grin, you add, “Let’s go make it happen.”

The sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room as you wake up to the soft sounds of the waves outside. You shift slightly, turning to see Jake still fast asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. There’s a peacefulness to his face, a calmness that makes your heart swell with love.

You take a moment to just watch him, your eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face, the way his lashes rest softly against his cheeks. It still feels surreal that this is your reality, that the man you once stood across from in a ceremony built on obligation is now the man you love more than anything. It was a blur of emotions, and thinking back to your wedding brings a gentle smile to your lips. The happiness in Jake’s eyes when he saw you walking down the aisle, the tenderness in his voice as he spoke his vows—it was a perfect day. One that symbolized not just a beginning, but a beautiful continuation of the love you’ve grown into over the past two years.

Not wanting to wake him, you carefully slip out of bed and tiptoe to the balcony. The doors glide open, and a warm Saint Lucian breeze greets you, carrying the scent of salt and tropical blooms. You step out and lean against the railing, taking in the breathtaking view of the turquoise waters below and the lush greenery framing the beach. The sun is just starting to climb over the horizon, its golden light dancing across the waves, and you let out a soft sigh as you soak in the serenity.

As you stand there, lost in thought, you feel a pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back into a warm embrace. Jake rests his chin on your shoulder, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers, “Good morning, beautiful.” His voice is still rough from sleep, and there’s a lazy smile on his lips as he kisses your cheek.

You lean back into him, closing your eyes for a moment to enjoy the feel of his arms around you. “Good morning,” you murmur, a smile spreading across your face. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“How could I not wake up when you’re out here looking like a goddess?” he teases, squeezing you a little tighter before he rests his chin on your shoulder again. “You were up early. What’s on your mind?”

You glance back at him, your smile softening. “Just thinking about our wedding, I can't believe it’s almost been a week. It was perfect, wasn’t it?”

“It was more than perfect,” he replies, his tone sincere. “It was exactly how I always imagined it could be if we ever got the chance to do it over.”

You turn in his arms to face him, resting your hands on his chest. “I’m glad we did,” you say softly. “It felt right this time.”

Jake’s eyes shine as he leans down and kisses you again, slow and sweet, before pulling back and grinning. “How about we start today with some breakfast and then go exploring?”

A short while later, you’re sitting together on the balcony, sharing a breakfast of fresh fruit, pastries, and local delicacies. The view stretches out before you, a beautiful contrast of blue sea and green hills. You and Jake talk and laugh, exchanging light conversation about the day ahead. It’s simple, yet deeply comforting, to share these moments together, with no distractions—just you, him, and the beauty of Saint Lucia surrounding you.

After finishing breakfast, you head into the city to explore. The streets are vibrant, filled with locals and tourists alike, the air buzzing with the hum of chatter and the tantalizing aromas wafting from food stalls. You wander through colorful markets, where vendors call out to you, offering everything from handmade crafts to fresh produce. Jake’s hand remains entwined with yours as you browse through the stalls, stopping every now and then to examine the unique trinkets and gifts. You pick out a few small souvenirs, laughing when Jake insists on haggling for a better price even though you’re both well aware that money isn’t an issue.

As you stroll down a narrow street lined with quaint shops, a sudden tug on Jake’s leg catches both of your attention. You look down to see a little girl with dark curls and big, curious eyes clinging to his leg. She can’t be more than three or four years old, and there’s a slight quiver to her bottom lip, as though she’s on the verge of tears.

Jake crouches down to her level, his expression softening immediately. “Hey there, little one,” he says gently. “Are you lost?”

The girl nods, her eyes glistening as she looks up at him. “I can’t find Mommy,” she whispers, her small voice trembling.

You feel your heart ache for her, and before you can say anything, Jake’s already reaching out to take her hand. “It’s okay,” he assures her with a warm smile. “We’ll help you find your mom, okay?”

The little girl nods again, and you crouch down beside Jake, offering her a reassuring smile. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Amara,” she replies softly.

“Well, Amara, don’t you worry,” you say, glancing at Jake. “We’re going to find your mom. Right, Jake?”

“Absolutely,” he agrees, lifting Amara up into his arms. As you walk through the crowded street, Jake does his best to keep her distracted, pointing out different sights and making funny faces to keep her entertained. You can’t help but admire the way he handles the situation, his natural ease with the child bringing a warmth to your chest.

Eventually, you hear a frantic voice calling out Amara’s name. You turn to see a woman rushing toward you, relief flooding her expression when she sees her daughter safe in Jake’s arms.

“Mommy!” Amara cries, reaching out for her mother as Jake gently hands her over.

“Thank you so much,” the woman says breathlessly, pulling Amara close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I was so scared.”

“It’s no problem,” Jake replies, his hand resting on your back as he smiles at the woman. “We’re just glad she’s okay.”

As the mother and daughter walk away, you and Jake continue down the street, but your thoughts linger on the moment. You look up at Jake, catching the gentle curve of his smile as he watches the little girl reunite with her mom. It’s clear how good he is with kids, how naturally he took to comforting Amara and making sure she felt safe.

“You were great with her,” you say, nudging him gently.

Jake glances at you, his eyes softening. “Well, she needed someone to calm her down. I’m just glad we found her mom so quickly.”

The encounter sparks a familiar topic between you. As you stroll past a park filled with laughing children, Jake’s hand finds yours again. “You know,” he says casually, “I think I’d really enjoy being a dad someday.”

You glance up at him, feeling the warmth of his words settle into your heart. “We’ve talked about this before,” you reply with a small smile. “You said you wanted to teach our son how to play soccer.”

“I do,” Jake admits, squeezing your hand lightly. “I also want a little girl who’s just like you… but with my sense of humor.” He chuckles, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. “I think we’d make pretty great parents, don’t you?”

The idea of starting a family with Jake has always been a bit daunting, but it’s different now. You’ve grown into this love together, built a bond that’s stronger than anything you could’ve imagined back when you first married. The thought of bringing a child into this world, a little person to share in the love and happiness you’ve found, doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it once did.

“I think we would,” you agree softly. “But… I guess I still worry. I mean, we’ve only really known each other for two years. What if that’s not enough time?”

Jake stops walking and turns to face you, his expression serious but tender. “Two years,” he says, “and we’ve been through more together than most people do in a lifetime. I’d say we’ve had plenty of time to get to know each other.” He reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I get it,” he adds. “It’s a big step, and we don’t have to rush it. I just… I don’t want you to think I’m not ready.”

You take a deep breath, the weight of his words settling into your mind. He’s right—these past two years haven’t just been time spent together, they’ve been time spent learning each other, growing, healing, and falling in love over and over. You look up at him and see not just the man you married, but the man who stood by you, who loved you through every moment, good and bad.

“I know you’re ready,” you say quietly, your hand resting on his cheek. “And I think… I think I’m ready too.”

Jake’s smile grows, his eyes lighting up with an unmistakable joy. “Then we’ll take our time,” he promises, leaning down to kiss you. “But I’m still going to be hoping for a little girl who’s got your smile.”

Later that afternoon, back at the resort, you and Jake slip into your swimsuits to make your way to the beach for a swim. 

As you and Jake change into your swimsuits, you pull out the red bikini he’d playfully asked you to save for the honeymoon. The deep crimson color pops against your skin, its flattering cut hugging your curves in all the right places. When you step out of the bathroom, Jake’s reaction is immediate. His eyes widen slightly, and a slow smile spreads across his lips, his gaze sweeping over you with an appreciative glint.

“Well, well,” he murmurs, leaning back against the bedpost as he crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving you. “I knew that bikini would look good on you, but I didn’t think I’d lose my mind over it.” His voice is low, a hint of playfulness mixed with something deeper as he pushes off the bed and strides over to you.

You feel a shiver of anticipation run down your spine as Jake’s fingers gently trace the thin straps resting on your shoulders. “Definitely worth the wait,” he adds, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as his hand slides down your arm. He leans in and brushes his lips against your ear. “You’re stunning, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks warming at the intensity of his gaze. “Well, I figured our honeymoon deserved something special,” you reply, your voice teasing as you step back with a playful smile. “Now, come on, let’s go for a swim.”

Once the two of you make it to the beach, you find the area to be not so full. there’s a father helping his kids build a sandcastle, an elderly couple taking a stroll along the waterline, a group of women sipping cocktails by the bar and a young couple making out on the sand. The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the beach as you and Jake wade into the water together. The waves are gentle, lapping around your ankles as you step deeper, the coolness of the sea offering a refreshing contrast to the heat of the day. Jake swims ahead, his movements graceful as he cuts through the water, glancing back over his shoulder with a playful grin.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he teases, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves. “Or are you trying to make me chase you?”

Laughing, you swim out to meet him, and as soon as you get close, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. The sensation of his hands on your skin sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you’re acutely aware of the way his fingers rest against the small of your back, holding you close.

Jake’s eyes darken as he looks down at you, his breath mingling with yours as he leans in. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, “you’re making it very hard for me to keep this innocent.” He tilts his head slightly, brushing his lips lightly against yours before pulling back, his hand tightening around your waist. “We could always head back to our room and… practice having babies,” he adds with a mischievous grin.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from your chest. “We just talked about taking our time, and you’re already thinking about that?”

Jake chuckles, his lips grazing your jaw as he murmurs, “Can you blame me? Look at you.” His tone is soft, yet there’s a playful urgency behind his words as his fingers trail up your spine. “I mean, can you blame me?” He pulls you closer, your bodies pressed together in the water as he kisses you again, deeper this time.

The world seems to fade away as you lose yourself in the kiss, the waves rocking you gently while Jake’s touch ignites a warmth inside you. It’s not just the desire that swirls between you—it’s the tenderness, the love, the promise of a future that’s finally unfolding the way you always hoped it would. You wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his damp hair as you kiss him back, letting yourself melt into the moment.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting together, Jake’s eyes are filled with that familiar spark. “I know we said we’d take our time,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip, “but if there’s anything this honeymoon has taught me, it’s that every moment with you is never enough.”

You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest as you gaze into his eyes. “Good thing we’ve got a lifetime of moments ahead of us, then,” you reply softly, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

Jake’s arms tighten around you once more, his laughter mingling with the sounds of the sea. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice full of affection. “A lifetime sounds perfect.”

As the sun dips lower in the sky, you stay in the water a little longer, the two of you holding onto each other, savoring the quiet peace that wraps around you like a warm embrace. It’s a glimpse into the life you’re building together, one filled with love, laughter, and a future that feels as endless as the horizon stretching out before you.

[jukkaricity]

A Word with Friends

This game is amazing, thank you so much for hosting @hedwigoprah, and thank you @chaosherald for the tag <3

not tagging anyone on this one because I feel I've been a nuisance recently, but if you're seeing this and feel like participating: tag, you're it!

Avarice

(Excessive or inordinate desire of gain; greed for wealth)

Finished up that WIP I've posted recently, Threads Boss Neve might be my favorite Neve.

🔹❄️🔹❄️🔹❄️🔹❄️🔹❄️🔹❄️🔹

Neve huffed, her breath turning to mist in the cold air. The insides of the austere storehouse, turned safehouse, were now covered in a thin layer of hoarfrost. The little ice needles painted abstract shapes on the half-rotten wooden walls. She felt exhausted–possibly the most she had been in her entire life. To be entirely honest, Neve didn’t imagine that it was even a possibility . Yet, there she stood–surviving on two fish skewers from Hal and more coffee than she cared to admit. And there was still more to be done that night.

Between keeping Rana from getting too close again, helping the reconstruction efforts and her cooperation with the Shadows, maintaining the grip on the Threads increasingly felt like a losing fight. A fight that she was not in a position to step back from.

She wasn’t even asking for that much. No hiking the racket prices. Slimming down the coffers that Damas kept to support the rebuilding. And most importantly–no slavery. It wasn’t even anything new to them. Regardless, with the shake-up came the avarice. The foreseeable yet unpleasant part of the whole set up, Neve came to understand. 

She took one more careful look around, noting the scratches on the walls, soggy rags in the corners and the general sensation of gloomy misery. Then, with brows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together, she turned to look at the instigator of this entire situation. 

“I could have forgiven you, Centis. It was… it has always been my job to help people.” She looked down at him, as he knelt before her, held by his shoulders by two Threaders. Neve had to make sure to ask Elek about their names later. They did a really good job following the clues she gave them.  

“I did, forgive you, in fact,” she continued, maybe this was why she had always preferred to work alone. Couldn’t be disappointed if you were the one doing all the work. “The cut coming from your rounds suddenly smaller? I turned a blind eye. Elek hearing complaints about you? We had a chat about it, I believe I was more than understanding.” Neve stopped for a moment, considering what sort of a message she wanted to deliver here. Whatever she would do would reach the rest of the Syndicate before the sunrise. And from there sooner or later the rest of the Dock Town. What would the Threads stand for when the dust settled and the new ‘normal’ began to solidify?

“But this?” she pointed her pen towards the now emptied cages. Cages that had held people he planned to sell to slavers vying for a foothold in Docktown. With Shadows nearly decimated, Templars in disarray, Archon not yet elected and the Threads only now shaking out the new structure the entire neighbourhood was ripe for abuse. “Selling people? This is not forgivable.” 

Centis opened his mouth wanting to protest, maybe plead with Neve, but she did not want to hear it. He had been warned. All Threads were warned that she would not tolerate slavery. The Threads protect their streets, not snatch people off of them. 

She rubbed her temple with her free hand. She knew what had to be done. Best she could do was use this opportunity to make herself clear, before anyone else thought themselves too smart for the rules. 

None of that made the act any more palatable. 

She took a sharp breath in and steeled herself. A flick of the wrist and the traitor was covered in ice, his entire body frozen in one swift burst of magic. The least she could do for him was to make it quick. The Threaders stumbled away and Elek shifted uncomfortably behind her back. It wasn’t so much what she did but how. The Threads were not strangers to decisive solutions to betrayal in their ranks. Still they were only getting used to the new boss. 

As the frozen shape that was once Centis cracked and collapsed in pieces, Elek cleared his throat and forced a lightness in his voice: 

“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about the body.”

Neve shook her head, but a bit of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Maybe his sense of humor wasn’t the worst thing about him, after all. 

[edensrose]

               ·˚꒰ 𝑪𝒊𝒕𝒚'𝒔 𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒔 𖹭 𝒋𝒋𝒌 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒖 ꒱ ₊˚ˑ

              “ seduce, kiss and destroy. sounds about right. ”

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

𐔌 𖹭 𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨﹕˖ ࣪ꮽ˳ tokyo, japan's bustling capital. from neon-lit skyscrapers to historic temples. but what hides in these dazzling lights? masked by the beauties & glamour, the underground bustles much like its city. keep your eyes from the cracks between the dark alleyways. look too long & you might just be pulled in. a world of crime, money & sin where tokyo's districts are split amongst syndicates. there are no gods here. only the blade, the bullet & occasionally — a kiss.

ᡴꪫ. crime syndicate: well organized and structured group with a clear leadership corps, which is involved in different criminal activities.

𐚁๋࣭ all characters are mercenaries. there are three main syndicates with their own signatures and strengths.

𐚁๋࣭ this is a dark au with dark interpretations of characters. trigger warning for themes such as violence, death, gore and general dark themes.

𐚁๋࣭ wouldn't necessarily classify this as a mafia au due to stigmatism but it shares similarities

𐚁๋࣭ cursed energy doesn't exist but characters do exhibit different powers.

𐚁๋࣭ there is oc involvement and they are romanceable 𖹭 these are characters I've thoroughly integrated into lore

𐚁๋࣭ requests are opened for this au

𐔌 syndicate information 𖹭 character information ˖ ࣪✧

                    ˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆 ୧

𐚁๋࣭ Motto : “ Get the job done, keep your pride. ”

𐚁๋࣭ Colours: Blue & white

𐚁๋࣭ Leader: Gojo Satoru | Co-head: Gojo Enari

𐚁๋࣭ Signatures: Frost, snow, eyes, space, white koi

𐚁๋࣭ Headquarter setting: shiro (城) / citadel

𐚁๋࣭ Districts: Shinjuku, Shibuya, Ebisu, Daikanyama & Meguro

A familial syndicate passed down through generations.

Known for staying at the top of the food chain, as gossip has it: “Fuck with a Gojo, meet the devil.” They tend to play with their food.

While they are particularly brutal, they’re especially known as ‘masters of the masks’, as each member of the direct line masks their maliciousness in a unique way. From the class clown leader Gojo Satoru to his pretty boy drama king co-head, Gojo Enari.

. ۫ ۶ৎ .

             ˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑫𝒂𝒉𝒍𝒊𝒂 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆 ୧

𐚁๋࣭ Motto: “ Show no mercy, expect no favor. ”

𐚁๋࣭ Colours: Black & violet

𐚁๋࣭ Leader: Geto Suguru | Co-head: Ieiri Shoko

𐚁๋࣭ Signatures: Black dahlias, black beta fish, shadows

𐚁๋࣭ Headquarter setting: Old timely manor

𐚁๋࣭ District: Harajuku, Aoyama, Roppongi & Akasaka

The previous syndicate head was slaughtered along with the rest of the higher ups by Geto Suguru, who then took the syndicate and renamed it the Black Dahlia as opposed to the Crimson Circle.

Known for their mercilessness and knack for strategy. Most members of the syndicate have a crueler edge than others. While the syndicates compete as a whole, others advise to stray clear from this one.

Particularly known for their clean cuts, they get the job done quickly and efficiently.

. ۫ ۶ৎ .

                 ˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆 ୧

𐚁๋࣭ Motto: “ Head high, knees straight. ”

𐚁๋࣭ Colours: Black & teal

𐚁๋࣭ Leader: Liàng Shuǐlín

𐚁๋࣭ Signatures: spider lilies, moon, red lights and shadows, water serpents

𐚁๋࣭ Headquarter setting: Monastery

𐚁๋࣭ Districts: Shimbashi, Shiodome, Hamamatsucho & Shinagawa

A familial syndicate passed down through generations.

This syndicate is known for their manipulation tactics. As people say, “Never make a deal with a Liàng.”

Known for their pride and the way they uphold themselves. It’s all about appearances and face. Humiliation is a scorn to the syndicate but also a tactic to enemies.

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

𐔌 𖹭 next up﹕˖ ࣪ꮽ˳ : character information

[yandereonepieceimagines]

Can you do yan arlong x mermaid reader thats part of a crime syndicate?

--------

What a unique request! I’ll see what I can do for you. It may not be my best work, since the ending ends a bit dry, but I hope it’s close to what you were hoping for.

------

Arlong the Saw

It started with a theft. But not the petty kind typical of the East Blue. Kuroobi- Arlong's trusted officer and one of his strongest swimmers, had been sent on a dangerous recovery mission far beyond the usual routes. The waters were treacherous. Swirling with unseen currents and predator-filled reefs. But the treasure waiting there? Worth the risk. Or so they'd believed. It had been scouted. Secured, supposedly.

Kuroobi returned bloodied and seething, a deep scratch etched across his cheek, and the heavy bag of treasure he’d been sent to retrieve? Gone.

"A... A mermaid," Kuroobi muttered, rubbing the wound with barely disguised fury. "She was fast. Much faster than me in the water. Her aura... I couldn't move. It was like drowning while still breathing. Just her glare nearly crushed me."

Arlong's sharp teeth clenched at the word. A mermaid. One bold enough to steal from a fish-man. Worse. One so powerful that even his own men, trained warriors of the sea, had no chance.

At first, he was furious. How dare you? But when he got the description; long, lean tail covered in scale patterns unfamiliar even to seasoned fish-men, a powerful swimmer's build that clearly outclassed the average mermaid, and a perfectly human upper body with toned arms and eyes as deep and as clear as an efficient maelstrom, his curiosity twisted into something darker.

Interest. The first waves of obsession.

He sent scouts. He scoured harbors. He even set aside his manipulations with Nezumi and the corrupt Marines. All to learn who you were. And over time, a name began circulating through East Blue’s underbelly like a whisper: the Tide Fang.

You.

The syndicate's silent fin. A slippery thief. An opportunist who could breach any vault, crack any marine base and vanish into foam. Rumors claimed you could navigate deep currents that would crush lesser swimmers and knock a ship sideways with just a single tail whip.

Your bounty? Four hundred million.

Arlong scoffed at first. That had to be exaggerated. Until he saw you himself.

From afar.

Slipping aboard a human pirate ship under moonlight, you moved like a predator through bloodied waves. He watched, stunned and wide-eyed, as you tore through the hull with a single, thunderous whip of your tail, splitting the vessel clean in two. The two halves of the ship sank in opposite directions, creating violent undercurrents that twisted through the wreckage. The human crew screamed and flailed as the chaotic pull dragged them down, swallowing them whole without mercy. Their desperate cries echoed in his ears. Not with pity, but with a sick thrill that made his gills tighten. You vanished into the depths with seastone cuffs and the most valuable loot, leaving behind a graveyard of splintered wood, drowning men and the undeniable proof of your power. And still, he had no idea who you were working with.

You didn't even care to see him.

And that pissed him off.

He dug even deeper. Terrified pirates. Shady traders. Even whispers among low-ranking Cipher Pol agents. You weren’t just a strong thief. You were the scout for a powerful crime syndicate operating in the shadows of the world. One that welcomed humans. Fish-men. Merfolk. Minks. Even skyfolk.

Humans.

Minks? Skyfolk? Arlong had never seen either one before. The idea that you worked beside them should have filled him with rage.

But it didn't.

Instead, it twisted him inside. How dare you grow so strong without him? How dare you walk this path, and make it look so effortless? Your Haki? Much stronger than his. Your bounty? Twenty times his. Your alliances? Unthinkable.

And worse… You looked happy doing it.

Laughing beside some Jackal-like mink who still sparked with electricity when fighting enemies with zero effort. Sharing food with a human who wore confidence like a coat. Trading secrets with brokers from all walks of life.

You were everything Arlong told himself he hated. And yet, he found himself watching you more. Wanting to be near you. Fantasizing.

He couldn’t take you by force. Not unless he wanted to die painfully. Your Observation Haki was razor-sharp. Your Armament could snap his spine in two. And that syndicate of yours? Rumors said your leader was a giant. A real one. The kind that had crossed into the East Blue, too. No one knew how. But if it was true, then even Arlong Park could be reduced to driftwood in a single step.

So he waited.

Plotted.

Let his obsession fester behind his dilated pupils. He lingered near ports you passed through. Intercepted messages that mentioned your alias. Polished his blade more carefully. Wondered, idiotically, if you'd ever notice him.

He told himself it was strategy.

But in truth? Arlong, once the proud voice of fish-man supremacy, had become a shark swimming circles in very shallow waters. Mad for a woman who didn’t need him. Mad for you.

He wanted to change that.

Word was spreading now. Quiet, urgent whispers lapping at the edges of the underworld. The Tide Fang and her giant-backed syndicate weren’t planning to linger in the East Blue. No, their mission here had been small, sharp, and critical. Some unknown objective no one had details on. But it was done. And they were moving. Back to the Grand Line. Maybe even back to the New World.

Arlong's time was running out. He wanted to try to change that. Even if it killed him.

[ryuuka-balaen]

star wars legion is so so close to being a great wargame but its sorely lacking in VARIETY

which is super sad considering its set in Star Wars, probably one of the most expansive media properties out there.

like yeah theyve got your four main factions of Grand Army of the Republic, Confederate of Independent Systems, Galactic Empire, and Rebel Alliance. amd theyve got the Shadow Syndicate, yoinked from the animated tv series / the Solo movie

thats great!

what about old republic. sith empire? dig a little deeper than that, theres a huge amount of mandalorian culture to explore. how about some trandoshans engaged in The Great Hunt? i wanna hear about the war on mon calamar between the Quarren and the Mon Calamari. they didnt even include hutts, the gangster guys everyone knows. theres an ewok only detachment, enough geonosians to barely assemble an army, and half a detachment of wookiees. thats cool. now lets hear about the massassi. what about the taung? the guys that founded the popular mandalorian culture? those guys are pretty neat they should have a few models

one of the things that makes/made warhammer so popular is that it has SO MANY factions and codexes to choose from, and each of those options has ~20 different official colour schemes to pick from as inspiration for your army. sure theres a lot of boring ultramarines players but outside that no two collections will be the same and thats a huge part of the appeal!

the people making legion just went "yeah heres your stuff from ths movies. and maybe a few tv show tie-ins too. have fun." WHERES THE CREATIVITY

MAKE SHIT UP !! THATS THE BEST PART OF STAR WARS

anyway. for my second Legion army, since ive got the files for it anyway,

wouldnt it be fun

wouldnt it be cute

if i ran a slightly abridged Blizzard Force skirmish detachment of Sith Empire Troopers, lead by the False Emperor Darth Malgus

like to slap that bald head. reblog to slap that bald head.

the list i want to run doesnt fit ~exactly~ into Blizzard Force because I want an At-St / sith empire scout walker so im swapping the required support unit for a heavy unit (amd therefore its Just An Empire Army, not a Blizzard Force detachment) so i wont actually get the blizzard force detachment rules but thats fine, I'm just using it as a guideline :>

if ive got enough filament i should have my Sith Empire list printed and ready for battle within a week :)