#Shadow Agent!Tech

[marvelseries19]

RETURN TO YOU

Chapter Four - Castaway

Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter Four | Chapter five |

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You’re finally found. After years lost and alone, a faint signal is enough to bring someone to your island. You're brought home, weak, scared, and unsure if it’s real.

A/N: Finally, the moment you've been waiting for. I'm not entirely sure if this should be the end. I kinda have more ideas to tell, but maybe I'll post those as like one-shots or something. I wanted to thank you guys for letting me know that you liked it. I don't think I've ever had this much engagement on my fics. I really appreciate the love this one has had.

On another note, in the last chapter, I asked if you read this, and by this, I meant these messages, I leave here, not the chapter. So, once more, do you guys read these messages?? Also, as always, any questions, requests, ideas, and feedback are all welcome. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries and such.

Word count: 4.4k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The low hum of the SHIELD operations room barely registered as Maria Hill leaned over the dim console. The soft, rhythmic blinking on the screen in front of her was steady, consistent — unmistakable. A signal. Faint, primitive, but deliberate. Her fingers flew across the keys as she opened a secure channel.

"Get me Director Fury," she said, her voice low but urgent.

The line crackled before his voice came through, rough and clipped. "What have you got?"

Maria didn’t look away from the screen. "A signal. Old-school. Someone stripped a Quinjet transponder and spliced it into basic field tech. It’s broadcasting on an early SHIELD frequency — nothing sophisticated, but it’s clean. Repeating."

"That’s a long shot," Fury replied.

"Not if it’s her," Maria said, and there was something unshakable in her tone. "And I believe it is."

There was a pause. She could almost hear him weighing it in silence. Her eyes stayed on the blinking pattern, steady as a heartbeat.

"It’s the captain."

Fury’s silence stretched again — longer this time, heavier.

"You always did trust her instincts more than anyone else," he said eventually.

"She earned that trust," Maria murmured. And she remembered — the smoke, the fire, the chaos.

Kandahar.

—

The sky was dust-streaked and orange, gunfire painting the air in bursts. Agents scattered, wounded, shouting. No one had orders. The comms were fried. And then you appeared — ash-streaked, limping, blood on her sleeve, and calm in her eyes.

“We lost comms!” someone had yelled. “Do we pull back?! Where’s the fallback point?!”

Maria remembered how you didn’t hesitate. She remembered the way you moved — forward, always forward — as if gravity bent toward your conviction.

"With me," you said. That was all.

Two words.

And twenty agents followed you without looking back.

Maria hadn’t said it aloud that day — but someone else had. A younger recruit, clutching his rifle and running to keep up: “Captain’s got us.”

The name stuck.

—

Maria exhaled softly, her eyes never leaving the console. "She pulled twenty agents out that night. Half of them wouldn’t be here without her," she said quietly.

"Is she still alive, Hill?" Fury asked.

"She sent that signal," Maria replied. "I know it's her, and that’s all I need to know."

"Take a team," Fury ordered. "Get her back."

Maria was already on her feet. "Already working on it."

She shut the console off, leaving the weak, blinking signal behind — but only for a moment.

She would follow it. All the way to the end.

—

The quinjet dipped below the clouds like a shadow cutting through the sky, its engines whisper-quiet over the dense canopy below. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting streaks of gold and fire across the endless stretch of green.

Maria stood near the loading ramp, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon as if she could will the trees to part and reveal a miracle.

She’d barely slept on the flight over, fingers tight around the datapad that showed the narrowing coordinates. Each pass of the satellite brought them closer. Each sweep of the low-band signal narrowed the window.

Still, it felt like a dream.

Three years.

Three years with no trace.

Three years of dead ends, quiet funerals, and trying to help Natasha through a grief Maria shared but didn’t dare speak aloud.

And now this.

A single echo. A half-broken signal from a beacon no one was supposed to remember how to use.

She hadn’t told Natasha. Couldn't. Not yet.

Hope, Maria had learned, was dangerous when it burned too bright. And she wouldn’t be the one to light it unless she was sure. She had seen firsthand what it did to her friend , how it tore her apart each time a lead turned out to be false. Maria needed more than a faint signal to give Natasha false hope.

The quinjet hovered over the narrowed location, nestled between cliffs and jungle, and the team fast-roped down in practiced silence. Maria followed, landing with a solid thud against the uneven earth.

It was still. Too still. But the readings didn’t lie. Someone was here.

She signaled for the group to split. “Fan out. Sweep the perimeter. Eyes sharp. Weapons down unless you see a threat.”

A chorus of affirmatives crackled through comms.

They moved.

Not far away, tucked in the hollow between two rocks and overgrowth, you stirred.

The sound had been faint — a low thrum, like distant thunder.

It came again, closer this time.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting every movement. Your limbs ached. Your head spun. Your skin had taken on the leathery feel of too much sun and too little water. The weakened body you lived in now barely resembled the one that once trained at SHIELD’s academy. The one that flew the quinjet with quiet confidence. The one that could disappear without leaving a trace.

You had survived.

But barely.

You blinked hard, pressing your fingers to your ears.

Voices.

Were those voices?

You crouched low, instinct taking over even as your knees buckled beneath you. The sound of boots brushing leaves. A sharp rustle of brush being moved aside. You bit the inside of your cheek.

It’s nothing. You’ve imagined things before. You’d seen shadows become people. Branches become outstretched hands.

But the voices were growing louder now. Clearer.

“Check the cliffside—Hill’s got east.”

“There’s a trail here—looks like something’s been walking through.”

“Signal strength increasing. It’s close.”

No. No, that was real. That wasn’t just your mind trying to comfort you again. That was real.

Still, your body didn’t move. Not yet.

You sat frozen, heart pounding, as footsteps closed in.

And then—

“Hey!” a voice called. Not a hallucination. Sharp. Solid. Commanding. “I’ve got something—!”

Then another voice. Lower. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Stand down, it’s her—God—” The foliage parted, and there she was.

Maria.

Your mind couldn’t process it all at once. She was wearing tactical black, hair pulled back, eyes scanning like she didn’t dare believe what she was seeing.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything—but nothing came out.

Maria dropped to her knees, her voice thick and trembling. “Hey, hey—it's okay. It's me. I’ve got you.”

You blinked again, too weak to flinch as her hands gently framed your face.

Her breath caught. “Jesus… you’re really here.”

You tried to speak, lips cracked, throat dry. Only a rasp escaped.

Maria shook her head, a soft curse under her breath. She slipped an arm around your shoulders, guiding a canteen to your lips. “Don’t talk. Just drink.”

The water stung going down, but you drank like you hadn’t in days.

Because you hadn't. Rainwater could only last for so long.

Maria kept holding you, one hand steadying the canteen, the other pressed lightly against your back as if reassuring herself that you were solid. Real. Not another ghost.

And then she whispered, almost like she didn’t want anyone else to hear, "I'm so sorry it took this long.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not yet. Not when it felt like the moment could vanish if you blinked.

But Maria didn’t rush. She stayed there with you in the dirt, surrounded by jungle, brushing a hand gently through your tangled hair.

“You’re safe now,” she said softly. “We’re taking you home. I’m gonna make sure of that. And I’ll tell her—I’ll tell Natasha.”

You didn’t know if it was the relief or her voice, but that’s when the sob broke free.

And Maria, strong as ever, just held you tighter.

The team moved quickly once they found her.

You were conscious, your body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline as they guided you through the undergrowth. The sight of the quinjet waiting on the shore hit you harder than expected.

Your steps faltered.

The air caught in your throat.

It looked almost exactly like yours—the one that went down in flames, the one that left you stranded and alone. Your chest tightened, breath hitching, muscles locking up as memories flashed behind your eyes. Fire. Smoke. The sound of metal tearing. The impact.

You stopped walking.

“Hey,” Maria’s voice was calm and soft. She stepped in front of you, eyes steady, hand gentle on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re taking you home.”

You shook your head weakly, barely audible when you said, “I can’t… I can’t get on that thing. I know it’s stupid, but—”

“It’s not stupid,” Maria cut in, her voice rough with emotion. “After what you’ve been through, it makes perfect sense.”

Your eyes were glassy, full of apology and fear you couldn’t quite name. “I want to go. I just… I can’t.”

Maria glanced at the medic nearby, nodding once.

“We’ll help you sleep through the ride, okay?” she said, already crouching down with her. “No pain. No panic. You’ll wake up at the medical facility. Safe. I promise.”

You gave her the faintest nod, your fingers still gripping Maria’s sleeve like an anchor.

Maria stayed close as the medic prepped the injection, gently brushing damp hair back from your forehead. “You did so good, alright? You held on. We’ve got you now.”

The sedative took hold quickly, easing your breathing as your eyes fluttered shut. Maria caught you carefully as she slumped forward, guiding her into the medic’s arms and onto the stretcher.

And as the engines spun up and the quinjet lifted into the sky, Maria sat beside you, phone already in her hand, staring down at Natasha’s name on the screen.

It was time.

The quinjet hummed around her, steady and familiar. Maria sat strapped in beside the stretcher, her eyes drifting to you every few seconds — as if making sure she was still there, still breathing, still real.

You looked so small.

So fragile.

And it shook Maria more than she wanted to admit. This woman, who once sparred with her until both of them limped off the mat laughing… This woman who had stood beside her through firefights and missions no one else could have survived… Now she lies wrapped in blankets, sedated, ribs visible under her skin, lips cracked from dehydration.

Maria swallowed hard. She stared at the screen for a long second before finally pressing the contact.

The call connected after two rings.

“Maria?” Natasha’s voice came out sharp, tight. Tired. Like she’d been running or not sleeping again. “Is something wrong?”

Maria’s breath caught. “Natasha…”

Something in her tone made Natasha go completely still on the other end.

“We found her,” Maria said softly.

Silence.

“I need you to meet me at the SHIELD medical facility in New York. We’re bringing her in now. She's alive, Nat. She's—she's not in good shape, but she’s alive.”

Natasha didn’t answer at first. Just a breath — hitched, broken — and then, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve got her right here with me.” Maria looked over again, lowering her voice instinctively. “She held on. Three years, and she never gave up.”

There was a long pause. When Natasha spoke again, her voice cracked.

“I’ll be there.”

—

The city blurred past the tinted windows of the SUV, but Natasha barely saw any of it.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Every red light felt like a personal attack. Every second that passed without her at that facility made her heart pound harder in her chest.

You were alive.

Alive.

It didn’t feel real.

She had imagined this moment too many times — always in dreams, in cruel fantasies her mind would conjure when sleep finally took her. But this wasn’t a dream. Maria had called her. Maria had sounded shaken. That never happened.

Alive.

Natasha’s breath caught again, her throat tight with something she couldn’t name — hope, disbelief, fear. She didn’t even realize tears had started to run down her cheeks until they hit her jaw. She didn’t wipe them away.

Three years.

Three years of not knowing. Of waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Of closing her eyes and hearing your laugh, only for silence to greet her. Of rage. Of grief so heavy it felt like a second skin.

And now… you were back.

But at what cost?

She kept replaying Maria’s voice in her head. Not in good shape. Those four words sliced deeper than anything else. Natasha had seen the aftermath of war. She had seen what being stranded did to a person, physically and mentally.

What if you didn’t remember her? What if the pain of those years had buried the part of you that knew her name? What if the reunion she’d dreamed of — clung to — was nothing like the reality waiting for her?

The driver turned sharply, and Natasha gritted her teeth, leaning forward.

“How much longer?”

“Five minutes, ma’am.”

Not fast enough.

She closed her eyes. Forced herself to breathe. One hand unconsciously reached for the ring still looped through the chain around her neck — your ring — warm now from her skin.

She didn’t know what she’d find when she walked into that facility.

But for the first time in three years… she had something to walk toward.

You.

—

The quinjet touched down with a soft thud on the rooftop pad of the SHIELD medical facility.

Before the engines had fully powered down, the med team was already waiting — gurney prepped, portable monitors ready, gloved hands reaching for the ramp before it even dropped.

Maria stood to the side, out of the way but not detached. Her jaw was clenched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together. She hadn’t said much since the sedation. Only that she’d call Natasha again once they landed. But she didn’t need to. The call had already been made. Natasha would be here soon. She knew it.

The second the hatch opened, the team surged forward.

You were still unconscious — sedated, peaceful in the worst way. Your skin looked pale under the harsh facility lights, your body far too light as they transferred you to the gurney. The bruises, the cuts, the ribs pressing too close to the surface — it was all too visible now.

Monitors were clipped to your finger, an oxygen mask gently pressed to your face, and soft commands echoing between the medics:

“Get her on fluids, stat.”

“We need a CBC and a full metabolic panel.”

“Chest X-ray, abdominal ultrasound.”

“She’s dehydrated; start with normal saline, keep it slow.”

The medics disappeared down the hall with you, swift and practiced, the sound of their shoes a controlled blur of movement.

Natasha had just stepped into the hallway when she saw them roll the gurney past.

She stopped mid-step.

Time halted.

You.

There. Real.

But not awake. Not smiling. Not whole.

Her hand went to the wall to steady herself. Her breath left her in a sharp, silent exhale. She couldn’t move.

Maria stepped in beside her, watching the hallway where the doors had just swung closed behind the gurney. “She’s stable. Vitals are holding. They’ll take care of her.”

Natasha didn’t speak. Her eyes hadn’t moved from that door.

A nurse came around the corner holding something small and delicate in a gloved hand. She looked between them before gently addressing Natasha.

“She was wearing this,” she said softly, offering the chain.

Natasha reached out slowly, her hand trembling as she took it.

Your ring. Still looped through the chain she gave you three years ago.

She held it tightly in her fist, pressing it to her lips like a prayer.

Maria watched her quietly. “She survived,” she whispered, more to herself than to Natasha. “She actually survived.”

Natasha’s voice cracked when she finally spoke, low and hoarse. “She wasn’t supposed to.”

Down the hallway, machines beeped. Doors swung. A medical team did everything they could to stabilize you — rehydrate, monitor, and evaluate. You didn’t stir, but you were alive.

That was all that mattered.

For now.

It felt like hours.

The sterile hallway never changed, but Natasha hadn't moved from that same spot. She leaned forward in the plastic chair, elbows on her knees, fingers still curled around the chain holding your ring. The weight of it was nothing — and everything.

Maria had stayed close, pacing occasionally, making a few quiet calls, but mostly giving Natasha space. There were no words left to say.

Finally, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors. He looked tired but calm.

“She’s stable. Fluids are working, and her bloodwork came back cleaner than we expected. Malnourished, yes. Exhausted, definitely. But no infection, no internal injuries beyond the obvious bruising, and a few injuries that didn't heal properly, but nothing to worry about. We sedated her gently. She might wake up soon.”

Natasha stood the moment the doctor nodded toward the room. “Can I see her?”

“Yes. Just for a few minutes, and keep it quiet. She’s been through a lot.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She was already moving.

—

The room was dim and quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound. You were there, lying so still under the soft white sheets, a faint oxygen tube at your nose, IVs at your side.

Natasha stopped at the foot of the bed. She wasn’t ready. She’d pictured this moment a hundred different ways over the past three years. None of them came close.

You looked like you and not like you — thinner, paler, yet tanned, your hair longer and tangled in places, and skin marked with sun and wear. But it was you.

Carefully, Natasha stepped closer, lowering herself into the chair beside your bed. She didn’t speak. She just watched. Studied your face. Every part of her wanted to reach out — but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the fragile stillness.

She opened her hand. The ring glinted dully in the light.

“I never stopped wearing it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Never took it off. Not once.”

Her fingers curled gently around your hand, the one not bound by tape and tubing. You were warm. Not cold. Not gone.

“I should’ve been with you,” she whispered. “I should’ve—”

But she couldn’t finish.

Her breath caught, and for the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff let her shoulders fall and her head bow beside the woman she never stopped loving.

She stayed like that. Until the rhythm of your heart monitor seemed to slow into something steadier. Familiar.

Until maybe — just maybe — she felt your fingers twitch beneath her own.

Natasha’s eyes remained fixed on you, but her mind had drifted. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, nor how many times she had muttered those quiet, broken words — promises, apologies, confessions — to the room, to the air, to you.

The weight of everything she hadn’t said was finally crashing down on her, more than she could have prepared for. The years without you, the months of pretending she could go on without even knowing where you were, the guilt that had gnawed at her every waking moment, the hopelessness she buried deeper each day. It had always felt like she was waiting for something — waiting for the call, the news, anything that would bring you back into her world. She couldn’t breathe without the thought of you, couldn’t focus on anything with your absence hanging like a shadow.

But here you were, lying in front of her, fragile and yet still alive.

Alive.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the ring, the very symbol of everything she’d almost lost forever. The years had worn away at its luster, but it still gleamed, faintly — a promise. She had thought she’d never see you again. She thought she’d have to carry this unfulfilled promise forever.

And yet, here you were.

Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t. Not here, not now, when you needed her more than ever.

"I promised you I’d come for you," she whispered, her voice rough. "I promised."

She held the ring in her hand as if it could reach you — as if it could bridge the gap between her pain and your absence. She was scared, more than she cared to admit. Scared of how you might feel when you woke up. Scared of what you might remember. Scared of how fragile this moment was — of how fragile you were.

Her hand moved slowly to the side of your bed. She didn’t want to disturb you, but she couldn’t stop herself. The need to be close to you was overwhelming. The need to feel that connection — that spark of life that had once been so familiar, so undeniable between you.

“I couldn’t live without you,” Natasha whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I won’t let you go again.”

For a moment, she simply sat there, eyes closed, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath. The world outside the room seemed distant and cold — nothing mattered except the space between her and you, the fragile space that had once been filled with shared laughter, quiet mornings, and stolen moments.

The steady beep of the heart monitor seemed to echo in her mind, a reminder that you were here, that you were real, that you were alive. But what was left for the two of you now? Could things be the same after all that had happened? Natasha didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn't—wouldn't— let you slip away again.

The door creaked softly, and Maria stepped in, her expression quiet but understanding. Natasha didn’t look up. She didn’t want anyone else in this moment, but Maria’s presence was a grounding force — a reminder that Natasha hadn’t been completely alone through all of this.

“She’s going to be okay,” Maria said, her voice gentle but firm. “She’s a fighter, Nat.”

Natasha didn’t respond, her eyes never leaving you. She wasn’t ready for anyone’s reassurance. Not yet.

Maria waited for a moment, then sighed softly. “I’ll give you some time. Just… don’t do this alone. Not again.”

But Natasha didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how to explain the ache in her chest, the heaviness that had been there for years. There was no way to put it into words.

She only nodded silently, her gaze never wavering from your sleeping form. And in that silence, Natasha finally let herself hope again. Not just for your safety, but for something more. Something she had almost forgotten how to believe in.

She wasn’t alone anymore. Neither of them was.

—

The first thing you felt was the weight of your own body. The heaviness of skin and bone sinking into the sterile softness of hospital sheets. The dull ache beneath the surface of everything. But more than that, it was the quiet hum of machines, the faint beeping of a heart monitor, and the sterile scent of antiseptic that confirmed it — you weren’t on the island anymore.

You were safe.

That realization alone felt unreal.

Your eyelids fluttered, the light above muted through lashes you struggled to lift. The world came back to you in pieces — sound, then shape, then color. The sharp clarity of a cold IV line in your hand. The warmth of a blanket pulled up to your chest. The dull echo of a familiar voice.

It was the last one that made your heart stutter.

Natasha.

She was sitting beside you. Tired. Still. Her posture held together by force alone, like she hadn’t moved in hours — maybe longer. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her entire body leaned ever so slightly toward you, as if afraid you’d vanish if she didn’t stay close.

You blinked slowly, and her eyes found yours in an instant.

The breath she let out was shaky. You saw it — the moment she shattered just a little more but also held herself together just enough to stay strong for you.

“…hey,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, barely a sound at all. But her eyes were full — of grief, of relief, of everything she hadn’t dared let herself feel until now. “You’re here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. You tried again — your voice rasped and cracked, dry and weak.

“…Hi,” you whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes immediately. Natasha leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, her hand brushing your arm like she needed to touch you to believe this was real. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Weeks. Maybe years.

“I didn’t think…” you started, the words struggling to form.

“I know,” she said, voice tight. “Me neither.”

Your eyes darted around, and that’s when you saw it — sitting on the table beside a vase of white flowers, looking oddly solemn in the sterile light — was Red. Your Red. The coconut you once talked to when you were losing hope, when your voice was the only one on that island. Someone had even propped it up with a little folded towel beneath it like a throne.

You stared at it, blinking again, and then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Red made it?”

“Maria made sure of it,” Natasha said with a hint of a smile, though her voice was still breaking. “Said she’d have murdered her entire team if they left him behind. Apparently you muttered its name after they sedated you.”

Your throat burned. Everything hurt. But Natasha’s presence eased something inside of you that had been coiled tight for years. She looked at you like she was scared you’d disappear if she blinked. And you looked at her like she was the first warmth you’d felt in forever.

You reached for her hand, slowly, shakily. She took it before your fingers even fully stretched toward her.

“You waited,” you said softly.

“I would’ve waited forever,” Natasha whispered back.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full — of all the words you didn’t need to say, of the pain that was finally beginning to thaw, of the bond between you that had never broken, even after everything.

Even after all this time.

You closed your eyes again, not to sleep — just to rest. Just to breathe. Just to be.

With her hand in yours and Red by your side, for the first time in a long time… you believed everything might be okay.

----

TAGLIST: @womenarehotsstuff @seventeen-x @ctrlaltedits @ciaoooooo111 @unexpected-character @redroomgraduate @natsaffection @cheekysnake @viosblog112 @riyaexee @lilyeyama @idontliketoread2127 @ima-gi--na-tion @sunny-poe @artemisarroxvolkov @hotcocoandonuts @scarletsstarlets @splatashaswife

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Good!GIW Thoughts

After I wrote the Multiverse Police prompt, I've gotten a few replies and reblogs saying they've never seen good!GIW before, and I realized, wow, me neither!

The GIW are always the bad guys, and, well, yeah, they fit the criteria for being the shadow branch of the government to commit atrocities. But there's potential in good GIW.

Imagine it.

Imagine Amity Park being off-limits not because GIW wants to keep it contained but because they treat it like a resort or a national park. People are not allowed to freely come there only because GIW wants JL out of it since the heroes are going to treat the whole thing as a threat. But there's an infinite amount of knowledge there! A portal to the new world! New culture! Things you could never learn before!

Imagine Amity being under government's protection. Imagine Jazz attending a university with her full tuition paid by the GIW since she is, well, a liminal, a minority, and she is getting a degree that will help her establish connections between them and Infinite Realms.

Imagine GIW funding Fentons' research not in order to eradicate ghosts but to have a safe way to talk to them while not getting caught up in a fight with an impossibly strong being.

Imagine GIW being hella annoying to Danny because they just won't stop with their interviews and questionnaires. Which, actually, has the full potential to become confusing because imagine Batman meeting Phantom and Phantom is like, "Oh, yeah, there's a hidden government branch that I avoid like plague because they want to catch me" and Bats are super worried. In the meantime, GIW is looking for Danny simply because he is the most friendly ghost they encountered and they want their answers about the cultural differences between the dead and the living.

Now, there's also a way for this to become the thickest plot armor ever. Imagine Jazz is on a mission to get some artifact from the mortal world. Then imagine GIW helping her while they still can't exactly show they are government agents because who in their right mind would believe the government is studying ghosts? Anyway, Jazz now has the potential to become James Bond kind of cool. Wonderful.

Imagine Danny having trouble with the JL/Bats/police, and then he just, "Wait, let me call someone, I have the right to one phone call, right?" And not 15 minutes later, a bunch of secret government agents in white show up, and Danny is free to go while the agents are saying whatever happened is now classified in the best Batman manner.

Oh, what about a world-ending event where a ghost is involved, and the JL is at a loss of what to do. And then the white vans show up, packed with unknown tech, agents in white with blasters, and a few weird meta-kids no one knows anything about. They even have a K9 unit because, come on, Cujo could be a perfect friend for them.

Just GIW being the secret protection squad for Amity and ghosts.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #22

Nick Fury hadn’t known peace in years. Aliens, HYDRA, interdimensional rifts, Tony Stark’s emotional instability—he thought he’d seen it all. That was until a small, gremlin-like twelve-year-old girl phased through the wall of the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, exploded three vending machines with a casual flick of her wrist, and declared with unshakeable confidence, “You guys owe me a snack for saving the multiverse.”

Her name was Danielle Phantom���Dani, with an “i”—and she was, allegedly, a clone of a ghost-human hybrid from another dimension. She was twelve, made entirely out of spite and ectoplasm, and Nick Fury made the catastrophic mistake of not immediately tossing her into a containment chamber.

Not that it would’ve helped. The last time they tried, she melted the titanium walls by burping.

“She’s not a threat,” Banner had insisted.

“She’s twelve!” Steve argued.

“She called me a rotting rotisserie chicken and set my cape on fire,” Thor grumbled, looking genuinely unsettled.

“She’s perfect,” Tony said. “Can I adopt her?”

“NO,” Fury barked. “She’s mine.”

And that’s how Dani Phantom became Nick Fury’s personal chaos goblin.

It started with the incident in Belarus. Fury had sent her to shadow a low-risk intel extraction mission—get in, get out, observe. She got bored. Two hours later, she returned with the mission completed, three HYDRA bases blown up, and a new trench coat she’d stolen off an agent twice her size. She looked proud. She also had a churro.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Fury asked.

“Multiversal Costco. Long story.”

She ate it while hovering upside down.

Dani didn’t walk. She floated. She didn’t knock. She phased through walls, floors, and sometimes people, which she claimed was “great for making dudes pee themselves.” She kept trying to haunt Clint Barton’s hearing aids (“for funsies”), called Natasha “Murder Barbie,” and threatened to sell Peter to the Tooth Fairy for “a good price.”

“I don’t even have ghost teeth!” Peter shrieked.

“Exactly. You’re rare,” Dani replied ominously.

She made the mistake of touching Loki once. Just once. She’d been told not to.

“Don’t touch the Asgardian,” Fury had said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because he’s the God of Mischief.”

“Oh. Cool.”

She poked him.

Loki screamed. She screamed louder. Everyone screamed. For some reason, there were snakes involved by the end of it.

Now, every time Loki sees Dani, he immediately teleports to another continent. “She’s worse than Odin,” he whispers, eyes wide and glassy.

Fury had to admit: Dani got results. She was an absolute menace—a glowing, cackling, miniature poltergeist in ripped jeans and combat boots—but she could sniff out a Kree spy from fifty yards away, beat an Ultron drone with a piece of rebar, and disable alien tech by licking it. (He didn’t approve of that one, but she claimed it was “a ghost thing.”)

“Why do you keep her?” Hill asked him one day, as Dani was in the background convincing a rookie agent that she was a resurrected Soviet weapon.

Fury sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because the little gremlin saved my life.”

That part was true. He’d been cornered by a Skrull impersonating Agent Coulson, and before he could blink, Dani had flown through the ceiling screaming, “NOT MY BALD DAD, YOU SLIMEY LIZARD BASTARD!” She obliterated the Skrull with a ghost ray and threw Fury over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“You weigh like a thousand pounds!” she’d grunted, struggling to fly him out of danger.

“Put me down!”

“No! You’re grounded and dying on my watch is against the rules!”

It was, somehow, the most competent rescue Fury had ever experienced.

From then on, Dani followed him everywhere. She sat in on briefings, chewing bubblegum obnoxiously loud. She hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D. files just to draw little ghost doodles on top of agent profiles. She replaced the AI’s voice with her own. Every time the intercom came on, it was her:

“Attention all agents, remember to hydrate or I will personally possess you and make you chug milk.”

She terrorized the Avengers with zero remorse. Steve got glitter-bombed. Clint was stalked by a floating sandwich. Banner’s lab notes were mysteriously replaced with eldritch doodles and “Dani was here” scribbled in the margins. Tony found all his Iron Man suits programmed to play “Ghostbusters” every time they powered on.

“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF I HEAR THAT SONG ONE MORE TIME—”

“Who ya gonna call?” Dani whispered from inside the vents.

Tony screamed.

But in her own completely deranged way, she was loyal. Deadly. Protective.

When some alien parasite tried to mind-control Fury, Dani showed up mid-briefing, opened her mouth, and screamed—a full-on ghost wail that shattered the windows and disintegrated the creature instantly.

Silence.

Everyone stared.

Dani wiped her mouth and grinned. “Oops. Was that loud?”

Fury was on the floor, bleeding from the ears. “You think?”

Later, she brought him noise-canceling earmuffs with skull stickers. “For next time.”

Fury eventually stopped questioning it. He’d wake up and find her floating three inches above his bed.

“Sleep check,” she’d say.

“I am very awake now.”

“Good.”

She haunted meetings, stole alien artifacts to make jewelry, and referred to Maria Hill exclusively as “General Mom.” She threatened to possess Tony’s coffee machine and did it. It only made decaf for three months. He cried.

And somehow, Dani ended up as the unofficial child mascot of S.H.I.E.L.D.

She was terrifying.

She was beloved.

She bit Deadpool once. He cried.

And yet, when Fury got taken by a rogue faction of former S.W.O.R.D. agents trying to expose classified data, the first person to show up wasn’t Steve, or Natasha, or even Carol.

It was Dani.

She burst in mid-interrogation, glowing, floating, and furious. Her eyes blazed green. Her ponytail whipped behind her like a comet trail. She didn’t say anything.

She just started throwing people.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN KIDNAP MY DAD?!” she screamed, hurling a desk at someone’s face. “I live in his walls! I KNOW THINGS!”

“You’re not even related to me!” Fury yelled as she fried a guy with ectoplasmic lightning.

“I TOOK A BLOOD TEST ONLINE AND IT SAID I’M 78% NICK FURY, 22% CHICKEN NUGGET!”

“You WHAT?!”

She ghost-punched the lead agent into the ceiling, caught Fury by the collar, and flew him out of the crumbling compound as everything exploded behind them.

When they landed, she wiped the soot from his coat, then hugged him hard.

He stood there stiffly before awkwardly patting her head.

“You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I’m not your—”

“Too late. I already wrote it in my diary.”

Later, at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Dani threw her feet up on the command table and declared, “This whole place is my haunted house now.”

Nobody argued.

The AI was programmed to greet her.

The agents stepped aside when she passed.

She had a personal couch that she’d painted green and black, and a glowing “NO NERDS” sign that Tony kept trying to steal.

Every so often, she disappeared into the multiverse. “Gotta stretch the legs,” she’d say, then come back two hours later with three infinity stones, a new jacket, and a baby goat.

Fury didn’t ask.

He learned not to ask.

But when the next alien invasion hit—when half of Manhattan lit up with something eldritch and writhing and very not-from-Earth—it wasn’t Thor who responded first.

It was Dani.

Hovering above Times Square, cracking her knuckles, eyes glowing like nuclear fallout.

“Alright, weird space tentacle thing,” she said. “You just messed with the wrong twelve-year-old.”

And from the helicarrier, sipping his bitter coffee, Nick Fury watched the ghost girl he never asked for absolutely wreck an interdimensional horror, cackling like a goblin while civilians cheered.

He sighed.

“God help us all.”

[gatorbites-imagines]

My favorite mermen are ones based on either eels, deep sea fish, or octopi.

Bucky as an Eel merman makes my brain brrr cause eels are seen as creepy and scary but honestly they can be super sweet. Yeah, they are dangerous, electric eels can generate up to 600 volts which is enough to kill a person on it own (but typically muscle spasms and paralysis cause the person to drown)

Especially when they become accustomed to humans, they are literally just DOGS. My favorite is Valerie Taylor and the spotted moray eel she befriended, like. It acts like a puppy around her 😭

Merman Bucky Barnes x male reader 

Headcanons 

Happy mermay everybody

I went with moray eel Bucky, cuz I think their pharyngeal jaw is cool. I think thats what its called,,,, ive been thinking about other avengers, and I feel like Tony would be some colorful fish. I like the mental image of seal Steve,,, its cute,,, 

Imagine in this world, SHIELD is a company of some kind, that researches the ocean, environment, and helps preserve it. And then imagine, you being one of SHIELDs “agent”, aka, researchers. 

You get your own comfortably sized home near the ocean, quite isolated from the rest of the world, but the nearest town is only 45 minutes away in your truck. 

you have everything you need, and incredible internet, thanks to the tech you were given by your employers. Nicky Fury was a scary and intense guy, but he provided his people with the best gear out there. 

The first good while, nothing special happens. You put on your wetsuit, oxygen, fins, a bag for all the interesting things you find, and everything else. And splash, you are in the cold waters every single day, looking at this and that. 

You were too amazed by the marine-life and cool rocks to notice the large shape huddled amongst the rocks staring at you, he just blended really well with the shadows. 

Bucky would of course be interested in you, since where you were sent to research hadnt been visited by many people, and especially not ones diving underwater. 

Imagine the absolute terror you feel when you swim past his huddling place, and his hand reaches out and loosely grabs your ankle. Bucky would be amazed at the massive amounts of bubbles coming out around your mouth-piece as you scream 

Merpeople weren't extremely rare, but most lived deeper in the sea or in warmer areas of the world, so seeing one here was a shock to you. 

It was easy to see that he was a moray eel merman, from his tail, to his markings and claws, as well as the second set of jaws you could see in the back of his throat between his parted lips. 

Merpeople weren't stupid, and a good chunk knew at least a little of the local language, so you two were able to have a stunted conversation after you tempt Bucky to swim to the surface. 

Seeing Bucky out of the water, draped across the beach, made it obvious how very attractive he was. You did feel bad when you finally noticed his missing arm, and the many scars on his body. 

You two end up growing closer, Bucky even allowing you to touch his long powerful tail. Its pretty gross, covered in mucus and squishy to the touch. You are lucky his mucus doesn't have toxin in it. 

His human half is covered in the mucus too, but after realizing you don't like the feeling of it between your fingers, Bucky starts washing it off in the water before dragging himself ashore. It secretes out after a while, but all his effort is very cute. 

All the time you two spend together helps Bucky learn a lot more English, and he's very quick to pick it up, meaning the conversations go from surface level to something deeper. 

Its not on purpose that Bucky ends up becoming pretty possessive over you, he just does. And yeah, he's chasing off any other curious mer, or fish. This is his territory now, and only he is allowed to drape himself across your lap and receive scritches. 

I could see Bucky being just as curious about your human body as you are his mer body. So, expect to wear a lot of shorts so he can pet your legs or wiggle your toes.  

He will flop his long heavy tail over your lap in the meantime. Its both because you are curious as a scientist or whatever you are, but also because it feels nice to be touched. Your hands and body are just so nice and warm compared to his clammy body. 

With SHIELDs help, you are able to make an arm for Bucky. And Bucky, well, he immediately takes it as a courting gift, because why else would you give it to him. 

Plus, he's been able to smell your attraction to him whenever you guys go swimming, especially the times where you just wear swim trunks and paddle along beside him. 

Kissing a mer is really clumsy and awkward the first multiple times, especially one with sharp teeth and more than one row of teeth like Bucky. 

The first time you two try to slip tongue into it, Bucky almost bites your tongue right off with his second set of jaws. The merman feels horrible about it and ends up curling up inside a rock formation for a few days. He only comes out when you put on your gear and swim down to see him. 

I could imagine Bucky, after you two become a thing, mourns how he isnt human. He will always be stuck in the sea, and he knows you love the ocean, but you are human, and there are times when you need to leave him behind. 

Those times where you have to leave, be it to pick up supplies, report to SHIELD, or the time or two where you had to present a subject to a huge crowd, Bucky always lingers around, waiting for your return. 

Maybe you two figure out a way for him to drag his way into your home, like, having dug out a path he can drag himself without being dried out, and placing a huge tub he can soak in. Maybe those in the floor beds.  

That means he can at least watch tv when you are away, he's always waiting and yearning though. It's so strange to yearn for someone when he's been alone for so long, but love does that to a person, or mer. 

You are just as excited to get back to him as well, meaning you are always hurrying out of whatever meetings you were called into.  

[yuriosakawa]

Phantom’s Last Stand

Summary: Danny Fenton’s life was finally perfect. He had saved the world, his family accepted him, and he was on the brink of becoming Ghost King. But on the night of his coronation, the Guys in White launched an all-out assault, forcing Danny to make the ultimate sacrifice: sending everyone he loved to safety while allowing himself to be captured.

—————————

Danny Fenton never thought his coronation would end like this.

He had envisioned a night of celebration. His parents, finally accepting both halves of him, standing proudly at his side. Jazz, grinning in the crowd, knowing her little brother was about to take his rightful place. Sam, her hand in his, whispering sarcastic quips to keep him grounded. Tucker, already planning to be the Ghost Zone’s first-ever tech advisor. Even the ghosts—once his enemies—had grown to respect him, coming together to acknowledge him as their ruler.

Everything was supposed to be perfect.

But perfection never lasted.

It started with a high-pitched whine—a sound Danny had come to associate with the Guys in White’s tech. Before he could react, explosions erupted across Amity Park. Massive energy barriers shot up, cutting the town off from the rest of the world. Ghosts and humans alike panicked as white-clad agents flooded the streets, armed with weapons that shined with ectoplasmic energy.

They had waited for this moment. For years, the GIW had been lurking in the shadows, biding their time, pretending they had given up on capturing Danny Phantom. But now, when all his allies—both human and ghost—were gathered in one place, they struck.

And they were winning.

Danny fought with everything he had, but there were too many of them. Even as Skulker, Ember, and Walker rallied their forces, even as his parents and sister tried to help, even as Sam and Tucker refused to leave his side—it wasn’t enough.

The GIW had planned for this.

He saw ghosts being torn from the air, shackled in heavy restraints. Humans—his parents, Jazz, Sam, Tucker—were cornered, forced back into a shrinking space as the agents advanced. The Fenton Portal crackled ominously behind them, a doorway to safety that was about to be lost forever.

Danny knew what he had to do.

He didn’t hesitate. Channeling every ounce of power he had, he threw his hands up and summoned a massive wave of ectoplasmic energy. It surged through the streets like a tide, sweeping every ghost—every friend—toward the portal. He barely had time to hear their screams before the force flung them through the swirling green vortex.

“Danny, NO!” Sam’s voice rang out, raw and terrified.

He turned just in time to see her reaching for him, her violet eyes wide with panic. But it was too late. With one final blast, he destroyed the portal from the inside, shattering the connection between the Human World and the Ghost Zone.

The GIW descended on him instantly. White-hot energy wrapped around his limbs, burning into his skin. He fell to his knees, the weight of his sacrifice sinking in.

Sam was still screaming his name.

Then everything went dark.

—————————

Sam didn’t remember falling. 

One second, she was reaching for Danny, and the next, she was colliding with cold, hard ground.

The air was different. Heavy, humming with spectral energy. 

Around her, the ghosts of the Ghost Zone stirred, their expressions filled with confusion, horror, and grief. Ember clenched her fists, eyes ablaze. Skulker looked murderous. Even Walker seemed shaken.

But Sam? Sam could only stare at the place where the portal had been.

Gone.

The connection to the Human World, to Danny, to everything she had ever known—gone.

She scrambled to her feet, shoving past ghosts, past Jazz’s stunned form, past Tucker’s devastated expression. She threw herself at the empty space, slamming her fists against the invisible barrier where the portal used to be.

“No, no, NO!” She pounded harder. “DANNY!”

Nothing.

Her hands ached, but she didn’t care. Tears blurred her vision, but she kept going, kept screaming, kept fighting because Danny was gone, and that wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to leave her.

A sob ripped through her chest as she pressed her forehead against the cold surface. “You idiot,” she whispered. “You absolute idiot.”

Behind her, the Ghost Zone was silent. Every ghost, every friend Danny had saved, watched her with unreadable expressions. Jazz was crying quietly. Tucker looked like he wanted to be sick.

And in the distance, the Realm of the Ghost King loomed.

Danny had saved them.

Now, it was their turn to save him.

Sam wiped her tears, turning toward the gathered ghosts. When she spoke, her voice was steady, burning with a quiet, furious determination.

“We’re getting him back.”

[vitevii]

Stobotnik Role Swap AU

Been thinking through a Stobotnik role swap AU, trying to figure out their dynamic and what would change or stay the same. I think I finally settled on something I like and have a lot of thoughts about- Stone and Robotnik are still an agent and a brilliant scientist respectively, but the hierarchy of their relationship is flipped with Stone being the ‘boss’ and Robotnik as the ‘henchman’.

EDIT: Link to part 2!

Thoughts:

Stone (before the movies and during what would be movie 1) is a highly-decorated & respected shadow ops and/or special ops agent

He rose through the ranks thanks to his many varied talents, tactical brilliance, and his dedication to & success in completing his missions no matter what stands in his way

Robotnik is the shadow ops Break-Glass-in-Case-of-Emergency scientist. He’s called on when nobody else can get the job done, but they try not to give him any more funding or resources than necessary bc they’re scared of his eccentricity, antisocial nature, and sheer brilliance

Robotnik gets promoted to being directly under Stone’s command at Stone’s request - I’m thinking either bc Stone is assigned to investigate the Sonic EMP from movie 1 (he has to intimidate/persuade the military generals to let him take a chance on Robotnik, a little like Walters did in movie 1) or because pre-movies Stone decides he needs a scientist to join his team permanently for ease of access to customized tech or something

If it’s the second option, Stone goes to Robotnik with a test task to see if he’s good enough (he actually wants to see how Robotnik operates, but also does want to make sure the rumors of Ivo’s brilliance are true). Robotnik does his thing, Stone is speechless and amazed by the results. Stone decides then and there he HAS to have Ivo at his side. ('Doctor... this is... you're incredible.' 'Of course I am. That's why you're here.')

Also, whenever they first meet, Robotnik goes off on a rant or insults Stone, and Stone is taken aback (and delighted) by how Robotnik isn’t scared of him- Stone’s gotten bored of people being too easily intimidated by his status and reputation.. even if that is useful oftentimes

Stone secretly and maybe only subconsciously wants someone in his life who he can drop the formalities with, someone who doesn’t care about his rank and career and past

Ivo realizes (but won’t admit) he is grateful to Stone for giving him a more of a chance to be himself and to finally have the resources to work towards his robot dreams

This first post is mostly about their backgrounds and how they met. I've got a bunch more thoughts I'm organizing and will post soon with same tags as this post

Also might write fic or make some art for this..

[chowadoe]

so more on that role reversal au...

Shadow (created as a Weapon Against Humanity) who was eventually raised, and exploited, by G.U.N to become Humanity's Ultimate weapon and Sonic, found by Robotnik

some more expanded thoughts below ^_^

SHADOW - G.U.N AGENT

Shadow was initially created with the intention of being a Weapon Against Humanity. after a life-altering incident, G.U.N. takes Shadow into their custody, raising him to become one of their top agents, exploiting him.

he's constantly under government surveillance... inhibitor rings (developed by G.U.N.) are clamped onto him like a shock collar so he is unable to tap into his full power. (Shadow has neither tested nor does he know the extent of his strength.. he has never tried removing them. G.U.N. is the only one who can remove them.)

the hypocritical method in wanting their weapon (cough trained dog) to exercise and develop restraint on his own terms, and yet forcefully acclimating him.

Shadow’s aware of his past. Definitely struggles with Existential dread about why he’s on Earth and what he was made for. he wants to (and feels like he should) do good, but if he was initially made with destructive intent… is he compensating this way? is this what he really wants? no.. he shouldn't think like that.. Maria would want him to be good..

If not to make the world the better a place, if they still treat his kind as inferior and sometimes, even a threat to the whole human race, does humanity and this planet still deserve its rite for redemption? What is humanity? Is that something he’s capable of, as a weapon of mass destruction?

what is he trying to prove here? His docility? His ability to be obedient and be, by human standards, good? what does that mean in a world that may never accept them, and much less him- a synthetic and all-unnatural organism forged from humanity’s worst and an alien race only capable of Evil and wrongdoing. a being so perfectly suited for any and all forms of persecution. Humankind’s scapegoat. He thinks about Maria.

Maria remains a guiding light. Back then, she would sneak Shadow out to gaze upon the Earth, her former home. She misses it, the lush greenery, the sun, the people. she hopes that Shadow will get to experience what it’s like.

au shadow is emo edgy in a sad wet adult 40yo cat leon kennedy kind of way. au sonic is emo edgy like a 14yo that found out you could buy a tattoo gun on amazon without a license. I know nothing about resident evil

when he's not on a mission, he's usually in his "room" (extremely generous word for containment chamber/training facility.) he's like a hamster in a cage with toys to play with . (treadmills. race tracks. dummy robots. Ak-47s.) He's allowed to freely roam HQ from hours 6am-10pm, and if not, he is usually escorted by a guard, unless its Rouge sneaking him out. But beyond that, it's not like the ultimate lifeform needs that much sleep, and it'd be bad to have their ultimate weapon roaming the halls without supervision. but let's say there's the occasional nocturnal scavenger providing him a bit of nightly mischief that even the most complicated most difficult to navigate ventilation system cannot keep a natural-born burrower out..... (haha)

SONIC - ACCOMPLICE

Robotnik’s “accomplice” (adoptive son?)

Sonic goes along with Robotnik’s schemes but has his own ulterior motives .. after all, working under someone is still infringing on his sense of freedom, independence, and pride.

He only rlly helps out Robotnik out if it helps him… robotnik makes some new tech that tickles his , esp if smth that happens to enhance his existing abilities. sure he’s more than capable of doing things on his own but what’s better than to play with his new toys with his already existing toys (GUN. shadow.)

and if he manages to break them in a day then he’s found an issue that robotnik needs to troubleshoot immediately. eggman should really be Thanking him!

his only known goal atm is to find things that stave off his boredom. from what Shadow's gathered at least. but maybe there's more...

has a very bad No Good Fixation on shadow's inhibitor rings for whatever reason. wonder that could mean.

Still fucking around with roles and nothing's rlly set in stone. Im just kind of giggling kicking rocks and throwing pebbles in the water to see what lands ^q^

Rouge is still there! A contractor for G.U.N. A Recovering/reformed Jewel thief who joins the task force (maybe?) 

the gang is also there! still brainstorming roles though. emrmmm

[simpishly]

Simpishly's Salad Dressing Legacy Challenge

After confessing a favorite childhood meal involving peanut butter sandwiches and ranch dressing, horror--and inspiration--struck. I present to you: a salad dressing-themed legacy challenge for The Sims 4.

this is the most ridiculous thing I'll probably ever create for the Sims lol

Guidelines

You only need to complete 7 generations, because I think 7 salad meals in a row is about the maximum I could handle.

Generations can be played in any order.

The goals for each generation are straightforward. Your heir must:

Have the generation traits

Live in the generation world

Reach the top of the generation career

Max the generation skill

Complete the generation aspiration

The rest is up to you! Just like the amount of dressing you put on your leafy greens!

You'll find the rules (and dressing bottle-shaped graphics I had entirely too much fun making) below the cut.

Balsamic Vinaigrette Generation

The favorite dressing of crunchy moms and influencers.

Packs Needed: Spa Day, Lovestruck

Traits: Charismatic, Active, High Maintenance

World: Ciudad Enamorada

Career: Style Influencer (Trendsetter Branch)

Skill: Wellness

Aspiration: Zen Guru

Blue Cheese Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of dark souls and adults only.

Packs Needed: Life and Death

Traits: Macabre, Hates Children, Slob

World: Ravenwood

Career: Reaper

Skill: Writing

Aspiration: Ghost Historian

Caesar Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of emperors who were stabbed.

Packs Needed: City Living, StrangerVille

Traits: Bro, Paranoid, Ambitious

World: San Myshuno

Career: Politics (Politician Branch)

Skill: Charisma

Aspiration: Friend of the World

French Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of French stereotypes.

Packs Needed: Lovestruck

Traits: Gloomy, Romantic, Creative

World: Willow Creek

Career: Painter

Skill: Romance

Aspiration: Romantic Explorer

Green Goddess Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of PlantSims.

Packs Needed: Eco Lifestyle, Cottage Living

Traits: Recycle Disciple, Lactose Intolerant, Vegetarian

World: Evergreen Harbor

Career: Freelancer (Crafter)

Skill: Fabrication

Aspiration: Master Maker

Honey Mustard Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of bees and hot dogs.

Packs Needed: Cottage Living

Traits: Good, Non-Committal, Cheerful

World: Henford-on-Bagley

Career: Any / Multiple + Completing Townie Errands

Skill: Gardening

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim

Italian Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of Olive Garden.

Packs Needed: Get Together, City Living

Traits: Insider, Foodie, Perfectionist

World: Windenburg

Career: Critic (Food)

Skill: Gourmet Cooking

Aspiration: Leader of the Pack

Poppyseed Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of bagels.

Packs Needed: Businesses and Hobbies

Traits: Bookworm, Idealist OR Shady, Materialistic

World: Nordhaven

Career: Small Business Owner

Skill: Tattooing

Aspiration: Master Mentor

Ranch Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of correct people.

Packs Needed: Horse Ranch, Cottage Living

Traits: Rancher, Animal Enthusiast, Snob

World: Chestnut Ridge

Career: Self-Employed

Skill: Guitar

Aspiration: Championship Rider

Russian Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of Rasputin and Stu from What We Do in the Shadows.

Packs Needed: Get Together, Vampires

Traits: Dance Machine, Glutton, Erratic

World: Forgotten Hollow

Career: Tech Guru (Start-Up Entrepreneur Branch)

Skill: Programming

Aspiration: Party Animal

Thousand Island Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of In-n-Out.

Packs Needed: Island Living

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Child of the Islands, Self-Assured

World: Sulani*

Career: Diver

Skill: Fishing

Aspiration: The Curator

*I would have done Tomorang but I know residential rentals have been super glitchy and save-breaking, so I did Sulani instead!

Wafu Dressing Generation

The favorite dressing of Japanese salads.

Packs Needed: Snowy Escape

Traits: Geek, Genius, Loner

World: Mt. Komorebi

Career: Secret Agent

Skill: Video Gaming

Aspiration: Nerd Brain

[airosuiren]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔞𝔱𝔢

A/N: You ever watch people climb a ladder you built with your own blood? That’s this chapter. [Y/N] and Karma aren’t chasing applause. They’re the shadows behind the stage, the hand that pushes the scalpel deeper when justice needs to hurt. The world sees students. The staff sees assets. The other students? They don’t know what they’re looking at anymore—and that’s exactly the point. This chapter is about walking into enemy territory with a smile on your lips, a knife in your belt, and a partner at your side who never blinks when you burn too hot. You’re not here to fit in. You’re here to outlast everyone who doubted you.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔖𝔦𝔡𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The transition from operatives-in-training to full-fledged agents should have been jarring. But for [Y/N] Midoriya and Karma Akabane, it felt more like slipping into clothes they had long since outgrown.

They were already killers. Already protectors. Already unshakable.

Now, they were official.

And that changed everything.

Their new assignment came with increased freedom—and increased danger. No more hand-holding. No more simulated threats.

Kasuma called them in one final time for a private briefing.

“You’re not children anymore,” he repeated, like a mantra. “You’re ghost agents. Assets. The moment you step into this, you belong to no one and serve only the mission.”

He paused, then looked at them—not the badges on their jackets, not the files they held.

Them.

“I’m proud of you both,” he said quietly.

[Y/N] felt something tight twist in her chest. She nodded. Karma smiled, just barely.

That was the last time they saw Kasuma for a while.

He left for an overseas operation that would last months, taking Irina with him. He gave them a contact in Tokyo and warned them: Stay sharp. UA might need you sooner than expected.

They didn’t know then just how right he was.

In the weeks that followed, Karma and [Y/N] established a base in a small apartment on the edge of the city.

They weren’t exactly living undercover, but they also weren’t public heroes. They moved through the world like ghosts, slipping between crowded alleys and rooftops, collecting information and building networks.

Their targets weren’t low-level thugs anymore.

They were watching names whispered in fear:

People tied to the League of Villains.

Underground arms dealers.

Corrupt businessmen sponsoring bio-enhanced quirk tech.

Karma enjoyed the tension.

[Y/N] thrived on the structure.

They operated like one mind in two bodies—flawless coordination, unspoken cues.

And slowly, as nights turned into weeks and weeks into months, their bond deepened.

They didn’t talk about it.

Not directly.

But it was there in the quiet things:

The way Karma always saved her the last strawberry milk in the fridge. The way [Y/N] always patched up his wounds before her own. The way they gravitated toward each other when things were too loud, too heavy, too real.

It was natural. Unspoken. And undeniable.

One night, after a long mission that ended in fire and fractured ribs, they collapsed on their apartment floor, bruised and breathless.

Karma’s shirt was torn. [Y/N] had blood on her knuckles.

She lay on the floor, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“You ever think,” she said quietly, “that we’re the only ones who get it?”

Karma was silent for a beat.

Then: “Every day.”

She turned her head. He was already looking at her.

The moment stretched long and quiet.

Then Karma reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

[Y/N] blinked.

“You didn’t,” she said, trying to sit up.

He opened it.

Inside was a ring. Silver. Clean. A thin band etched with a symbol only they understood: a flame crossed by lightning.

“It’s not what you think,” Karma said quickly, ears turning red. “It’s not… I mean, not yet. It’s just…”

She took it before he could finish.

Slid it onto her finger.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

And that night, for the first time, they didn’t sleep in separate beds.

Not for sex. Not for comfort.

Just to be close.

To know they were real.

To remember they were alive.

Their next mission came sooner than expected.

A deep investigation into a string of disappearances tied to illegal quirk experimentation.

They found a lab buried beneath a seemingly abandoned hospital.

What they discovered made even Karma’s cocky grin fade.

Children.

Dozens.

Hooked to machines, wired for data extraction.

[Y/N] nearly vomited. Karma stood frozen.

And then they moved.

The operation burned that night.

[Y/N] created a dome of air to shield the children. Karma melted the power grids and iced every escape route.

The scientists didn’t escape.

Neither did the armed guards.

The media was never alerted.

The story never made headlines.

But the kids lived.

That was enough.

They spent a week off-grid after that.

Recovery. Sleep. Therapy in the form of video games, bad takeout, and long walks along empty rooftops.

[Y/N] didn’t cry. Karma didn’t joke.

They just existed. Together.

It was during that quiet week that the second kiss happened.

The first had been months ago. A heat-of-the-moment adrenaline spark after a close-call mission.

But this one…

They were sitting on the apartment balcony.

Karma said something stupid. [Y/N] laughed.

He turned to look at her. She turned at the same time.

Their eyes met.

And suddenly, it wasn’t a question.

It was inevitable.

He leaned in. She met him halfway.

Soft. Slow. Real.

When they broke apart, Karma pressed their foreheads together.

“Don’t leave,” he said quietly.

[Y/N] smiled.

“I never do.”

They didn’t define it. Didn’t label it. Didn’t need to.

It was theirs.

And that was enough.

By the end of the month, they were called in for a special briefing.

Kasuma, back from his mission, met them at a secure facility.

“You’re going to U.A.,” he said, without preamble.

[Y/N] blinked.

“What?” Karma said.

“You’re not enrolling as students,” Kasuma clarified. “You’ll be embedded. Posing as transfers, but you’re there as internal operatives.”

[Y/N] folded her arms. “Why us?”

Kasuma looked at her evenly. “Because I trust you. Because you’re smart. Because you’re powerful. Because if anyone can keep that place from collapsing, it’s you two.”

Karma raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried we’ll… y’know… start chaos?”

Kasuma smiled faintly. “I’m counting on it.”

He handed over two sealed envelopes.

“Inside are your contracts. Your permissions. Your mission parameters. Don’t lose them.”

They didn’t.

The night before they left, [Y/N] and Karma stood on the rooftop of their building, looking out over Tokyo.

“It’s going to be different,” [Y/N] said.

Karma nodded.

“We’re going back to being students,” she added.

Karma snorted. “Sort of.”

She turned to him.

“What if they hate us?”

He shrugged. “Then we make them wish they didn’t.”

[Y/N] laughed.

“You’re terrifying,” she said.

Karma leaned closer.

“I’m yours.”

And she kissed him.

Under the stars.

Bonds forged in fire. In blood. In quiet promises and loud declarations.

Unbreakable. Unshakable.

The world had no idea what was coming.

But it would learn.

Because [Y/N] Midoriya and Karma Akabane were no one’s background characters.

They were the storm.

And they were heading straight for U.A.

U.A. High School was louder than she remembered.

[Y/N] Midoriya stood in front of the dorm building, one box levitating behind her as she used a casual breeze to float it into her hands. Her other arm was looped through Katsuki Bakugou’s as she babbled happily about the dorm arrangements, the bland uniforms, and the god-awful lighting in the girls’ bathrooms.

Katsuki Bakugou carried the heavier boxes with minimal complaint. Not because he was kind. Because he knew better than to let her get bored.

“Can’t believe they’re making you set up alone,” he muttered.

“Oh, I’m never alone, Kats,” she chirped, skipping ahead as her wind quirk lifted a box through the air behind them. “I’ve got voices. And glass. And you.”

“...I’m not comforted by that.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said I am.”

“Seriously, Kats,” she said in a sing-song voice, “I think the hallways are actually designed to suck the soul out of people. Like, one big soul Hoover.”

Bakugou grunted. “You’re just pissed there’s no pink tile.”

“I ASKED for lavender. That’s not unreasonable.”

He didn’t reply, but she caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

From a distance, Class 1-A watched the interaction with a mixture of fascination and suspicion.

Bakugou? Willingly letting someone talk his ear off? Letting them touch him? Letting them use him as a moving wall to carry her dumbass decorations for her room?

It was chaos.

And then she turned.

Bright green eyes landed on the gathered students with that same cheerful gleam—too bright, too wide, like a neon sign that flickered too much.

“Hiya, Class 1-A!” she chirped, twirling once as her hair fluttered in the wind she summoned. “I’m [Y/N] Midoriya! Twin sister of your very own Izuku~!”

The silence hit like a slap.

All eyes turned to Izuku.

He turned pale.

“You never said you had a sister,” Uraraka said quietly.

Izuku swallowed. “I-I didn’t think it was important.”

Ouch.

[Y/N] grinned wider.

“Oh, don’t worry, Deku,” she said sweetly, floating a small wind-blown leaf onto his head. “It’s not like I’ve been alive this whole time or anything.”

Bakugou snorted. Kaminari blinked. Todoroki tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“She’s quirkless, right?” Sero asked.

“NOPE!” [Y/N] beamed, hands on hips. “Got mine before Izuku even knew what a quirk was. But I kept it a secret to make him feel better.”

Another silence.

Izuku looked like he was going to pass out.

“That’s… insane,” Momo said cautiously.

[Y/N] cocked her head. “Awww, thanks! I try.”

Bakugou stood beside her, arms crossed, and for once, he looked smug.

“Don’t try to figure her out,” he said dryly. “You’ll go nuts before she does.”

Aizawa called her in that afternoon for a quick assessment.

“You know the rule,” he said. “Sparring introduction. You’ll be matched with Todoroki.”

“Oh, Todoroki~?” [Y/N] sang, clapping. “The one with fire and ice? Cute.”

Izuku stood immediately. “She’s too unstable. She shouldn’t—”

A gust of wind slammed him back into his chair.

“Oopsies,” [Y/N] said, not looking at him. “I twitch sometimes.”

Aizawa sighed deeply and waved her toward the arena.

The match lasted three minutes.

Todoroki opened with ice.

[Y/N] melted it mid-air with a snap of her fingers.

He followed with fire.

She swallowed it with a vortex and spit it back at him in a wave of scalding steam.

Then she surrounded him in a prison of rock and danced just out of reach, laughing.

No quirks, no weapons, no tricks—just raw elemental dominance wrapped in a pink ribbon of madness.

When it ended, Todoroki stared at the ground, humiliated.

[Y/N] patted his shoulder.

“You’re very pretty when you’re confused,” she said sweetly. “Like a sad puppy who forgot where the door is.”

The class stared at her like she was a ticking bomb.

Later that evening, Izuku cornered her in the hallway.

“You humiliated me,” he hissed.

[Y/N] smiled like sunshine. “Did I?”

“You told everyone about your quirk. You—”

“I pretended to be quirkless for you,” she said brightly. “Because you were crying. Because Mom hit me when I tried to say I had powers. Because she said it would ‘hurt you.’ So I waited. And waited. And then you got powers and didn’t even tell me.”

He flinched.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

That made her laugh.

Not a soft giggle.

A high, wild laugh that echoed through the dorm halls.

“I don’t care,” she said, still laughing. “You’re just not my brother anymore. You’re a guy I used to know. Now I’ve got a best friend who actually likes me and a boyfriend who brings me strawberry milk.”

She walked away without looking back.

Katsuki was waiting by the dorms. He gave her a once-over and passed her a soda.

“Deku crying again?”

“Always.”

She popped the can open with a flick of ice and grinned.

The next week, Karma arrived.

He walked into Class 1-A like he owned it, two buttons undone, blazer flapping, strawberry milk in hand.

Iida tried to lecture him.

Karma tossed the empty milk carton into his chest and kept walking.

[Y/N] launched herself at him. They kissed in front of everyone.

The room combusted.

Iida screamed about propriety. Kaminari short-circuited. Mineta nosebled and passed out.

Only Bakugou rolled his eyes and muttered, “Took long enough.”

Karma grinned. “[Y/N] missed me so bad she almost burned a building down.”

“I only set the bathroom on fire,” [Y/N] huffed. “That doesn’t count.”

“Hi,” Karma said to the class, slipping an arm around her waist. “I’m Karma. I like strawberry milk, chaos, and her. Try to touch her, and I’ll break your kneecaps with a smile.”

Uraraka stepped back. Even Todoroki seemed uneasy.

Izuku looked like he was going to explode.

From that point on, Class 1-A gave them space.

[Y/N] dragged Bakugou around, repainted his room lavender, stuck googly eyes on his grenadier gauntlets, and kept calling him “BoomBoom BFF.”

Bakugou let her.

The Baku Squad hated it.

The Deku Squad hated her.

The rest kept their distance.

Aizawa didn’t bother interfering.

“You’re not here to make friends,” he muttered during homeroom.

“Nope!” [Y/N] replied cheerfully, balancing a pencil on her nose. “I’m here to make trauma fashionable.”

He stared at her. Marked her present. Moved on.

At night, she slept in Karma’s dorm. They curled under too many blankets, whispered about strategy, giggled at dumb inside jokes, and practiced hand-to-hand in the common room after hours.

They were chaos wrapped in chemistry.

And U.A. didn’t know what to do with them.

[Y/N] didn’t need approval. Didn’t crave love from people who once ignored her existence.

She had Karma. She had Katsuki. She had her own strength.

And that was more than enough.

Because the girl who had once stayed silent had found her voice.

And it was cheerful.

It was twisted.

It was absolutely, unapologetically psychotic.

And she loved it.

[Y/N] Midoriya liked her new dorm.

Mostly because she didn’t actually stay in it.

Her official dorm was neat, full of sparkly figurines, mood lighting, and a whiteboard of unfinished elemental theories. But her real home? That was Karma’s room, where the walls smelled faintly of cherry detergent and strawberry milk.

Sleeping there was normal. Comforting. Strategic.

Until Principal Nezu decided to “reassess arrangements.”

“You’ll be placed in separate dorms permanently,” Nezu said, paws folded neatly on his desk. “We believe it’s for the best.”

[Y/N] blinked. “Best for who?”

“For the morale of Class 1-A. For appearances. You understand.”

She smiled. Too wide. Too sweet.

“Oh, I understand just fine,” she said in a singsong tone. “And I’m telling you very gently, Nezu-san… fix it before Karma comes back from his mission. Or you’ll be the one applying emergency morale patches.”

Karma had been called to Tokyo. She, on the other hand, was given one job: get comfortable. That was laughable. Comfort and U.A. didn’t mix, not after everything she’d heard and seen.

Aizawa, who had been silent up to this point, exhaled slowly. “She’s not bluffing.”

Nezu chuckled nervously. “We’ll consider it.”

They didn’t.

So she waited.

The day Karma returned from Tokyo, he didn’t enter U.A. like a normal person.

He kicked the door open.

Strawberry milk in one hand, dorm key in the other, blazer tied around his waist.

[Y/N] launched into his arms before the dust settled.

“You smell like fire and deadlines,” she murmured against his collar.

“And you smell like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t. I threatened a rodent.”

“Good girl.”

“You’re saying what now?” Karma asked later that night, tilting his head as [Y/N] ranted, pacing in a circle in their shared—secret—study room.

“They want us in separate dorms, Karma. Like they forgot the clause in our contract that literally says we operate as a team unit and we share living quarters for control and coordination. They said it might ‘make other students uncomfortable.’”

Karma rolled a coin between his fingers. “What’s our authority level again?”

“Above theirs,” [Y/N] said sweetly.

“Neat. Let’s burn the paperwork.”

“Nope. Better idea. We’ll let Aizawa do the talking. Then we’ll make friends with the support course. I want to build a thermal-proof ‘Do Not Disturb’ field around our dorm.”

He smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re scheming.”

“You’re hot when you’re complicit.”

Aizawa held an emergency meeting with the faculty.

“They have security clearance higher than half of Japan’s military. I don’t care if it makes Mineta nervous. Let them share a room or deal with the fallout.”

Principal Nezu reluctantly agreed.

“Very well. But we announce it.”

“Effective immediately,” Aizawa said flatly the next morning, “Karma Akabane and [Y/N] Midoriya will be rooming together. This has been authorized and approved. No discussion.”

There was so much discussion.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” Mineta cried.

“She sleeps in his T-shirt!” Kaminari shouted.

“Why do they get to act like royalty?” Iida barked.

“Because we are,” Karma said with a smile.

[Y/N] sat beside him, swirling a tiny tornado in her teacup. “We’re not normal students. We’re contractors. You remember the part where I folded Todoroki like a beach towel, right?”

Todoroki raised a hand. “I’m not part of this conversation.”

Uraraka’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re just above us now?”

“No,” [Y/N] said, licking her spoon. “We’re beneath you. Like ghosts. That protect you while you sleep. Or choose not to. Depending on how annoying you are.”

Silence.

Behind the scenes, things were moving fast.

The League of Villains had made three indirect attacks in a month.

U.A. needed insurance.

[Y/N] and Karma weren’t just students.

They were insurance with trigger-happy smiles.

Their official mission briefing, written by Kasuma himself, was clear:

Maintain cover as elite student transfers. Monitor League movement. Neutralize threats. Protect critical assets.

In short: babysit the hero children. Eliminate anyone who tried to hurt them.

It was a mess.

And they were perfect for it.

Karma adjusted quickly. He got along with some of the Baku Squad when they weren’t acting like territorial cats.

[Y/N] continued to rub everyone the wrong way.

“Why do you only talk to Bakugou?” Jirou asked one afternoon.

“Because BoomBoom is the only one who doesn’t flinch when I touch a blade.”

“You used wind to send Sato’s cake into the ceiling.”

“Poor structural integrity.”

“You set Iida’s notes on fire.”

“They were boring.”

“You replaced my shampoo with glitter.”

“That one was Karma, actually.”

“TRAITOR!” Karma called from the common room.

Despite the chaos, the missions kept coming.

Small ones at first.

Interventions off-campus.

Scouting dangerous areas.

U.A. didn’t announce it, but the staff all knew who to call when the police were too slow.

[Y/N] and Karma answered every time.

No fanfare.

No reports.

Just results.

One night, they got called to intercept a rogue bio-enhanced villain on the edge of Musutafu.

Aizawa handed them the file.

“He’s armed, unstable, and strong. Try to de-escalate. But if he throws the first punch—”

“He’s done,” Karma said, slipping on his gloves.

[Y/N] grinned. “Got it. Dinner after?”

“I’m thinking noodles.”

“Spicy?”

“You read my mind.”

They were gone in seconds.

Thirty minutes later, the villain was unconscious, tied to a lamp post, with a sticky note on his forehead that read:

‘Try again never.’ –The Ghosts of U.A.

Back at school, things grew tenser.

Izuku cornered [Y/N] one morning.

“We should talk,” he said, hesitant.

“We just did,” she replied.

“Seriously. I want to understand.”

“Now you want to understand?”

“I didn’t know how much I hurt you.”

She stopped.

Looked at him.

Then leaned in close.

“You hurt me a lot, Izuku. But I’m over it. I’m not angry anymore. I just don’t trust you. That’s different.”

He swallowed hard.

“But maybe one day,” she added with a sad smile, “we’ll be family again. If you earn it.”

And she walked away.

At night, she sat on the rooftop with Karma, twirling a spark of light between her fingers.

“They’re starting to hate us more,” she said.

“They’re starting to fear us more,” he corrected.

“Same thing.”

Karma shrugged. “Let them. We’re not here to win a popularity contest.”

She sighed. “No. We’re here to keep them alive.”

“And we will.”

She looked over at him.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

He leaned over, kissed her forehead.

“Always.”

They sat in silence.

The two bodyguards of U.A.

Invisible to most.

Essential to all.

A/N: They never wanted her power. They just didn’t want her to use it. Now? Too late. [Y/N] Midoriya isn’t just strong—she’s untouchable. Karma’s not just her match—he’s her mirror. Together, they aren’t classmates. They’re contingency plans. You don’t have to like them. You just have to survive long enough to realize you needed them. The ghosts are watching. And they don’t miss.

— Author, absolutely unwell over rooftop kisses, sibling detachment arcs, and U.A. accidentally housing its own secret endgame duo.

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx, @ironsaladwitch, @lithiumval, @starsdotalk, @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @ocean-mochi, @bunniotomia, @sept3mberchild, @sweetheart4you, @mayhem-k

Let me know if I missed anyone

[calebjorgens2024]

Imperial Tech

just for the record, I have woken up from a dream where Tech was dressed up in the Armor of the Empire’s Inferno Squad. The armor was black and red. Tech’s Inferno Squad helmet came with a red visor. He commanded a large number of Natborn troopers alongside clones. Regardless of what conditioning he went through, he still cares for his brothers and Omega. This further has shown and proven to me that it is the basis of my newest AU Fic. Star Wars: Imperial Shadow! With all his brilliant exceptional mind, Tech will play the long game with the Empire just so he can make it vulnerable from the inside as long as he manages to act like a stone cold Imperial Loyalist!

[lowaltitude]

Conviction (2) | Anakin Skywalker

- Star Wars AU - x Reader

❪ FEM! ❫

───── ❝ description + disclaimer ❞ ─────

𖥻 Anakin Skywalker x FEM!reader, in which the war is ongoing. You've been summoned back after years away—by Obi-Wan... 𖥻 ideological clash, the Force philosophy, emotional tension, and the “torn between two truths” weight on your shoulders 𖥻 7k WORDS. slight cringe? unintentionally seems like a love triangle. flashbacks. a lot of back and forth in this one sorry. PART ONE HERE PART TWO.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Everything is fracturing now. Obi-Wan’s waiting in the shadows with something dangerous. The Council is watching you too closely. And Anakin? He’s on edge, desperate to protect you—and quietly, maybe, ready to burn the galaxy.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I didn’t sleep when I returned.

The Temple was quiet. Too quiet. Like the Force was holding its breath. I stood alone in the training courtyard, watching the stars overhead. Waiting for the ache in my chest to fade. It didn’t.

He hadn’t followed me. But I still felt Obi-Wan’s presence like a phantom limb. Like he’d left part of his shadow behind.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Anakin didn’t say anything at first. Just stood beside me, arms crossed, gaze on the sky like he was searching it for answers.

“You saw him,” he said at last.

I nodded.

“He asked you to stay.”

“He always was good at asking.”

Anakin’s voice dropped, raw and sharp. “And did you want to?”

I turned to face him fully. “I didn’t say yes.”

“But you didn’t say no right away either,” he snapped.

Silence. Then guilt flickered across his face. He stepped closer. Hands on my shoulders now. Less anger. More desperation.

“I just—” His voice cracked. “I can’t lose you. Not to him. Not to them.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” I said. “But this thing between us? The Council’s watching. They want to use me as a tether. Or a trap.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why—” He hesitated. Then:

“I want to leave.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“Not because I’m running,” he said quickly. “Because I know the Council won’t stop until they’ve torn you apart trying to figure out where your loyalties lie. If I step down… maybe it gives them someone else to blame. Maybe they back off.”

“Anakin—”

“I’m not giving up,” he said. “I’m choosing you. And I’d rather choose that than let them use my title to hurt you.”

For once, I had no words. Only the terrifying weight of something too big for the war we were standing in.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ meanwhile, across the temple .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

Plo Koon spoke softly.

“She returned alone. But we all felt the shift.”

Mace frowned. “Skywalker’s behavior grows more erratic.”

“She is the bridge between them,” Ki-Adi Mundi said.

“And bridges burn,” Windu muttered.

Yoda opened his eyes. Tired. Knowing.

“Much darkness still surrounds Obi-Wan. But the girl…” He paused. “Her pain shields her from it.”

“Do we detain her?” someone asked.

“No,” Yoda said. But he looked sad when he added: “We watch.”

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ meanwhile, across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

A lightsaber ignited in the dark.

Red.

Not Obi-Wan’s.

A figure stepped forward—cloaked, masked, loyal to him.

“They’re moving,” the voice said.

Obi-Wan stood in silence before an old holo-map.

“Good,” he murmured. “Let them. The more pressure they feel... the more truth begins to crack.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The Council didn’t say the words “test.” But I knew what this was.

The mission was to Daro—a communications relay station the Republic had all but forgotten. Sabotaged tech, missing troopers, scattered intel. No tactical value.

But the Order wanted eyes on it anyway.

Wanted me on it.

Alone.

“We believe it may be compromised by Separatist agents,” Master Windu said, tone clipped. “This will be an assessment of judgment under isolation.”

Master Yoda watched me the entire time. So did Skywalker.

So did everyone.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

I was twelve. Still a Padawan with too-long sleeves and a too-serious face. And he had just lost Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan wasn’t teaching me, not officially. But sometimes—between war councils and meditation chambers—he would find me.

I wasn’t supposed to be in the gardens.

The curfew had been announced hours ago. But I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t meditate. Couldn’t stop hearing the echoes of Council debates through the Temple walls.

The war hadn’t begun yet, but something already felt wrong in the Force.

So I climbed the steps. Past the statue of Garsai the Brave. Past the wind chimes that only rang in the presence of strong energy shifts.

And there he was.

Obi-Wan.

Sitting cross-legged beneath the flowering tree that bloomed only once every decade.

His saber was disassembled beside him. His gaze was distant. But when he heard me, he didn’t turn or scold or send me away.

Just said: “You’re holding your breath.”

I froze.

“I—sorry, Master Kenobi, I didn’t mean to—”

“I meant in the Force,” he said. Now turning, finally looking at me. “You’re holding too tightly. Always braced for something.”

I hesitated. “Because something is coming.”

He smiled, soft but tired. “Yes. But you’re still a child. You shouldn’t have to feel that yet.”

I didn’t answer. I just sat beside him. Not close. Not too far. The silence between us wasn’t awkward. It was… reverent.

He picked up the saber piece nearest him.

“Balance isn’t about stillness,” he said, like continuing a thought I hadn’t heard. “It’s about presence. Knowing when to move. And when to wait.”

I watched his hands. I always watched his hands. So precise. So careful.

He glanced at me. A rare warmth behind his eyes.

“You’ll be strong,” he said. “But don’t let them convince you that strength means silence.”

And that was the first time I realized: He wasn’t just carrying Qui-Gon’s legacy. He was drowning in it.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ years later .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

It was Anakin who’d started noticing. Not in a measured, distant way. Not like Obi-Wan.

He never touched. Never said. But his gaze would catch—especially when he thought I wasn’t looking. Especially after a Senate mission with her.

Padmé Amidala.

He looked at her like the galaxy had given him a secret.

And I—

I thought that would be the end of it.

Until it wasn’t. Until it was me he stayed up too late talking to. Until the looks stopped being cautious. Until the war wore us both down enough that we started reaching for the one person who felt like gravity.

The shuttle was quiet. Lights dimmed. Most of the delegation asleep in their quarters.

I couldn’t sleep. Again.

I found the viewport room empty—until it wasn’t.

Anakin entered like he belonged there. Like he knew he’d find me.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood beside me, arms crossed, shoulders tense.

We’d just returned from Naboo. Another diplomatic success. Another week watching him circle around her.

He looked at her like the galaxy owed him something beautiful and she was the proof.

And me? I was the Jedi they sent to keep things from going off script.

I was always off-script around him. Anakin saw me like I was a problem he couldn’t solve. Or didn’t want to.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally.

I shrugged. “Not much to say.”

“Since when?”

I almost smiled.

He leaned a little closer, voice lower. “You were brilliant, you know. With the Naboo senators. You think no one notices when you fix things, but I do.”

I turned to face him—and there it was.

The look.

The one that wasn’t cautious anymore. That didn’t belong to a Jedi. That didn’t belong to a soldier. That belonged to a man standing way too close to the edge.

“I’m not like you,” I said quietly. “You walk into a room and everyone sees you. I’m just… background.”

His gaze sharpened. “Don’t say that.”

“I know what this is,” I said, heart pounding. “I know you have feelings for her.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “I did.”

“You do.”

“No,” he said. And this time, he didn’t look away.

“She was a dream. But you…”

He moved closer, then stopped. Inches away. The Force between us felt too loud. Like it couldn’t decide whether to bind or break.

“You feel real.”

And I—

I almost reached for him.

I wanted to.

But my hand stayed at my side. Because the Order. Because the war. Because I was terrified of what I’d find if I let him in.

Instead, I whispered:

“We’re not supposed to.”

His voice was a thread. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

He didn’t kiss me. I didn’t let him.

But we both felt it—how close we came.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

That same energy hummed in my bones now.

Because the two men who shaped my path—the one who taught me to think and the one who taught me to feel—were still pulling from opposite ends of my soul. And I didn’t know how much longer I could stay in the middle.

The shadows were wrong the moment I stepped inside.

Echoes. Too many for an empty outpost.

I drew my saber but didn’t ignite it. Something was here. Watching. Waiting. And then— The lights flickered.

A holoprojector whirred to life on its own.

And there it was.

Him.

Obi-Wan. Older. Wearier. Recorded within the last week.

“I don’t know if this message will reach you. But if it does… you’ll know it’s me.”

My knees almost buckled.

“Y/N,” his voice said, calm and low. “This is not an ambush. There is no enemy here but the one they’ve created in your mind.”

He looked right at me.

“I taught you to question. To seek balance. So ask yourself—is the war keeping the peace… or protecting power?”

His image shimmered.

“I never wanted to hurt you. But I can’t let them use you, either. You deserve truth. You deserve freedom.”

And finally—

“If you come… come as you are. Not their weapon. Not his shadow.”

The recording ended.

Silence. But my heart was pounding.

The projector blinked out. But Obi-Wan’s voice still echoed in my skull.

I sat down on the cold floor, breathing hard, still half-listening for danger.

Was this a message… or a test? Was this a warning… or an invitation?

I pressed trembling fingers to my temple. The Force felt like a pulled thread, tight and fraying—his presence still buzzingbeneath my skin from years ago. Not the war, not the saber, but something… personal.

And then— a sound.

Not from the recording.

From here.

Footsteps.

I was on my feet instantly, saber in hand, heart in my throat. The station groaned as someone stepped into the light from the outer corridor.

Armor. White. Dirt-streaked. Familiar.

“Rex.”

The clone commander held up his hands. “Easy, General.”

I blinked at him. “They sent you?”

“No,” he said, grim. “I came before they could.”

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ meanwhile, across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

“They’re hiding something,” Windu said flatly. “She received a transmission and never reported it.”

“It was encoded,” Ki-Adi-Mundi added. “A pattern we’ve traced to Kenobi.”

Silence.

Then:

“She has not acted against us,” Plo Koon said gently.

“But she hasn’t acted for us, either,” Windu countered. “The longer we wait—”

“Enough,” Anakin snapped.

The room turned.

“She’s loyal.”

Yoda stared at him, unreadable. “To the Jedi? Or to you?”

Anakin’s jaw tightened. “To the Republic. That’s what she chose.”

But even he heard the crack in his voice. He turned before they could press further, robes snapping behind him as he stormed out of the chamber.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ back on daro .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

“You weren’t supposed to find me,” I said.

“I wasn’t supposed to know how,” he replied. “But General Skywalker didn’t leave that to chance.”

My chest ached.

Rex dropped his helmet to the ground. “The Council’s getting jumpy. There’s talk of pulling you off rotation. Or... detaining you.”

I blinked. “Detain?”

He didn’t look at me. “They think you’re compromised.”

I stepped back. “They think I’m bait.”

Rex didn’t deny it.

But before I could speak again— The console lit up. Not Republic. A hidden transmission—encoded so specifically, so personally, that only I could interpret it. Short. Raw. A flickering string of data embedded in old Naboo diplomatic code.

Only I would recognize it.

The kind of encryption Obi-Wan taught me to build as a child… back when we spoke in puzzles across Temple archives, just to see if we could.

I played it.

Not a full message. Just a sound. A melody. Four notes, plucked slowly in the exact rhythm I hadn’t heard since I was a child—when I couldn’t sleep, when the halls of the Temple felt too big and too cold.

It was a lullaby from a world I barely remembered.

He used to hum it.

Once, when I was twelve and afraid and convinced I’d never belong here, Obi-Wan had knelt beside my bunk, laid two fingers over my temple, and told me the stars always listen—even when the Jedi don’t.

That melody played again now. Faint. Distorted.

"If you remember this," his voice said, soft, low, "then you remember who you were meant to be."

The screen flickered. No real visuals, just one location.

A crumbling old observatory at the edge of a neutral system. A place the Order had once used for outer-rim navigation. My throat dried. My blood roared.

He was asking me to come.

Alone.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ meanwhile, across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

The Force shivered.

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, standing at the edge of a craggy cliff, wind slicing through his robe. Somewhere across the stars, he felt her—waver.

Not break.

Not yet.

But something shifted.

A decision made.

He closed his eyes. Let the storm rise around him.

“You always saw too much,” he murmured to the wind. “That’s why they’ll never trust you.”

A voice behind him: “And you think you’re the one who deserves it?”

Obi-Wan didn’t turn.

“Deserve?” he echoed. “No. But I’m the only one left who understands what she is.”

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ back on daro .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

“I have to go,” I said.

Rex stood in front of the door. “You do, and they’ll brand you a traitor.”

“I don’t care what they call me.”

He swallowed hard. “But he will.”

I met his eyes.

“I don’t think Anakin believes in the Order anymore.”

“Then what does he believe in?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. Me… maybe.”

For a second, the air was too still.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

The night was silent.

I had snuck out of my quarters again. Couldn’t stop the way the stars clawed at my chest—too far away, too bright.

“Why here?” he asked, stepping into the temple archives doorway.

I didn’t look up. “Because books don’t expect me to be strong.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, gentle. “They don’t expect anything. They just offer what they know.”

He sat beside me. Pulled up an ancient holomap of the Mid Rim.

“There’s a system here,” he said, tapping the screen. “Little moon. No name. But the wind there sings like a chord. Not unlike your melody.”

“You’ve heard it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. But I dreamed of it once. And when I did... I saw you there. Older. Stronger. Standing at a threshold.”

“A threshold?”

He nodded.

“One path led to duty. The other to truth.”

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ end of flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

Ecliptical Station 14, an abandoned Jedi Star Chart Repository had been dark for years. No Jedi patrols. No maintenance crews. Just the ghosts of old systems blinking in the walls—like the stars still trying to be remembered.

I stepped off the borrowed transport alone.

No clones. No Council eyes.

Just me.

I passed through the shattered outer gates. The door hissed closed behind me.

And in the silence, I felt how Obi-Wan didn’t hide his presence.

He waited at the heart of the observatory—cloak off, sleeves rolled, like the battlefield had never ended. The blue starmap glow painted his face in soft pulses. He looked older than I remembered.

Not worn. Just… tired of pretending not to be.

"You came," he said.

I nodded, pulse thudding.

He smiled faintly. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“You always knew I would,” I said.

He stepped closer. “You still listen.”

“I still question.”

"Good." We stood in that silence for a heartbeat too long. Then he said— “They want you to forget who you are.”

“I’m not lost.”

“No?” His voice turned razor-sharp. “Then why does the Council want you monitored like a prisoner?”

I didn’t answer and he stepped closer.

“They made you a soldier. They watched you nearly die in campaigns that weren’t yours. And when you started asking why—they stopped listening.”

He wasn’t wrong. But I couldn’t let him be right.

“They’re afraid you’ll tell the truth,” he said softly. “And they’re right to be afraid.”

“I’m not here to be your weapon.”

Obi-Wan’s expression didn’t change.

“You’re not mine. You’re yourself. But if you walk back to them now—they’ll take even that.”

His hand hovered near mine.

Not touching.

But close enough.

“I can’t fix the Order. But I can build something new. Not ruled by fear. Not bound by corruption.”

I stared at him.

His voice was quieter now. The voice that used to guide me through night terrors and silent doubts.

“I didn’t ask Anakin,” he said. “Because I knew what he’d say.”

“I’m not him.”

“No,” he said. “You see more clearly.” A beat. “You always did.”

My throat closed. My saber felt heavy at my side.

“Why me?”

His eyes didn’t waver.

“Because you’re the only one I trust to change things. Because deep down, I think you know… I’m not the one who fell.”

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

“He’s contacting her again,” Mace Windu said.

“Let her go to him,” Anakin snapped. “You want a spy? You’ve got one.”

Yoda’s gaze pierced through him. “Worried, are you?”

Anakin didn’t speak.

He was burning.

He could feel her heartbeat echo through the Force like it was his own.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ back, across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

Obi-Wan had moved closer again. The tension in the Force buzzed like a current between us.

“I won’t fight you,” I whispered.

“I hope you won’t have to.”

I swallowed. “I have questions.”

“You always have,” he said. My hand didn’t reach for my saber. But it didn’t move away either. Then— A sharp, clean snap-hiss.

Not mine.

Not Obi-Wan’s.

Anakin.

He dropped from the upper catwalk, like a storm hitting the ground. Saber drawn. Eyes on Obi-Wan.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Anakin said coldly.

Obi-Wan didn’t flinch. “And yet I did.”

They stared at each other like two twin stars ready to collide.

“Stop it,” I said, breath hitching. “Both of you.” But the Force was screaming now. Because something had already begun. And none of us knew how to stop it.

Blue and red. Anakin’s saber hummed just inches from Obi-Wan’s. Neither struck. Not yet.

Just two men—once brothers—staring across the void of a galaxy that had already broken them in different ways.

“Stand down,” I said. My voice felt thin. Frayed.

They didn’t blink.

Obi-Wan’s voice was low, steady. “I didn’t come to fight.”

“You didn’t come alone, either,” Anakin shot back, voice like a blade.

He was looking at me now. Not in anger. In betrayal.

“I came because I had to,” I said quietly.

“To him?” Anakin snapped. “You knew what this was. What he wanted. You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” I said. “Because I didn’t know.”

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said calmly.

Anakin’s saber flared. “Don’t.”

But Obi-Wan stepped forward, slow, palms open. “The Council sent her to spy on me,” he said, “but they underestimated her. You all did. She doesn’t follow orders. She follows the truth. Even when it hurts.”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Because I knew what was coming—

He turned to me.

“Tell him.”

Silence.

The Force pressed into my chest like a hand made of stone.

I looked at Anakin.

“I chose the Republic,” I whispered.

He didn’t blink.

My voice cracked.

“I chose you.”

He closed his eyes.

But it was Obi-Wan who spoke next.

“Then why are you here?”

I opened my mouth— and the memory slammed into me like a wave.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

“Why me?” I’d asked, sitting cross-legged in the grass.

“You listen,” he said simply. “To the Force. To silence. To the things others miss.”

“But I mess up.”

“So do I,” he said with a smile. “So did Qui-Gon. So does your friend Anakin.”

“Not like you. You never lose control.”

Obi-Wan’s smile faded just a little. “Then I must hide it well.”

Pause.

“If I ever do something wrong,” I whispered, “something the Order wouldn’t understand... will you still believe in me?”

He hadn’t answered right away.

But then—

“I won’t abandon you,” he’d said.

And I’d believed him.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ end flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

“I came to understand,” I said aloud. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Anakin shook his head. “You think he’s offering you freedom? He’s already made the choice for you.”

“You don’t see it,” Obi-Wan said. “They’ve caged you, Anakin. They made you fight and bleed and sacrifice everything—and you still defend them.”

“Because the alternative is you.”

Obi-Wan stepped forward. “No. The alternative is change. But you’re too afraid to imagine it.”

“I’m not afraid,” Anakin growled.

“Then prove it. Walk away. Come with us.”

My heart stopped.

“What?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze didn’t waver.

“She belongs with us. With the Force—not the Council. We can end this war, not keep fighting it for men too old to see what they've done.”

Anakin’s voice broke. “You would take her.”

Obi-Wan turned to me. “I would follow you. If you asked. You know I would.”

And that—

That was the truest thing I’d ever heard from him.

Because he would.

Not to win. Not to conquer.

Because he believed in me.

The question was—did I?

The Force between them pulsed—heat and tension thick as gravity—and for a heartbeat, no one moved.

Obi-Wan was the first to speak. Calm. Steady. Dangerous in how much he believed.

"The Republic has failed. And the Jedi? They’re shadows of what they should’ve been. Enforcers for a broken Senate, chained to traditions they no longer understand."

Anakin’s jaw clenched, fingers tightening on his saber. "So you’ll replace them with what? Your version of peace? You and Dooku rewriting the galaxy on your own terms?"

Obi-Wan didn’t flinch. "I don’t follow Dooku. I follow the will of the Force. A new vision—without fear. Without blind loyalty. Without a Council that punishes those who love."

He looked at me.

"You don’t have to be caught between us. You could lead. The way you were always meant to. Not as a soldier. Not as a spy. But as a voice that carves a new path. With me."

My heart lurched. Because I knew, felt, that he meant it. He would follow me. He would burn the stars down to build whatever I imagined.

But then—

Anakin stepped forward.

He lowered his saber.

Not in surrender. In trust.

"Don’t choose me for the Republic," he said, voice quiet. Rough. "Don’t choose me for the Jedi. Choose me because you know this… this isn’t the way forward. Not with him."

I looked at him, and for the first time since the war began, I saw not the Chosen One, not the Commander, but just Anakin. Scared. Angry. Hopeful.

"You told me once you saw light in everyone," he said. "So look at me now. Look, and tell me you still see it. And if you don’t... I’ll walk away. But if you do—"

His voice cracked.

"Don’t leave."

My chest ached. The Force thundered.

I could see the future branching around us. One where Obi-Wan led me into a new world—where freedom wasn’t a crime. One where Anakin and I stood together, not because we were told to, but because we chose to fight for what was still good.

My saber stayed at my side.

"I see it," I whispered. "In both of you. But only one of you is asking me to stay."

Obi-Wan’s face didn’t break.

But I felt it—the ripple in the Force. A tremor of something… grief-stricken.

Anakin took a step forward. I didn’t stop him.

His hand brushed mine. Not a command. Not a pull. Just a touch—quiet, grounding. Obi-Wan didn’t move. He stood perfectly still, his saber lowered but not deactivated. Watching. Waiting.

“I won’t fight you,” he said, softly. “Not if you come now.”

Anakin’s jaw clenched. “That’s not peace, Obi-Wan. That’s a line in the sand.”

“No.” Obi-Wan’s voice stayed steady. “It’s a door. One only she can open.”

My heart thudded.

I wanted to scream—Why do you both keep putting this on me?

But I understood. Maybe too well.

I looked between them. Two men who had shaped the core of my life—one who raised me, one who saw me.

“I can’t be your fulcrum,” I said.

Obi-Wan blinked, almost startled.

“I’m not your wedge. Your weapon. Your symbol of what could’ve been. I won’t be what breaks the other.”

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then— A low rumble.

The station groaned.

An alert flashed behind us—one of the structural pylons had buckled during the skirmish. A final warning blared through the speakers: Evacuation required. Pressure breach imminent.

Anakin’s hand tightened around mine. “We need to go.”

Obi-Wan took a step forward—but this time, I stepped back.

Not in fear.

In choice.

“I won’t forget the melody,” I said quietly. “Or the stars. Or the threshold.”

Obi-Wan's expression cracked. Just a little.

But it was enough.

I turned.

We ran.

Behind us, I felt a ripple—like a heart breaking.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The blast doors groaned open as emergency klaxons wailed. Smoke curled from shattered supports above, casting orange light over the bay. R2-D2 spun around, beeping wildly, as the droid waited for us.

Anakin skidded to a stop by his starfighter—scorched but flight-worthy. Mine was parked just beside it, systems already running from the remote sequence I’d triggered during the confrontation.

R2 let out a shrill chirp. We had minutes. Maybe less.

Anakin looked at me—really looked. Exhausted. Hollow-eyed. But still standing.

“Come with me,” he said, over the chaos. “Forget your ship. R2 can pilot it remotely—just fly with me.”

I hesitated—wanted to say yes. But…

I looked at my ship and I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “Not because I don’t trust you. But because I need… space to think. To feel.”

Anakin’s shoulders dropped in understanding. He nodded once and R2 gave an exasperated whirl before hurrying to the cockpit. Anakin followed. Engines screamed to life.

I climbed into my own ship.

We launched side-by-side, the dying station falling behind us like a broken sun.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Our starfighters touched down in the Temple hangar, emergency lights bathing the durasteel in crimson pulses. Temple guards stood at attention. Jedi Masters waited behind them.

They had felt it.

They knew something had changed.

Anakin climbed from his fighter with a wince—blood on his ribs, a hand pressed to his side. He didn’t complain. Didn’t explain.

But they turned to me.

And they asked questions.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The room was colder than I remembered.

Mace Windu’s tone was sharp, clipped. “Did General Kenobi attempt to recruit you?”

“She made her choice,” Anakin said hoarsely, still standing though he swayed. “She chose the Republic.”

“That’s not what we asked her,” Mace replied.

Yoda’s ears twitched. “Hmm. Much fear, I sense. In all.”

I stood still, silent as their voices climbed.

“She’s compromised.”

“She’s loyal,” Anakin snapped.

“She hesitated.”

“She survived.”

Yoda raised a hand, silencing the room.

“Speak, she may. If she wishes to.”

I met his gaze—and for a second, the quiet strength there nearly broke me.

But I couldn’t stay.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I walked straight past the medbay. Straight past the barracks.

An escort of clones—my assigned detail now—trailed behind me like ghosts. I didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. I just packed.

A datapad beeped with a new security protocol: mandatory protection for all Jedi potentially targeted by former Generals.

I was a liability now.

But worse—

I had lost him.

Obi-Wan.

My mentor. My guardian. My almost-father.

Gone.

The transport rose slowly above the Temple’s spires.

I sat by the viewport, helmeted clone troopers flanking either side, their visors unreadable.

Below, Anakin stood on the landing pad, small and still and watching as I left.

And I didn’t know if I ever wanted to come back.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The air was too still. Almost suffocating. Long shadows stretched across the quiet halls of my childhood home. The kind of silence that didn’t soothe—it pressed on my ribs like armor I couldn’t take off.

Outside, the sky was turning violet. I hadn’t turned the lights on. I didn’t want to see the walls. The empty corners. The reflection of myself in the windows.

I sat on the floor, knees to my chest, back to the wall.

Not crying.

Just… not handling it.

I hadn’t removed my boots. My saber still hung at my side. Dust floated through the slanting light. I didn’t hear the door. Just… the shift in the Force. And then he was there.

Anakin stood in the archway, boots scuffed, tunic still dark with blood he hadn’t bothered to clean. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to come closer.

He just waited.

His presence filled the room slowly, not intrusively—like a tide.

I didn’t look at him, and he didn’t leave.

Minutes passed. I couldn’t count them.

And then—like something cracked—my hand clenched, and my breath hitched.

I broke.

I pressed my palms to my face, breath shuddering out of me. The tears came soundless at first. Then sharp.

"I love him," I choked out. "I loved him."

Anakin stepped forward—not fast. Just steady.

I didn’t stop him.

“I didn’t want this,” I gasped. “I was trying to find another way. I was looking for it—something, anything, to stop it before it went too far—”

My voice hitched again.

“He was meant to destroy the Sith, not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!”

The sob punched out of me like breath after drowning.

Anakin knelt in front of me.

His arms wrapped around my shoulders, firm and warm and real.

He pulled me in.

I clutched his tunic in my fists.

His voice was low, barely audible above the hum of the wind outside.

“He was my brother” He let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “I loved him…”

His hand moved through my hair—slow, steady.

And for the first time in days, I let myself feel the weight of it.

The grief.

The betrayal.

The impossibility of it all.

And Anakin held me like someone who knew exactly what it meant to love someone who had broken you.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The fire had burned low in the hearth.

Outside, the wind rustled through the olive trees—soft and tired, like even the night itself was grieving.

I was wrapped in a blanket now, curled on the long couch near the window. Anakin sat beside me, one arm resting behind my shoulders, his head tilted back against the cushions. The firelight flickered over the edges of his face, casting gold and shadow across the furrow in his brow.

We hadn't spoken in a while.

We didn’t need to.

He'd stayed. That was enough.

I glanced sideways at him—his eyes were closed, but I knew he wasn’t sleeping. His breathing was too uneven. Not out of fear. Just… thinking. And that was almost more dangerous with Anakin.

I shifted slightly.

He opened one eye. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to fall on you.”

“You didn’t.” My voice was raw but steadier than before.

A silence. Then—

“Do you think he meant it?” I asked, voice barely a whisper. “When he said he’d follow me?”

Anakin didn’t answer right away. He stared at the fire. Then nodded, slow.

“Yeah,” he said. “He meant it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t comforting.

“And would you?” I asked, before I could stop myself. “If it came to that—would you follow me?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t tease. Just turned to look at me.

“I already am.”

I looked away. My throat ached.

The blanket slipped off my shoulder slightly. He caught it and gently pulled it back up, fingers brushing my skin.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be anymore,” I said. “The Council doesn’t trust me. Obi-Wan’s gone. The war’s still burning. And you…”

My voice broke on that word.

“You never stopped seeing Padmé. Even when you were looking at me.”

A flicker passed through his expression—regret, maybe. Pain. Guilt.

“That’s not true,” he said quietly. “She was my past. But… you’re the only person who’s ever made me want a future.”

My breath caught.

He looked at me like the war wasn’t real. Like the galaxy outside didn’t exist.

“I see you,” he said. “I always have.”

For a moment, I believed him.

I leaned into his side, head resting on his shoulder. He let out a long breath and wrapped his arm around me fully, like he'd been waiting for that to be okay.

And for the first time in what felt like years, I closed my eyes and didn’t feel like I had to keep watch.

I didn’t sleep.

But I rested.

And maybe… that was enough.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ meanwhile, across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ───

The chamber was dim—lit only by the pulse of red energy strips embedded in obsidian walls.

The masked figure waited alone, cloak unmoving in the stale air. His mask—silver, sharp-jawed, featureless save for a narrow slit of dark glass—reflected the faint shimmer of the holocomm console before him.

Static flickered.

Then the hologram resolved into shape.

A figure in heavy robes. Cowl deep. Hands folded. Voice, honey-smooth and rotted at the edges.

“Lord Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan didn’t flinch.

He stood taller than earlier. Worn thinner, yes. But the fire in his eyes had grown colder. Sharper.

“You kept your distance,” he said. “I wondered if you still believed in the plan.”

The hooded figure’s mouth curled beneath shadow.

“I believe in the Force. And in you, my friend.” A pause. “You’ve done well. The Jedi are fractured. The Council… afraid. And the girl?”

Obi-Wan’s jaw tensed.

“She’s not ready.”

“But you are.” The voice slithered closer. “You saw what the Jedi refused to see. You felt the rot in the Republic’s core. You chose to act.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Obi-Wan’s face—but only for a moment.

“There can be no true peace until the corruption is burned out. And to do that…”

The masked figure reached up.

And slowly—

Deliberately—

Removed his hood.

Pale skin. Deep folds. Yellowed eyes, gleaming like sulfur behind a politician’s smile.

“We must bring the galaxy to its knees.”

Obi-Wan stared at the man who had once been the Chancellor.

“You’re not what I expected.”

Palpatine—no longer hiding behind titles—stepped forward in the hologram, his voice no longer soft.

“Neither were you.”

The silence stretched. Then Obi-Wan spoke again, quieter now.

“If I find a better way… I will take it.”

“Of course,” Palpatine said. “That is why I chose you.”

The transmission ended.

And Obi-Wan stood there, alone in the dark, with only his reflection in the now-blank screen—and the memory of a girl who had once believed in him.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ back across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ────

A chill pressed against my skin.

The kind not born of weather, but of memory. Of a voice I hadn’t heard in waking life—something just outside reach, like a rip in the Force trailing after me through the dark.

I sat up slowly, heart thudding. The room was still dim, only the faintest lavender light creeping through the tall windows. My fingers curled into the throw blanket pooled around me.

Anakin stirred beneath me.

His arm was still around my waist, the other slung protectively under my back. I hadn’t realized I’d shifted in sleep—head tucked to his chest, his heartbeat like a drum beneath my ear. Safe. Real.

He blinked, slow and soft from sleep, voice still husky.

"Hey." His eyes found mine instantly, brow creasing as he took in my expression. "What happened? What did you see?"

I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t a vision. Not a prophecy or a dream I could name. Just... a feeling. Cold and buried deep in the Force like a shadow I’d known all my life but had only just now begun to fear.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “It wasn’t Obi-Wan.”

He sat up, eyes searching mine. “Was it a dream?”

I shook my head. “No. Not a dream. Just... something is coming.”

His gaze didn’t waver. Not once. Anakin’s hand lifted gently, fingers brushing the side of my face—tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear like I might vanish if he didn’t anchor me.

His touch was so careful. As if I were something fragile. Not a soldier. Not a Jedi.

Just… me.

"You're safe," he said, low. Certain.

The touch was grounding. Familiar.

And when I looked at him, really looked—into those eyes that had seen too much, burned too bright—I felt something crack open in my chest.

All the tension, all the grief and fire and battle lines that had cut through us like warpaths—it slipped, for one impossible second, away.

I leaned forward.

So did he.

No fanfare. No declarations.

Just one breath.

We’d kissed before—once in silence, once like breaking a rule, once like reaching for something we weren’t ready to name. Always pulled apart by duty, by war, by fear.

But this time…

This time, there was no one left to answer to.

No lies between us. No secrets left to keep.

So when I leaned into him and his lips met mine again—there was no hesitation. No question of right or wrong.

Just yes.

Just finally.

The kiss was deep, quiet, steady. Fierce and soft all at once. Like the moment had been waiting for us as long as we’d been waiting for it. The kind that doesn’t ask for anything except the truth of the moment. The kind that said: I see you. I’ve always seen you.

And I’m not running anymore. I kissed him back. Like I’d meant to do a hundred times. Like we had run out of excuses and finally realized there was no safer time. No right moment.

His hand slid up to cradle the back of my neck, pulling me closer like he couldn’t bear a fraction of distance.

His forehead rested against mine when we broke apart, our both of us breathing like we’d fought a war just to get here.

Maybe we had.

“I thought I lost you back there,” he whispered.

“You didn’t,” I said. “But we’re not done fighting.”

He nodded. “I know. But if I have to fight… I’d rather do it knowing what we are. What we mean.”

I looked at him then, really looked. At the man who was never just the Chosen One to me. Who was never just a soldier or a Jedi or a myth.

He was Anakin.

And I was done pretending he wasn’t everything I had left to believe in.

Our breathing calm now. No hunger. No urgency. Just… peace. Hard-won and fragile. So I lay back down, my hand resting over his heart. His arms tightened around me, one hand in my hair, his touch steady.

Outside, dawn finally broke.

But in here… we had a little more time. And for once, neither of us had to be alone when the galaxy turned.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The vast chamber hummed with uneasy murmurs.

Council members gathered around the polished table, their faces grim. I stood at the edge, my heart pounding—both from exhaustion and the heavy weight of accusation.

Master Yoda’s gaze was steady, calm as always. He spoke first, his voice soft but firm. “Strong in the Force, Y/N is. Truth and loyalty, she holds. We must not let fear blind us.”

Mace Windu’s eyes narrowed. “She was with Obi-Wan when the sabotage occurred. We cannot ignore the possibility she is compromised.”

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to snap back. “I would never betray the Jedi. I’m here to protect what’s left of this Order.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi nodded slowly. “Her words ring true, but we must be cautious. The lines have blurred. Trust is not given lightly.”

Anakin stood beside me, his presence a silent shield. His voice was low but unwavering. “Y/N has fought alongside me through the worst. She chose the Republic—not any man.”

Yoda inclined his head. “Wisdom lies in patience, yes. Let her actions show her path.”

The room fell silent, the verdict unspoken but clear.

I felt it—a fracture inside me. I was defended, yet distrusted.

The weight of the Order’s doubt pressed down like a shadow, even with Master Yoda’s quiet defense.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

After the meeting, I retreated to my quarters. The solitude was both a refuge and a prison, feeling the gulf widening between me and the Jedi I once called family.

Outside, clone troopers moved like ghosts—mandatory protection now a constant reminder of the cost of my choices.

I sank onto the floor, the silence louder than ever. As I sat alone, my comlink suddenly whispered to life.

A transmission. Soft. Familiar.

The melody only Obi-Wan and I knew—played long ago in a moment stolen from war.

But this time, there was no peace in the tune.

Just a single, trembling message:

“I’m sorry.”

And behind it, the faintest echo of blaster fire.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

TO BE CONTINUED ?? IN PART THREE:

Reckoning (3) | Anakin Skywalker

coming soon

Part One:

[stellaspectral]

Hi! I love your writing, could I maybe request the boys (maybe 03, 2012, 07 or bayverse?) x vampire!reader?

A/N: Hello! I seem to have went overboard again with the plot set-up of this story. Oh, and for the setting, I went with the 2003 universe.

I hope you enjoy it! 💖

Centuries in Shadow (paranormal/action)

💚 2003 Turtles/Gender Neutral Reader 💚

CWs: Vampire Reader, violence, themes of being hunted, some injury details, depictions of torture (UV light exposure, etc.), found family with romantic undertones. All characters are aged-up.

You crouch low on the rooftop of a New York residence and scan your surroundings for trouble, your senses honed by centuries of survival.

You’ve lived discreetly here for a long time, using your resources to live a relatively quiet life. Blood bank deliveries, a secure income from decades of wise investments, and an almost pathological avoidance of attention have served you well. You’ve curated this mostly peaceful existence with painstaking care.

But now, someone is determined to destroy everything you’ve built.

Suddenly, the alley below erupts with activity. Figures in black tactical gear marked with the eagle-and-globe insignia of the Earth Protection Force rappel from the opposite rooftop.

“Target is designated Omega-Six. Subdue, do not terminate,” a harsh voice crackles over the comms, “at least not yet.”

“Roger, Bishop,” one man replies.

Of course, you recognize the name. He and the EPF seem to have gotten a credible lead on your existence. You surmise Bishop sees you as either a valuable biological weapon to be studied and controlled, or a significant threat to be neutralized. But you don’t intend to find out his true goal the hard way.

Because you won’t allow them to capture you—not without a fight.

You don’t wait for them to fully deploy and launch yourself towards the nearest agents. They expect you to flee, to scramble up a fire escape, seeking the shadows. They don’t expect a direct, silent assault. And the element of surprise is nearly always on your side.

One agent, his face obscured by a dark visor, raises a weapon. You pivot, the air where your head was moments before crackling with a discharged stun bolt. Balling your hand, you slam it into his chest. Not hard enough to shatter bone. You’re not trying to kill, merely incapacitate; you’re not a monster, after all. Though it’s enough to drop him to his knees, gasping, the wind knocked from his lungs.

“Omega-Six is engaging! Defensive pattern beta! Use the shock batons!” an unknown voice, probably the field leader, shouts.

More organized now, they try to encircle you.

High above, unseen by the EPF, four figures watch from the lip of an adjacent building. They’ve been tracking Bishop for weeks, and this sudden, violent confrontation has their full attention.

“Whoa, dudes, Bishop’s goons are trying to bag someone,” Mikey says.

“Quiet, Mikey,” Leo murmurs, eyes narrowed. “Donnie, what’s your take on the target?”

Donnie is peering through high-tech binoculars. “Strange. Definitely not human. They have enhanced speed, strength … and they don’t seem to be affected much by the agents’ retaliatory efforts.”

“Looks like they can defend themselves,” Raph remarks, his hands instinctively going to his weapons at his belt. “But Bishop’s playing rough.”

Meanwhile, you feel the sting as yet another baton glances off your arm. It’s an unpleasant jolt, but your ancient physiology shrugs off the worst of it, leaving only a dull ache—and a surge of cold fury. You lash out with a kick, sending another agent tumbling. They are persistent, these EPF soldiers, like well-trained hounds.

Then Bishop’s voice cuts through the comms again. “Omega-Six is proving more resilient than expected. Authorize the use of the nets and UV projectors. We need this specimen intact, but damage is acceptable if it ensures capture.”

Even a brief exposure to the UV could be agonizing and debilitating. Bishop’s casual disregard for your well-being—for your personhood—stokes the embers of your fury into a roaring inferno. You are not some thing to be cataloged and dissected!

You see the change in their tactics immediately. Two agents break formation, producing bulky, shoulder-mounted devices. Others unclip net-launchers from their thighs, aiming with precision.

Up on the rooftop, Leo watches the agents adjust their aim. “What are those?” he asks, his voice tight.

Donnie zooms in the optical sensors of the binoculars. “Those larger units—they’re high-intensity ultraviolet emitters. And those are pneumatic net launchers. They’re not playing around.”

“UV? Like, for vampires?” Mikey asks.

Raph shoves him lightly. “He said ‘specimen,’ Leo,” he growls, his gaze fixed on the scene below. “And ‘damage is acceptable.’ Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? They’re treating them, whatever they are, like an animal.” His grip tightens on his sai.

The first UV beam slices through the night, a searing white-violet ray that makes your skin crawl even from a near miss. You twist, the beam scorching the brickwork where you stood a microsecond before. Another agent fires a net; you drop, spin, and feel the weighted mesh whip over your head, snagging on a ventilation pipe. Too close.

You can’t afford to be hit by those beams. Your movements become sharper, more desperate, focused on evasion above all else. You leap back up the building and move from rooftop to rooftop, a blur of motion. The EPF agents scramble to keep up, their beams cutting erratic patterns in the darkness.

They are herding you, you realize too late, trying to force you into a kill box.

“Subject is agile,” Bishop’s voice crackles. “Flank them. Pin them between sectors three and four. Prioritize UV containment. I want it unable to fight back.”

You vault over an air conditioning unit, the hum of a charging UV projector dangerously close. You spin in mid-air, lashing out with a foot that connects with the agent’s device. It sparks, fizzles, and the agent stumbles back with a curse, momentarily blinded by his own malfunctioning weapon. A minor victory, but more are closing in.

A net catches your ankle, and you hit the roof hard, a grunt escaping your lips. The rough surface scrapes at your clothes, your skin.

“Got a partial hit!” one agent shouts.

Another beam cuts towards your downed form. You throw yourself sideways into a roll, the beam charring the spot where your torso was, the acrid smell of something burning filling your nostrils.

“They’re gonna fry ‘em!” Mikey exclaims, his earlier levity gone.

“Bishop’s not trying to subdue anymore. That was a kill shot, or close to it,” Donnie observes, his voice grim. “If they’re photosensitive, those beams are torture.”

Leo watches, his jaw set. The figure below, though clearly not human, is fighting with a desperate ferocity. They aren’t launching unprovoked attacks; they’re defending themselves against a heavily armed force that clearly wants them captured. Or worse. And Bishop’s cold, clinical orders remind him too much of the enemies who saw him and his brothers as mere obstacles or tools.

“Sector three, saturate the area with UV. Force it into the open!” Bishop commands.

Multiple beams converge, creating an inescapable cage of agonizing light. You hiss, shielding your face as the edges of the beams sear at your exposed hands. The pain is intense, a deep, burning ache that feels like your very cells are igniting. You can feel your strength beginning to wane under the assault; the primal urge to flee into the darkness is overwhelming.

“That’s it!” Raph snarls. “I don’t care what they are. Nobody deserves that. Bishop’s crossed the line!”

“Raph, wait!” Leo orders, but his voice lacks its usual conviction. He sees it too. The target is cornered and visibly in pain. Bishop’s tactics are brutal, excessive. This isn’t about protection; it’s about acquisition, at any cost.

“We can’t just watch this,” Donnie adds, lowering his binoculars.

As you struggle against the light, a flicker of movement from above catches your attention. Four distinct silhouettes detach themselves from the skyline, leaping with agile grace. They land between you and the advancing EPF line.

“Alright, Bishop!” a voice rings out—the one in blue. “Playtime’s over! Why don’t you try picking on someone your own size?”

The agents hesitate, surprised by the sudden appearance of these new, unknown combatants. You stare, momentarily stunned. Human-sized turtles? With ninja weapons? Your long existence has shown you many strange things, but this is … novel.

Are they here for you? Or are they merely another complication in this already disastrous night? Their stance, however, seems defensive, facing away from you, towards Bishop’s men. A flicker of something you haven’t felt in a long time—hope?—ignites in your chest.

“Who the shell are you?” the red one growls, shoulder-checking an EPF trooper away from you. “And what’s Bishop’s beef with ya?”

“Later, Raph!” the blue one orders, deflecting a dart aimed at your head, before he glances at you. “Come with us if you want to get out of this!”

There’s no time for formal introductions or lengthy explanations. With a final, coordinated push, you and the turtles break through the EPF cordon before melting into the labyrinthine network of back alleys, leaving Bishop’s forces to regroup.

“No one escapes the EPF, Omega-Six! No one!” his voice over the comms a promise of retribution.

You maintain a carefully neutral posture as a wise-looking rat in a kimono regards you with disconcertingly perceptive eyes.

“My sons,” he says, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable authority, “you have brought a most … unique guest into our home.”

Leo steps forward. “Master Splinter, this is … well, we don’t actually know who they are. Bishop and the EPF were trying to capture or kill them. We intervened.” He looks at you, his expression cautious. “We need to know what you are, and if you’re a threat to us.”

Raph scoffs, arms crossed tightly over his plastron. “Threat? Look at them, Leo. Pale skin, moves too fast, and I swear I saw fangs back there.”

Donnie, on the other hand, seems fascinated rather than suspicious. “Their physiology is astounding, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Thermoregulation seems minimal, and cellular regeneration appears highly advanced. Are you nocturnal by nature? What are your dietary requirements?”

“Whoa, are you like … an actual vampire or something?” Mikey asks. “Can you turn into a bat? Or mist? Do you vant to suck our bloooood?” He mimes a classic Dracula pose, complete with hooked fingers, then shrinks back when Raph shoots him a withering glare.

You take a slow breath, meeting each of their gazes, before you tell them your name. “And yes, to answer your most pressing question—I am what you would call a vampire.”

There are a few beats of silence. Mikey’s eyes widen to the size of manhole covers. Donnie tilts his head, as if trying to analyze you. Raph tenses, his posture screaming ‘threat.’ Leo’s expression is unreadable, but his eyes narrow slightly. Only Splinter remains impassive, his gaze thoughtful.

“A vampire?” Mikey finally breathes, a strange mix of awe and terror in his voice. He looks from you to his brothers and back again. “So, like the garlic, the stakes, the not being able to cross running water—is all that stuff true? Dude, this is so much cooler than the movies!”

Raph snorts. “Cooler? Mikey, they could drain us dry before we even blink! If they are what they say they are.” His glare fixes on you, sharp and accusing. “How do we know you’re not just waiting for us to drop our guard?”

“Raphael,” Splinter scolds. He then turns his gaze to you, his whiskers twitching. “The legends surrounding your kind are many, and often contradictory. They speak of darkness, of predation, but also of ancient power and profound loneliness.” His eyes hold a surprising depth of understanding, or perhaps just a willingness to understand in general. “You sought to avoid Bishop. You fought only to defend yourself. This does not align with the monstrous caricature often painted.”

You incline your head respectfully towards the wise rat. “The tales are exaggerated. Twisted by fear and ignorance over centuries.” You carefully choose your words, aware that every syllable is being scrutinized. “I do not prey on the unwilling. My needs are met through … other means. I have no desire to harm any of you. You offered aid when I was vulnerable. I am in your debt.”

Donnie is practically vibrating with scientific curiosity. He has procured a PDA and taps away at the screen with a stylus. “Incredible! Are you truly immortal, or just exceptionally long-lived? Are there different blood types that are more palatable?”

His barrage of questions is almost overwhelming. You manage a faint smile. “Perhaps one question at a time?”

“Yeah, brainiac, let them breathe,” Mikey chimes in, though his own curiosity is palpable. He cautiously inches closer. “So, no bat-transforming then?”

You focus on Leo, who has remained silent and observant. “I understand your caution,” you say, meeting his gaze directly. “I am … different. My existence is a secret I have guarded for centuries. I suspect Bishop wishes to exploit that difference, to turn me into a weapon or a lab rat.” You wince as a sharp throb of pain emanates from your arm where the shock baton connected and the UV light grazed.

Leo notices the flicker of pain. His expression softens marginally. “You’re injured.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Donnie, can you …?”

Before Donnie can offer medical assistance, which you know would involve far too many invasive questions right now, you shake your head. “I heal quickly. The light—it’s the worst. But I will recover.” You pause, then decide a measure of honesty is warranted. “Sunlight, or concentrated UV like Bishop uses, is indeed a significant vulnerability. It doesn’t kill instantly, as some myths suggest, but it is excruciatingly painful and debilitating.”

Raph still looks unconvinced. “So you’re saying you’re a ‘good’ vampire? Like, you only drink … I dunno, tomato juice with iron supplements?” he sneers.

You resist the urge to bristle at his tone. “I told you, I do not prey on the unwilling. I have lived among humans for a very long time.”

Splinter strokes his chin. “It seems Agent Bishop has made an enemy of you, and now, by extension, he may consider my sons his enemies as well for their interference.” He looks at Leo. “Leonardo, what is your assessment?”

Leo finally looks away from you and to his father. “They were being hunted, Master. And Bishop’s methods were extreme. They didn’t attack until they cornered them. And they’re right; if they wanted to hurt us, they had ample opportunity when we brought them here.” He glances back at you. “But we still don’t know much. Why you? Why does Bishop want you specifically?”

“I don’t know another reason other than what I’ve said before,” you say. “But I know he has been hunting down rumors of my existence for years. And, obviously, he’d finally found a credible one.”

“So, you’re like super old?” Mikey asks, eyes wide. “How old? Older than Master Splinter? Uh, no offense, sensei!”

Splinter chuckles. “I suspect, Michelangelo, our guest may measure their years in centuries, not decades.”

You offer a small, almost sad smile. “Your Master is correct. My memory stretches back further than I sometimes care to recall.” You look around the lair. At these strange, honorable creatures who have offered you a lifeline. “I have always sought to live quietly, to remain unseen. Bishop threatens to shatter that peace, not just for me, but for anyone he deems abnormal.” You look pointedly at the turtles. “A sentiment I suspect you can understand.”

This strikes a chord. You see it in the shift in Raph’s posture, the flicker in Leo’s eyes, the thoughtful frown on Donnie’s face. They understand being hunted for being different.

“So, what now?” Raph asks, his tone still gruff but a fraction less hostile. “We just let Dracula’s cousin crash on our couch?”

Your gaze drifts towards him. “I have no intention of ‘crashing on your couch’ indefinitely. I have my own resources, a secure place. But returning there tonight would be unwise. Bishop will expect it.”

Leo nods in agreement. “He’ll have eyes on your known locations, if he has them. Staying off-grid for a bit is smart.” He looks around the lair. “We don’t exactly have a guest room, but we can make you comfortable.”

“You’ve already done more than I could have expected from strangers,” you reply, your voice sincere.

“Hospitality to those in need is a virtue, no matter how unconventional the guest is.” Splinter smiles gently. “Now, I believe some rest is in order for all of us. We’ll discuss strategies and Bishop after everyone rests.”

“I’ll set up a cot in my lab,” Donnie says. “It’s relatively quiet there, and I can monitor … well, ensure you’re undisturbed.”

You appreciate the offer, though the idea of being ‘monitored’ gives you a slight pause. Still, it’s better than the alternative. “Your lab will do fine. Thank you.”

As the turtles disperse, Raph lingers for a moment. He doesn’t approach, but his gaze is intense. “Just so we’re clear,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You hurt my family, fangs or no fangs, and you’ll deal with me.”

You meet his stare unflinchingly. “I have no intention of harming anyone here. You have my word.”

He gives a curt nod, then turns and joins his brothers in retreating to their rooms. You follow Donnie towards his lab, where he clears a space and sets up a simple cot.

“The light controls are here,” he says, pointing to a panel. “I can ensure it remains completely dark, if you prefer.”

“I would appreciate that,” you say. The thought of any stray light, even artificial, makes your skin prickle after the UV assault.

“Right.” He adjusts the settings. “Emergency comm if you need anything.” He gestures to a small device on a nearby table. “Otherwise sleep well. Or, you know, rest. Whatever vampires do.” He gives an awkward smile.

You return it with a weary one of your own. “Rest will suffice. Thank you again. For everything.”

He nods, then quietly exits the lab, leaving you in the cool, encompassing darkness. You sink into the cot, the events of the night replaying in your mind. It’s a lot to process.

You are a creature of solitude, of carefully maintained secrecy. To be exposed, hunted, and then rescued by such improbable saviors is a paradigm shift you are still struggling to comprehend.

Eventually, you fall asleep, the faint hum of Donnie’s tech a strangely soothing lullaby in this hidden sanctuary beneath the city.

An uneasy truce settles over the lair.

Donnie, with your cautious permission, conducts a series of non-invasive scans and bombards you with a relentless barrage of questions. You answer patiently, detailing the science and history of your kind as you understand it.

Leo observes you constantly. He sees your restraint during training spars, your controlled movements, the way you never seem to lose your composure. He notices how you track conversations, picking up nuances others miss.

Raph remains the most openly suspicious. He makes pointed comments about your nocturnal habits (“Sun bothering ya, Fangs?”) and your diet (“So, what’s on the menu tonight? Bag O’ Positive?). Yet even he can’t entirely deny your unnerving effectiveness in a fight. He also, grudgingly, notes that you don’t flinch from danger.

Mikey, once he’s assured you won’t suddenly sprout wings and drain him, treats you with a weird mix of awe and friendliness. He grills you about traits of vampires from various media.

“So, can you, like, hypnotize people with your eyes? Is it true you can’t see your reflection? Oh! Oh! Do you sleep in a coffin? Because Donnie could totally build you a super-cool, souped-up one!” he says.

You smile. His genuine curiosity, free of the malice or fear you’ve encountered so often in your early life, feels refreshing. “Some of those are pure fiction. Others have a grain of truth.” You decide to indulge him, seeing the eager anticipation in his eyes. “I don’t want a coffin, but I prefer a dark, quiet space. And reflections—we cast them just like anyone else. It’s one of the more persistent, and frankly, annoying myths.”

Mikey’s face falls slightly at the coffin debunking, but brightens again. “Aww, man! But still, super cool!” He then looks at you, a softer, more earnest expression replacing his usual boisterousness. “It must be kinda lonely, though, huh? Being around for so long, seeing everything change.”

His unexpected insight catches you off guard, and you find yourself nodding slowly. “It has its moments.”

His gaze is gentle, and he offers you a hesitant, lopsided grin.

Later, Leo proposes a sparring session with everyone. And you agree.

Of course, you face Leo first. His movements are precise, disciplined. He attacks with focused intensity, testing your defenses. You meet him with fluid grace, parrying, deflecting, your own style a blend of ancient techniques and instinct. His eyes, usually so focused and serious, widen almost imperceptibly when you evade a complex maneuver with ease before you flow into a disarming counter.

He steps back, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You’re fast. Very fast.” There’s a new note in his voice, a hint of respect mixing with his usual caution. He looks at you, really looks at you. Not just as a potential threat or an unknown quantity, but as a warrior. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment longer than necessary, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before he schools his features back into a neutral mask.

Raph is next, coming at you with raw power and aggression. “Alright, Fangs, let’s see if you’re more than just fancy moves!” he grunts, aiming to overwhelm you.

You meet his ferocity with calm, unyielding defense, redirecting his force, using his momentum against him. He’s strong, undeniably, but you’ve faced stronger, and certainly angrier. At one point, his sai skitters from his grasp after a clever wrist lock. He stares at it, then at you, a surprised, almost grudging admiration dawning on his face.

Raph says nothing, just grunts and picks up his weapon. But his usual taunts are notably absent for the rest of the spar. And when you finally pin him, he just lies there for a second, breathing hard, looking up at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher. It’s not anger. It’s … something else.

Something that makes your own pulse quicken.

He pushes himself up, still silent, and retreats to the side as Donnie takes his place. “I’m hoping to gather more data,” he says, readying his staff.

You meet his intellectual curiosity with a smile. “By all means, gather away.”

His fighting differs from Leo’s precision or Raph’s power. It’s analytical, probing, each strike and block a question. He’s testing your reaction times, your strength thresholds, and the limits of your agility. You find yourself enjoying it.

He lunges, a feint designed to draw you out. But you anticipate it, your hand brushing his arm as you evade. The contact is brief, almost accidental, but you see a faint flush rise on his green cheeks, his eyes widening a bit before he quickly refocuses.

“Remarkable,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, after you disarm him. He retrieves his staff, his gaze thoughtful and, you notice, lingering on your eyes for a moment longer than strictly necessary for combat assessment before he moves away.

Lastly, Mikey comes forward. “My turn, super-V! Let’s see if you can handle the whirlwind!”

His style is all wild exuberance, unpredictable and surprisingly effective because of it. He’s less about winning and more about the joy of the movement, the thrill of the exchange. You don’t go all out; there’s no need. Instead, you match his energy, turning the spar into something closer to a dance, albeit a fast one.

He whoops with delight when you catch his nunchaku mid-swing, your fingers brushing his. Unlike Donnie’s slight flush, Mikey just grins wider, his eyes sparkling. And he doesn’t seem to mind when you take advantage of an opening and come out on top. He just laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders in a casual, friendly hug.

But he pulls back a little after a few moments, suddenly shy. “Uh, sorry. Got carried away. You’re just … really cool, you know?” His gaze is earnest, and you feel a warmth spread through you. His eyes flick down to your lips for a fleeting second before darting back up to meet your gaze, a boyish blush on his cheeks.

Leo nods, still studying you. “Your style is unique. Who taught you?”

“Time,” you reply simply. “And necessity.”

Your eyes meet his, and that unreadable flicker is there again, stronger this time. He seems to hold your gaze for a long moment, the noise of the lair fading into the background. You feel a strange pull—before he tears his gaze away as Raph addresses the group.

“Good to know Bishop’s lackeys won’t be the only ones getting a surprise if they try something.”

In the following weeks, you become a fixture in the lair.

Leo seeks you out for late-night conversations. Ostensibly, he wants to discuss potential EPF tactics or patrol routes. But you notice how his questions often stray to your long existence.

“It must give you a unique perspective,” he says one evening, his voice softer than usual, his gaze fixed on you.

His eyes, you note, don’t just skim over you anymore; they seem to search, to understand the centuries etched into your being. When you share a rare, wistful memory, a ghost of a smile touches his lips, and you feel a shared understanding of duty and the weight of carrying secrets. He often finds reasons to be near, a reassuring presence by your side when you’re all gathered, his hand sometimes brushing yours when passing an object, a touch that sends a jolt through you.

Raph’s taunts lessen, replaced by respect that manifests in odd ways. He still tries to provoke you into sparring matches. But now there’s a distinct energy to them. He pushes you, and when you push back, a fiery glint appears in his eyes that’s not entirely anger. He also starts using your name more often, the sound of it rough but no longer accusatory. It makes your stomach flutter.

Donnie shows you his latest inventions, his voice eager as he explains the complex mechanics, his eyes bright when you grasp a tough concept. He stammers a bit when you compliment his ingenuity. You notice him watching you when he thinks you’re not looking, a soft, almost tender expression on his face that makes your ancient heart beat a little faster.

Mikey wears his heart on his sleeve. His awe solidifies into a puppyish affection. He pesters you with endless questions about your ‘super vampire powers.’ Shares his comic books and watches movies with you. He saves you the best slice of pizza and dedicates his video game victories to you. Adoration beams from him, warming you from the inside out.

A sense of belonging washes over you, a feeling you haven’t allowed yourself to experience in centuries. You find yourself smiling more at these four remarkable brothers, so different, who chip away at your guard. You care about them, more than you thought possible. More than is perhaps wise.

Unfortunately, one evening, the fragile peace shatters without warning.

You are in the main living area, listening to Donnie explain a new security algorithm he’s designed for the lair’s perimeter, Leo nodding thoughtfully beside him, when a deafening explosion rips through the lair from the direction of one of the main tunnel access points. The ground heaves, lights flicker and die, plunging you into emergency backup power.

“What was that?!” Mikey yells, tumbling off the couch.

“Intruder alert! Multiple breaches!” Donnie shouts, already at his console, fingers flying across the keyboard. His voice is tight with alarm. “They’re coming in from the old subway access! And the storm drain junction! Heavy weapon signatures!”

“EPF!” Leo barks, katanas already in his hands, his eyes immediately finding yours. “They found us!”

Raph is already moving, sai drawn, a furious snarl twisting his features. “Let ‘em come! They want a fight, they’ll get one!”

Before anyone can formulate a more detailed plan, the first wave of EPF commandos, clad in reinforced black armor and new, heavier-grade UV projectors, smash through a weakened section of the wall, sending debris and dust flying.

“Targets acquired!” a voice shouts from the advancing line. “Prioritize Omega-Six and the terrapin subjects! Bishop wants them alive!”

The air crackles with energy blasts and the distinct hum of UV emitters powering up. You react instantly, a blur of motion. You shove Donnie away from his console just as a concentrated beam scorches the spot where he stood. The heat washes over your arm, a searing pain. But you grit your teeth against it.

You see Mikey, momentarily frozen as an agent wielding an electrified net advances on him. Without a second thought, you launch yourself across the room. You intercept the net with your forearm, the electricity coursing through you, agonizing but bearable for a moment. You snarl, and with your free hand, you disarm the agent with a single, brutal blow to his wrist, then hurl him into two of his comrades, clearing a path for Mikey.

A fervent gratitude fills his eyes when they meet yours for a fleeting second, making your chest ache. “Thanks!” he says, shaking off his fear and joining the fray.

Raph is a whirlwind of fury, taking down agents left and right, but he’s outnumbered. You see an agent take aim at his exposed back with a sonic cannon. And you move faster than you’ve allowed them to see before, smashing the cannon with a powerful kick before it can fire. Raph glances back at you, shocked, before something akin to awe flashes across his face.

“Impressive, Omega-Six!” Bishop’s voice echoes from a comm unit on one of the downed agents. “But you can’t protect them all. Your sentimentality is a weakness.”

More agents pour in. They’re using flashbangs, disorienting sonics, and those cursed UV lights, trying to box you all in. Leo is fighting valiantly. But he’s being forced back, a pained grunt escaping him as a beam grazes his shoulder. You feel an icy rage building, an ancient fury you’ve suppressed for centuries.

These are your turtles he’s threatening. These are the beings who showed you kindness, who have become so important to you.

“Fall back to the dojo!” Leo yells, clutching his injured shoulder, his voice strained.

You help cover their retreat. You’re not just incapacitating now; you’re disabling the agents with ruthless efficiency, breaking weapons, shattering visors, ensuring they stay down. The pain from your own burns and bruises is nothing compared to the adrenaline coursing through you, your protective instincts overriding everything else.

In the dojo, the fighting is close-quarters, brutal. Splinter joins the fray, a surprisingly formidable warrior despite his age, his movements economical and devastating. But Bishop’s forces are relentless.

Suddenly, a section of the ceiling explodes. Rappel lines drop, and more EPF troopers descend—among them Bishop himself, his cold eyes fixing on you. He’s holding a newly designed, high-powered UV rifle, its muzzle glowing ominously.

“Omega-Six,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your association with these aberrations has made this far more complicated than it needed to be. But ultimately, more rewarding. Six prizes instead of one.”

He aims the rifle, not at you, but at a stunned Mikey, who’s trying to help a winded Donnie to his feet after a nasty blow.

Time seems to slow. You see the barrel glow with deadly violet light. You see Mikey’s wide, terrified eyes turn towards the threat, too late to react. There’s no choice. Not really.

Not anymore.

You throw yourself in front of Mikey, your back to Bishop—

—and the UV beam hits you squarely in the spine.

Pain rips through you; it’s like being set on fire from the inside. Your vision whites out, a scream tearing from your throat. You collapse, twitching, the smell of your own scorched flesh filling your nostrils. You hear all four brothers scream your name.

Through the searing agony, you hear Raph roar, a sound of pure, murderous rage as he charges Bishop. Leo is there too, moving with a speed born of desperation, despite his injury, his katanas aimed at Bishop’s throat. Donnie fires an EMP pulse from a downed agent’s weapon, momentarily disabling some of the EPF tech.

Including Bishop’s weapon, which sputters and dies.

Mikey attacks the agents nearest you with a ferocity you’ve never seen from him. Bishop, momentarily distracted by Raph’s furious assault and his malfunctioning weapon, stumbles back. He fires wildly with a sidearm, but Leo deflects the shots.

“Fall back! Withdraw!” Bishop snarls into his comm, realizing the tide has turned too sharply, his element of surprise lost.

You’re on the ground, vision swimming, every nerve ending screaming. You can barely move. But you see Bishop, through a haze of pain, trying to make his escape as his remaining troopers cover his retreat. He’s getting away. The one who orchestrated this, the one who wants to dissect you, to weaponize you, the one who just tortured you.

Revenge. It burns even through the agony. You could try to push through the pain, but your eyes snag on Mikey who is scrambling towards you, his voice choked as he calls your name.

“You saved me! Oh, dudes, they’re … they’re really hurt!” he yells, skidding to a halt beside you, his hands hovering, afraid to touch.

Raph, having driven Bishop back, turns from the retreating EPF, his chest heaving. He sees you, and the murderous rage in his eyes momentarily flickers, replaced by a horrified concern. He deflects a stray blast meant for Mikey, roaring as he shoves an agent away from your vicinity, his gaze constantly returning to your fallen form.

Leo creates a defensive perimeter, his voice sharp with command but laced with an undercurrent of fear when he shouts your name, his eyes locking with yours for a heart-stopping second. He’s fighting to get to you, to shield you.

Donnie, having dispatched the agent near him, is already by your side, opposite Mikey. His usual calm is gone, replaced by a frantic urgency. “The burn … it’s … extensive,” he says, his hands gentle as he tries to assess the damage to your back without causing more pain.

You see them. Their fear. Their fight.

The desire for revenge on Bishop, potent as it is, dims. It cannot compare to the overwhelming, fierce need to ensure they are safe. He can wait. They are here, fighting for you.

“Don’t move,” Donnie orders, his voice trembling slightly. “Leo, we need to clear them out! Now!”

“Raph! Mikey! Push them back to the breach!” Leo commands.

Once the last of Bishop’s men are finally driven out or incapacitated, the turtles are all around you.

“You … you saved Mikey,” Leo says, his voice rough with emotion as he kneels beside you. He gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His gaze holds yours, and in that moment, the tactical leader is gone, replaced by someone whose fear for you is heart-wrenchingly clear.

Donnie is still trying to assess the full extent of the damage. “Your healing factor—it’s working, but this is … bad.” He looks at you, his gaze filled with anguish as he smiles at you sadly. “Why did you do that?”

Raph stands over you, his usual scowl replaced by an expression of fury and guilt. “You didn’t have to do that,” he admonishes. He avoids looking directly at your injury. But the fierce protectiveness in his eyes, when they meet yours, catches your breath.

“You’re the bravest person I know,” Mikey says, carefully taking your hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix you up.”

You try to offer a reassuring smile, but it’s likely more of a grimace. “Bishop …”

“Forget Bishop,” Leo says, his voice firm, his gaze unwavering on yours. “He’s gone. You’re here. That’s all that matters right now.” His hand gently settles on your uninjured arm. “We’ve got you.”

Looking at their faces, seeing the raw emotion in their eyes, you realize the truth of Leo’s words. For now, Bishop doesn’t matter. Revenge can wait.

The four brothers, who are fast becoming your everything, cannot.

[stormyfog]

obsession's price 💵

mafia jake x agent fem!reader

content: yandere behavior, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, manipulation, death, smut later on

fanfic request for: @sannaheee

chapter 1

in the shadows of south korea’s bustling cities, one name instilled fear into even the bravest hearts—sim jaeyun. a name whispered in fear, but a face no one had ever seen. sim jaeyun was the most infamous mafia leader in the country, his power stretching beyond borders. only his most trusted subordinates had the privilege of knowing what he truly looked like. however, trust came with a price. every close subordinate bore a dark reminder of their loyalty—a tiny bomb, surgically injected behind their necks. the second they dared betray him or reveal his face to the outside world, their life would be reduced to nothing but a tragic lesson.

y/n was one of the most skilled secret service agents in the country, tasked with one of the riskiest missions of her career—locating and eliminating the elusive sim jaeyun. as part of a covert operation team called ‘angels,’ a name signifying their duty to protect the citizens of south korea, she was no stranger to high-stakes missions. her team consisted of three other members: minji, a tech specialist; danielle, a weapons and combat expert; and mark, the sharpest strategist she knew. as the leader of the group, y/n carried the weight of their mission on her shoulders. one day, her boss, yuta, summoned her to his office, handing her a classified file marked with bold red letters. inside was every piece of intel they had gathered on sim jaeyun—a chilling collection of his crimes, his empire, and his terrifyingly calculated methods.

y/n returned home that evening, the classified file tucked securely under her arm. sitting at her desk, she opened it and began poring over the details of sim jaeyun’s criminal empire. known in the underworld as jake, he was infamous for the sheer scale of his operations and the fear he instilled in anyone who crossed him. a staggering bounty of 50 billion dollars had been placed on his head, making him one of the most sought-after targets in the world. yet, every attempt to kill him had ended in failure—either the hunter disappeared without a trace, or they were found dead as a warning to others. as y/n flipped through the pages, her sharp eyes caught something unusual in the back of the file. a handwritten note, scrawled in an elegant but mocking tone, read: "like what you're reading, angel?" it was signed simply, jake. her heart skipped a beat. how had this gotten here? the realization hit her like a freight train—he’d breached her workplace, sneaking the note into the file himself.

you couldn’t be more surprised, though a part of you tried to rationalize it—he was a mafia leader, after all, known for being untouchable and always ten steps ahead. still, the thought of him infiltrating your work building so easily sent a shiver down your spine. after a moment of collecting yourself, you grabbed your phone and texted your team in the group chat. "prepare for tomorrow’s mission. we’re moving at 0700. stay sharp." with that, you set your phone down, changed into your pajamas, and tried to push the nagging thoughts away. you climbed into bed, pulling the blanket over you, and let the weight of exhaustion lull you into sleep, though the note lingered in the back of your mind.

you woke up early, the weight of the mission heavy on your shoulders as you got ready for the day. after a quick breakfast, you sent a message in the group chat with the address of a nearby café where you planned to meet. when you arrived, minji was already there, sitting at a corner table with her laptop open, typing away. she waved you over, and you slid into the seat next to her. “morning, angel,” she said with a small smile, not taking her eyes off the screen. a few minutes later, danielle and mark arrived, greeting the two of you before sitting down at the table.

the four of you leaned in close, speaking in hushed tones to avoid being overheard. “so, what plan have you devised so far, angel?” mark asked, his sharp eyes locking on yours. using codenames in public was second nature—there was no room for mistakes, not with someone like sim jaeyun as your target. minji, codename bear, was known for her resilience and focus. danielle, or raven, had razor-sharp instincts, and mark, eagle, was the vigilant eye of the group. you cleared your throat and pulled out the file yuta had given you. “we start by locating one of jake’s closest subordinates,” you said, your voice steady. “sunghoon, codename ice. if anyone can lead us to jake, it’s him.” the group nodded, a silent understanding passing between you all. step one of the mission was clear: find ice and get one step closer to sim jaeyun.

minji’s fingers flew across the keyboard of her laptop, her focus unwavering. “got him,” she said after a few tense minutes, turning the screen toward the group. displayed was a live satellite image of sunghoon, or ice, exiting a sleek black car in front of what appeared to be a luxury penthouse. “he’s here,” minji said, marking the location on the map. the group huddled closer as you all discussed your next move. “we can’t just storm in,” danielle, or raven, pointed out. “we need to observe first, gather intel on his movements before making contact.” mark, ever the strategist, nodded. “agreed, but we’ll need to stay close enough to strike when the time’s right.”

after finalizing the plan, you all piled into your car, the air thick with determination and a hint of tension. minji sat in the passenger seat, laptop balanced on her knees as she continued tracking sunghoon’s location in real time. danielle and mark took the backseat, going over the tools and weapons concealed in their bags. you gripped the steering wheel tightly as you drove toward the luxury penthouse, your heart pounding in anticipation. sunghoon was your first key to unlocking the enigma that was sim jaeyun, and you couldn’t afford to make a single mistake.

chapter 2

the tension in the car thickened as your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. before you could react, minji quickly grabbed it and answered, her instincts sharp. she put the call on speaker, and a familiar, smooth voice filled the car. “hi, angel,” jake’s voice practically purred through the speaker, sending a shiver down your spine. “i see you’re trying to reach ice right now. don’t worry, i told him that a few guests will be coming to his house and prepared a little gift for you.” his tone was casual, almost mocking, as if he was enjoying the cat-and-mouse game.

then, without another word, the line went dead, leaving the car in stunned silence. you exchanged a wide-eyed glance with the others, the weight of his words settling in. “he knows,” mark muttered, his voice low and tense. minji immediately began typing furiously on her laptop, her expression turning grim. “ice must have been tracking us the whole time. he’s good—probably as good as me,” she admitted, frustration lacing her voice. the reality of the situation hit like a ton of bricks: jake and his subordinates were not just dangerous; they were always one step ahead. whatever awaited you at sunghoon’s place was sure to be far from welcoming.

the tension was thick as we arrived at sunghoon’s place. the sleek, modern house stood ominously under the dim light of the street lamps, but there was no sign of movement. we quickly got out of the car, weapons at the ready, adrenaline pumping through our veins. with a swift motion, we kicked down the door, fully expecting to face a wave of guards. but the house was eerily quiet—no one was there to stop us. without hesitation, we split up, each taking a different floor to inspect.

minji and danielle made their way to the first floor, while mark took the second, and i headed for the third. we kept in constant communication through our walkie-talkies, ensuring we stayed synchronized. minji and danielle found nothing but weapons and ammo on the first floor, while mark discovered stashes of expensive jewelry and cash on the second. but jake had anticipated my next move. as i stepped onto the third floor, i couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. when i pushed open the door to one of the rooms, i found him. sunghoon. he stood there, his back to me, a smirk on his face as he slowly turned around, a small gift box in hand. i instinctively raised my gun, pointing it straight at his chest. he merely chuckled. "so, you came," he said, as if he had been expecting me all along.

sunghoon's grin remained as he slowly raised his hands—gift box still in his grip, not making any sudden moves. “jake told me not to harm you,” he said, his tone surprisingly calm. “he’s got plans for you, after all.” his eyes flickered with something more than just amusement—there was a flicker of genuine interest behind them. he took a step closer, his posture relaxed, like we were having a casual conversation instead of a standoff.

"jake's been watching you closely, angel," sunghoon continued, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. "he’s been keeping tabs on every mission you've been a part of. your strengths, your weaknesses… he knows everything." his words sent a shiver down my spine. it was unsettling to think that the most dangerous mafia boss in south korea had a file on me, studying every move i made. sunghoon's smile grew even wider as he took in my reaction. "and let’s just say… jake’s been taking a liking to you. he’s been thinking of you as his next big ally—or maybe something more." my grip tightened on my gun, but i couldn’t shake the unease creeping up my spine.

i stood there for a moment, caught off guard by sunghoon’s words. a part of me couldn't help but think about what he said—jake’s interest in me, his plans. but i shook it off, reminding myself of the mission at hand. i couldn’t afford to get distracted. i snapped back into focus, my voice cold and commanding. "shut up and move," i said, my gaze never leaving sunghoon as i motioned for him to step forward. he didn’t argue; he simply followed me, the gift box still in his hand, the one jake had so carefully placed for me. as i led him down the hallway, i keyed into my walkie-talkie, my voice steady as i updated my team. "i’ve got sunghoon," i said, making sure to keep an eye on him. "heading down to the first floor now." the tension in my chest didn’t ease, but i couldn’t let it show. i moved quickly and decisively, keeping sunghoon close, hoping that whatever jake had planned, i would be ready.

i brought sunghoon down to the first floor, where mark immediately helped to tie him up to a chair. the atmosphere was tense, thick with anticipation as i took the small gift box from sunghoon’s hand. i had assumed it was a time bomb, a typical move for jake, but as i carefully opened the box, i was caught off guard. it wasn’t a bomb. instead, nestled inside was a ring—a beautiful, expensive-looking ring. the band was studded with clean-cut diamonds, and at its center, a heart-shaped diamond glistened. it was worth millions, easily. confusion swirled in my mind as i stared at it, trying to piece together what it all meant.

before i could dwell on it for too long, sunghoon’s voice interrupted my thoughts, sharp and smug. "i told you, jake has taken a special interest in you," he said, his tone dripping with an unsettling certainty. "you should be lucky you caught his attention." i couldn’t tell if he was warning me or taunting me, but the weight of his words lingered, adding another layer to the puzzle i was trying to solve. what exactly did jake want with me? and why this ring?

chapter 3

after a long moment of pondering, uncertainty clouded my judgment. i wasn’t quite sure what to do with sunghoon. danielle was the first to speak up, her voice sharp with impatience. "we should end him right here, right now," she insisted, her fingers twitching as if she already had the trigger pulled in her mind. but mark, ever the calm and level-headed one, suggested a different approach. "we can hand him over to the agency. they’ll know how to handle him, especially if we want information."

i hesitated for a second, weighing the risks and benefits, but ultimately, i agreed with mark. i untied sunghoon from the chair, his eyes narrowing at me as if he knew what i was about to do. with one swift movement, i re-tied his arms behind his back, ensuring he wouldn’t have any chance of escaping. we all piled into the car, the atmosphere tense, with mark and danielle keeping a watchful eye on sunghoon, sitting on either side of him. the hum of the engine filled the silence, but the question still lingered in my mind—what exactly did jake want with me? and how far was he willing to go to get me?

we finally arrived at the agency, the familiar building looming ahead as i parked the car. as soon as the engine cut off, a couple of guards approached us, moving quickly and efficiently to take sunghoon off our hands. he glared at me one last time before they led him away, and i could feel the weight of his gaze burning into my back.

just as i was about to step out of the car, my phone buzzed. it was a text from my boss, yuta. "thanks for leaving him unharmed. sunghoon’s known for carrying valuable data. good job, angel." i stared at the message for a moment, digesting the words. so, this was more than just a simple mission—sunghoon had intel, something that could give us the upper hand against jake. but what kind of data was it, and how much did it tie into jake’s plans? there were still so many unanswered questions.

just as i was about to slip my phone back into my pocket, another message from yuta popped up. "you and your team should witness the interrogation. it's important." the tone was urgent, and i knew it meant something significant was about to unfold. i looked at my team, who were already stepping out of the car, and quickly relayed the message to them. "we’re going to witness the interrogation," i said, keeping my voice steady, though a flicker of curiosity passed through me. we followed the two guards who had taken sunghoon, making our way through the cold, sterile halls of the agency. the tension in the air was palpable, and the further we walked, the more the weight of the situation settled over me. whatever sunghoon had, whatever jake had planned, was bigger than any of us had imagined.

we stood silently behind the two-way mirror, watching as sunghoon sat across from one of the guards who had brought him in. the room was dimly lit, a single overhead light casting harsh shadows across the table where sunghoon was seated. his wrists were cuffed tightly to the metal surface, and despite his usual cocky demeanor, there was a certain tension in his posture, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. the guard across from him was calm, almost too calm, as if this was a routine he had done a hundred times before. my team and i exchanged glances, knowing that whatever was about to unfold, we were in for a lot more than we bargained for.

the interrogation dragged on with no real progress. sunghoon remained stubborn, his lips sealed tighter than ever, only repeating one phrase: "jake wants her." his eyes darted nervously, and i could almost see the fear in him—like something worse awaited if he revealed any more. then, out of nowhere, his gaze shifted, and he locked eyes with us through the two-way mirror. i felt a chill run down my spine as he spoke with surprising clarity. "one of jake's hideouts... it's near sunlight beach. a popular tourist spot," he said, his voice trembling slightly. then he leaned back in his chair, almost as if he was zoning out, rocking back and forth. "glory to the king... glory to the king..." he murmured, his hands shaking.

his chant faded, and the atmosphere turned heavy. he muttered a final, strangled apology. "i'm sorry, jake..." suddenly, a small red light flashed from the back of his neck. my heart skipped a beat as the room seemed to freeze for a second. before anyone could react, sunghoon's head exploded in a horrific, bloody mess. the sound of the explosion rang through the room, and i stumbled back, my breath caught in my throat. it was all too quick, too clean—a reminder of just how far jake’s reach went.

the alarms blared, the shrill sound ringing in my ears, and everything around me seemed to blur. what had just happened? my mind was struggling to process the scene in front of me. sunghoon's body, now just a mangled mess, lay lifeless in the chair. blood splattered across the walls, the guard beside him barely conscious, clutching his head. more guards flooded the room, and medics rushed in to tend to the injured guard and remove sunghoon’s body. i stood frozen, staring at the scene, my stomach turning. i had seen countless dead bodies before—death was part of the job—but this was different. the violent brutality of it, the suddenness, it made everything feel so much more real. 

danielle’s hand gripped my shoulder, shaking me out of my trance. "are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. i nodded, my voice quiet as i murmured, "yes..." our boss, yuta, sent us home for the day, saying we needed rest after the chaos that had just unfolded. i didn't argue. i needed to get away from all of it. i lay in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying sunghoon's final moments. the sound of his death, the red light on his neck, and the blood splattering everywhere haunted me. i couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning, that jake was always one step ahead.

chapter 4

i woke up the next morning, feeling the weight of a restless night. my eyes felt heavy as i fought off the drowsiness that still clung to me. reaching for my phone, i hoped for a distraction. as i unlocked it, i noticed a message from an unknown number. my heart skipped a beat, and i hesitated for a moment before opening it. the message read, "it's sad to see sunghoon go away. he was one of my best subordinates. oh well, that's the price you have to pay when you betray someone." it was jake. my stomach twisted in unease, and i quickly typed back, "what is it that you want from me?"

his reply came swiftly: "i only want you. that ring sunghoon gave you was a promise ring, from me to you." i glanced at the small gift box on my desk—the one sunghoon had handed me. the ring glinted inside it, adding to the confusion swirling in my mind. i typed back, "i don't get it... why do you want me?" his response was as cryptic as ever: "you'll understand soon enough." i sat there, staring at the phone in my hand, my thoughts racing. what did he mean? why me?

just as i was about to put my phone down, another message from jake popped up on the screen. "i'll see you around sunlight beach, bye, for now." my heart raced. was he really going to be there? was this my chance to finally see his face? the thought lingered in my mind, but i quickly shook it off, knowing i had to act. i grabbed my phone and messaged my team’s group chat, telling them about jake's message. we needed to be prepared for anything. without wasting time, we quickly made a plan to head to sunlight beach by evening. this could be the break we’d been waiting for, but i couldn't shake the unease that bubbled inside me.

i got in my car and picked up my team, all of us feeling the weight of what was to come. the drive towards sunlight beach felt longer than usual, the anticipation of what might happen hanging in the air. once we arrived, we rented a beach house to stay for a couple of days, giving us a place to regroup and prepare. by the time we got settled in, the sun had already set, casting a dusky glow over the beach. we unpacked our things and gathered in the living room, ready to devise our next move.

minji immediately got to work on her laptop, focusing on finding one of jake's hideouts. she didn’t take long at all—within minutes, she found the location, which was unsettling. usually, it would take her anywhere from ten to thirty minutes to track down a well-hidden location, but this time it was so quick. it felt off, almost as if jake had deliberately made it easier for us to find his hideout. the realization gnawed at me. was this another mind game from him? was he waiting for us to make the next move?

we planned to head to the hideout as soon as the sun rose tomorrow, the urgency of the situation weighing on all of us. however, mark, usually the most composed of the group, seemed unusually wary. he hesitated and spoke up, "why don't we wait until later? i mean, we still need to take some rest after what happened back at the agency." his words made me pause for a moment. minji and danielle exchanged glances, both nodding slightly, before they turned to look at me, waiting for my decision. i agreed, the exhaustion from the sleepless night settling into my bones. "you're right, we should rest," i said. mark’s expression seemed to relax a little after my answer, but i couldn't shake the feeling that something else was on his mind. i shrugged it off, chalking it up to the stress of the situation—or maybe he was just tired too. regardless, it was clear we needed rest if we were going to be at our best tomorrow.

we all woke up a bit later than usual, the weight of yesterday's events still hanging over us. as i looked around the house, i noticed that mark wasn’t there. frowning, i asked minji and danielle if they had seen him, but both of them shook their heads, noticing the worry on my face. minji, ever the optimist, suggested, "he probably went out for a walk to ease his mind." i quietly nodded, trying to push the unease aside, and headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. however, as the minutes ticked by and mark still hadn't returned, my worry grew. i turned to minji and danielle, telling them, "i'm going to look for him. you two stay on guard and keep an eye out." they both nodded, understanding, and i grabbed my jacket, heading out of the house. something didn’t feel right, and i couldn’t shake the feeling that i needed to find mark—soon.

as i walked down the quiet street, i suddenly heard a familiar voice. it was mark. relief washed over me as i quickened my pace, but then i froze when i noticed he wasn’t alone. standing with him was someone i immediately recognized—jay, codename eagle. my heart sank. jay worked for jake, and yet, he and mark stood there laughing and talking like old friends. keeping a safe distance, i hid behind a nearby tree and strained to listen, my heart pounding in my chest.

their conversation made my blood run cold. mark had been working for jake too. for five years. five long years of betrayal, and i had no idea. he hadn’t even been with our agency for that long—just over a year—but now everything made sense. they joked about sharing the same codename, ‘eagle,’ as if it was some inside joke, mocking all of us who trusted him. betrayal was the only word ringing in my head as i stood there, frozen in disbelief, my stomach churning at the realization.

without hesitation, i pulled out my phone and quietly recorded their entire conversation. my hands shook slightly as i sent the file to minji with a single message: "mark's working for jake. stay on guard." i hid the phone in my pocket just in time as jay walked off in the opposite direction, and mark started heading toward me. my heart pounded, but i forced myself to stay calm, quickly shifting my demeanor. i pretended i was just out for a casual stroll, hoping he wouldn’t suspect a thing.

he noticed me and waved, a faint smile on his face. i walked up to him, my expression neutral, and asked where he had been all morning. "we were worried about you," i added, keeping my tone steady. mark sighed and scratched the back of his neck, offering a simple explanation: "i just needed to clear my head, you know? take my mind off some things." i nodded quietly, feigning understanding, and together we started walking back to the beach house. my stomach churned, but i couldn’t let him see my unease. not yet.

chapter 5

for the next few minutes, mark and i walked back toward the beach house, the tension between us palpable. i couldn’t shake the feeling of unease settling deeper into my gut, but i kept it at bay, pushing myself to focus. when we arrived back, i noticed the door was ajar, just a crack open, as if someone had hurriedly left or forgotten to close it. i motioned for mark to stay back as i cautiously approached. my heart skipped a beat as i pushed the door open, the hinges creaking slightly. inside, i froze.

danielle was lying unconscious on the floor, a bruise forming on the side of her face. minji was kneeling by the living room couch, her hands raised in the air, held at gunpoint by a tall man in a black suit. she was doing her best to stay calm, but i could see the fear in her eyes, the slight tremble in her posture. before i could react, i felt mark step up behind me, and in one swift motion, he pulled out his gun, pointing it directly at me. my breath hitched as i turned slowly to face him. he stood there, expression cold, not a hint of remorse in his eyes.

"mark, what the hell is going on?" i whispered, trying to make sense of everything, but his gun stayed trained on me. i walked inside, my hands raised in surrender. every nerve in my body screamed at me to fight back, but i knew better. i couldn't risk anyone else getting hurt. kneeling down next to minji, i kept my gaze steady as i glanced up at the man holding the gun to her head. my pulse quickened as he stared back at me, unblinking. "what's this all about?" i asked, my voice calm but with a hint of desperation. mark’s silence was deafening. his betrayal was unmistakable now, but the weight of it hadn't fully sunk in. i glanced at minji, who mouthed, be careful, her eyes pleading for me to stay strong.

mark took out his phone, glancing at it quickly while still keeping his gun trained on me. “i’ve got you surrounded,” he said, his voice low and calculated. "there’s no way out." as his attention shifted to the screen of his phone, i saw my chance. i gave minji a subtle nod, the tiniest movement of my head to signal her. her eyes locked onto mine, and without hesitation, she sprang into action. with lightning speed, she took down the man holding her at gunpoint. he barely had time to react before minji grabbed his weapon and shot him, her movements precise and efficient. he slumped to the ground, lifeless.

with that, i moved. my heart raced, but i stayed focused. i dashed straight for mark, tackling him with everything i had. he grunted as we collided, his gun flying out of his hand and skidding across the floor. we both scrambled, throwing punches, each one landing with a sickening thud. his strength was formidable, but i wasn’t about to let him win. in the chaos, i managed to find a weak spot, one of his pressure points. i hit it with a swift, calculated blow, and mark’s body went limp, collapsing to the floor unconscious. his gun was out of reach, and i took a deep breath, my body trembling from the adrenaline. i stood over him, keeping my guard up, but he was no longer a threat.

minji and i quickly made our way to danielle, who was slowly regaining consciousness. she groaned softly as her eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding her face for a moment before recognition set in. i gently helped her sit up and guided her to the couch. she winced as she sat, but she seemed to be more alert now. i grabbed my first aid kit and started treating her, checking for any signs of injury. thankfully, it seemed like she only had a few bruises.

once i was sure she was stable, i took a moment to call my boss, yuta. i filled him in on everything that had happened—from mark's betrayal to the ambush at the beach house. he listened carefully, not a hint of surprise in his voice. “don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone calm and reassuring. “i’ve already sent a team to retrieve the body and bring mark in for questioning. you did well.” after a while, his men arrived, taking the bodies of the guard and mark away. they moved quickly, efficiently, without saying much, just doing their job. i watched them go, feeling a sense of cold finality in the air. the house was quiet now, but the tension still lingered.

despite the chaos, we still had a mission to complete: jake’s hideout was waiting. i turned to danielle, who was sitting on the couch, still a bit shaken but recovering. “you can stay back if you’re not feeling up to it,” i suggested. “we’ll handle this.” but she shook her head, determination flickering in her eyes. “i’m fine now. i’ll come with you.” we agreed to head to jake’s hideout in the evening, giving us some time to rest. as the hours passed, the house finally felt peaceful again. i let my guard down for a moment, knowing we had time before the next move.

just as i thought i could relax, my phone buzzed with a new message. i glanced at the screen and froze. it was from the same unknown number—jake. the message read: “you think you’ve got me cornered, but you don’t know the half of it. sunlight beach was just a preview. be careful, i’m always watching, and soon, you’ll be the one in danger.” the words sent a chill down my spine. i looked at my team, who were busy preparing for the evening ahead. they hadn’t seen the message yet, but i could already feel the weight of jake’s warning hanging over us.

chapter 6

it was evening now, and the air was thick with tension. we headed out to jake’s hideout location, the one minji had tracked earlier. our weapons were concealed carefully, making sure not to alert any nearby people. as we neared the location, my stomach twisted in anticipation. it was an abandoned small house near the beach, hidden away by thick bushes and overgrown trees. the perfect location for someone like jake—secluded, unnoticed. we exchanged brief glances before pulling out our weapons, preparing for whatever lay inside. i slowly opened the door, my heart pounding in my chest, but there was... nothing. the house was eerily empty, bare of any signs of life.

i moved through the rooms, checking every corner, but found nothing. no clues, no traps, nothing to indicate that we were in the right place. minji frowned, glancing at the walls. “this doesn’t make sense. either i got the wrong location, or... this is a trap.” before i could respond, the sound of darts whizzing through the air broke my thoughts. tranquilizer darts. they hit us one by one, each dart embedding into our bodies with a sickening thud. my vision blurred as i turned toward the window, catching a glimpse of jay standing outside, smirking darkly. i tried to raise my weapon, but my body was already succumbing to the drugs coursing through my veins. my knees buckled, and everything went black before i could even make a sound.

i slowly awoke in a dimly lit room. my head was throbbing, and the faint sting from the tranquilizer darts was still present in my limbs. my eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to piece together what had happened. the walls were bare, and the air had a cold, metallic scent. as my vision cleared, i saw jay standing next to someone sitting in a grand chair. the figure was shrouded in darkness, their features concealed, but there was something unsettling about the way they sat, like they were waiting for something. or someone. i couldn’t move as we were all tied up, kneeling on the floor.

minji and danielle were also waking up, groggily sitting up beside me. their eyes met mine, exchanging confused glances, no doubt wondering the same thing i was—where the hell were we, and who was that in the chair? jay’s smirk widened as he noticed us regaining consciousness. “welcome to the party,” he taunted, but i barely registered his words. my mind was too focused on the figure in the chair, and the gnawing feeling that we were in far deeper than we realized.

the man in the chair leaned forward slowly, the dim light casting sharp shadows on his face. my breath caught in my throat as he revealed his identity. no way... it was the sim jaeyun. the realization hit me like a truck, and for a moment, everything around me seemed to blur. minji and danielle were frozen in shock, their eyes widening in disbelief. we’d been hunting this man for so long, and yet, here he was, sitting before us with a look of amusement on his face. he had just revealed himself so easily, so casually—far too easily.

i couldn’t wrap my mind around it. this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. he was supposed to remain in the shadows, elusive, the mastermind we could never reach. and now, he was sitting there, in front of us, in the flesh. before i could process anything further, my heart sank. i watched in horror as jake—sim jaeyun—pulled out a gun with swift, practiced movements. he aimed it at danielle. “no!” i shouted, but it was too late. the sound of the gunshot rang out, and just like that, danielle was gone.

my breath hitched as jake turned the gun toward minji. my body froze in terror, but minji—always so calm, always so composed—looked at me. her eyes were soft, like she was saying goodbye, and then, with a small smile, she spoke. “don’t worry, y/n. i know you’ll finish the mission.” before i could even speak, the shot rang out again, and minji collapsed, her body crumpling to the ground. i couldn’t move. my eyes were locked on her lifeless form, the tears falling freely now as i watched my teammates—my family—fall one by one. i turned my gaze back to jake, my heart full of rage and disbelief. his cold, indifferent stare met mine. the tears burned down my face, mixing with the storm of emotions surging inside me. but it wasn’t over. not yet. i was still breathing. and i would make sure they didn't die in vain.

chapter 7

i stared at jake in disbelief, unable to fully process what had just happened. my mind was racing, but the scene in front of me was too overwhelming. the lifeless bodies of minji and danielle were still fresh in my mind, their faces haunting me, and yet, here i was, forced to look at the man who had killed them. without a word, jake sent jay out of the room, leaving us alone. the door clicked shut behind him, and the silence between jake and me felt suffocating. jake slowly stood up from the chair and walked toward me, each step purposeful. he stopped right in front of me, lifting my chin with the barrel of his gun, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"you don’t get it, do you?" he said, his voice low and cold. "i had to get rid of them. they were in the way of us." i recoiled, a flash of anger igniting inside me. "what do you mean, 'us'? we're in no relationship!" my voice was shaky, but i forced myself to stand firm. jake’s eyes softened for a moment, and then he replied in that calm, unnerving tone of his. "did you forget about that promise ring?" he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "that means i’ll never let go of you."

i blinked in confusion, my thoughts swirling. what was he talking about? the promise ring sunghoon had given me—it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, not like this. and yet, here jake was, claiming that it was a symbol of something much darker, much deeper than i could ever have imagined. i didn’t know what to say. my heart was pounding, my mind racing to make sense of his words, of everything that was happening. but i couldn't. it didn’t make sense. and yet, jake was here, standing right in front of me, and i knew that i had to make a decision. the question was... what was i going to do next?

before i could gather my thoughts to respond, the door to the room creaked open. jay stepped inside, his expression unreadable. jake glanced over at him, giving him a brief nod. "take her. we’re moving." without saying a word, jay walked over to me, his hands gripping my shoulders firmly. he yanked me to my feet, the ropes binding my wrists digging into my skin. my arms were still tied behind my back, and i struggled to maintain my balance as he guided me toward the door. i shot a glance at jake, but his face was unreadable, his eyes focused on something distant. i had no idea what he had planned, but one thing was clear: i was completely at his mercy now.

jay’s grip on me tightened as he guided me down a dimly lit hallway, the faint sound of our footsteps echoing in the silence. we reached the outside of the building, and i squinted against the harsh light of the streetlamps. the night air was cool, sending a shiver through me. jay shoved me into the backseat of a black car, the cold leather seat pressing into my back. jake slid into the passenger seat without a word, his cold eyes never leaving me as jay took the driver's seat and started the engine. the car rolled out of the driveway, its tires crunching against the gravel, and soon, we were speeding down a deserted road. i tried to make sense of what was happening, but my thoughts were a tangled mess. where were we going? and why had jake gone to such lengths to keep me here? i turned my gaze to the rearview mirror, but jay's eyes met mine in the reflection, offering no answers—only the silence of the night.

the car finally came to a stop, its engine cutting off with a soft hum. my heart raced as i looked up at the imposing gates of a luxurious mansion. the driveway was long, lined with neatly trimmed hedges and tall trees that seemed to swallow the car's headlights. it looked like something out of a dream—except this one wasn’t a dream. it was my nightmare. jake wasted no time. he pulled me out of the backseat, his grip tight and unyielding, his fingers digging into my arm. the cold air outside only made the situation feel more surreal, like i was trapped in some strange version of reality that i couldn’t escape. we walked up to the grand entrance, my footsteps hesitant and slow as i tried to process everything.

the mansion’s doors opened with a heavy creak, and i was led inside, the warmth of the house doing little to soothe the unease gnawing at me. jake guided me through the halls with a firm hand, his presence looming over me like a shadow. as we entered a room, i froze. my heart skipped a beat when i saw what was inside. the walls were covered with photographs—pictures of me, my team, moments frozen in time, like a twisted shrine to our lives. but it wasn’t just the pictures. files with our personal information were scattered across the tables, and plans were pinned to a massive bulletin board in the center of the room. it was like jake had been watching our every move for so long, anticipating our every step. i felt a chill crawl down my spine as i took in the room's contents. jake noticed my hesitation and leaned closer, his voice low. "you see, y/n, i’ve been planning this for a long time. everything has been leading up to this." his grip on my arm tightened, making sure i couldn’t look away from the madness around me.

chapter 8

jake’s eyes softened as he stepped closer, the intensity in his gaze never leaving mine. "you see, y/n, all these years of following you, watching you, it was never just about the mission. i developed... feelings. dangerous ones. and i realized it wasn’t just obsession—it was love." his voice, though calm, had an undercurrent of something more sinister, like he was trying to convince me of something i didn’t want to hear. i stood frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. love? how could he even say that after everything he had done? after what he had taken from me? my mind raced with all the terrible memories—the betrayals, the deaths, the fear. there was no way i could love him back. not after everything. not after the destruction he caused.

jake seemed to read the doubt in my eyes and took a step closer, his voice turning soft, almost pleading. "i know you’re confused. but i’ve been patient, waiting for the right moment to show you what we could have together." he glanced at me for a brief second, almost as if waiting for me to say something, anything. but i couldn’t bring myself to speak. i wanted to scream at him, ask how he could justify everything he did, how he could call what he felt love when it was so twisted. but as i looked at him, i couldn’t deny that he was… well, attractive. when he revealed his face earlier, i had to admit, i couldn’t ignore the way my heart skipped a beat. but that was it. nothing more. 

he was probably surrounded by women who didn’t question his actions or who he was. he had the power, the charm, the allure—things i could never have. i shook my head slightly, trying to suppress the conflicting emotions rising within me. "how could i love you after everything you've done?" i whispered under my breath, not sure if he even heard me. but jake was relentless, his hand brushing against my cheek, his touch strangely gentle despite the dark words that followed. "you will, y/n. you’ll see. you’ll understand soon enough."

jake’s fingers deftly untied the rope binding my arms, and for a split second, i thought i could escape, that maybe, just maybe, i could get out of this. but before i could even think of making a move, i lashed out at him, my hands balled into fists, aiming for his chest. i wasn’t going to let him win, not like this. but jake was prepared. he dodged and blocked every one of my attacks, his movements calm and measured. it was like he had anticipated this, knew exactly how i would react in my emotional turmoil. he wasn’t surprised by my resistance, and that realization made my chest tighten even more.

in one swift move, he grabbed me, his grip firm as he pushed me backward. before i could even brace myself, my body hit the bed behind me, the force knocking the air out of my lungs. i struggled, trying to shove him off, but jake held me down, his body pressed against mine. i could feel the heat of his breath against my skin as he leaned in closer, his voice low and smooth, like honey. "y/n," he whispered, his words dripping with false comfort. "you don’t need to fight me. you don’t need to be scared. i’ve been here all along, haven’t i? you’ve always known i was meant to be with you." his voice was almost hypnotic, coaxing me into submission, making my body feel heavy, like i couldn’t escape his hold, no matter how much i tried. tears stung my eyes, my emotions a whirlwind of confusion and pain. his words were poison, eating away at my resolve. i hated how easy it was for him to manipulate me, how easily he saw through the walls i had built to protect myself.

his fingers brushed my cheek gently, wiping away a tear that escaped. “you’re not weak, y/n,” he murmured, as if trying to reassure me, but it only made me feel more vulnerable, more exposed. i couldn’t accept his words, couldn’t bring myself to believe him. this wasn’t love. this was control, obsession, and cruelty wrapped in a smile. but no matter how many times i told myself that, i couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. i felt powerless, like every punch i threw was nothing more than a feeble attempt to fight back against something much stronger than i was. i threw another punch at his chest, but it landed with no force, just a soft thud. it felt pathetic, like everything about me had become pathetic. i was trapped, drowning in my own emotions as jake held me close, his grip unyielding.

i hated how emotionally weak i was in that moment, how jake's words seeped into my mind and twisted everything i believed. my heart ached, my chest heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. the anger inside me was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it couldn’t break through. no matter how hard i tried to push him away, his presence just seemed to fill every space around me, suffocating me. “why...? why me?” the question escaped my lips before i could stop it, a desperate plea for some kind of explanation, something that would make sense of all this madness.

i needed to understand—why me? out of everyone, why did he fixate on me like this? jake’s expression softened, and for a moment, it almost looked like he cared. his voice, when he spoke, was still soothing, like he was trying to calm me down, like he thought he had all the answers i was looking for. “because you’re the one i was always meant to find, y/n. you’ve always been the one. you’ve always been mine, whether you realized it or not.” his words were like a lullaby, and i hated how they made my heart flutter despite myself.

chapter 9 (smut)

jake's lips were soft against my skin as he placed small, lingering kisses across my face. each kiss felt like a cruel reminder of my helplessness, of how trapped i was in this nightmare. his touch felt almost tender, but there was no denying the darkness behind it. he kissed my tears away, his fingers brushing against my cheek with a gentle, almost soothing motion, like he was trying to erase the evidence of my pain. "everything will be alright now, with me," he whispered, his voice so calm and certain.

it was as if he believed every word he said, like he truly thought this was the solution—like his twisted affection could make everything better. i couldn’t push him away. not now, not in this moment when my body felt weak and my mind was clouded by confusion. i knew i should resist, that i should fight back with everything i had, but the weight of his presence, the way he held me, made it almost impossible to find the strength to do so. i hated how vulnerable i was, how his control over me felt so complete. every part of me screamed that this was wrong, but in that moment, i couldn’t seem to break free.

his actions now felt so out of place compared to the cold, calculating man i once knew. it was as if a switch had been flipped in him, revealing a side i never thought existed—the tender, almost affectionate side of jake. the ruthless, dangerous figure that had stalked me, manipulated my every move, was now gone. in his place was someone who held me gently, spoke softly, as if he truly cared.

was this what he wanted all along? was this his twisted idea of love, of affection? to spend an eternity with me, to keep me by his side, no matter the cost? his touch, his words, everything about this moment felt so surreal, like i was caught in a dream. i tried to push the thought away, to remind myself of everything he'd done, but something inside me faltered. could this really be who he was now? or was i just fooling myself, letting his manipulations take hold?

jake's lips met mine unexpectedly, catching me completely off guard. i gasped into the kiss, the surprise muffled by his lips as they pressed gently but insistently against mine. his hand moved to cup my face, fingers brushing lightly across my skin as if he were trying to memorize every detail. his other arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer to him, his touch possessive yet somehow tender, as if this moment was something he had longed for. i couldn't react immediately—my mind was a whirl of confusion, panic, and disbelief. everything felt so foreign, so wrong, and yet, there was an undeniable pull i couldn’t explain.

jake’s lips trailed down my neck, his kisses light and almost teasing, causing a sharp gasp to escape me. i couldn’t believe this was happening, his touch strangely tender, almost affectionate. it made my stomach churn with confusion and self-loathing. “jake… no-” i tried to protest, but he cut me off, his voice soothing yet commanding, “shh, don’t worry.” his words sent a strange shiver through me, his reassurance not comforting, but unnerving. he was trying to control the situation, trying to control me. but i couldn’t stop myself from reacting, my body betraying my mind as his kisses continued down, each one more insistent than the last.

i felt jake's body move against mine, his hardness pressing against me with a deliberate slowness that sent shivers down my spine. i tried to cover my mouth, whimpering softly as he ground against me, but jake's hand closed around mine and pulled it away. "i want to hear you," he whispered in my ear, his breath hot and husky. his words sent a surge of fear through me, but i was powerless to stop the sounds escaping from between my lips—soft whimpers and moans that seemed to fuel jake's desire.

jake's fingers deftly worked the zipper of my pants, and i felt a surge of panic as he slowly pulled them down. but instead of removing them completely, he left me in just my underwear, teasing me with the promise of what was to come. my whimpering grew more insistent as he reached for my shirt buttons, his fingers moving with a gentle precision that belied the intensity of our situation. he slipped it off my shoulders, and i felt his hands close around mine once more—this time to massage my breasts with a tender intimacy that sent shivers coursing through me.

jake's fingers danced across my skin, his touch sending sparks of sensation through me as he removed his clothes. i felt a flutter in my chest as he revealed himself to me, his member hard and ready. his voice was low and husky as he whispered in my ear - "you can take it, you were made for me" - the words dripping with possessiveness and confidence. i felt a shiver run down my spine as i gazed up at him, his eyes burning with an intensity that left me breathless.

i tried to push jake away, my hands scrabbling at his chest as he slowly began to enter me. but he was too strong, too insistent, and i felt myself being pulled back down into the darkness of our passion. tears streamed down my face as the pain washed over me, a burning sensation that threatened to consume me whole. i knew it couldn't be happening—this wasn't who i was, but all that mattered was the knot in my stomach growing tighter with each passing moment as jake's thrusts quickened and deepened.

my whimpers gradually gave way to moans as jake's movements became more insistent, his thrusts driving me deeper into the pleasure he caused. i tried to look away to escape the intensity of our connection, but jake's hand closed around my face, holding it in place as he whispered reassurances in my ear—“don't worry y/n, don't be shy, i'm here.” his words were a gentle counterpoint to the roughness of our lovemaking, and i felt myself relaxing into his touch even as my body continued to respond with abandon.

i felt myself building towards a climax, my body trembling with anticipation as i whispered the words "i'm close" into jake's ear. he responded with a low, husky growl—“go on, come for me”—his voice urging me towards release. and then, in perfect rhythm, he let out a groan of his own, signaling that he was close too. the tension between us snapped like a rubber band, and we both came crashing down into the abyss of our pleasure.

as our bodies released their pent-up tension, jake slid down beside me, his arms wrapping around me in a tight embrace. he held me close, his chest heaving with exertion as he whispered words that sent shivers down my spine—"i hope you understand now how much i love you." his voice was low and husky, filled with emotion and conviction. i felt his heart beating against mine, and for a moment, the chaos of our passion subsided, replaced by a sense of connection and intimacy.

[rikudaa]

༉‧₊˚Blue Paint and Binary

Tim Drake/Red Robin x Reader | Part 1. >>>

ღA/N: I haven’t finished the Jason’s one yet but already started on Tim, I don’t have any excuse your honor. Dividers are made by @cafekitsune ! Also there’s a familiar name, I wonder why it’s there👀

Note: This is a Yandere story but for the start off the chapter it’s just a life of being student in university. You’re an art major with a psychology focus, and he’s in another major likely something strategic, analytical, or tech-heavy. Academic rivals are ruled.

No gender mention for reader, just “You” and “Y/N”. Enjoy!

You see him again.

Fourth time this week. Fifth if you count the reflection in the library window Monday night, where he didn’t notice you watching him stalk through the neuroscience wing like he had a hitlist tucked in his backpack. He probably did. Probably alphabetized, color-coded, timestamped. You don’t know what his major is, exactly. You just know it involves enough data and silence to make your teeth itch.

You’re not even sure how it started, this thing between you.

Maybe it was the day he tore down your entire color-theory thesis in front of the honors seminar like you hadn’t poured eight weeks of insomnia into it. Or maybe it was when you psychoanalyzed the subtle ways he corrects professors, like he’s trying not to challenge their authority outright. A boy raised in the shadows, needing to be smarter than the room but invisible at the same time.

He hated that.

You liked that he hated that.

It made things interesting.

Now you both sit two rows apart in the interdisciplinary lecture you don’t need, but keep taking anyway. You, because it fulfills a loose psych elective. Him, because–well, you’re still figuring that out. You suspect it’s just to keep an eye on you.

His laptop is open. Of course. Always typing, even when the professor is off-topic or ranting about Kantian frameworks like anyone in this generation gives a damn. You sketch while he types. His fingers never pause. Neither does your pencil.

You don’t know what he’s writing. He doesn’t know you’re drawing him. (He probably does)

Sometimes you wonder what it’d be like if you weren’t circling each other like dogs bred for war. If you weren’t two kids with too many ghosts and not enough peace. If you weren’t chasing two versions of control in different languages–his clean, hard logic versus your bleeding, beautiful chaos.

“Drake,” you mutter when he passes by your table at the campus café.

He looks up. Neutral expression, polite voice.

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name–it’s never soft. Like it’s a task. Like he’s filing you under ‘problems to solve later.’

You sip your coffee. He doesn’t sit, but he also doesn’t leave.

“I heard you’re presenting at the symposium next month,” he says. Tone clipped. “Didn’t think postmodern expressionism was ready for prime time.”

You smile over the rim of your cup. “I didn’t think future CIA agents attended art showcases.”

His lip twitches. A crack in the porcelain. You almost write that down. Instead, you offer a shrug.

“It’s about trauma translation in visual mediums,” you say casually. “Memory distortion in painted narratives. Thought you’d be into that, don’t you guys love poking at trauma?”

“I don’t poke,” he says. “I dissect.”

“Wow. That supposed to impress me?”

“No,” he says. “But I’m guessing that’s your default response to feeling threatened.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m not threatened.”

“Sure.”

You hate that you want to throw your coffee at him and kiss him at the same time.

There’s no label for what you two are. You share a dozen classes. Compete for the same awards. Sit on the same late-night panels when professors need overachievers to flex for alumni donors.

You’ve even been grouped for the occasional cross-discipline project where you talk, and he listens, and then he talks, and you sketch the slope of his mouth when he forgets he’s performing.

Sometimes you work in silence for hours.

Sometimes you fight.

Sometimes you wonder what he dreams about when he forgets to pretend he doesn’t dream.

You catch him reading your analysis paper once. The one you left out in the shared research lab. He doesn’t know you’re watching from the stairwell. He reads it twice.

You never mention it.

Weeks pass. You win the campus-wide art grant. He wins the dean’s medallion. You both pretend not to care about the other’s win, but neither of you stop looking. Comparing. Weighing.

During one particularly brutal review, your advisor calls your piece “Catharsis in Crimson” emotionally erratic.

You leave class furious, chalk-stained fingers clenching your coat.

Tim’s outside already, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting. You scowl.

“If you came to gloat–”

“I liked it.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I liked your piece,” he says. “The one they tore apart.”

Your voice is smaller than you want. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I know.” He nods. “But I’m saying it anyway.”

It’s quiet for a beat. You look at the sky to avoid looking at his face. The clouds are heavy and gray and stubborn. You think, Maybe we’re like that too.

“I don’t know what we are,” you admit.

Tim exhales slowly. “Neither do I.”

You laugh softly but the bitterness already etched on your tongue.

“Must drive you crazy. Not knowing.”

“It does,” he says. “You’re an outlier. I don’t have a model for you.”

You look at him then. Really look. There’s something honest in the way his hands curl at his sides. Something tired in the slouch of his shoulders, like he’s been fighting a war no one sees.

“I could say the same.”

“I know.”

And there it is again. The space between you, small and sharp and unbearably loud.

You don’t touch. You don’t cross the line.

But you both know it’s there.

Waiting.

Next up: Observe and Detach | Part 1. >>>

©𐙚 rikudaa—Please do not repost or copy this content to other websites.

[coffeecat1983]

Stobotnik: Man of many Talents

PG-13 for suggestive dialog. Shoutout to @lavylesby and @inkbomber for the drink suggestions. I combined your recommendations for this.

Takes place shortly before the first movie.

Robotnik knew his agent was a man of many skills. Stone had picked up on how to work with the doctor's tech surprisingly quickly, and his abilities in the kitchen could not be ignored. Robotnik rarely praised Stone on these points, but what he had just witnessed...

   This was something he would have to think over.

   He had gotten curious. Due to regulations he absolutely had to allow Stone time off and he wondered how the agent spent his private moments, so he quietly followed his every movement that day. It had been boring at first, a quick shopping trip for groceries, a stop at the dry cleaners, things that anyone did day to day. But as the sun set things shifted. Stone had vanished into his apartment and then was off and hurrying down the street. Irritated at the agent's ability to move so swiftly, Robotnik darted after him.    Quietly moving along behind Stone, the doctor paused upon seeing his agent enter a building. Neon signs advertising live music and drinks blazed brightly, competing with the streetlights as they lit up the sidewalk. The sign over the door had blinking lights that revealed the name was 'The Star Light'.    A hum of irritation as he considered this. Being in a packed room with drunks and cheering idiots wasn't his idea of a good time, and yet the pull to spy and see how Stone conducted himself in this setting was overpowering. Plus, he had to admit, he enjoyed music and perhaps staying in the back would afford him a quiet place to observe and listen. Adjusting his coat and slicking back his hair, he went inside.

   The club was a fair size, the tables packed with people. The stage had equipment that caught Robotnik's eye. A laptop, sound board, and a grand piano were set up. Making his way to the bar he irritably flashed his ID and tossed a few dollars down. The bartender gave him an odd look but poured his order of a Gin Bramble. Accepting the glass, Robotnik retreated to the back shadows, his eyes scanning the room for his target. Not seeing Stone, he took some time to savor the sour and sweet concoction. He glanced up as the house lights dimmed and a voice came over the PA system.     "Friends, please take your seats and give a warm welcome to a repeat favorite here at The Star Light. Give it up for Lee Stone!"    Robotnik choked on his drink as cheers went up around the room and a spotlight turned on, focusing at the corner of the stage before following Stone as he walked over to the piano and took a seat. He was wearing black slacks and polished shoes that shone in the light. A crisp white dress shirt, the collar unbuttoned, was topped with a sleek black vest.    Robotnik watched in silent fascination as Stone gave no speech, no words at all to the audience, merely giving a nod to someone near the bar. The spotlight faded as stage lights came on. Stone tapped a few keys on the laptop and adjusted a few dials on the sound board as music began. A warm synth filled the air and turning to the piano, Stone began to play.    Not quite an hour later, as the last song ended and applause went up around the room, Robotnik quietly slipped away. 

   Standing from the piano, Stone gave the audience a slight bow and a faint smile. Giving a nod to the next performer who was waiting offstage, Stone left the club through the front door. Walking past the alley next to the club, a voice came from the shadows.      "That was quite the performance, agent." A gasp, his footstep missing the beat, sending him tipping forward. A hand caught the back of his coat and spinning him around, Robotnik pinned him to the nearby wall, their faces inches apart.      "D-Doctor! I didn't...What brings you here?" Keeping a hand firmly on Stone's shoulder to hold him in place, the scientist tilted his head with a faint hint of amusement. "Why, you did."    The faintest sound, a strangled squeak that died in the agent's throat. Robotnik grinned at him, the cat catching the mouse at last.      "I like to know about a person, Stone. Especially when I share such..." he paused, "close contact with them. I never would have guessed that you have such talent. It really makes me wonder."    He could practically see the other trembling beneath his gaze.      "W-Wonder what, s-sir?" Stone mumbled.    Robotnik leaned in, his lips now so close to Stone's ear that the heat of his breath sent shivers down his spine.      "I wonder, just what other talents are you hiding?"    At the word 'hiding' he playfully ran a finger over the other man's chest, just catching the soft moan the other made at his touch. looking Stone over, he noticed something, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Why Stone, I believe you're a little too excited there, agent."    He pulled away quickly and Stone gripped blindly at the wall to keep from falling, the heated blush beginning to show on his face.    Turning away, Robotnik tugged lightly at his gloves. "Get yourself home and take care of that problem, Stone. It's unsightly in public."      "Y-Yes, sir."      "Oh, and agent?"      "Sir?" Robotnik kept his back to him. "I'll have a keyboard installed in the lab. You've amused me and I wouldn't mind hearing a repeat of tonight's performance."    He could practically feel the other man's brain as it screeched to a halt and tried to process what the doctor had just said. "I, it'd be an honor to play for you, sir."      "Good." Robotnik began walking away. "I look forward to it. Goodnight, Stone."      "Goodnight, sir."

END By "CC"

Ending notes: Robotnik was ready to grab Stone and pull him into that alleyway save for a few things.

he didn't need an indecent exposure charge on his record

he legit isn't sure at this point of his true feelings for his agent, only that something definitely is there. He tries to ignore it or play it off to torment Stone.

he's an idiot in that fashion and doesn't realize he's tormenting himself right along with Stone.

[motherroam-rs]

Wrap Me in Your Skin and Bones

NSFW - 18+

Warnings/Tags : Cockwarming, Nightmares, Mentions of Trauma and PTSD, Angst, Comfort, Love Confessions

Relationship: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Summary: After solitary confinement on Mount Tantiss, Crosshair is plagued by nightmares that lead him to seek comfort in your body.

A/N : Wrote and posted this to AO3 before season 3 but wanted to put it here too 🫡 I just had this angsty lil thing in my head about how a touch starved Cross would deal with physical contact after the empire 🫶 (even though I firmly believe Tech survived the fall - he’s dead for the purpose of this I’m SORRY)

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

The sharp hit to your ribs has you springing into a sitting position, eyes wild and scanning the room for a threat. Muscle memory from years in the war has you reaching for the blaster and pointing it towards various shadows in the room.

You would be a lousy shot with the way your hand shook from the adrenaline in your veins. But, there are no imperial agents hiding in your room, no battle droids under your bed, the source of the attack lays next to you, writhing against imaginary forces in his nightmare.

Crosshair.

Abandoning the blaster on the floor, you work on tearing the bedsheets away from him before he can tangle himself any further in the restrictive fabric. Every muscle in his body seems to be rigid, even once you manage to free him, but he still thrashes, as if fighting against invisible restraints.

The sight of his struggle has your stomach forming knots.

“Crosshair, wake up,” your pleading hands press to his shoulder, thankful that the prominence of his collarbones has eased over the last few weeks, but he’s still nowhere close to as healthy he was the last time you saw him before the war had ended.

Unlike the rest of the batch, you hadn’t seen Crosshair during his time under the empire, and although during his absence you were thankful for it, this only made it worse the day his brothers brought him home.

Crosshair had always been the leanest of them, you had even joked with him on several occasions that he resembled the toothpicks which always hung from his lips, but the breath had been stolen from your body when Echo half-carried him down the walkway. Crosshairs face was almost as hollow as Echo’s had been after Skako Minor, and it was now flecked in silver stubble, with a large scar that stretched across the side of his head where patches of hair were entirely missing.

Just as the pair passed you by, Crosshairs eyes had met your own. You were used to a range of emotions in them, from heated glares and desire filled gazes, occasionally there was even an amused look that framed his eyes with a hint of laughter lines. However, what you didn’t prepare yourself for was for them to be entirely void of any emotion, it was if you were just one of the stone pillars that lined the streets.

After a week in the infirmary, it became evident that Crosshair couldn’t sleep alone. With Hunter preoccupied with Omega, the responsibility fell to Echo the first few nights, he was the closest to understanding Crosshairs situation after all.

On the third day after the rescue, Hunter had told you although Omega was kept somewhat safe with another female clone, they had found Crosshair in solitary confinement. Something deep in your chest broke at the unsaid weight of the information. Despite his aversion to most people, Crosshair had spent years of being in tight living spaces with his brothers, only to be thrown in a cell alone for maker knows how long.

Maybe this was why he gravitated towards you once he was finally in good enough physical condition to be released from the infirmary.

Between Echo’s own complicated relationship with sleep, Wrecker’s inability to not snore and wake everyone in the immediate vicinity, and Hunters responsibility for Omega, it was you who took him in.

If Tech was still here, he would have been the one to stay with Crosshair. You push that thought down, but the pain still resonates in your chest.

You give Crosshair another shake, and the second your other hand presses to the bare skin of his face, his eyes snap open. He lashes out like a snarling animal trapped in a snare, gripping both your wrists and pinning you beneath him with a speed that causes the room to spin around you.

“It’s just me, Cross.” You speak in a hushed tone, attempting to calm him as you fight against his grip.

Reality bleeds into his eyes, momentarily easing his pained expression, but then he’s choking on the air, collapsing onto you.

“I need,” although his face is buried in your neck, you hear the emotion crack his voice, and you already know the broken look that on his face. “Please, I need you.”

“It’s okay, Cross.” You nod and widen your legs, allowing his hips to settle between them. Your bodies act on the familiar routine you had both fallen into over the last few months since he moved into your spare room - which he has still never spent a night in. Crosshairs shakes have already begun to ease with the contact, his hands have at least stilled enough so he can effectively rid you both of the few items of clothing until you were bare against each other.

He coils himself around you at first, as if he were a snake trying to suffocate its prey, but you only wrap your arms around him in return, welcoming his touch. You aren’t certain if it’s the solitary confinement that made him need the contact, or if it’s some lingering effect of the chip, but either way you still offer yourself to him.

Seemingly unable to wait for his heart to settle, he chases the comfort only you can provide, and begins the slow push of himself inside you. Crosshair’s breaths are escaping him in desperate pants and he’s pressing as much of himself to you as possible, seeking the warmth of your body to drive away the sensation of the cold interrogation table that plagued his mind.

The stretch burns with the little preparation you have, and Crosshair senses your silent discomfort. He draws his hips back with a mumbled apology, so only the tip remains inside you, and draws slow circles on your clit with his thumb. It doesn’t take long for the resistance to ease with your wetness, and soon enough he’s rocking back into you with a groan, allowing you time to adjust.

He doesn’t attempt to bring you to the precipice, or anywhere close to it. Once he fully settles into you, his hand withdraws and instead tangles itself in your hair.

Right now Crosshairs need for you isn’t sexual, despite what it seems.

Some nights it will delve into more once his body relaxes, and he’ll take his time to have you come undone beneath him with more care and attention than he had ever possessed before the rise of the empire. But tonight, as he does most nights, he stills once fully seathed inside you, his only desire being your embrace.

“Where was it this time?” Sometimes he would answer, but other times he would give a slight shake to his head in response.

“Barton-4, then the interrogation room.” His voice is strained, and you recall everything he’s already told you about these places, specifically the haunting memory of Mayday’s death.

“You’re safe, we’re both safe, Crosshair.” You press a kiss to his temple as if it would help the promise sink into his mind. One of your hands moves to the back of his head, cradling him against your neck as the other traces patterns on his back.

It takes a few minutes of silence for his breathing to fall in sync with yours, and despite his cock being inside you, the light exhale against your neck has your face heating at the intimacy. His shakes have entirely ceased now, and you think he’s fallen asleep, until you hear the broken whisper.

“I love you.”

Your body freezes at the admission, both hands stopping their comforting movements. His throat bobs against your neck with a dry swallow, and you wonder if it’s his body trying to subconsciously take back the words.

You had been somewhat together during the clone wars, but it was never emotionally intimate. He had a physical need for you in a way that led to fucking you from behind against almost every surface on the marauder. And yet, true to his cold nature he never faced you, or even kissed you. Once he finished, he would neaten his armour and leave without a goodbye, yet you would still allow him back every time he gave the word.

“Crosshair-“ you start, but he’s cutting you off before your mouth can form another syllable.

“I know it’s not the right time to say it, but I do, I always have.” He rasps, trying to force the confession out in one breath, as if ripping the bacta patch off a wound.

Always have?

Your mind begins unravelling years of your self-imposed torture during the clone wars from biting down your feelings, pretending not to care when some pretty girl inevitably threw herself at him in a bar.

“You need to sleep.” He bites out, hurt evident in his tone at your lack of response, but he doesn’t dare peel himself away from you. Despite the hurt seeping into him, he’s too selfish to let you go unless you ask him to leave.

“Crosshair.” There’s no response, but something possesses you to reach out anyways, and you’re pressing your hand to his face, craning your neck to meet his stare. His eyes are open, but still avoid your own.

Your brush your nose against his, and your thumb traces over the sharp angle of his jaw, memorising the way he ever-so-slightly leans into your touch.

“I love you too.”

His eyes close, a shaky breath of relief escaping his lips. Crosshair had never needed a helmet to mask his emotions before his brothers brought him back to Pabu, back to you. His face had always been set in an ever cold smirk, whether it be when he was taunting a reg, on a stealth mission, or when you caught glimpses of him in mirrored surfaces in the marauder as he fucked himself into you. However, at your words, something akin to peace washes over his face, allowing it to morph into a rare expression of something softer, like that of a soldier returning from battle finally setting eyes on his home.

When the morning comes, you half expect the bed to be cold, or at least as cold as it can be in the climate of Pabu, but when the midday sun casts its warming rays over your skin, he’s still inside of you. Slender limbs have tangled with your own and his face is nestled against your neck, but you can tell from his breathing that he’s already awake.

“Stay.” It’s a whispered prayer against your skin, a desperate plea to some deity that seems to have abandoned him long ago in that cell on Mount Tantiss. But you don’t think the gods, the Empire or even the force could keep you apart now, and you don’t want them to. You press your forehead to his, a wordless answer to him that you aren’t going anywhere, that he’ll never have to be alone again.