#Unshakable Duo

[the-sky-queen]

How much chaos would Duke and Scourge cause in the IDW comics?

Sooooo much probably. XD

For the sake of the ask, let's assume that IDW is at least semi canon to whatever canon we're working off of for Duke and Scourge's stuff. I think for the most part, they're off doing their own thing, but occasionally run into Sonic and the Restoration. Scourge doesn't really want to work with the Restoration, and the Restoration probably doesn't trust him in the first place.

The real thing I'm looking at here though is the Metal Virus Saga. It happens after all the drama with Duke's inhibitors goes down, but before Starline's capture of Duke (and later Wilder). I think it would be fun if Scourge and Duke end up in a town that gets hit by the Metal Virus and get to witness it first hand. Scourge gets Duke out of there as fast as possible. They need to find a safe place to hide out and Duke suggests they go to the Restoration. Scourge is reluctant, but eventually agrees.

As they approach the base, they cross paths with Sonic who's out on a run to burn off the Metal Virus. Sonic gives them the condensed version of what's up and asks Scourge to please stick around and help them. Sonic can fight off the zombots directly since he's already infected, but they need another speedster to help with evacuation. Scourge immediately refuses. He's not here to help save the world, he's here to make sure his little brother stays safe. Sonic presses that the only way Duke is gonna STAY safe, is to help them fight off this plague. Sonic needs to leave to finish his run, but he urges Scourge to please think about it.

In the end, Scourge does decide to help them out. He goes on missions with Sonic and the Restoration to help with evac, though he makes Duke stay back at HQ for his own safety. Now. Here's where I'm gonna get evil. >:)

Duke being at HQ means he's there when the outbreak happens. And unlike Amy, Cream, and Espio, Duke isn't able to make it out. When the remains of the Restoration comes to pick up Scourge, Sonic, and Tails from their mission in the city, Scourge ends up finding out what happened to Duke. His brother went down the zombots and he wasn't there to save him. Scourge is FURIOUS. He yells at Sonic for tricking him into this. He yells at Amy for not protecting Duke. He yells at Tails for loosing the cure data. Finally, Scourge jumps ship and and runs off, desperately searching for his little brother.

The next time we see Scourge, he's gotten himself infected, but he's able to fight it like Sonic. By now, everyone's up on Angel Island and since Scourge threw away his communicator when he left earlier, he can't contact them. But that's okay. He doesn't want to see the Resistance's stupid faces anyway. Scourge confronts Sonic right when Zavok smacks him all the way down to ground. They have a pretty one sided fight where Scourge once again lets out all his grievances against Sonic. Sonic can't really fight back much since by now he's so dead tired. But miraculously Sonic is able to get a word in and he apologizes. He knows he messed up. He knows this is his fault. He never thought Duke would get infected. He truly thought he'd be safe at HQ. Sonic promises he'll do whatever it takes to make this up to Scourge, but right now, he needs to get to the last Chaos Emerald so he and Silver can fix this. Please. Scourge punches Sonic one last time and says. "You'd better." Right then, Metal swoops in and flies Sonic up to the last emerald. Scourge goes off to look for Duke.

Once everything is over and all the metal virus has been pulled away and burned, Scourge starts to loose hope. He can't find Duke anywhere. What if . . . he . . .

And then Duke pulls himself up from some rubble and catches sight of Scourge. He calls out to him. Scourge looks up, tears in his eyes. The brothers run for each other and collapse to the ground in a hug. ❤️

[silvers-starrway]

(putting this in both y'alls inboxes) Cream, Eclipse, and Sonic from the manor are passing out cupcakes and bracelets to the winners. They have literally any flavor you can think of. Congrats on winning the first round!

AWW THANK YOU!!! Sonic really likes the bracelet and well... the drones really shouldn't consume anything other than oil so C figured it'd be better off with Scourge and Duke from @floxy-offical and @the-sky-queen's Unshakable Bond au.

Edit: Whoops forgot to tag @sonic-au-collision

[edenesth]

02. The Gentleman — By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

Pairing: gang member!Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Word Count: 21.5k

Summary: The Black Pirates' poised diplomat, celebrated for his refined demeanour, sharp wit, and unmatched negotiation skills, is always in control. But his composure falters when he encounters an unwilling captive trapped in the Red Room—a ruthless training ground for spies. Driven by an unexpected urge to save her, he finds his carefully maintained boundaries beginning to unravel.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, human experimentation, scars, murder, language, contains dark themes in general

SERIES MASTERLIST | ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"Ooh, look who's in charge of the Red Room alliance now," Wooyoung teased, sauntering into Seonghwa's office with his usual swagger. The eldest, meticulously double-checking the contents of his briefcase for the upcoming critical meeting, barely spared him a glance. "I'm busy," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Go bother someone else."

Unfazed, the Charmer smirked and plopped into his brother's vacant chair, spinning it around before propping his legs up on the desk. "Oh, come on, hyung. You're about to be surrounded by women—not just any women, mind you—the finest of the fine. Think you could put in a good word for me? Maybe convince Hongjoong hyung to let me tag along? You know we'd make an unbeatable duo." He winked cheekily, his grin as mischievous as ever.

Seonghwa sighed, snapping his briefcase shut and securing the safe after confirming everything was in place. He turned to face the younger man, his expression deadpan. "You? Of all people?" he scoffed. "I'd sooner bring Yunho—if only he were available. A word of advice: focus on your own mission. You can't even handle one bodyguard, let alone navigate an entire organisation of trained spies."

Wooyoung gasped dramatically, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Ouch, hyung! Why so harsh? Last I checked, Cap's the one nursing a broken heart, not you."

At that, the Gentleman's demeanour shifted, his gaze sharp as he stepped forward and smacked the younger man's feet off the desk. Wooyoung stumbled forward with a surprised yelp, glaring up at the elder. "That's quite enough, Woo," Seonghwa said sternly. "I'd advise you not to push your luck with Hongjoong right now. One Mingi is already more than enough."

There it was—the unshakable calm and maturity of the Black Pirates' eldest member. Even the most chaotic among them couldn't rattle him. Recognising defeat, Wooyoung grinned sheepishly, standing to nod at his brother. "Fine, I'll behave since you asked so nicely," he mused, watching Seonghwa nod in approval and stride toward the door. "Safe journey, hyung. Get back in one piece."

The taller man paused, glancing over his shoulder to offer one of his rare, gentle smiles. "I will," he replied confidently. "When have I ever let you down?"

For fuck's sake, who the hell was I kidding?

Now, he wished he could smack himself across the face for his foolish confidence. If only he had known how it would all turn out, how the plan would go sideways so suddenly. He reclined against the stiff guest room bed, the pristine white ceiling offering no answers to the storm brewing in his mind. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to sort through the frustration. The weight of his earlier decisions pressed against his chest like an iron vice.

Just what in the world was he doing? He replayed the day in his head for the thousandth time, dissecting every detail. The mission had started seamlessly—his confidence unshakable. He had left the mansion that morning, projecting the poise expected of the Gentleman, cautioning his brothers to behave in his absence, and promising Hongjoong he'd return triumphant.

His arrival at the spy training facility had gone smoothly, his awe carefully masked by quiet professionalism. The place's grandeur was undeniable—dark, imposing, yet breathtaking in its meticulous design. He marvelled silently at how these women had built something so formidable, so self-sufficient, despite centuries of systemic oppression.

The security was tight, the multiple checks before getting to the building's main entrance were a testament to their efficiency. By the time he was greeted by Madame Scarlet, an elegant woman who appeared to be in her fifties and the enigmatic founder of the Red Room, his admiration had only deepened.

"We hope you had a wonderful journey here. The Red Room welcomes you, Captain Kim of the Black Pirates," the woman had said, her tone formal yet inviting.

Seonghwa had bowed lightly, offering his most disarming smile. "Thank you, Madame. But I must clarify—the Captain was unable to attend due to urgent matters back home. I am his right hand. You may call me Gentleman Park."

The lady's subtle reaction—a raised brow and the slightest tightening of her lips—didn't escape his notice. Still, he handled the rest of the meeting with the same elegance, navigating their discussions with ease. Everything had been on track.

Until it wasn't.

One step—one final step—was all it took to close the deal and forge the alliance. All he had to do was say yes and sign the contract. He cursed under his breath, recalling the words that had left his mouth—words that had deviated from every carefully laid plan.

"I would like to think this over a bit more. While I agree that this would be in both parties' best interests, I would just like to spend some more time here to have a clearer picture of how things work, to better understand our ally, if you will. I hope that's alright with you."

The room had stilled, the practised neutrality of the Red Room's representatives masking their surprise. But one person couldn't hide their reaction—the sole reason for this madness—you.

He saw it, the way your shoulders stiffened, the slight lift of your head as you dared to glance his way. Your wide eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him disappeared.

That moment was his undoing.

It was supposed to be simple: finalise the alliance, leave without looking back, and report a flawless success to Hongjoong. But you... you had thrown a wrench into his perfect plan.

The deal could have been closed smoothly, had it not been for one of the trainees who captured his attention almost the moment he stepped through the doors. You stood out like a sore thumb among the neat lines of female operatives in training—your trembling eyes and subtle gulp betraying your struggle to hold back tears. Maybe you were just having a bad day, he reasoned, perhaps a failed performance during a gruelling session. Training couldn't be easy here; the Red Room was notorious for its brutality.

But his curiosity refused to fade. Throughout the visit, his gaze kept drifting to your fragile, trembling figure trailing behind Madame Scarlet and her trusted aide. It wasn't just your withdrawn demeanour or the way you seemed to shrink into yourself—it was the unmistakable fear etched across your features. Pure, unadulterated terror surfaced when a trainer called on you, and in that fleeting moment when your eyes met his, there was desperation—a silent plea for help that cut through his composure like a blade.

You didn't belong here, not even the slightest. Something deep within him stirred, a compulsion he couldn't ignore—a need to act, to intervene, to save you.

His reasons for staying defied logic, and he knew it. By lingering, he jeopardised the alliance, risked his position in the gang, and invited potentially disastrous consequences. Yet the pull was undeniable—an unrelenting drive to uncover the truth about you and why he couldn't let you become just another face in his memory.

Now, in the stillness of the guest room, Seonghwa sat up, elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. With you finally out of sight and his mind beginning to clear, the sharp sting of rationality returned. He couldn't help but imagine how the rest of the gang would react once they learned of his recklessness. Everyone had trusted him to seal this alliance, especially Hongjoong. The man was already grappling with enough turmoil—this was the last thing he needed.

And then there was Mingi. If he messed this up, the Firestarter would never let him or the Captain live it down. Not that the tall bastard's teasing mattered in the grand scheme of things, but the stakes here were monumental. This alliance was vital; without it, the White Serpents could easily exploit their instability. So, what the hell was he doing, letting himself get derailed by a girl—a trainee, no less? If only he had minded his own business, he'd already be on his way home, mission accomplished.

But no, here he was...

Yet, deep down, he couldn't shake the memory of your terrified expression. That raw, unfiltered fear—it wasn't something he'd seen in a long time. Not like this. Fear wasn't new to him; in their line of work, it was an almost daily occurrence. But those pleas for mercy typically came from people who deserved their fate, criminals and scumbags who'd wronged others. This, however, was different. Your fear wasn't rooted in guilt but in helplessness.

For a brief moment, Seonghwa wondered if this was what Hongjoong had seen, too. Was this the same spark that had ignited his leader's own impulsive choices?

Shaking his head, he let out a quiet groan. Even if he wanted to help you, how? He had no plan, no resources. He was alone here, without the gang's collective strength. Yunho and Yeosang's clever solutions weren't at his disposal, nor were San and Mingi's brute force. Jongho's unshakable composure, which always kept their missions on track, was sorely missed. Hell, he even found himself longing for Wooyoung's antics, if only to lighten the suffocating tension.

If Hongjoong were here, none of this would have happened. The Captain would have stayed focused, unyielding. But then... what would have become of you?

"Goddamnit," he muttered under his breath, the weight of frustration and uncertainty bearing down on him. He dragged a hand through his hair, his voice dropping into a bitter whisper. "We're fucked."

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The dim light of your cell-like room flickered faintly, casting long shadows against the stark walls. Sleep, elusive as ever, teased the edges of your consciousness but refused to claim you. Your mind was restless, tumbling through a cascade of thoughts, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, they weren't entirely about the nightmare you endured daily.

They were about him.

The man—the Gentleman, as Madame Scarlet had introduced him—was unlike anyone you'd seen before, not just because he was the first male face in years, but because he looked at you as though you were more than just another broken thing in this place. His dark eyes had lingered on you, his gaze following you like a soft, unspoken question. You felt it, even when you tried not to.

You had no idea why he stayed. It was madness, sheer idiocy, for him to risk what should have been a clean, uncomplicated deal. That was how it always worked—outsiders came, signed the agreement, and left as fast as they arrived, never daring to peel back the pristine mask of the Red Room's operations. But he didn't follow the script.

Why?

The question burned in your chest, twisting into an unfamiliar ache. You wished it were annoyance, that you could dismiss him as another arrogant man playing a dangerous game. But it wasn't. It was fear—raw and desperate fear—not for yourself, but for him.

He had no idea what he had walked into. You could tell he wasn't oblivious; his calculating demeanour and sharp wit proved that much. But he was still a fool to stay. What did he hope to accomplish? Surely, it wasn't because of you.

Your heightened senses—the ones the Red Room had painstakingly sharpened until they bled into paranoia—picked up on every stolen glance, every small, deliberate movement. From the moment he entered, you knew he had noticed you, not just as an anomaly but as something... else. You'd been trained to anticipate motives, to understand what people wanted, but his attention baffled you.

It scared you.

The others didn't miss his glances, either. You'd caught the sidelong looks of the senior operatives, the way Madame Scarlet's lips had curved just slightly at the edges, a subtle acknowledgement that she was watching too. It was only a matter of time before they decided he was a liability.

If he stayed, they'd break him.

You clenched your fists tightly against the rough sheets beneath you, trying to quell the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to drown you. Emotions—weaknesses, as they called them here—were the enemy. You had learned that the hard way. But now, despite everything, your heart betrayed you, pounding with the terrible clarity that he wouldn't last a day if he truly understood what went on here.

You shut your eyes, trying to block out the memory of his face, his voice, the ridiculous bravery in his words as he locked eyes with you and said he needed more time. If he knew—if he lived even a fraction of what you endured—he would've bolted at the first opportunity.

"Fool," you whispered into the stillness, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the facility. "What did you get yourself into?"

You hated him for staying, for giving you this fragile, fleeting sense of hope that things could change. You hated him for being so careless with his life. And yet, more than anything, you hated yourself for wishing—just for a moment—that he might be strong enough to do what you couldn't.

Run. Escape. Fight.

Save himself.

Because if he stayed, the Red Room would devour him whole, just as it had done to you.

Perhaps it was already beginning to.

On the other side of the building, the guest room felt colder than it should have. Seonghwa, too, lay sprawled on the rigid mattress, the pristine white walls around him offering no comfort, no reprieve from the maelstrom of thoughts battering his mind. He flipped onto his side, then his back, then his stomach, a frustrated growl escaping his lips as sleep evaded him entirely.

His mind was a battlefield, each thought warring for dominance. Was this all a trap?

It would make sense. The Red Room was too efficient, too methodical, to let someone like you slip through the cracks unnoticed. Maybe your fear, your weakness—it was all calculated. Perhaps they had planted you there, your trembling frame meant to bait him, to test him. Maybe the terror in your eyes wasn't actual terror at all but a meticulously crafted act designed to lure him into a false sense of sympathy.

What if you were a rebel?

His fists clenched tightly against the sheets, jaw set as the possibility burned in his mind. If you were working against the Red Room, you'd have every reason to use him, to exploit the cracks in this precarious alliance. And if you weren't a rebel, then what? Were you a spy? An assassin in training? A failure?

"Dammit," he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. He couldn't shake the image of you—those wide, haunted eyes that seemed to plead with him, even though you hadn't said a single word. He cursed himself for the millionth time that night.

This wasn't like him.

He wasn't the kind of man who acted rashly. Calculated precision was his forte, keeping his emotions locked behind an impenetrable wall. Yet the moment he saw you, it was as though something inside him had cracked, and all the logic he prided himself on was thrown to the wind.

What the hell was he doing?

His brothers were counting on him. Hongjoong, who had trusted him enough to send him in the Captain's stead; Yunho, who would've meticulously planned every contingency if only he'd been given more time; Yeosang, who'd always had a knack for seeing through deceptions; Mingi and San, whose combined strength could've handled this mess in a fraction of the time. Even Jongho, with his unflappable calm, would've been a better choice to stand in this precarious position.

And Wooyoung... God, Wooyoung would never let him live this down.

The Gentleman sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, head cradled in his hands again. He felt the weight of their expectations, of the responsibility he carried, bearing down on him like an iron chain. He had to get this done. He had to sign the deal, leave, and return home with good news.

Not fuck this up over some girl.

You weren't supposed to matter. You were just another face, another casualty of this ruthless place. He had seen plenty like you before—broken people trapped in broken systems. He had told himself he was immune to that kind of thing, that the world was too harsh for him to care.

And yet, when he thought of you, the logic he so carefully cultivated unravelled.

The terror in your eyes wasn't like the fear he was used to seeing—the kind born of guilt or desperation. This was deeper, rawer, something that twisted in his chest in a way he didn't understand.

And he hated it.

He hated that he was here, that he'd let himself get dragged into this, that he'd let himself care.

But no matter how much he hated it, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was already in too deep.

"Tomorrow," he muttered, his voice a low growl in the empty room. "I'll get it done tomorrow."

He repeated the words like a mantra, as if saying them enough times would make them true. He would go through with the deal, close this chapter, and walk away.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

Things weren't really going to go his way.

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Come on, you can do this.

It has been hours since the chamber door hissed shut with a deafening finality, the sound echoing in the narrow space like a harbinger of dread. You sat on the cold metal chair, your wrists clamped to the armrests by invisible shackles of terror. The fluorescent lights buzzed above you, their harsh glare illuminating every crack and scratch on the otherwise featureless walls. No windows. No exit. Just four oppressive walls closing in on you with every passing second.

The robotic voice came through the unseen speakers again, its clinical tone devoid of any humanity.

"How do you feel?"

Regret. Endless regret.

You squeezed your eyes shut, teeth clenched as if that could hold back the flood of emotions threatening to betray you. Your hands trembled in your lap, but you forced them still, your fingernails digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood.

"Nothing," you whispered, the lie cracking in your throat.

The tears you had fought so hard to suppress welled up in your eyes. Regret clawed at your insides like a caged animal, howling against the walls of your mind. It had been there since the day you were dragged into this living nightmare, growing stronger with every dehumanising test, every soul-crushing exercise designed to strip you of your essence. But they couldn't know. They could never know.

"Tell the truth. How do you feel?"

The voice was a hammer against the brittle shell of your composure, striking again and again.

You let out a shaky breath, your chest tightening as if a vice had clamped around your lungs. "Nothing," you repeated, louder this time, willing yourself to believe it even as the walls seemed to close in on you.

The isolation chamber had become your recurring purgatory. You had been here so many times you'd lost count, but the panic never abated. No matter how many hours you spent in its suffocating grip, the claustrophobia seeped into your bones like a cold fog.

The lights dimmed suddenly, plunging you into darkness. You stiffened, knowing what was coming next. A low hum reverberated through the walls, growing louder until it drowned out the sound of your own heartbeat. The vibrations rattled the chair beneath you, a disorienting rhythm meant to shake loose any remnants of control you clung to.

Your mind spiralled back to where it all began.

Regret.

You were just a struggling college student, barely scraping by, when you saw the advertisement. It promised compensation for volunteers to participate in what seemed like harmless clinical trials or government-sponsored programmes. The language was vague, but the money was too tempting to ignore. You signed up, thinking it was your ticket to financial stability.

And then they took you.

Regret.

You learned too late what you had walked into—a secret experiment buried in the heart of this monstrous training facility. Madame Scarlet's calculating gaze haunted you at every turn, her icy demeanour radiating an unsettling confidence. She watched your every move, her success hinging on breaking you, the so-called pioneer of their new programme.

Regret.

You were their first, their proof of concept. The goal: emotion suppression and control. To strip operatives of fear, guilt, and compassion, leaving only a cold, efficient shell. They chose you because of your heightened emotional sensitivity, believing that if they could break someone like you, they could break anyone.

And so they broke you.

The lights flickered back on, brighter this time, the sudden glare piercing your eyes like needles. Your breathing quickened, panic clawing at your throat, but you swallowed it down. You couldn't let them win.

"Repeat your response. How do you feel?"

Your lips quivered, the taste of iron on your tongue from where you had bitten the inside of your cheek. You couldn't let them see.

"Nothing at all," you said, the word hollow and lifeless.

The voice paused, as if deliberating. Then, with clinical detachment: "Well done, Subject 01. See you in your next session."

The door hissed open, and you sagged in the chair, your body trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. You were alive. For now. But the endless regret followed you like a shadow, a constant reminder of what you'd lost and what you could never reclaim.

Fortunately or unfortunately, you weren't the only one drowning in regret. Unbeknownst to you, someone else shared the same sentiment.

The dining room exuded a haunting elegance, its dark, polished wood surfaces and deep red drapes creating an ambience that felt both regal and oppressive. Seonghwa sat stiffly at the long table, his hands clasped on the white tablecloth as he worked to maintain a composed exterior. The weight of his regrets pressed down on him like an anchor, but his resolve was firm.

Today, he would end this. No more distractions. No more detours.

He tightened his tie, adjusted his cuffs, and forced a charming smile onto his face as Madame Scarlet settled into the seat opposite him, her presence both commanding and chilling. Her sharp gaze landed on him, and he inclined his head respectfully.

"Good morning, Gentleman Park. I trust you had a restful night?" she greeted, her voice smooth and calculated.

"Good morning, Madame. I did, thank you," he lied, his tone courteous but distant.

This was it. Today was the day he would close the deal, leave this place behind, and never look back. No more pity for doomed souls. No more foolish meddling. He had learned his lesson the hard way.

He was done—done trying to help people whose fates were already sealed. He should have learned from his past mistakes, should have known better than to get involved. But flashes of a helpless child's face resurfaced in his mind, haunting him. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, willing the image away.

That child… the one he'd thought he was saving, only for his interference to lead to a fate worse than the one he'd tried to prevent. The memory was a dagger he couldn't dull. He had sworn back then that he was finished with helping anyone. From the moment he became a sworn member of the Black Pirates, he had vowed to leave his misguided sense of justice behind.

With a deep breath, he straightened his suit, slicked back his hair, and forced his face into an impassive mask.

This is it—no more nonsense.

But then you entered the room, and every shred of determination faltered. Oh, fuck me.

Your entrance was unassuming, yet the impact was seismic. The elegant wisteria ruffle lace ballerina dress you wore flowed around you like a delicate mist, a stark contrast to the utilitarian uniform he had seen you in the day before. You looked almost otherworldly, as though you didn't belong to this cold, merciless world.

His breath caught, and he cursed himself silently. He quickly averted his gaze, chastising himself for the slip. But it was too late—the image of you was already seared into his mind.

You bowed respectfully to the founder, then to him, your movements poised but weighed down by an invisible heaviness he couldn't ignore.

"Ah yes," the lady said, a hint of amusement lacing her words. "Our star trainee has arrived. Gentleman Park, you mentioned wanting to better understand our work and methods. As requested, we have arranged for only our best girl to accompany you."

Seonghwa's polite smile tightened, his jaw clenching slightly at her words. Our best girl.

The way she said it unsettled him, her tone almost lecherous, as though you were a prized possession rather than a person. He caught a fleeting look in your eyes—disgust, fear, or perhaps both—before you quickly masked it with a practised smile.

His stomach churned. Something was deeply wrong here.

You moved to take the seat beside him, your steps graceful but hesitant, as though the act of simply approaching carried an unspoken risk. He noticed the stiffness in your posture, the way your hands folded tightly in your lap as if to stop them from trembling.

The elderly woman continued speaking, her voice droning on, but the gang member could no longer focus. He nodded along automatically, his mind elsewhere.

You were too composed, too controlled. Every subtle movement screamed restraint, like a bird in a gilded cage. And while he knew the Red Room's operatives were trained to suppress emotion, there was something uniquely disconcerting about your demeanour. This wasn't the hardened stoicism of a seasoned spy. This was survival.

Why were you so different from the others? Why were you here?

The questions swirled relentlessly in his mind, chipping away at the resolve he had built that morning. Curiosity gnawed at him, and worse—a protective instinct he didn't want to feel.

He stole a glance at you, catching the way your gaze remained fixed downward, avoiding both him and Madame Scarlet. The tension in your shoulders was palpable, and he swore he could feel the unease radiating from you.

What were they doing to you?

The founder's voice snapped him back to reality.

"Gentleman Park, I trust you will find her guidance enlightening. She is one of our finest examples of what the Red Room can achieve."

He forced another smile, though his mind was spinning. "I look forward to it," he replied smoothly.

Beside him, you shifted slightly, your hands tightening in your lap. He wondered if anyone else noticed the subtle cracks in your otherwise perfect facade.

As the conversation continued, Seonghwa found it harder to concentrate. The more he observed you, the more his suspicions grew. Every interaction, every gesture seemed to hint at something darker lurking beneath the surface.

And despite the thousand regrets that weighed on him, despite his earlier resolve to stay detached, he felt the pull again—that unshakable need to understand. To help.

But helping had only ever led to ruin.

Under the table, his fists clenched in frustration. No more distractions, he told himself, repeating the mantra like a prayer.

Yet as you sat quietly beside him, your presence a silent cry for help, he couldn't help but feel that fate had other plans.

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The dining room was suffocating. Every clink of cutlery, every flicker of the ornate chandelier above, felt like a weight pressing down on you. You sat rigid in your chair, the elegant wisteria dress clinging to you uncomfortably—a constant reminder of how little say you had in your own existence here.

The meal in front of you might as well have been poison for all the effort it took to take a bite. Every mouthful felt like swallowing stones, your throat tightening against the gnawing anxiety twisting in your gut. You tried to focus on anything but the endless discomfort—tried to ignore the way your skin crawled at the thought of what Madame Scarlet had planned for you.

Your mind drifted back to earlier, to the icy shower they'd thrown you into after pulling you from the isolation chamber. You'd been scrubbed raw, the roughness of their hands leaving you feeling violated, though that was nothing new. That had been your reality since the day you were dragged into this hell. But today was different. Today, they'd put you in this dress.

You knew what it meant.

The dress marked you as "special," a chosen one to entertain the esteemed guest. But this dress… this wasn't like the others. The fine fabric and intricate lace were almost too much, too extravagant. And that terrified you. This wasn't going to be simple. Whatever they had planned for you—and perhaps for him—wasn't ordinary.

You risked a glance at the man seated beside you. Gentleman Park of the Black Pirates. He didn't belong here, not like the others you'd encountered before. He was the only one foolish enough to willingly extend his stay in this nightmare.

Why?

Before you could dwell on the question, the elderly woman's smooth voice broke through your thoughts. She was halfway through one of her rehearsed speeches—the kind meant to dazzle and manipulate—when her right-hand woman entered the room, leaning down to whisper something in her ear.

Her sharp eyes flickered, and she nodded, her painted lips curving into a smile. "Goodness, I'm so sorry to have to excuse myself, but there is an important phone call that I must take," she said, her tone dripping with saccharine politeness.

The man beside you inclined his head slightly. "Of course," he replied, his voice courteous but distant.

Madame Scarlet turned to you then, and you immediately straightened in your seat, your spine going rigid under her gaze.

"I shall leave you in the good hands of our chosen one," she announced, her smile growing sharper. The weight of her words made your stomach churn, and your blood turned cold as she continued, "I trust you to take care of our guest, darling. Show him around a bit, dance for him, won't you? Do what you do best."

Her wink sent a shiver down your spine.

"The success of this deal depends on you, I'm afraid," she added with a lilting laugh that felt like nails against your skin.

You swallowed hard, lowering your gaze as you bowed your head. "Yes, ma'am," you said softly, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your insides.

The Gentleman beside you cleared his throat, the sound breaking the heavy silence. "Don't worry about it, Madame," he said, offering a polite smile. "I'm sure this young miss will do excellently."

You caught the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw as he spoke, his discomfort almost palpable. But that didn't stop the lady from seizing the opportunity to twist his words.

"Oh, I'm sure she will," she said, her grin turning suggestive, her tone dripping with implication.

The room seemed to freeze.

You felt your cheeks flush with humiliation, though you forced your expression to remain neutral. This was nothing new; you were used to being reduced to a pawn in their games, to being paraded and objectified.

But the gang member's reaction caught you off guard. His polite smile faltered ever so slightly, and you saw the flicker of realisation in his eyes—realisation of how his words had been twisted. He cringed, his discomfort evident as he averted his gaze, a faint flush colouring his cheeks.

"I didn't mean it like that," he murmured, almost to himself.

But the damage was done. Madame Scarlet's laughter echoed through the room as she swept out, leaving you alone with him.

The silence that followed was suffocating. You kept your gaze fixed downward, your hands folded tightly in your lap as you tried to make yourself invisible.

For his part, Seonghwa stared at the table, his mind racing. He hadn't meant it that way, hadn't meant to disrespect you or contribute to whatever hell you were enduring here. But the way the elderly woman had twisted his words, the way she'd left you here as if you were some sort of offering… it churned his stomach.

The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. You tried to steady your trembling hands by folding them in your lap, resisting the urge to fidget.

He cleared his throat again, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He could still feel the weight of the founder's suggestive tone lingering in the air, her insinuations poisoning the atmosphere even after she was gone.

You didn't dare to look at him, your eyes fixed on the untouched plate of food in front of you. The silence stretched between you, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the distant clinking of cutlery from the other rooms.

He studied you from the corner of his eye, his brows furrowing slightly. There was something deeply wrong about all of this. He couldn't place it exactly, but your subdued, tense demeanour set off alarm bells in his head.

"Look, I... I really didn't mean it like that," he said suddenly, his voice low but firm.

You blinked, startled by his words. Slowly, you turned your head to glance at him, wary and confused.

"I mean what I said earlier," he clarified, his expression earnest now. "About you doing excellent. I just meant… I trust you're good at what you do. Whatever that may be."

Your lips twitched in the faintest semblance of a bitter smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. Good at what I do? You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. What were you even supposed to be good at here? Surviving? Being obedient? Being… entertaining?

"Thank you," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. It was the safest response you could muster, even though the words felt hollow.

Seonghwa's jaw tightened. Your tone only deepened the unease coiling in his chest. He leaned back slightly, forcing a casual posture, though his mind was anything but at ease. "They really put a lot of pressure on you, don't they?"

Your fingers tightened in your lap, but you didn't answer. It wasn't safe to.

"I'm sorry," he added after a pause, his voice softer this time. "If I made you uncomfortable earlier."

His apology caught you off guard. You glanced at him again, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. But his eyes—dark and guarded—seemed genuine.

"It's fine," you murmured, though the words tasted bitter on your tongue.

It wasn't fine. Nothing about this was fine.

The silence that followed was heavier than before. The man struggled to focus on the reason he was here, on the deal he needed to secure, but your presence was proving to be a distraction—a quiet, aching reminder of things he'd tried so hard to bury.

He hadn't come here to get involved. He hadn't come here to care.

But the way you sat there, so small and subdued, made it impossible not to wonder. Impossible not to remember.

His thoughts drifted unwillingly to a certain little boy from his past—the one he had failed so utterly, so completely. The one whose blood was on his hands, no matter how many times he told himself he'd been trying to do the right thing.

And here you were now, another fragile soul caught in a similar cruel web.

He clenched his fists under the table, willing himself to stay focused. He couldn't let himself care. Not again.

But then you spoke, your voice trembling just enough to make his heart lurch.

"What deal is she making with you?" you asked cautiously, barely looking at him. "If you don't mind me asking."

The question threw him. For a moment, he didn't know how to answer. Madame Scarlet's words echoed in his mind: The success of this deal depends on you.

He hesitated, studying your expression. Your guarded eyes, the slight furrow of your brows, the way your hands trembled ever so slightly in your lap—it all spoke of someone desperate for answers, for any shred of control in a situation that offered none.

"I'm here for… business," he said vaguely, trying to sound nonchalant.

You didn't press him further, but your expression betrayed your thoughts. Business. Of course. That's all anyone came here for. Deals made in shadows, forged with blood and broken spirits.

He didn't miss the way your gaze dropped back to your lap, your shoulders sagging slightly as though his answer had only confirmed what you already knew.

Something twisted in his chest—a pang of guilt, perhaps, or regret. He wasn't sure anymore.

"Listen…" he began, his voice low and hesitant. "Whatever this is… whatever they're making you do…"

You looked at him sharply, your eyes wide with alarm. "Don't," you whispered urgently, cutting him off.

Seonghwa froze, startled by the intensity of your reaction.

"Please... don't say anything," you said, your voice trembling but firm. "It'll only make things worse."

The fear in your voice was palpable, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

He nodded slowly, though the knot in his stomach only tightened. He didn't know what they'd done to you—what they were still doing—but he knew enough to see the cracks in your facade, the quiet desperation you tried so hard to hide.

And despite every warning screaming at him to stay out of it, he felt the pull again. That damnable instinct to help. To fix. To save.

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"Dance for him, won't you?"

The phrase echoed in your head, relentless as you changed out of the heels they'd given you and slipped on your worn pointe shoes. Your fingers trembled as you tied the ribbons securely, each movement automatic from years of practice. Ballet—your biggest nightmare—had been drilled into you until it became second nature. It was one of the Red Room's many requirements, justified with cold rationale: flexibility, endurance, stealth, elegance, performance. They were all virtues of an operative, but here, ballet wasn't just about utility. It was a tool of awe and seduction, a weapon veiled in grace.

Perhaps, on some cruel level, this was what you did best—or what you were left with no choice but to excel at.

You stepped into the mirrored practice room, the walls reflecting infinite versions of yourself. The grand mirrors felt more like prison bars than windows of elegance.

And there he was. Seonghwa sat stiffly in the centre of the room, the single chair isolating him like a king on a throne. Except he didn't look like a king. He looked like a man caught in the wrong place, his discomfort etched into every line of his tense body. His hands gripped his knees as though anchoring himself, and when you entered, his gaze darted to you and quickly away again, like he couldn't bear to watch but couldn't bring himself to look away.

You curtsied, the movement sharp and deliberate, your head dipping just enough to complete the mockery of submission. "Enjoy the show, Gentleman Park," you said, your voice carrying an edge of bitter politeness.

His jaw tensed as he sat up straighter, trying to project composure. "Please, you don't have to do this," he said, his voice tight, a plea slipping through the cracks.

A smile ghosted across your lips, brittle and humourless. If only that were true. Madame Scarlet's orders weren't optional. If you refused, she would know. She always knew. And the consequences of disobedience… No, there was no room for refusal.

"Nonsense," you said, shaking your head as though dismissing his concern. "You are our esteemed guest, and I have been bestowed with the duty of entertaining you. So, please—allow me to do what I do best." The words were delivered with a practised calmness, but the insincerity in them hung heavy in the air.

Seonghwa slumped back into his chair, defeated. He didn't believe you, and you didn't expect him to. His hands fidgeted on his lap, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he watched you take your place. The way you carried yourself—head high, movements precise—might have fooled anyone else into thinking you were eager, even proud. But he wasn't fooled. He could see the misery you carried like a weight on your shoulders, even as you rose to your full height, poised and elegant.

And then you began.

The first step was light, a delicate glide that barely disturbed the air. Each movement flowed seamlessly into the next, your arms creating arcs of motion while your legs executed every step with breathtaking precision. The choreography was mesmerising, a performance of impossible beauty.

But to him, it was unbearable.

You were stunning—he couldn't deny that—but beneath the grace and poise, he saw the truth. Every pirouette, every leap, every extension of your arm carried the bitterness of a caged bird forced to sing. This wasn't a gift. It was a sentence.

He clenched his fists in his lap, nails digging into his palms. This was his fault. If he hadn't asked to stay, hadn't let Madame Scarlet pull him into this world, you wouldn't be here, dancing for him like a puppet on strings. He should have known better. He always did this—lingered too long, cared too much, and inevitably made things worse.

When will I learn?

His gaze dropped to the floor as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of you, but it was futile. Flashes of the past flooded his mind. The boy's face haunted him—a child he'd thought he was saving. His naivety had cost that boy everything.

He could still feel the small hand clinging to his, the hope in the boy's eyes as Seonghwa had whispered promises of escape. He had meant well, but his actions had backfired spectacularly. The traffickers had found them, dragged the boy back, and exacted a punishment so horrific that he could barely think of it without feeling sick.

He had thought himself a hero, but he had been a fool. Good intentions didn't save anyone—they only destroyed.

Now, as he sat there, forced to watch your anguish play out in the guise of artistry, that guilt returned with a vengeance. He wanted to save you, to rise from his chair and demand that you stop. But what good would it do? He knew better. Intervening would only bring more pain, more suffering, and this time, it would be yours.

"No more," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "No more of this madness."

As you spun into another turn, the sight of his head bowed, his attention elsewhere, sent a jolt of despair through you. I've already lost him, you thought, the words clawing at your confidence. A failure, even at this. So much for excellence. The self-criticism came sharp and unrelenting, and in your distraction, you misstepped. Your foot slipped out from under you, and you tumbled forward, a small, startled yelp escaping your lips.

The sound shattered his trance. His head snapped up, eyes wide with alarm. In an instant, he was on his feet and kneeling before you. The swiftness of his reaction caught you off guard, but it was the touch that followed that left you paralysed. His gloved hands found your bare shoulders, steadying you with gentleness so foreign, so alien to you, it almost broke you.

Concern radiated from him—real and unguarded. It was something you hadn't felt in so long that it almost hurt more than the fall. Your chest tightened, the ache unbearable. Why was he doing this? Why was he making it harder to keep the walls up?

But you couldn't afford to dwell on the warmth of his touch, nor the kindness in his gaze. The room felt smaller, suffocating now, as the weight of your mistake bore down on you. You had tripped, faltered—something they would undoubtedly notice. And in the Red Room, mistakes weren't just mistakes. They were crimes. Punishable ones.

Shit.

The realisation hit you like a punch to the gut, and it took every ounce of control not to let the panic show. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, but as you did, your gaze flickered past him—toward the cold, unblinking lens of the camera perched high on the wall. You knew it was watching. They were always watching.

He followed your line of sight, turning his head slightly. By the time his eyes returned to yours, you had schooled your expression into something harder, even as your heart hammered in your chest. The trembling breath you took gave you away, though, as you leaned closer and whispered, your voice barely audible, "Never let your guard down. Not here. No matter how untouchable you think you are, no one is immune to the hands of the Red Room. Not even you, Mr. Park."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could respond, you tilted your head ever so slightly, drawing his attention to the camera again. That was when it hit him. The room wasn't just a stage—it was a cage. For you. For him. For both of you.

When his gaze returned to you, your words came softer but with an edge sharp enough to cut. "If you know what's good for you, you'll finish whatever business brought you here and leave. Today." Your voice wavered, but your warning was resolute. "Do yourself a favour. Go. Run while you still can. And forget."

The words cut through him, a dagger sinking deep into his chest. He stared at you, his throat tightening, the air around him thick and suffocating. He hated this—hated the helplessness, the way your truth wrapped around him like chains. The echoes of his past whispered cruelly in his mind: You can't save anyone, not without destroying them first.

After a long, agonising silence, he released you, his hands falling away slowly, reluctantly. The absence of his touch left you colder than you wanted to admit, but you forced yourself to push that feeling down, deep where it couldn't hurt you. This was for the best. It had to be.

He nodded, the motion stiff, his jaw tight. "You're right," he said finally, his voice strained, every word sounding like a defeat. "I'll go."

You offered him a sad, weary smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Good."

The weight of your final word lingered in the air between you. As if on cue, a firm knock on the door had you both stiffening, like deer caught in headlights. The door creaked open, revealing the founder's right-hand woman. "Gentleman Park, the Madame is ready to see you again," she announced, throwing you a sideways glance that sent chills down your spine.

It did the same to him. Rising to his feet, Seonghwa hesitated, casting one last glance in your direction. His eyes spoke volumes, but you knew there was nothing he could do. And then, with a quiet exhale, he turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, the ache in your chest blossoming into something unbearable. You pressed a hand to your heart, willing the trembling to stop. But it didn't. It never did.

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The founder's voice was a symphony of mockery, laced with faux regret. "Oh dearie, I heard our star trainee did not perform too well. We deeply apologise for that, Gentleman Park," she said, her smile sharp and deliberate as she gestured to her aide. The woman stepped forward with a sleek black folder, placing it delicately on the polished mahogany table between them. "Rest assured, we will train her better. We do not tolerate such mistakes in the Red Room. Please know that through this alliance, we will only provide our best spies where needed. After all, one bad apple does not define an entire tree, now does it?"

Seonghwa's stomach churned at her words, the subtle cruelty wrapped in politeness. He straightened in his seat, his jaw tightening. "Not at all," he said quickly, shaking his head. "There's no need to apologise for that. She did—" he hesitated, swallowing down the knot in his throat, "—amazingly."

Madame Scarlet tilted her head, her smirk widening as if she found his words amusing. "That was hardly amazing," she countered, her voice silk laced with venom. "There's no need to be lenient on her behalf. She lost your attention early on and completely butchered her routine. A failure through and through." Her eyes glinted as she slid the folder closer to him, a pen perched on top. "But we appreciate your understanding. If all is well, the Red Room is happy to finally solidify this treaty with the Black Pirates."

His hand hovered over the pen, his fingers trembling as he picked it up. He tried to steady his grip, but the weight of her words bore down on him like a crushing tide. Look at what you've done, his mind hissed. Your hesitation, your distraction—it's your fault she'll suffer for this. She'll pay for your mistakes.

The pen hovered over the pristine paper, but his vision blurred as a storm of conflicting thoughts raged inside him. You need to leave, he reminded himself. That's the mercy you can give her. Don't make it any worse by staying.

The faces of his brothers flashed in his mind—waiting for him, relying on him. He couldn't jeopardise their safety over this. Caged birds like you existed everywhere, caught in a world of power and cruelty he couldn't fix. He had to let it go. This isn't your battle.

His resolve hardened as he straightened his back, forcing all thoughts of you from his mind. He tightened his grip on the pen, its barrel pressing against his fingers with an almost painful intensity. It would all be fine, he told himself. As long as he got out of here, far away from whatever nightmares took place in the Red Room, it wouldn't be his problem. None of it ever was. He exhaled shakily, lowering the pen to sign.

Then, a sudden, sharp thud jolted him from his thoughts.

He froze, turning toward the source of the sound. Through the decorative latticework of the lounge's window, he caught a glimpse of movement in the corridor beyond. His breath hitched as his eyes landed on you—stumbling, tears streaking your face, a trainer gripping the back of your neck like you were some unruly beast.

The trainer yanked you forward, her other hand poised in warning, but it wasn't the rough handling that made his chest tighten—it was the bruise blooming dark and vicious on the side of your face. Even from a distance, his sharp gaze caught the slight trembling of your legs, the way your breath hitched as you struggled not to cry out.

This is what "train her better" looks like, he realised, the Madame's earlier words reverberating cruelly in his head.

His heart clenched, a searing ache spreading through his chest as the sight of you being dragged away ignited something primal within him. The pen in his hand creaked under the force of his grip, nearly snapping in two. He closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a shaky breath to steady himself.

But he couldn't.

The image of you—broken, trembling, afraid—was etched into his mind, refusing to let go. Every instinct screamed at him to do something, to stop pretending he could walk away unscathed. The storm inside him threatened to break through, but he forced himself to bury it, replacing the turmoil with the practised mask of a Gentleman.

He set the pen down deliberately, the click of it against the table sharp in the heavy silence. "No," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible.

Straightening in his seat, he lifted his head, a disarming smile curving his lips despite the turmoil beneath. "I agree, Madame," he said smoothly, his tone light and persuasive. "It would be our greatest honour to solidify this union. But where's the rush?"

The lady raised a sharp eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Do you reckon it would be alright for me to stay another day or two?" he continued, the words flowing effortlessly despite the storm within. "I believe it would be to our benefit to get to know one another better before taking such a significant step."

Her eyes flickered with intrigue at his sudden shift in tone. Her sharp smile widened, but it was the calculating glint in her eyes that unsettled him. "Hm, a Gentleman who values thoroughness. How admirable," she purred, leaning back in her chair as though savouring the upper hand she thought she held. "I see no harm in prolonging our discussions. After all, alliances built on patience tend to be the strongest, wouldn't you agree?"

Seonghwa nodded, though his throat felt dry, each word a bitter pill. "Absolutely."

Inside, his heart was a cacophony of regret and determination. The image of you, bruised and terrified, was burned into his mind. The sight of you being hauled away like some disposable object clawed at his resolve, unravelling all the arguments he'd carefully constructed to justify his departure. You can't save her, you fool, a voice whispered in his head, cold and unforgiving. You'll only make it worse. For her. For yourself. For everyone.

But another voice—quieter, trembling yet insistent—refused to be silenced. What if you can?

The Madame's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. "Well then, Gentleman Park, consider yourself our guest of honour for another day... or two, if you'd like." She gestured to her aide, who deftly whisked away the unsigned contract. "We'll arrange better accommodations for you. Do let us know if there's anything you require during your stay."

His lips curved into a polite smile, though his stomach churned with unease. "Your hospitality is most appreciated."

The elderly woman inclined her head graciously, but there was no mistaking the glimmer of suspicion in her eyes. "It's always a pleasure to work with someone who values... thoroughness," she repeated, her words deliberate. She waved a hand dismissively. "You're free to explore as you please, though some areas remain restricted for your safety, of course."

Seonghwa bowed his head in acknowledgement and rose to his feet, his body moving automatically, though his mind was elsewhere. The moment he stepped out of the room, the air felt heavier. He couldn't shake the image of your trembling figure, the bruise on your face, the sheer hopelessness in your eyes.

He paused in the corridor, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. Get it together, he told himself. One wrong move and you'll only get her killed.

But what was the alternative? Walking away while you endured unspeakable horrors? Letting his silence serve as complicity in your suffering? He felt as though he were drowning, the weight of his choices crushing him from all sides.

The sound of muffled cries pulled him from his thoughts. His head turned sharply in the direction they came from, his steps unsteady but driven by an undeniable force. He trailed the sound through the maze-like corridors, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind screamed at him to stop, to turn back before he did something reckless. But he couldn't. Not when the echoes of your pain were right there, slicing through the walls like jagged glass.

He rounded a corner and froze. Through a half-open door, he could see you kneeling on the floor, a trainer standing over you, barking orders. Her boot slammed into your ribs, and you crumpled further, a choked gasp escaping your lips. The sight hit him like a physical blow, and he felt the air leave his lungs.

He should leave. He should turn around, walk away, and pretend he'd seen nothing. That's what he'd been taught—to compartmentalise, to prioritise the bigger picture over fleeting emotions. But as he watched you struggle to breathe, watched you choke back sobs and force yourself to stand under the trainer's cruel gaze, something inside him snapped.

This wasn't about logic. It wasn't about alliances or gang politics. It wasn't even about you, not entirely. It was about what this place represented. The Red Room was a cesspool of power wielded without mercy, a machine that broke people and discarded the pieces. And you—you were a living reminder of everything he despised about this world, everything he'd tried to escape.

He turned on his heel, his jaw set, his movements deliberate. There was no time for hesitation. No time for second-guessing. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now, before his courage faltered. He made his way back to the lounge, his stride steady but his heart pounding.

Madame Scarlet raised an eyebrow as he re-entered the room. "Back so soon? I trust everything is—"

Fuck it.

"I have a request," Seonghwa interrupted, his voice calm but firm. He saw her brows lift in surprise, but he didn't give her a chance to speak. "I'd like to oversee her training."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Her expression shifted, her eyes narrowing with interest. "Her training?" she repeated, her tone laced with curiosity. "And why, pray tell, would a Gentleman of your standing wish to concern himself with such matters?"

He met her gaze, unwavering. "If this alliance is to succeed, I want to ensure that every asset provided is of the highest quality. She shows potential, but she needs refinement. Let me handle it." His lips curved into a disarming smile, one that masked the storm raging beneath the surface. "Consider it my contribution to strengthening this partnership."

The founder studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she leaned back in her chair, her smile returning. "Very well," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Let's see what Gentleman Park can do."

He inclined his head, hiding the relief that flooded through him. He had no plan, no clear idea of how to fix this. But for now, he'd bought you time. And he'd be damned if he let that time go to waste.

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"He's extending his stay... indefinitely?!" Wooyoung burst out, pushing his chair back with enough force to send it skidding against the floor. His voice, sharp with disbelief, rang through the meeting room. "What in the world is going on there?!"

Hongjoong sighed deeply, pressing his fingers against his temples as if willing away the tension. "That's what the messenger said. I don't—"

Mingi cut him off with a scoff, leaning back in his seat with arms crossed, his expression a storm of frustration and doubt. "First, it was a day. Then another. Now, who knows if Seonghwa hyung's ever coming back? What kind of lion's den did you send him into, huh?" He tilted his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So much for being the 'best leader.'"

Jongho shot him a warning look and reached out as if to calm him, but the taller man pulled away, his resentment tangible.

The Captain's gaze turned icy, his composure hanging by a thread. "What exactly are you trying to insinuate, hm?" His tone was sharp, the growl in his voice betraying the pressure he was under. His mind was already a whirlwind of guilt and worry. First, his love was sent away, and now his closest brother was stranded in that infamous and dangerous training facility. What was keeping him there? Had the Red Room made unreasonable demands? Was the alliance at risk? Why hadn't he gone himself instead of sending Seonghwa? He should've been the one bearing the risk.

The Firestarter laughed bitterly, rising to his feet, his frustration reaching a boiling point. "What I'm saying is that you think everything's fine just because you were noble enough to send her away? Don't act like we haven't noticed you're still wasting our resources to keep tabs on her, to protect her from afar!" His voice was biting, the weight of his accusation filling the room.

Hongjoong stood as well, the anger in his chest clawing its way to the surface. "Watch your damn mouth, Song Mingi," he snapped, his voice low but dangerous.

Before either could escalate further, San slammed his fist on the table, the resounding thud silencing the brewing argument. "Will you two just stop already?!" His tone was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Is fighting about the same damn thing over and over going to bring Seonghwa hyung back? Will it help us figure out what's happening to him?"

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. The Tempest sighed, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He hated this—hated how divided they'd become, the bond they once shared splintering under the weight of their choices. They used to be united, inseparable. Now, everything felt fractured, and the cracks were only growing. Didn't they see how short life was? How fragile their bond could become?

"Listen to me," San continued, his voice quieter now but steady with resolve. "I say we go after him."

The leader's jaw tightened. His instincts screamed at him to agree, but Yunho shook his head, breaking the silence. "Absolutely not," he said firmly. "We can't make a hasty move like that. What if it backfires? What if we put him in even more danger?"

Yeosang nodded, his voice calm but resolute. "Exactly. Have you all forgotten the code for danger? If Seonghwa hyung were truly in trouble, he would've used it. Whatever's happening, it doesn't seem like he's in immediate danger."

"Not yet, at least," the Anchor murmured, drawing everyone's attention. His voice was quiet, but the weight of his words settled heavily over the group. He opened his notebook, flipping through its pages until he found what he was looking for. "If we're serious about helping, we need to focus on crisis management. Let's map out every possible outcome and prepare contingency plans for all of them. We need to be ready for anything."

The room fell into a heavy silence as Jongho's words sank in.

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He hated the idea of waiting, of being passive, but he knew the youngest was right. Losing his temper, indulging in Mingi's provocations—none of it would help their brother.

"That's the best course of action for now," he admitted, his tone quieter but steady. "Thank you, Jongho."

The team nodded in reluctant agreement, though unease lingered in the room. As they began strategising, one truth resonated in each of their hearts—no alliance was more important than Seonghwa. He was family, and they weren't about to let him go without a fight—even if it meant jeopardising the entire deal.

Forgive me, my brothers.

While the Gentleman shared their sentiment, something else weighed heavy in his mind as he strode through the shadowed halls of the Red Room, every step measured, deliberate. His brothers—his family—would never understand this choice, this betrayal of their trust. But they weren't here. They hadn't seen what he'd seen, hadn't felt the cold weight of torment that clawed at his insides. For now, he had to shut them out. He had to focus.

Stopping just outside the door where he had last seen you, the memory of your broken form flashed like a burn mark across his mind. He straightened his shoulders, setting his expression into a mask of indifference—a carefully crafted lie. The trainer inside sensed him immediately, turning to meet his gaze. Her eyes, calculating and hard, met his as though he were an accomplice rather than an outsider. Seonghwa offered a curt nod, polite but distant, and received the same in return.

His gaze flickered to you, and time seemed to stretch thin for a moment.

There you were—collapsed on the cold floor like a discarded doll. Your body was unnaturally still, save for the faint tremble in your fingertips and the shudder of your uneven breaths. Whatever they'd done to you had left you completely drained, your small frame appearing even more fragile than before.

The trainer crouched beside you, the scrape of her boots against the floor grating against his ears like nails on stone. The gang member remained rooted to the doorway, his body rigid, his expression unreadable as she reached out to you, fingers threading mockingly through your tangled hair.

"Look at you," she sneered, tucking a strand behind your ear with a gentleness so condescending it twisted something sharp in his gut. Her hand shifted, suddenly locking around your jaw with enough force to make you flinch and whimper. "This should teach you. The Madame has high hopes for you, little one. Stop disappointing her like this, will you?"

Your red-rimmed eyes rose weakly, glazed and unfocused, but you managed the smallest nod, your breath stuttering painfully in your chest.

It wasn't enough.

Her grip tightened cruelly, claws pressing into the soft skin of your cheeks until you whimpered again, the sound soft but devastating. "Answer me," she demanded, her tone low and icy.

"Y-yes, ma'am," you choked out, the words barely more than a whisper.

Satisfied, she released you, and you slumped forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Seonghwa's fists curled tight at his sides, his knuckles white from the pressure. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to tear her away from you, but he forced himself to remain still. The mask didn't crack—not yet. When the trainer finally turned her gaze to him, he managed to shift, allowing a smug, composed smile to play on his lips as though none of it mattered to him.

"You've worked hard, comrade," he said smoothly, his voice calm and polite. "Let me handle the rest."

The trainer smirked, standing to dust off her hands as though your pain had tainted her. "How kind of you, Gentleman Park," she cooed, her mockery like acid on his ears. "Very well, then."

With one last unsettling grin, she turned on her heel and marched off, her boots echoing ominously down the hall until she disappeared.

The silence she left behind was suffocating.

He remained still, standing by the door, though his chest burned with the need to move—to act. He was cautious, his sharp mind reminding him of the cameras lurking in unseen corners. He couldn't afford to rush to your side, not yet. Any show of care, any crack in his facade, would confirm their suspicions. They had eyes everywhere.

He forced himself to stay rooted in place, his gaze lingering on you as you stirred faintly. Slowly, painstakingly, you began to force yourself upright. Seonghwa's heart twisted at the sight of your trembling hands and the way your body shook with every small movement. It was as though each muscle screamed in protest, but still, you pushed forward. The sheer determination etched into you was unlike anything he'd seen. You weren't just enduring—you were surviving.

Blinded by pain, you didn't notice him.

Your silent tears fell unchecked, and you hugged your bruised arms to yourself as you limped toward the exit, your steps slow and agonising. Every inch you covered showed your strength, but it also burned an ache deep in his chest. You shouldn't have to fight this hard just to move.

Finally, you reached him. Your head was still lowered, so at first, you only saw his shoes. You froze, your breath hitching sharply. Slowly, your wide, tear-streaked eyes lifted, and when you registered him standing there, shock overtook your features.

Your legs wavered, weakened beyond their limit, and you began to fall forward.

That was it. Seonghwa moved without thought, his body acting on pure instinct as he lunged to catch you before you hit the ground. His arms came around you securely, holding you steady. You gasped softly, fresh tears clouding your eyes as you struggled weakly to push yourself away from him.

"Stop it," he murmured, his voice low but steady, as he bent to scoop you into his arms. "You're hurt enough as it is."

The fight left you at his words, and you slumped against him, the side of your forehead pressing tiredly against his cheek.

"You goddamned idiot," you whispered brokenly, your voice trembling as quiet sobs escaped you. "I told you to go. You're going to get yourself killed…"

Your words hit him like stones, each one carrying the weight of your desperation and anger. You hated him for this—for being so stubborn, so damn stupid. And yet, there he was, carrying you like you weren't a burden at all.

You hated him for giving you hope. Hope that maybe the world wasn't entirely cruel. Hope that not all humans are monsters. Hope that maybe, someday, you'll get to escape this hell.

He didn't speak, but his hold on you tightened just a fraction as he carried you toward your room—the place they'd told him was yours at least. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the Red Room, not the cameras, not the precarious alliance.

All that mattered was you.

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Seonghwa tightened his hold on you as he carried you through the cold, labyrinthine corridors of the facility, the weight of your frail body pressing against his chest. Every step he took was deliberate, his movements careful to avoid jolting you any further. He didn't speak, the silence filled only by your shallow, uneven breaths and the faint sound of his boots against the hard floor.

Somewhere along the way, he felt you soften in his arms. The tension in your body—a tension he imagined had been present since you first stepped foot in this hellish place—began to ease. Your head nestled into the crook of his neck, and your arms, though weak, clung lightly to him as if afraid he might disappear.

Then, your breathing evened out, soft and rhythmic, and he realised with a pang in his chest that you had drifted into sleep. He couldn't explain the mix of emotions that overcame him. Relief? Guilt? Fury? That here, in this wretched place, in the aftermath of torment, his presence could bring you enough comfort to let down your guard. It shouldn't be like this. You shouldn't have had to fight so hard just to feel the smallest sliver of peace.

You, meanwhile, were lost in the strange sanctuary of his embrace. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the gnawing sense of danger and fear slipped away. You couldn't understand why—what it was about him that allowed you to let go—but it was undeniable. The warmth of his body, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat, the steady strength of his arms around you—it was unlike anything you had felt since the days when life was simpler, kinder.

Your mind wandered back to those days. College. Classes. Part-time jobs. A life that was chaotic in its own right but filled with a kind of normalcy you now yearned for. You missed that life, the one where being tired meant something as mundane as staying up late to study or pulling extra shifts. Not this. Not exhaustion born from fear, pain, and endless suffering. You wished, futilely, that all of this was some terrible nightmare you could wake from.

But it wasn't.

As if your subconscious sensed the reality of your surroundings, your eyes shot open, your body jerking in reflex. A cry of pain escaped your lips as fire shot through your nerves, the abrupt movement too much for your battered body.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay," came a deep, familiar voice, steady and calming. Gentle hands pressed against your shoulders, guiding you to lie back down. "Don't push yourself."

Your gaze darted toward him, and the memories came rushing back. Park. The Red Room. The training. The punishment. It all settled over you like a heavy fog, suffocating and undeniable.

Blinking against the dimness, you squinted at your surroundings. The room was unfamiliar. Plain walls, a bed—a proper bed—and a small desk. Your breath hitched in disbelief.

"Wh-where the hell am I?" you croaked, your throat raw.

Seonghwa frowned, his expression confused but soft. "It's your room, is it not?" he replied, his tone gentle, almost questioning.

You let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head weakly. "My room?" you repeated, incredulity lacing your words. "People like me don't get rooms."

Your voice was a whisper now, bitter and hollow. "They lied to you."

The implication of your words made his chest tighten painfully. His mind raced with the possibilities, each one worse than the last. Where have you been sleeping? On the floor of some cold cell? In a corner, chained, left to fend off the darkness alone?

He didn't ask. He couldn't. Not yet.

Instead, he looked at you, his jaw tightening as he swallowed back the anger boiling within him. You didn't need his rage right now—you needed his steadiness.

"I'll make sure they don't lie to me again," he said quietly, a promise woven into his words. He reached for the blanket at the edge of the bed and gently draped it over you. "For now, just rest. You're safe."

Safe? Here...?

You sighed, shaking your head. "I don't think that's something within your control, Mr. Park. Clearly, they're deceiving you for a good reason. If you know what's best for your own safety, you'd go along with their every wish and leave this place at your first chance."

Your eyes burned with tears forming in frustration, but you were too drained to argue, muttering weakly again, "Why... God, why are you even still here? You're insane..." You trailed off, the blanket's warmth and the bed's softness—luxuries you hadn't known in so long—lulling you into an uneasy but welcome stillness.

Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he really was insane for this. But Seonghwa knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he walked away today and left you behind, he would never be able to live another moment in peace.

As he sat by your bedside, his dark eyes lingered on your face, the faint lines of pain etched into your features even in sleep. He couldn't stop the rush of emotions building within him—a storm of guilt, admiration, and something else he couldn't quite name.

Your earlier words echoed in his mind. "Why are you even still here? You're insane..." Even in your weakened state, you had been more concerned for his safety than your own. How was it possible for someone who had suffered so deeply, endured such unspeakable cruelty, to still care for someone else? For him, a stranger who had inadvertently become the reason for your suffering.

His chest tightened painfully as he thought back to the chain of events that had led to this moment. If he hadn't pushed so hard for answers, if he hadn't drawn their attention to you...

I'm so sorry. You suffered all because of me.

His jaw clenched. It wasn't your fault. None of this was. You had simply been caught in the crossfire of forces far beyond your control. And yet, you bore the weight of it with a quiet resilience that humbled him.

If only he knew the truth—how your unyielding empathy had been the very trait that had landed you in this nightmare. The kindness that allowed you to care for others, even at the cost of your own well-being, had marked you as a failure in their eyes. To them, your compassion was a flaw to be eradicated, not celebrated. If their experiments had succeeded, if they had stripped you of every last shred of emotion, perhaps you wouldn't have to feel any of this now. Perhaps it would have been mercy.

But mercy wasn't what they had given you.

Seonghwa exhaled shakily, forcing himself to focus on the present. His gaze dropped to the small bundle he had brought with him—an emergency kit he'd tucked into his coat before leaving his quarters. Pulling out the small jar of ointment, he opened it carefully, its sharp medicinal scent filling the air.

This seemed as good a time as any to use it.

He dipped his fingers into the ointment, its cool texture spreading easily against his skin. His movements were slow and deliberate as he leaned closer to you, his free hand brushing your hair aside to get a clearer view of your wounds. You stirred slightly under his touch, but he froze, waiting until your breathing evened out again before continuing.

As he worked, the Gentleman couldn't help but notice the scars that marred your skin, each one a painful testament to what you had endured. His hands hovered over the worst of them, as if hesitant to touch. But he pressed on, spreading the ointment with a feather-light touch, determined not to wake you.

The faint lines of pain on your face seemed to soften as the salve worked its magic, and he found himself watching you again. Not just your wounds, but you—the curve of your cheek, the faint flutter of your lashes, the subtle rise and fall of your chest. He wondered how someone who had been through so much could still carry this quiet strength, this humanity that he wasn't sure he would have been capable of holding onto if he were in your position.

Something shifted in him then, something he couldn't quite name. It wasn't just guilt or admiration anymore—it was something deeper, something that unsettled him even as it stirred a strange sense of purpose within him.

"You shouldn't have to feel this," he murmured softly, the words meant more for himself than for you. "None of this."

His hands paused briefly, trembling as the weight of his emotions threatened to spill over. But he steadied himself and resumed his task, meticulously tending to your wounds until every last one had been treated.

When he finally sat back, exhaustion tugging at his own body, he couldn't bring himself to leave your side. Instead, he stayed there, his gaze never straying far from you.

Seonghwa had made many promises to himself over the years, but as he watched over you in the dim light of the room, he made one more—a silent vow that whatever it took, he would find a way to free you from this nightmare. Even if it cost him everything.

I won't leave you behind... not this time.

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The next morning unfolded in a fog of tension and fleeting memories that lingered in his mind as he sat across from Madame Scarlet. The dining room, grand and dripping with opulence, felt more like a gilded cage than a place of comfort. The soft clink of silverware and the hum of hushed conversation grated against his nerves, the air heavy with artifice. His grip on his utensils tightened as your words echoed in his thoughts, each syllable etched with quiet despair.

"It's not as simple as you think, Mr. Park. There's more to this place than merely spy training. They have more... elaborate plans. And I'm... part of that plan."

Your voice had wavered, the fear laced within it unmistakable. He could still see the way your eyes darted to the door, your movements taut with the paranoia of someone constantly monitored. Your unfinished confession repeated itself in his head like a haunting refrain.

"I'm not just a regular trainee here... I'm—"

The memory was interrupted by the sharp sound of boots in the hallway, the rhythmic echo cutting through the tension like a blade. Your voice had faltered, replaced by a gasp as the footsteps grew louder. And then she had entered—the woman you called your trainer. Her expression was stern, impassive, as she spared Seonghwa a curt nod before dragging you away without explanation. The sight of you, so resigned yet terrified, had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Before he could so much as process what had happened, another figure had arrived, the right-hand woman, beckoning him to breakfast as though nothing had transpired.

And now, here he was, a mask of calculated charm concealing the storm within as he faced the Madame. The founder, draped in her cold authority, watched him with an unsettling smile, her words poised and deliberate.

"So, you find our ways effective?" she asked, her voice dripping with saccharine diplomacy. "I knew we could trust decisive men such as yourself from the Black Pirates to agree with our methods."

Her praise felt like poison, each word curdling in his gut. Seonghwa forced a smile, swallowing his revulsion with practised ease.

"Of course, Madame," he replied smoothly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil beneath. "It is only necessary. After all, the best diamonds are produced in the rough."

Her approving nod was like ice slipping down his spine. As she turned her attention to the next topic, his thoughts drifted back to you, unable to ignore the gnawing questions.

What were you going to say? If you're not just another trainee, then what are you? What twisted plans are they weaving around you?

He pictured you before this nightmare—living a life untouched by the horrors of this place. Perhaps you had once been a girl who laughed freely, who dreamed without fear. The thought felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

What are they doing to you now? What are they turning you into?

"Gentleman Park?" Madame Scarlet's voice cut through his spiralling thoughts, sharp and expectant. He blinked, his façade unbroken as he nodded and delivered a fabricated report of your supposed punishment. Each lie tasted bitter, but he forced it down.

I'll find out. Whatever it takes.

Deep under the building, the isolation chamber felt alive, its oppressive darkness wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. The relentless hum of machinery echoed in your ears, each vibration a cruel reminder of your imprisonment. Your body trembled, exhaustion weighing heavily on your limbs, but it was nothing compared to the weight of your thoughts. Then came that voice, cold and devoid of humanity, slicing through the silence.

"How do you feel?"

Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as a spark of anger flickered to life. "Nothing," you bit out, your voice shaking with frustration. But even as you said it, the word felt hollow, a lie you couldn't quite believe. You didn't feel nothing—no, it was anger, sharp and scorching, that had taken root inside you. Frustration flared hotter with every second, fed by the memory of Seonghwa's words, echoing in your mind like a cruel whisper.

"I'll be here to stay... indefinitely now."

You had stared at him, disbelief coursing through you like a tidal wave. "Wh-what do you mean indefinitely?" you had asked, your voice unsteady, heart pounding with the weight of implications you couldn't yet comprehend.

He hadn't looked at you, his gaze fixed on the jar of ointment in his hands. You hadn't noticed it then, but now, in the suffocating dark, the memory of his careful hands tending to your wounds replayed with an unexpected tenderness. The way his fingers had moved—gentle, deliberate—like someone who cared. His voice, soft and almost hesitant, echoed in your mind.

"I... proposed to oversee your training."

You had blinked at him, confusion and frustration crashing together in a storm of emotions. "What...? Why? Whatever for?" you had demanded, searching his face for answers.

And then his eyes met yours. Determination burned there, fierce and unyielding. It caught you off guard, stole the breath from your lungs. "I'm going to help you," he said, his voice steady, as though the very idea of failure didn't exist.

The memory of his words ignited a whirlwind in your chest—anger, disbelief, and something else you weren't ready to name. Help me? The thought had made you scoff, a bitter laugh escaping before the tears threatened to follow. You had shaken your head at him, the hopelessness in your heart spilling out like poison.

"You don't even know what's happening here—hell, you don't even know me. Why would you risk everything for someone like me? You can't save me from something you don't understand. And they... they'll never let you find out."

You remembered the crack in your voice as you pointed to yourself, desperation seeping into every word. "This... this isn't something you can fix, Mr. Park."

The robotic voice snapped you back to reality, the chamber's suffocating atmosphere closing in again. "Subject 01, how do you feel?"

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to steady your breathing. You needed to focus on something, anything, to keep the darkness at bay. And there he was again in your mind, that damned determination lighting up his face. His words refused to let go of you.

"Well, they don't have to let me. I'll find out myself, one way or another. And besides..."

You could see it so clearly—the way he smiled at you then, soft and genuine, so different from the carefully constructed smiles he wore for everyone else. It wasn't fair, the way it disarmed you, the way it stirred something you didn't want to feel.

"I have you."

Tears pricked at your eyes again, but this time they weren't born of despair. They carried something heavier, something far more dangerous. Hope. And you hated him for it—for giving you something to hold onto when you had spent so long letting go.

The voice interrupted again, clinical and uncaring. "Subject 01—"

Your eyes flew open, defiance blazing in them as you glared into the black void where you knew the camera was. "Nothing at all," you said, your voice steady, though the fire within you burned hotter than ever.

"Wonderful," the voice responded, its detachment grating against every nerve.

But for the first time, you didn't care. Your focus was sharp, your resolve harder than steel. You would convince him to leave, to abandon this reckless idea before it consumed him too.

And yet... a part of you wanted him to stay.

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The week crawled by in a haze of calculated cruelty and simmering defiance. With Madame Scarlet's permission, Seonghwa was now a near-constant presence in your training sessions, his sharp eyes watching from the shadows or perched casually at the edge of the room. Most of your sessions, anyway. The ones he was allowed to witness.

The others—those sessions—took place far away from his sight, shrouded in secrecy and hidden deep within the facility's labyrinthine corridors. Those sessions were the ones that drained the light from your eyes and left you stumbling back to your dormitory, wearier and more hollow than before. And each time, he noticed.

Though the trainers and the founder kept him occupied with mealtime conversations or endless discussions about "enhancements" to your regimen, he saw it. He saw the shadows under your eyes deepen. He saw the tremor in your hands as you reached for water. He saw the stiffness in your movements, as though your body were fighting a losing battle with pain.

It enraged him, but he hid it well. He always hid it well. Instead of letting his anger show, he catalogued each new bruise and each broken look. He filed it away as fuel for his determination.

Today was no different. Another training session, another round of impossible tasks. The founder herself was present, her sharp gaze piercing through the room like a predator sizing up prey. She pushed you harder than ever, setting you up for failure with tasks that even the strongest would falter under.

"Faster," she barked as you stumbled mid-sprint. "You call that speed? A child could outrun you."

The other trainees averted their eyes, some wincing at the venom in her tone. But you kept going, jaw tight, pushing your battered body to obey despite its protests.

When you managed to finish the drill, she sneered. "Pathetic. And here I thought we were cultivating something special."

Seonghwa, standing to the side with his arms crossed, broke the silence. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade. "I've seen worse recover faster. She's more resilient than you think, Madame."

The founder turned her sharp eyes on him, her expression unreadable. "Resilience isn't enough, Gentleman Park. What we need here is excellence."

"Excellence takes time," he replied smoothly, his face a mask of polite detachment. "And she's proven capable of rising to challenges when given the opportunity."

His words deflected her attention just enough to ease the pressure on you. And you hated it.

You hated the way he intervened, hated the risks he was taking by challenging the founder—no matter how subtle. It was reckless. It was dangerous. And it was entirely unnecessary.

When the session finally ended, you didn't linger. You stormed out of the training hall, your body aching and your mind racing. But as you turned the corner into the hallway, there he was. He leaned casually against the wall, waiting for you with an unreadable expression.

Your anger boiled over. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" you hissed, marching up to him. "You don't need to make my battles yours!"

His calm demeanour didn't waver. He straightened, meeting your glare head-on. "I'm not trying to fight your battles."

"Then what the hell was that back there?" you snapped, gesturing wildly toward the training hall. "Do you have any idea what you're risking? Why do you keep—"

"I'm just trying to make sure you live to fight them," he interrupted, his voice low but steady.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath hitched, the anger in your chest faltering as something else crept in.

His gaze softened just slightly, but the determination remained. "You don't have to like me being here. Hell, you can hate me for it. But if I can take even one ounce of that weight off your shoulders, then it's worth it."

Your fists clenched at your sides, words caught in your throat. You didn't know what to say. You didn't want to believe him, didn't want to let that flicker of hope take root again.

But damn him, he made it so hard.

You're being stupid, Park. You'll regret this.

Later that night, the training room was cloaked in dim light, the overhead bulbs casting fractured shadows across the walls like shards of glass. It was late, long past curfew, but the ache in your chest and the founder's voice echoing in your mind wouldn't let you rest. The sting of humiliation lingered like a wound left raw, and you poured it all into the combat routine—every sharp strike and block an attempt to claw your way free from the weight crushing you.

But your body betrayed you, trembling under the strain of endless days without reprieve. Exhaustion blurred the edges of your movements, and frustration burned hotter with every imperfect step.

The quiet sound of a door opening went unnoticed until a voice sliced through the haze, steady and low.

"Your form's a little off."

You spun around, fists raised on instinct, only to find Seonghwa leaning against the doorframe, his presence unassuming yet commanding. His gaze lingered on you, calm but observant, and it unsettled you in ways you couldn't name.

"What are you doing here?" you snapped, wiping sweat from your brow, your voice sharper than you intended.

He stepped closer, each movement deliberate but unthreatening. "Couldn't sleep," he said simply, his tone betraying no judgement. "Figured I wasn't the only one."

Your glare hardened, walls snapping into place like armour. "I don't need you here. Go back to your room."

Instead of retreating, he crossed the room with measured steps, his eyes flicking over your stance. "You're letting frustration get the better of you. It's making you sloppy."

His words struck a nerve, cutting deeper than they should have. "I don't need your help," you bit out.

"I'm not offering help," he countered, his calm tone steady as steel. "Just advice."

Before you could fire back, he gestured to the training mat. "Show me what you're working on."

For a moment, you hesitated. Letting him see you like this—raw, vulnerable, struggling—felt like exposing a wound to someone who could twist the knife. But there was no mockery in his gaze, no condescension. Just an infuriating patience that chipped away at your defences.

Reluctantly, you demonstrated the routine, your movements sharp but uneven. He watched silently, his brow furrowed with concentration, and when you finished, he stepped closer.

"Your footing's off here," he said, nudging your leg into position with his foot, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric. "And your weight—it's leaving you open to counters."

You flinched at the proximity, but he didn't retreat. Instead, he adjusted your arm with a careful, steady hand. "Try it again."

This time, your movements flowed with more control, more precision. When you stopped, he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Better. But there's still something missing."

"What?" The word slipped out before you could stop it.

He stepped behind you, his hands hovering just above your arms, his voice a quiet murmur. "You're too rigid. Combat isn't just about strength—it's about flow. Anticipation. Trusting yourself."

His closeness was overwhelming, the heat of his presence and the steadiness of his breathing weaving into the moment. His hands guided your movements, the gentleness of his touch unravelling something tightly wound inside you.

The routine transformed, no longer a drill but a dance. Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next, and for the first time, you felt a sense of grace beneath the weight of your exhaustion.

"You're stronger than they'll ever give you credit for," he murmured, his voice soft, like a secret meant only for you.

And just as the moment began to settle, he stepped away, leaving a hollow space where his presence had been. You stood there, breathless and unmoored, the room suddenly colder without him near.

He turned to leave, his steps quiet, but something within you resisted. Before you could think better of it, you called out, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Mr. Park... thank you."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

"Seonghwa," he corrected, his smile faint but disarming. "Just... call me Seonghwa. And you're welcome, my lady."

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the stillness, your thoughts tangled and your heart betraying you in ways you hadn't thought possible.

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"Message from Seonghwa hyung."

Jongho's voice cut through the suffocating silence of the Captain's office, and Hongjoong's head shot up from his hands immediately. The younger man stepped forward, closing the door firmly behind him before placing a neatly wrapped package on the desk.

"He sent this through the secret messenger," the youngest continued, his tone laced with urgency.

The leader's stomach churned. That alone spoke volumes. Seonghwa wouldn't have risked using such a method unless it was vital. His hands trembled as he tugged at the twine, unwrapping the package with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

"A secret messenger…" he muttered under his breath. "If the Red Room finds out—"

"They won't," Jongho interjected firmly. "He knows what he's doing. But you need to see this, hyung. It's important."

The package fell open, its contents spilling across the desk in a disorganised heap: photographs, documents, and a few unmarked videotapes. Hongjoong froze, his unease morphing into dread. With a sharp nod toward the small TV in the corner, he gestured for the Anchor to play the first tape.

As the screen flickered to life, a chilling silence settled over the room.

The grainy footage revealed sterile white rooms filled with cold, metallic equipment. A girl restrained on a table. Her eyes, wide with terror or dulled by sedation, seemed to pierce through the screen. The audio crackled with muffled voices—clinical orders interspersed with the occasional scream.

"What the fuck…" Hongjoong whispered, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the desk.

Jongho's face remained impassive, though his jaw was set tight. The footage shifted, showing a stark, windowless chamber—a single chair in the centre equipped with electroshock restraints. The same girl. The same hopelessness.

"This isn't just training," the youngest said, his voice thick with disgust. "This is something else entirely."

The Captain's fingers sifted through the documents spread before him: test results, progress notes, and schematics outlining the chilling details of the experiments.

"They're not just training spies," he murmured, his voice hollow. "They're manufacturing weapons. Breaking people down and rebuilding them into... into something inhuman."

His hand faltered as he reached the bottom of the stack. A profile sheet caught his eye, its clipped photograph grainy but unmistakable.

A lab rat.

No—a person.

His stomach dropped as he scanned the page. The subject's identity was stripped away, replaced with a mere clinical description:

Female. Mid-twenties. High pain tolerance. Physical capabilities surpass expectations.

Jongho broke the silence, his voice grim. "They're trying to turn her into a machine. Stripping away everything that makes her human."

"And Seonghwa..." Hongjoong's voice cracked, the weight of it crashing down on him. His eyes caught the scrawled words on the package's exterior:

Project Android by the Red Room.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. The eldest wasn't there for diplomacy anymore. He was trapped in the epicentre of something far darker than they'd ever anticipated.

The leader slammed the final page onto the desk, his gaze locking onto a message scribbled in their coded language:

"Keep this evidence safe. I'll work on getting her out while securing this deal. I'll use the code if I need help. For now, have faith in me. Sorry for letting you down, Joong."

His jaw tightened, his gaze snapping to the Anchor. "We need to come up with a backup plan. If things go south for him—"

Jongho nodded sharply. "And the girl?"

For a moment, Hongjoong faltered. The weight of it all—the impossibility of what they were up against—threatened to break through his composure. But then his resolve returned, hardened like steel.

"We don't leave anyone behind," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Not if we can help it."

He leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing through contingencies. Sure, the Black Pirates weren't exactly saints, but even they had their limits.

And this?

This crossed every single one of them.

Back at the Red Room, Seonghwa could only hope his package had reached its destination safely. It was the sliver of hope keeping him tethered amidst the suffocating tension that defined this place. What you didn't know—what no one knew—was how far his determination had driven him. Every moment he wasn't with you or under the watchful eye of Madame Scarlet and her loyal hounds, he was spying. Not because he trusted the system but because he trusted himself more.

He knew he couldn't endure this oppressive environment much longer, and he refused to leave without you. So, he worked tirelessly. Nights passed with little sleep as he used his sharp senses and meticulous skills to catalogue every camera, memorise the labyrinth of hallways, and navigate spaces no one else dared to. His stealth was unmatched, a testament to his experience. At times, he found it bitterly ironic—this was a spy training facility, yet he roamed freely, undetected, a shadow in a house of shadows.

He'd known for some time now what you were to this place. He knew the pain you carried, the torment hidden behind the veneer of precision and obedience. But he hadn't found the courage to confront you about it, not until tonight.

Like many other nights, he found you awake past curfew. Tonight, you were in the ballet practice room—the same room that had led to your punishment, all because of him. This time, you finished your routine with precision, each movement a testament to your perseverance. When you stopped, his soft applause startled you, but only for a moment. By now, his late-night appearances had become so common you no longer questioned them.

And yet, you feared the comfort they brought you. Comfort felt dangerous here.

You sighed, turning away as the corners of your heart warmed against your will. "Can't sleep again, Mr. Park?" you asked, your tone guarded but laced with weariness.

He clicked his tongue in mock annoyance as he sat beside you, just far enough to respect your boundaries but close enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence. "Told you to call me Seongh—"

"Mr. Park," you cut him off, sharp but not unkind. Your eyes met his in warning, firm enough to halt his words.

He sighed in surrender, leaning back against the mirror beside you. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the tension between you as palpable as the moonlight streaming through the tall windows.

You broke the quiet, your voice hesitant but unwavering. "Why..." The single word hung in the air, weighted with the unspoken questions you hadn't dared to voice until now. "Why are you still here? Be honest with me. You're Gentleman Park—a feared member of the Black Pirates. Mercy isn't exactly your calling card. And yet, you're here. Risking everything. For what?"

His lips curved into a bittersweet smile, his eyes unfocused as if staring at a memory only he could see. For a moment, you thought he wouldn't answer. Then, in a voice as soft as the moonlight, he began.

"I once tried to save someone like you," he said, the weight of his confession pressing against the fragile quiet of the room.

"When I was young, before the Black Pirates, I wanted to make a difference. Believe it or not, I was studying to join the police force, still naive enough to think I could change the world." His voice carried a bitterness that made your chest tighten. "One day, I met a boy begging on the streets. He looked so lost, so scared. I found out he was trapped in a human trafficking ring. I thought I was saving him when I helped him escape."

You watched as his expression hardened, his jaw clenching against the flood of memories.

"For a little while, I thought I'd done it. I believed I'd saved him. But those bastards retaliated. They found him again. And they punished him." His fists curled tightly in his lap. "What they did to him… It was worse than anything he'd suffered before. And he didn't survive."

Your breath caught at the raw anguish in his voice.

"I thought I was his hero, but I was the reason he suffered more. After that, I joined the gang and stopped trying to save people. I told myself the world didn't need heroes—it needed survivors." He looked at you then, his gaze piercing but soft. "And then I saw you. At first, I thought I'd learned my lesson. That getting involved would only make things worse. But—"

"Your first instinct was right," you interrupted, your voice calm but resolute. "You should've left me behind."

Seonghwa flinched, your words slicing through him. "You don't mean that," he said softly, almost a plea.

"Don't I?" You turned to face him fully, your eyes sharp but heavy with exhaustion. "You think I don't know what I am to them? What I am to this place? My life is already ruined. But you… Look at what you've dragged yourself into because of me."

The words hung in the air, a thick, suffocating silence settling between you. If you thought your harshness would drive him away, you were wrong. For, instead of retreating, something inside him warmed, a flicker of hope igniting in your pain. You weren't angry at him for making your life worse. You were still thinking of him. You were still asking him to leave, to protect himself. And that thought alone was enough to keep him from walking away.

"No," he said at last, his voice steady, more resolute than you'd ever heard it before. "My first instinct was wrong. The old me wasn't strong enough to protect the people I cared about. But now, I won't make the same mistake. This time, I'll protect you. No matter what it takes."

People he… cared about? Me?

The weight of his words hit you like a freight train. For a moment, you were speechless, the walls around your heart trembling under the sheer force of his unwavering conviction. He wasn't just speaking to you; he was believing in you. And for the first time, a small, fragile seed of hope took root inside you. Maybe, just maybe, he was someone you could trust. Someone you could believe in.

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"Quick, in here!" Seonghwa whispered urgently, pulling you into the narrow closet in the corner of the ballet practice room. The door shut softly behind you, his hand lingering on your wrist to steady your trembling form. You were both about to leave for the night when the unmistakable echo of footsteps down the hall froze you in your tracks. Instinct took over as you tugged him toward the nearest hiding spot—the changing room.

The space was suffocatingly cramped, every breath shared between you as you tried to steady your racing heart. The faint rise and fall of his chest told you his was no calmer. Only a sliver of moonlight seeped through the slats of the door, illuminating the tension that now filled the air.

You swallowed hard, throat dry as you became painfully aware of how close he was. Barely an inch separated you, his broad chest right there, the faint, intoxicating scent of leather and spice curling around you. When your eyes met his, they held a storm of unspoken emotions. Another inch closer, and your lips might have touched. The thought made your breath hitch, but the sound of approaching footsteps snapped you back to the danger at hand.

The two of you froze—not from the proximity this time, but the unmistakable panic that crept in as the footsteps entered the room.

Turning away from him, you leaned forward slightly to peek through the slats in the door. As you shifted, your hair moved, revealing the nape of your neck. In the dim light, Seonghwa caught sight of something he hadn't seen before—seared into your skin was a barcode. Below it, the words: Subject 01.

He stiffened behind you, and though the footsteps eventually faded, it wasn't until silence filled the room again that you dared to exhale.

"She's gone," you whispered, relaxing slightly as you turned back to him. You reached for the door, but his grip on your arm stopped you.

"Did it hurt?" His voice was soft, almost tender, but the barely concealed edge betrayed the anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Did what hurt?" you asked, frowning. Then his gaze dropped to the back of your neck, his fingers brushing the spot lightly, almost reverently. The touch sent a shiver down your spine. Realisation hit you like a wave. He'd seen it.

The gasp that left your lips was involuntary as you instinctively stepped back, but his hold on you was firm, steady, as though he feared you might crumble under his touch.

"It's okay," he murmured, his tone calm despite the fire in his eyes. "I know. I know everything—what they've done to you, what they plan to do. I know that you're... Subject 01 of Project Android."

His words sent a chill down your spine. The strength drained from your legs, and you would have fallen if not for his steady arm supporting you. "H-how…? They'd never—" you stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

He sighed deeply, leaning forward until his forehead rested gently against yours. His breath was warm, grounding, even as your mind spun in chaos. "Like you said," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of bitter irony, "I'm Gentleman Park of the Black Pirates. There's nothing I can't uncover when I put my mind to it."

Your hands balled into fists against his jacket, your voice trembling with anger and despair. "So you knew?" you asked, incredulous. "And you stayed? Do you have any idea what these people are capable of? You should've signed that contract and left. There's nothing you can do for me. Like you said, doomed souls are everywhere. I'm just another one."

Your eyes narrowed, challenging him. "Why are you even here? Why are you working so hard for me? It's not because of me, is it? It's because this experiment poses a threat to your crew. If Project Android succeeds, it'll be a threat to the Black Pirates too, won't it? That's the real reason—"

"Stop." His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn't answer. Then his expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with a raw, unfiltered vulnerability you hadn't expected. "You silly girl," he said, shaking his head lightly. "Do I really seem like that to you? After everything I've told you? It's… it's because I can't leave you here."

The quiet admission hit you like a punch to the gut. His voice was raw, carrying the weight of emotions he wasn't trying to hide. "I tried convincing myself this wasn't my fight," he said, his tone steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. "That it wasn't my place. But I can't look away—not from you."

You stood there, stunned, his words unravelling every defence you'd spent years building. For so long, you'd believed no one cared, that you were nothing more than an expendable experiment. And yet here he was, defying all logic, holding on when anyone else would have let go.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like more than just a declaration of resolve—something deeper lingered in his tone. But there was no time to entertain such thoughts. Survival was the only thing that mattered now.

"Seonghwa…" His name escaped your lips in a fragile whisper, but he shook his head gently.

"We'll talk later," he said firmly, the resolve in his voice leaving no room for argument. "Right now, we need to focus on getting you out of here."

And for the first time, you didn't argue.

The hallway was eerily silent as he guided you through the winding maze of corridors. His hand hovered near your arm, not quite touching, as though even the smallest contact might betray too much. You followed in reluctant steps, each one heavier than the last as the realisation sank in: he wasn't leading you to the fake room they'd assigned you for appearances. No, this route was different. Familiar.

Your heart clenched when you recognised it—this was the way to your actual room. Or cell, as it truly was. The sterile walls, the reinforced door, the cold, suffocating solitude that awaited you there. He really did know everything.

Your thoughts spiralled as you walked. Did he also know how you ended up here? Did he also know the pieces of you that had been stripped away, piece by agonising piece, until nothing but a shell remained? Did he also know about the dreams you used to have—the kind of dreams the old you had cherished? The ones where you imagined falling in love with someone kind, someone who could see the best in you? Someone like him.

But he wasn't supposed to be here, warming the frozen corners of your heart, making it ache in ways you'd long forgotten. He wasn't supposed to make you hope.

"We're here," his voice broke through your thoughts, soft yet steady. You stopped, realising you'd reached the corridor just outside your cell. He'd led you to a blind spot—where no cameras could see—but this was as far as he could go.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You stared at the path ahead, the one that led to your isolation, and swallowed the lump in your throat. "We are," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Seonghwa," you started, your gaze dropping to his hand. Your fingers twitched, hesitant, unsure whether to reach out. The war between your heart and your mind raged louder than ever. Before you could decide, he closed the distance, his larger, warmer hand enveloping yours.

Your breath caught as his touch sent a jolt through you. His grip was firm yet gentle, grounding you in a way nothing else ever had. You looked up, finding his eyes already on you—deep, searching, and unguarded in a way that made your chest tighten.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur that carried so much weight it made you dizzy. He didn't know it, but your world shifted with the way he looked at you, as though you were the only thing that mattered.

You opened your mouth to speak, only to falter as the emotions welled up, threatening to spill over. Gratitude. Guilt. Longing. Words felt inadequate. Instead, you squeezed his hand, a small, fragile gesture that felt monumental in the space between you. "I…" You swallowed hard, summoning the courage to continue. "I just want to thank you for trying so hard. For… caring."

His brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting you finish. "I need you to know," you continued, your voice trembling. "It doesn't matter if I get out of here. I'm just… glad to have met you."

Your heart ached with the weight of the truth behind your words. You knew what you were saying wasn't fair to him, that it sounded like a goodbye. Slowly, you began to pull your hand away, but he held on, his touch firm yet tender, as though he couldn't bear to let go.

And then he did something that made your breath hitch—something you didn't expect.

Leaning in, Seonghwa pressed his lips to your forehead. The gesture was soft, deliberate, and filled with more emotion than any words could ever convey.

Your eyes closed instinctively, your breath catching as his warmth lingered. When he pulled back, his gaze burned with a fierce determination that left no room for argument.

"No," he said, his voice low but resolute. "Don't say that. Don't act like this is the end. I already have a plan, and rest assured…" His hand tightened around yours, his determination radiating through his touch. "I will get out of here tomorrow—with you."

The certainty in his voice left you stunned, your chest tightening as tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes. For a fleeting moment, the silence between you spoke louder than any words could. How...? you wanted to ask, but the question stayed lodged in your throat. You were exhausted—exhausted from fighting, from merely surviving. For once, you wanted to let someone else carry the weight for you. So, you didn't question him.

You simply nodded, unable to summon your voice. Turning to walk the final stretch alone, your steps felt heavier with every inch that separated you. Still, an inexplicable pull made you glance back one last time. His eyes were on you, unwavering, filled with a promise that neither of you dared put into words.

The moment stretched, unspoken yet profound, and though nothing was said, everything was understood.

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"How has he been?" Madame Scarlet asked, her tone sharp and expectant as she gazed at your trainer.

The woman lowered her head respectfully before responding, "He's… unexpectedly cooperative and professional, ma'am. He's provided us with some excellent ideas for enhancement and has never once intervened in any of Subject 01's training—the sessions he was permitted to supervise, at least."

The founder raised a brow, a self-satisfied grin curling her lips. "Hm. Perhaps the Gentleman truly does admire our ways," she mused, leaning back in her chair. "I suppose his extended stay would only be beneficial to us. After all, we'd be foolish not to recognise his value as an influential figure within his group. His prolonged presence serves as leverage. Keep him close—subtly manipulate his loyalty and extract information. The Black Pirates wouldn't even realise we're gaining the upper hand in the alliance."

A low chuckle sounded from the doorway, smooth and familiar. "How smart," Seonghwa drawled, stepping into the room with deliberate confidence, "but not nearly smart enough."

The founder's grin froze, her eyes snapping to the intruder with disbelief. You followed closely behind him, your heart hammering as you caught the flash of unease in her expression—a crack in the armour of control she always wore.

"G-Gentleman Park," she stammered, rising from her seat. Her composure wavered, but she quickly tried to mask it with a welcoming smile. "You're surprisingly early today. And you, my darling," she said, her gaze shifting to you with forced sweetness. "Aren't you supposed to be—"

"At her daily isolation chamber session?" the gang member interrupted smoothly, his lips curling into a sardonic smirk. "Ah, Madame, do you take me for a fool?"

The trainer stiffened, her hand twitching toward her hidden pistol. Madame Scarlet's smile faltered as her eyes flicked to the briefcase in his hand. Her mind raced, trying to assess the situation.

Seonghwa stepped closer, placing the briefcase on her desk with a measured grace. "I believe I've overstayed my welcome," he said casually. "On behalf of my Captain, I declare it's time to finalise our alliance and take my leave—on one condition."

The lady narrowed her eyes, her voice cold and sharp. "Name it."

"I'm taking her with me," he said, gesturing to you without hesitation.

The founder's face darkened, her calm slipping further. "Over my dead body," she hissed.

He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "That can be arranged."

The trainer moved, but he raised a hand in mock surrender, laughing lightly. "Relax. I'm only kidding. How would our alliance flourish if you were dead, Madame?" He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes, though his tone carried a weight that silenced the room.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Madame Scarlet warned, but her voice lacked its usual confidence.

"Oh, I never play without knowing I'll win," he countered, his smirk sharpening as he opened the briefcase. Inside lay meticulously organised files, a hard drive, and a stack of DVDs. He slid a folder across the desk toward her.

"In here," he began, his voice dropping to a measured calm, "you'll find all the proof you need of your inhumane operations. Experiment logs, surveillance footage, and even testimonies from staff who've grown tired of being complicit. What do you think would happen if a third party were to get their hands on this?"

The lady's hand trembled as she opened the folder. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes scanning the damning contents.

"You wouldn't," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, I would," Seonghwa replied, leaning forward slightly. "And I'll make sure your rivals and the authorities receive copies if you refuse my terms. Imagine the chaos that would bring to your empire."

Her composure shattered for a moment, her nails digging into the desk as she glared at him. "You underestimate me."

"No," he said, his voice soft but firm, "I don't. I know exactly who you are, Madame Scarlet. That's why I'm giving you a choice: agree to let her leave with me, or watch your empire crumble under scrutiny."

Her fury was almost tangible, her chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. But she was cornered, and they both knew it.

Madame Scarlet's nails dug into her palm, her usual composure shattered as she took a step closer to him. Her voice, laced with venom, quivered just slightly. "You realise what you're risking, don't you? My network reaches farther than you can imagine. The Black Pirates may be formidable, but do you truly believe your Captain will protect you once I make you a liability?"

Seonghwa didn't flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Oh, Madame, threats only work when they hold weight. Do you think I'd walk in here unarmed? The Captain knows everything. This"—he gestured to the briefcase—"was sent with his blessing. Your reach ends where my ship begins."

The elderly woman's jaw clenched, her desperation now thinly veiled. "If you expose me, you'll bring chaos to yourself as well! The Black Pirates thrive on secrecy and reputation. Do you want to be the man who compromises that for some… experiment?" Her gaze flickered to you, cold and calculating.

"Nice try," he said, his tone turning colder. "But let's not pretend this is about me. The difference between you and me is simple: I protect the people I care about. You exploit them."

She growled in frustration, turning her attention to you. "And you?" she demanded, her voice suddenly softening as she changed tactics. "You're really going to leave with him? After all we've done for you?" Her words dripped with artificial kindness, a mask of sympathy stretched over her true intentions.

"I saved you from a life of obscurity," she continued, taking a step closer to you. "You'd still be a nobody if not for me. I gave you a purpose, a reason to exist. Is this how you repay me? By abandoning everything I built for you?"

You hesitated, her words striking a nerve. But the warmth of Seonghwa's hand slipping into yours steadied you, his unwavering presence a reminder of what truly mattered. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face her fully, your voice trembling at first but growing stronger with every word.

"You didn't save me," you said, your eyes locked on hers. "You broke me. You took everything I was—everything I could have been—and turned it into a weapon. You didn't give me a purpose; you stole it from me."

Her face darkened, but you pressed on, the weight of your emotions spilling over. "And now, you want me to feel sorry for you? To believe that what you did was for my own good? No, ma'am. The only thing you ever gave me was pain. And I refuse to let you keep me in chains any longer."

Her façade cracked completely, her expression twisting with rage and disbelief. "You ungrateful—"

The Gentleman's voice cut through her outburst, sharp and final. "Enough." He stepped between you and the founder, his presence a wall of protection. "You've lost, Madame. Accept it with what little dignity you have left."

Her hands shook, her gaze darting between the two of you. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. The power she had wielded so effortlessly for years was gone, slipping through her fingers like sand.

As the gang member led you out of the room, you cast one final glance over your shoulder. Madame Scarlet stood frozen, her empire teetering on the brink of collapse. The desperation in her eyes was a silent scream, her ironclad control shattered. For the first time, you felt no fear, no guilt—only a liberating wave of freedom as the door began to close behind you.

But then, in a heartbeat, that freedom threatened to slip away. Your blood ran cold as you spotted your trainer's hand darting to her concealed weapon as she muttered one last, "You're not going anywhere." The barrel of her gun gleamed, aimed directly at your saviour's back.

"Seonghwa—" you started, your voice catching in your throat.

He didn't need the warning. As though he had anticipated every move, he spun around with fluid precision. The room seemed to freeze, the air electric with tension. Before she could even pull the trigger, a single gunshot cracked through the silence.

The trainer's body crumpled to the floor, her lifeless eyes wide in shock. A gaping wound marred her forehead, blood pooling beneath her as her weapon clattered uselessly from her grasp.

You stood rooted in place, your breath caught in your chest. The woman who had tormented you for so long was gone—forever silenced, her cruelty ended in an instant. A part of you felt the weight of her death, but a stronger, quieter part of you reveled in the knowledge: she could never hurt you again.

Seonghwa lowered his gun with practised ease, his expression unreadable as he turned to the elderly woman. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, mock apology dripping from his voice. "Oops," he drawled, his tone light but laced with menace. "I warned you there'd be consequences."

He took a deliberate step toward her, the dominance in his presence impossible to ignore. "This alliance between us is hereby solidified, by order of the Black Pirates. I trust the terms and conditions are now clear, Madame Scarlet?"

Her gaze flickered from the corpse of her loyal trainer to his unyielding stare. Fury bubbled beneath her trembling exterior, but she nodded sharply, biting back the venom she longed to unleash.

As Seonghwa turned back to you, his hand steady and reassuring on the small of your back, you caught the flicker of regret in the founder's expression. She had underestimated him, underestimated you. Letting your paths cross was her greatest mistake—a mistake she would carry for the rest of her life.

With every step you took away from that room, you felt the weight of your chains fall further behind. This time, freedom was not just a fleeting thought—it was real. And nothing could take it from you now.

The tension in Seonghwa's shoulders finally eased as he guided you into the sleek black car waiting outside—a vehicle Hongjoong had discreetly arranged to ensure your safe departure. The weight of what had just transpired lingered heavily in the air, but for the first time in what felt like forever, the Gentleman allowed himself a quiet moment of relief.

The engine purred to life, and as the car rolled away from the Red Room's shadowed compound, he turned to you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, as his dark eyes met yours. There was no victory in his expression, only a quiet resolve.

"You're safe now," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "With me."

But even as he said it, his mind remained sharp, calculating. He knew the cost of what he'd done. The alliance between the Black Pirates and the Red Room is now balanced on a precarious thread of necessity rather than trust. Madame Scarlet's eyes would always be watching, her reach always extending, waiting for an opportunity to regain the upper hand.

And then, there was home. The gang wouldn't welcome you without question. The members' wrath would be swift and fierce—his brothers would demand an explanation for his actions, for the risks taken, for the unknown you now represented. What would they do with you? The uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, but he pushed it aside for now.

The road ahead would be anything but easy, but Seonghwa had made his choice. He couldn't promise to bring you back to the life you once had, couldn't undo the scars left behind. But what he could do—what he would do—was protect you. No matter what it took, he vowed to keep you safe.

As the car disappeared into the night, leaving the hellhole behind, he leaned his head back against the seat. His fingers brushed yours, a silent reassurance. Whatever came next, you would face it together.

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"Huh, so he actually managed to threaten the Red Room and come out on top?" the figure mused, his lips curving into an impressed pout. "Looks like the rumours about him weren't exaggerated after all. The Gentleman really isn't someone to be underestimated."

With a smirk, he snapped the file shut and tossed it carelessly onto the pile beside the Captain's already-closed dossier. "Too bad he's gained a weakness in the process. Watching the Firestarter's reaction to this is going to be... entertaining."

His subordinate stepped forward, handing him another file. "Indeed, sir. But for now, the Enforcer appears to be making some interesting moves at the Prestige Asylum."

"Oh, is he now?" The figure's grin widened. "How charming."

So, uhh... if I said I wasn't at all feeling pressured while writing this after the amazing reviews Hongjoong's chapter received, I'd be lying. I'm worried it might be slightly disappointing since this contained a lot less of the 'romance' aspect compared to the Captain's story - but I wanted it to be realistic, and realistically speaking, I don't think the danger would leave them much space for romance.

Anyway, I still hope you enjoyed this! I'm super excited to hear what you all think about the concept and whether or not you've noticed the subtle details relating to the ATEEZ lore.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[faebled-stories]

Ex-Factor: Behind the Smile

Kinkvember Day 3: Blackmail (Yandere Jiheon)

Fromis_9 Baek Jiheon x Male reader

AN: Daylight savings + weekend = Earlier update 💖😊

7.2k words

In the dazzling universe of K-pop, where glitzy performances and fanfare reign supreme, love often becomes a bittersweet melody, intricately woven into the fabric of fame, fortune, and relentless ambition. Amidst the swirling lights of concerts, the deafening cheers from adoring fans, and the ceaseless training sessions, two talented idols—Jiheon and you—found a quiet oasis in each other’s hearts.

From the moment you met, it felt as if destiny had intertwined your fates. Jiheon, a rising star with a captivating stage presence that could light up any arena, had a magnetic charm that drew you in. Your own charisma, a sweet yet powerful aura, complemented hers perfectly. Together, you became a dynamic duo, weathering the storms of the industry while nurturing a love that blossomed in the less glamorous and quieter corners of life.

Your relationship was not built on grand gestures but on cherished moments behind the scenes. Late-night phone calls stretched into early mornings, where soft laughter and shared dreams painted a beautiful tapestry of intimacy. Cozy dinners became your refuge from the demanding schedules that dictated your lives, where you exchanged stories, hopes, and fears over steaming bowls of ramen or comforting plates of kimchi.

Your romance seemed like a fairytale. You were the couple everyone dreamed of being, seemingly pursuing your aspirations together with the promise of a shared future. From the outside, it appeared as though you cheered each other on during rehearsals, hearts racing not just for personal triumphs but for the joy of achieving success together on grand stages. Yet, little did they realize, there was much more beneath the surface.

Stolen kisses between dance practice, secret notes exchanged backstage, and quiet walks beneath shimmering city lights became treasured memories, preserving the sweetness of your love against the bitter backdrop of industry pressures. Your relationship was a gem, rare and precious, glimmering even amid the sparkle of stardom.

Yet, the reality of K-pop stardom is that it is often fleeting and fiercely demanding. As Jiheon’s career soared, propelled by her talent and charisma, the expectations placed on her intensified, like shadows growing longer as the sun sets. With each comeback, the stakes climbed higher, drawing her deeper into the relentless cycle of training, performances, and public appearances.

As the demands of your respective careers pulled you further apart, the strain began to show. Training sessions grew longer and more exhaustive, leaving scant time for romance. Jiheon found herself grappling with a heart pulled in two directions—her dreams, glittering and tangible, clashed with the love she cherished. In her mind, thoughts spiraled: Was it selfish to hold onto this love when her career beckoned?

In moments of quiet reflection, Jiheon wrestled with the haunting belief that letting you go might be an act of love itself. Perhaps distancing herself from you would give her the freedom to reach new heights, allowing her to fully invest in her career. It was a painful paradox—the closer she got to her dreams, the more she felt she had to sacrifice.

Then came the fateful day when Jiheon finally found the courage to speak the words that had been clawing at her insides for weeks. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her hands trembling at her sides. The two of you stood in a quiet corner of the park, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows that danced around your feet.

“I think… I think we should break up.” The words tumbled out like heavy stones, each one crashing down inside you, echoing the unshakable truth that you both had been avoiding.

“It’s better this way, for both of us,” she continued, her gaze dropping to the ground, as if she could will the earth to swallow her pain. The sun flickered through the leaves overhead, but it felt as if the warmth had suddenly vanished, leaving behind an icy chill that seeped into your bones.

The enormity of her words hung in the air, heavy and stark, as if time itself had halted. You could hardly breathe as your tear-filled eyes met hers, searching for some glimmer of hope, something to hold on to. But all you saw was the anguish mirrored in her heart, reflected in those shimmering pools of despair.

“What? Jiheon… Please,” you pleaded, your voice cracking as desperation clawed at your throat. “Can’t we find another way? We’ve been through so much together. I can’t just let you go.”

She took a step back, the physical distance between you somehow amplifying the emotional chasm that had opened up. “You don’t understand,” she replied, her voice breaking as she wiped a tear from her cheek. “I love you but, our relationship is bottlenecking our progress. Things aren’t the way they used to be, and pretending will only hurt us more.”

The pain of each syllable cut deeper than any knife, reverberating within your chest like the tolling of a bell, ominously marking what felt like the end of your world. You longed to reach out, to pull her close and reassure her — both of you — that everything would be okay. But the wall of resolve in her eyes held you back.

“Is this really what you want?” you asked, your heart racing as you grasped for any thread of connection that could pull her back from this precipice. “We can work on this, together.”

Jiheon shook her head, the weight of her decision heavy on her shoulders. “It’s not healthy for us, I can't keep holding you back… or myself.”

With that, the finality of her words settled like an inescapable fog around you. In her belief that this was the right choice, a choice steeped in love and sacrifice, Jiheon felt her spirit fracture, the pieces scattering like fallen leaves caught in a relentless gust of wind.

“Please don’t do this,” you whispered, the vulnerability of your voice revealing just how unprepared you were to let go. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know,” her voice quivered, the pain evident in her expression as she stepped closer, reaching for your hand, squeezing it tightly as if to breathe life into the moment. “I'm sorry"

As her fingers slipped from yours, you felt a part of yourself tear away, and all you could do was stand there, motionless, as the world moved on around you, leaving only silence and the bittersweet taste of love lost.

The silence that followed was deafening, an echoing void that enveloped you both. You longed to reach out, to pull her back into your embrace, to tell her that love could be a guiding light rather than a hindrance. But those words caught in your throat, drowned by despair. The choice she made loomed large, instilling a heavy weight of regret that would soon settle in her heart.

-----

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. Jiheon had once been the girl who laughed in the warmth of love, the one who danced on the threshold of joy with you by her side. Now, she found herself enveloped in the unrelenting spotlight of fame, yet that brightness felt dulled without your light alongside her. Memories of their shared laughter haunted her during moments of solitude, the ghost of your love coloring her world with bittersweet shades of sorrow. As she navigated the bustling stages of her career alone, the emptiness in her chest loomed large, an omnipresent reminder of your absence.

One particular night, Jiheon, trying to shake off the weight of her loneliness, stepped into a downtown club where the pulsating beats reverberated through her body. Surrounded by her group mates, she swallowed a cocktail and attempted to dance mindlessly under flashing lights that painted the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. For a fleeting moment, she felt the flicker of joy in the chaos—an illusion that quickly shattered when her eyes scanned the room.

Amidst the crowd, they landed on a sight that sent her heart racing—you, radiant and alive. You danced with abandon beside another girl, laughter spilling from your lips and merging with the booming bass into a perfect symphony of youth and freedom. The sparkle in your eyes was familiar yet painfully distant, doubling Jiheon’s heartache. A violent pang of jealousy and anger twisted in her gut like a sharp knife. How could you seem so happy without her, so completely unbothered by the void your absence had created in her heart?

In a moment of impulse, Jiheon whipped out her phone and captured a candid photo of you caught mid-laugh, blissfully unaware of the eyes that watched from the shadows. That snapshot froze you in a moment of pure joy, yet it morphed into something darker for Jiheon—a testament to her possessiveness over a love that felt just out of reach. The joyful essence of the photo twisted into a haunting reminder of what could have been, nagging at her heart like a persistent itch.

As the night wore on, the music thumping around her seemed to amplify the mixed feelings flooding through her veins—joy for your happiness mingled with regret for abandoned dreams, longing for the connection they once shared, and an undeniable ache that settled deep within her chest. Was this life of stardom truly worth the heartache and longing? She wrestled with that question as her mind spiraled between the vibrant images of what you had and the person you were now becoming without her presence.

Within the mass of dancers and flashing lights, nostalgia crashed over Jiheon like waves, drowning her in an undeniable truth: sometimes, the glitz and glam of fame pale in comparison to the warmth and richness of love. Her eyes locked onto you from across the room, a smile gracing your lips as you exchanged a casual laugh with a girl from earlier. It made her chest constrict with an unfamiliar ache, the pulse of the music no longer in sync with her own racing heartbeat.

She thumbed her phone, where the image she had taken earlier burned in her gallery. A snapshot of you and that girl, smiling, close enough that it could easily stir rumors. Jiheon knew the chaos such a photo could spark in your carefully curated idol world. A flicker of unease mingled with something darker as she stared at it, the thought of you drifting even an inch further away igniting an unsettling possessiveness inside her.

As the beat thumped, matching the thrum of blood in her ears, something began to click in her mind. Maybe it was the drinks, the warmth of the alcohol unlocking a part of her she hadn’t known existed—one that thrived on the possessive edge coursing through her. The distance she had imposed between the two of you, the careful walls and silences, now felt like chains she’d fastened herself into. The room around her blurred—dancers, lights, and music melding into a shifting, indistinct haze.

A slow smile spread across her lips, soft yet shadowed with an intensity that felt foreign, thrilling. That ever-lingering question looped in her head: Could it truly be too late to find your way back to each other?

The answer, she decided, was simple. No. It wouldn’t be, not if she had anything to do with it.

-----

The next day dawned bright and deceptively warm, sunlight streaming through Jiheon’s bedroom window like a foreboding harbinger of a day meant for clarity. Yet as she sat cross-legged on her bed, chaos swirled within her like a gathering storm. In her hands lay a photo that had the power to irrevocably change everything.

Sobering up, Jiheon’s heart raced as she wrestled with her choice. The image represented a moment of vulnerability—one that, if leaked, could shatter your carefully curated image in the idol world. The thought sent chills coursing through her veins; yet desperation gnawed at her, urging her to take an action that felt both reckless and necessary. She felt ludicrous, turning her cherished memories into a weapon, but her heart battled fiercely with her desperation.

With trembling fingers hovering hesitantly over her phone, Jiheon finally composed a chilling ultimatum: “Meet me at this hotel room tonight, or I’ll leak this photo. I know how much you value your reputation. Don't make me do this.”

As soon as she hit send, a heavy silence enveloped her space. Anxiety pooled in her stomach, and she felt the weight of her decision pressing down on her like an unbearable load. There was no turning back now. She was fully aware that this power play could lead to a scandal that would reverberate through every corner of the entertainment industry. Yet, blinded by emotion, she oscillated between anger and longing—a desperate desire for you to confront the tumultuous feelings they had both been suppressing for far too long.

The moments following were excruciating. Jiheon paced around the small hotel room, her mind racing with questions and regrets. What if you didn’t come? What if you did, but the encounter spiraled out of control? The sound of her own heartbeat thudded in her ears, amplifying the suffocating tension. She glanced at the glowing screen of her phone, waiting for the telltale sign of a response. The room felt colder, the stillness more suffocating than she had anticipated.

-----

Outside Jiheon’s hotel door, you stood in a genuine emotional whirlwind. Underneath the cacophony of your racing heartbeat was an undercurrent of dread. The chilly evening air did nothing to quell the unease gnawing at you. You stood there, grappling with thoughts of what you might find inside. The idol world was merciless, filled with the sharp teeth of scrutiny and public judgment, where one misstep could lead to downfall.

Every fiber in your being urged you to turn and walk away, to deny the pull that had dragged you to this place. Yet, deep down, you knew that this encounter was inevitable—an ending and a beginning all at once. Taking a deep breath, you raised your fist, but paused for a heartbeat, listening to the silence on the other side.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, you knocked on the door, your knuckles barely making contact before it swung open. Jiheon stood there dressed in an oversized sweatshirt that nonchalantly hung off her shoulder, emanating an allure that contradictorily disarmed you even as your heart raced with apprehension. Her casual smirk felt like a mask she wore to hide her true intentions.

“Hey, you made it! Come on in,” she chirped, her voice bubbling with false cheer as she stepped aside to let you enter. The moment you crossed the threshold, a palpable shift in the air hit you. The hotel room was more spacious than you expected, yet it felt stifling. Soft yellow lighting from the bedside lamps cast warm pools that clashed with the cold tension that hovered between you. The room was immaculately tidy, with crisp white sheets tucked tightly over the bed and modern, minimalist décor—a sterile contrast to the storm of emotions brewing in the space.

Jiheon closed the door behind you, and the sound of the lock clicking into place seemed to echo louder than it should, sending a shiver down your spine. The brightness in her eyes dimmed, replaced by an expression heavy with tension. “Thanks for coming. I know this is... unusual,” she said, each word carefully measured, her posture rigid as if bracing for impact. The energy of the room was suffocating, thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

You took a tentative step forward, eyes darting around for some kind of anchor. A plush armchair sat near the window, where the faint glow of the city bled through gauzy curtains. The muted hum of traffic below seemed worlds away, unable to penetrate the thick atmosphere pressing against your chest. Your gaze settled back on Jiheon, who stood by the door, arms folded, her face a blend of vulnerability and defiance.

“About that picture,” she began, the words slicing through the silence and drawing your attention like a blade. You swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in your throat. “Where did you even get it?” The question came out sharper than intended, but you couldn’t mask the desperation behind it.

“Does it matter?” Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she shifted her weight, crossing one ankle over the other as if to project nonchalance. The effect was betrayed by the subtle tension in her jaw. “What matters is that it could ruin everything for you.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her tone unyielding. The polished veneer of the hotel room seemed to close in, amplifying every strained breath. “Your fans will go crazy, their precious, innocent maknae getting it on with a random girl in a club. Don’t even get me started with your label... we both know about your dating ban.” Her voice dropped, and she looked away momentarily, exhaling as if trying to push her doubts aside. “I don’t want all that drama. So here’s the deal.”

A wave of dread washed over you, pooling in your stomach like ice water. “What do you mean, ‘the deal’?” The question was barely more than a whisper, the fear in your voice betraying the bravado you were trying to muster. The room’s silence pressed against your ears, making the faint tick of the wall clock almost deafening.

Jiheon took a step closer, closing the already minimal space between you. The subtle scent of her perfume—a blend of jasmine and something uniquely her—suffused the air, adding to the disorientation. Her eyes glimmered with a mix of determination and something else, something unreadable that made your pulse race. “I’ll delete the photo, but in return, I want… something from you.”

The implication in her words hung between you like a storm cloud. “What are you saying?” you asked, the room’s oppressive heat making it hard to breathe. The Jiheon you knew was warm and disarming, a friend who had stood by you through countless late-night chats and shared secrets. This Jiheon, with her calculating eyes and steady stance, felt foreign.

“Come on, don’t act so surprised,” she said, a smile ghosting her lips without warmth. “The way this industry works, sometimes you have to play the game.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Besides, it’ll be fun. Just one night, and then I’ll make sure the photo disappears forever. No one has to know.”

You felt the room spin, the reality of her words slamming into you with suffocating force. Your eyes flickered to the unmade bed, the impersonal art on the walls, the sterile cleanliness that seemed to mock the chaos between you. The thought of your career unraveling, of headlines splashed across tabloids and the faces of your fans twisted in disappointment, made your hands clench into fists.

“What if I don’t agree?” you managed to say, the words brittle and sharp.

Jiheon leaned back against the corner of the desk, crossing her arms in a gesture that was more defensive than she intended. The gleam in her eyes turned cold. “Then I guess my fingers might just slip, and that photo finds its way to the wrong places. She tilted her head slightly, the edge of her voice softening. “But hey, it’s your choice.”

The quiet that followed was heavy, the dim light casting harsh shadows that stretched across the room like prison bars. Your chest tightened, each breath shallow as the gravity of her ultimatum pulled you deeper into an inescapable spiral.

“Fine. Just... let’s get this over with,” you said, your voice hollow as the words left your mouth. Jiheon’s smile grew, though it was tinged with something bittersweet, her eyes flickering with fleeting uncertainty before hardening into resolve.

“Great! You won’t regret it, I promise,” she replied, her voice silkier now, wrapping around you like a lie.

You couldn't shake the feeling of disgust and anger that bubbled within you. You couldn't believe that you had been manipulated in such a way, that you had allowed yourself to be coerced into something that you knew was wrong.

Jiheon finally took the matter into her own hands. She decided that it was time to get back what was rightfully hers.

You and your ex found yourselves in a dance of passion that was fraught with tension, each movement calculated and deliberate. As you undressed one another, the fabric that fell away seemed to peel back layers of your shared history, revealing a complex tapestry of emotions.

With a sudden burst of energy, Jiheon leapt onto the bed, her vibrance illuminating the otherwise somber space. Her eyes, alight with a mischievous hunger, locked onto yours, and your heart responded with a rapid staccato that matched the intensity of her gaze. It was a shift in dynamics that was both exhilarating and alarming.

"I want you to make me cum," she asserts, her voice a blend of command and seduction that sends shivers down your spine. The weight of her demand hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the power she holds. "If you don't, the photo gets leaked." The threat is clear, and the stakes are high. It’s a game of pleasure and power, and you are unwittingly cast as a key player.

Jiheon's need for sexual fulfillment was palpable, a hunger that had been growing during your time apart. She was determined to reclaim the intimacy and release that she felt had been unjustly withheld. In her eyes, you possessed the skills necessary to satisfy her, and she was resolved to extract every ounce of pleasure she felt she deserved.

Caught in this web of desire and coercion, you face a dilemma that twists your stomach with apprehension. Your career, your reputation, everything you have worked for, hinges on your performance in this delicate situation. With a fortifying breath, you harden your resolve and prepare to meet the challenge head-on.

Your approach is steady, a predator stalking its prey with a singular focus. Jiheon lies before you, her finger crooking in a silent command for you to advance. Her legs part, an invitation—or is it a trap?—that you cannot ignore. You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself at the apex of her desire.

With a grip born of determination and a hint of aggression, you lifted her legs, draping them over your shoulders. Her gasp was a fleeting concern, quickly overshadowed by the task at hand. Your sole objective was to deliver the ecstasy Jiheon so fervently demanded.

You commenced with a series of slaps, your length striking against her most sensitive flesh, eliciting visceral and raw reactions. Then, with a thrust fueled by gravity and desperation, you plunged into her depths. Her body's undulations were unmistakable signs of pleasure, confirming that you were indeed striking the right chords within her.

Each stroke is met with increasing wetness, her arousal a slick testament to the intensity of your union. You drive deeper, using your natural lubrication to facilitate a rhythm that is both forceful and fluid. Your bodies move in, a dance as old as time, yet under these circumstances, it feels like uncharted territory.

Sweat began to drip as you continued to thrust with speed. The heat radiating from the former couple was intoxicating. Your body moved in perfect rhythm with hers. They would meet each other halfway just like it did during your time together. She moaned and writhed beneath you, her body tensing up as she got closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum, kiss me," Jiheon demanded, her tone leaving little to no room for argument. With no choice, you leaned down and gave her a kiss, a kiss full of regret and hesitance. But Jiheon wasn't having it. She forced her way into your mouth and twirled her tongue around yours, asserting her dominance in this intimate moment.

Finally, just as she asked for, she couldn't take it any longer. She cried out in pleasure as she reached her climax, "YES, FUCK ME HARDER, HARDER" her body shaking and shuddering. You could feel every single one of her muscles clenching and contracting around your cock as you kept pounding out of frustration. But you knew from the way she quivered and screamed that you had done enough to save your career.

As she tried to come down from her high, Jiheon found herself becoming more and more aroused again, as her ex was relentless with his movement. The touch was confident and skilled, and she felt herself getting closer and closer to another release, and she could feel you too as your cock would twitch and pulse inside her.

Jiheon’s eyes sparkled with mischief, she had been anticipating this moment. She could see the tension building in your body, and she knew that you were on the brink of release. She planned her next move, determined to make this encounter one that you would never forget.

In a swift and calculated motion, Jiheon locked her legs around your waist in a vice-like grip, effectively trapping you in place. She could feel the surprise and confusion radiating coming from her hex, but she didn't give you a chance to react. With a sultry smile curling at the corners of her lips, she uttered her threat with a seductive purr.

"If you so much as think about pulling out now, I'll make good on my promise to leak that photo of you to the entire world," her voice dripping with confidence and determination.

You stared at her in disbelief, mind racing as you tried to come up with a way to escape. But Jiheon was prepared for this. She tightened her legs around your waist pulling you closer and making it clear that she was not going to let go.

"I mean it," her voice stern and unyielding. "You'd better finish what you started, or else I'll have no choice but to make good on my threat."

The gravity of her words hung heavy in the air. Jiheon's tone was firm, unyielding, and laced with a hint of warning that made it abundantly clear that she was dead serious about following through on her threat.

"You need to give me everything you've got," she continued, her voice taking on a softer, more sensual tone. "I want every single pump of your cum filling me up completely. Only then will I be satisfied."

Her demands were both bold and brazen, an assertion of her own desires and a challenge to meet her needs. Jiheon's words, coupled with the feeling of her legs still wrapped tightly around you, left little room for doubt - she intended to see this through to the end, and she expected you to do the same.

Your heart raced as you felt trapped and powerless in Jiheon's grasp. You knew she was not bluffing about the situation, but also knew she was capable of causing a scene and ruining your reputation. With no other choice, you accepted you fate and continued your assault.

Jiheon's smile grew wider as she felt you surrender. She wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you closer, relishing in the control she had.

"Jiheon… Please." The phrase was so simple, just two words, but the desperation in your voice made it hard to tell if you were pleading for mercy or on the verge of surrendering.

Nearing your climax, you attempted a hasty and sneaky quick pull-out maneuver, hoping to avoid the finality of the act. But Jiheon's strong and toned dancer's legs, honed through years of training and performance, refused to let him escape. She kept your hips firmly and deeply inside her, ensuring that you spilled every last drop.

Jiheon, nearing her release as well, used her legs to help you pump inside her.

"Ugh, Jiheon, don’t," you groaned, running your fingers through your hair as you felt the familiar sensation building inside of you "Shit, I can't hold it in any longer." Your tone was a mixture of anger and defeat, body becoming weak and you shuddered as you reached you climax.

"No!" Your voice cracked in desperation, your body trembling as you tried to hold back, but Jiheon’s grip was relentless. "Yes!" she moaned, her voice full of satisfaction, pumping into you harder, forcing your body deeper as your resolve shattered. Your hips bucked involuntarily, cock twitching as you spilled inside her, pulse after pulse, completely filling her up. Your pleas were drowned out by her triumphant cries, their bodies locked together as the heat of his release poured into her, unstoppable despite his struggle.

Jiheon’s smile, once warm and inviting, twisted into a smug, satisfied smirk. She had won, achieving exactly what she wanted. You were weak, utterly spent and defeated, your body betraying you as she basked in the triumph of your surrender, her victory undeniable in the heat of your aftermath.

Exhausted from the exertion and overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience, you collapsed against Jiheon, your body going limp as you surrendered completely. Every muscle felt drained, leaving you helpless and vulnerable in her embrace. Jiheon’s fingers wove through your damp hair, but her touch wasn’t comforting—it was possessive, a reminder that you were now hers. She leaned closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction and control.

"Good boy," she murmured, the words laced with a dark promise. It wasn’t just praise; it was a claim, a subtle warning that you were under her dominance now, and there would be no escape.

Jiheon's arms encircle you with an intensity that feels like a claim, a branding of ownership that sends shivers down your spine. Her heartbeat, a steady rhythm against your own, seems to mock the chaos that is unfolding within you. This is not the tender embrace you had imagined in your dreams; it is the firm grasp of someone who has orchestrated this scenario to perfection.

Jiheon's voice broke the silence, her words slicing through your confusion with surgical precision. "We're dating now," she stated, her tone deceptively casual, yet it carried the weight of an irrevocable decree. There was no hint of doubt in her declaration, no invitation for debate. Your heart, already pounding from the shock of the situation, stuttered at her announcement. Dating? The word echoed in your head, a concept that you had never consented to, a path you had never agreed to walk with her.

Panic flutters in your chest, its wings beating frantically against the cage of Jiheon’s possessiveness. You had never anticipated that your ex, with her playful banter and shared secrets, could morph into something so controlling, so suffocating. Before you could gather your thoughts to protest, Jiheon’s embrace tightens, a silent message that resistance is futile. Her body presses against yours, not with the gentle warmth of a lover, but with the unyielding force of a conqueror.

You lay there, trapped in the ironclad embrace of someone you no longer recognized. Jiheon’s triumphant smile, etched with victory, watched the realization dawn on your face. There was no escape, no chance to rewind and undo the twisted knot that your relationship had become. Her eyes, once windows to a kindred spirit, now held a glint of domination that chilled you to the core.

Jiheon shifted slightly, still catching her breath, and you barely registered the subtle movement as she reached over to the nightstand. You felt her stir, saw the glint of her phone as she grabbed it, but it wasn’t until she gave you a mischievous grin that your heart lurched in your chest. Without hesitation, Jiheon spread her legs, revealing the undeniable evidence of your intimacy still glistening between her thighs. Your pulse quickened as she angled the phone, snapping a selfie that captured both of you, making it appear as though you were the one who had taken the photo.

To add to the cruelty, Jiheon crafted a look of mock terror on her face, making it seem as though you had forced her into the act. Her expression was so convincing that it sent a wave of dread crashing over you. Your stomach twisted as you watched her approve the photo, her smirk growing darker by the second.

A surge of panic hit you, and you lunged forward, trying to grab the phone from her hand. "Hey, give that back!" you demanded, your voice trembling with fear.

But Jiheon easily pulled the phone out of reach, a low, sinister laugh escaping her lips. "Oh no, baby," she purred, her eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "I’m keeping this. You know… as insurance."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "Insurance? What do you mean?" you asked, dread sinking deeper into your bones.

Jiheon sat up slightly, her gaze hardening as she stared directly into your eyes. "If you ever, and I mean ever, break up or even just think about leaving me," she said slowly, her voice cold and deliberate, "I’ll leak this photo." She said with a smug tone, "I’ll release a statement about how you forced yourself on me, how you got me drunk and manipulated me. I’ll make sure you will never have a job again. You might even end up in jail." She tilted her head, her smile growing more twisted.

Your blood ran cold as her words settled in. Your mind raced, but there was nothing you could do. "You… you can’t be serious," you stammered, fear choking your voice. "You wouldn’t really—"

"Try me," Jiheon interrupted, her tone now deadly serious. Her gaze never wavered, her smile fading into something darker, more threatening. "I’m not afraid to ruin you; you’re mine to ruin." Then, just as quickly, her expression softened, her voice taking on a sickly sweet tone as she tilted her head, mimicking a look of innocence. "But we don’t have to worry about that, right, baby?"

Her innocent eyes contrasted with the threat she had just laid out, and you felt trapped, suffocated by the power she held over you. You swallowed hard, knowing you had no choice. "No…" you whispered, defeated. "No, we don’t."

"Good," Jiheon cooed, setting her phone back down on the nightstand with a satisfied smile. She nestled herself against you, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist. The weight of her body against yours didn’t feel comforting—it felt like a cage. "I’m glad we understand each other. Now, cuddle me."

Your chest tightened, the suffocating realization settling in. She had complete control, and there was nothing you could do to stop her. Reluctantly, you wrapped your arms around her, feeling the cold grip of your new reality sinking in. Jiheon’s contented hum filled the room, her satisfaction palpable.

Her voice was suddenly sweet and light, almost dreamy, as she uttered the words, "I love you." The sentiment was delivered with a softness and affection that could disarm even the most guarded heart, reminiscent of a confession from a school girl completely in love. Her eyes sparkled with an innocence that was both endearing and convincing. The grin that adorned her face was the epitome of purity, creating an illusion of a genuine moment of affection that seemed to bridge two souls in perfect harmony.

But as the recipient of this sudden outpouring of emotion, you found yourself momentarily paralyzed, unable to respond right away. The silence that followed was deafening, and in that brief interlude, the atmosphere shifted. The sweet, lovestruck girl before you vanished, replaced by someone whose intentions were far more malevolent.

In an abrupt and terrifying transformation, Jiheon's smile disappeared, and her eyes, once filled with warmth, now glinted with a sinister edge. With a swift and unexpected move, she used one hand to grab your cheeks, her thumb pressing firmly against one side of your face while her fingers dug into your skin on the other. She pulled your face toward hers, the grip both demanding and unyielding. "Say it," she hissed, her voice no longer soft but sharp and commanding. The sudden change in her demeanor left you bewildered, your mind racing to catch up with the rapidly deteriorating situation.

"Say what?" you managed to ask, your voice betraying the fear that was beginning to take hold. Her response was chilling, her fingers tightening around your waist, nails piercing your skin ever so slightly. "Say that you love me," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Her warm, affectionate facade had crumbled, revealing a person you barely recognized—someone who was willing to go to terrifying lengths to make you submit. A shiver of fear shot through you, mingling with disbelief, yet your mind struggled to process this abrupt shift. You tried to gather your words, stammering as you attempted to defuse the tension, to understand this dangerous new dynamic without provoking her further. But the silence that stretched between you seemed to amplify her anticipation, her eyes never wavering from yours, watching every twitch, every flicker of hesitation.

Then, with a swift and brutal decisiveness, Jiheon’s expression hardened. Her features contorted with impatience and a dark, twisted determination that sent another wave of panic surging through you. Before you could react, her other hand shot down and clamped around you, gripping your flaccid sensitive member with a force that made you gasp in pain, your body reflexively tensing under the unexpected pressure. The pain was sharp, searing, and impossible to ignore, cutting through your paralysis and grounding you in the raw, terrifying reality of the situation.

"Say it!" she hissed, her voice laced with venom, a brutal command that left no room for resistance. Her eyes bore into yours, ablaze with a fervent intensity that was both horrifying and unrecognizable—a look of possession, of absolute control, that left you feeling exposed and powerless. This wasn’t the Jiheon you knew; this was someone consumed by a desperate, obsessive need, someone who would not tolerate defiance.

Her grip tightened further, making you wince as a jolt of agony shot through you, stealing your breath. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, strangled by fear and confusion. Her nails dug into your skin, the slight prickling sensation a reminder that her affection had twisted into something far darker, far more dangerous than you’d ever anticipated.

"Say it," she repeated, her voice lowering to a near-growl, each syllable carrying an unspoken threat. The intensity in her gaze held you captive, her fingers pressing with a deliberate cruelty that sent a tremor through your body. She was relentless, her patience long spent, and the chilling certainty hit you—she wasn’t going to stop until you gave her exactly what she wanted.

"I... I love you," you stammered, the words dragged from you by fear and desperation. The moment they left your lips, her demeanor shifted again. Her grip released, and she softened, a satisfied smile curling at the edges of her mouth. She brushed her hand gently over your cheek as if in some twisted form of affection, her fingers trailing down your skin in a mockingly gentle touch.

"There we go," she murmured, her voice slipping back into that feigned tenderness. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?" She nestled closer, fitting her body seamlessly against yours as though nothing had happened. Her arms slid around you, draping over you in a way that felt suffocating rather than comforting. She hummed softly, her head resting on your shoulder, her breath warm against your neck.

You lay there, rigid, as the reality of your situation settled in. Her embrace, though gentle, felt like a cage tightening around you, each moment drawing you further into her control. Her fingers started to trace slow, lazy circles on your arm, an almost tender gesture that only added to the disquiet churning within you. Every brush of her fingers felt like a reminder that you were trapped, ensnared in her twisted idea of love.

Jiheon lifted her head and gazed at you with wide, adoring eyes, her expression teetering on the edge of mania, her gaze brimming with an unsettling, almost feverish devotion. Her arms tightened around you, the grip bruising as if she were afraid you'd slip through her fingers if she didn’t hold on tight enough. Without warning, she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that was fierce and smothering, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. Her mouth moved over yours with a hunger that bordered on obsession, each kiss deeper, more desperate, as though she needed to consume you entirely to feel complete.

When she finally pulled away, her lips didn’t stop—they traveled over your cheek, planting fervent kisses that turned into nips, her teeth grazing your skin in playful bites that grew sharper, more possessive with each one. Her mouth found your neck, where her kisses became relentless, almost frantic, punctuated by gentle, teasing bites that left faint stings in their wake. Each kiss, each bite felt like a claim, a brand, marking you as her own with every touch.

Between her fervent kisses, her breath brushed hot against your skin as she murmured in a soft, almost reverent tone, “You’re mine now.” Her voice dripped with a disturbing sweetness, a tenderness warped by the intensity of her obsession. “We belong together… forever.” Her lips found the curve of your shoulder, where she sank her teeth in, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to send a jolt of sensation through you, a reminder of her dominance. Her arms locked around you, pulling you impossibly closer, her embrace as unyielding as steel.

“No one else understands,” she whispered, her tone almost soothing, though her grip was anything but gentle. Her fingers traced up your spine, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched, her nails digging in just enough to leave faint imprints on your skin. “No one else could love you like I do,” she cooed, her voice lilting with an affection that sounded both sweet and sinister. “We’re perfect together, you know that, don’t you?”

She tilted her head, looking at you with that same unrelenting gaze, her fingers running through your hair, tugging gently before pressing another kiss to your jaw, her teeth grazing your skin in another possessive bite. Each touch, each whispered word held an unbreakable claim, binding you to her in a love that had long since spiraled into obsession.

You didn’t respond, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was lost in her own world, one where your silence was simply acceptance, where her love—twisted and possessive as it was—was something you reciprocated. Her fingers tangled in your hair, stroking and twirling, while her lips pressed over your skin again and again, each kiss carrying a desperation that unnerved you.

To her, this was the culmination of a perfect romance, the moment she’d always dreamed of. Her eyes glistened with a feverish joy as she whispered, "You and me… forever." She buried her face in the crook of your neck, her arms squeezing tighter, her body practically molding against yours. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, as though her happiness was so overwhelming that even air couldn’t fully reach her.

You lay there, stiff and helpless, your heart pounding as she continued her endless string of kisses and whispered confessions. She was clinging to you as if you were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality—yet it was clear her reality was a world built entirely on her delusions. She seemed blissfully unaware of your discomfort, every soft word, every fervent kiss drawing you deeper into her twisted world.

As her grip tightened, you knew with a chilling certainty that Jiheon wouldn’t let you go. In her mind, you were bound together, trapped forever in her obsessive love, with no hope of escape.

[moonstruckme]

i seen your post asking for thawing out ideas/requests and i love it so far you’re an amazing writer!! it’s only 2 parts and i’m obsessed haha – maybe reader or sirius falls or something on the ice (nothing serious ofc!) and remus panics a little as a way of thawing the tension between siri and rem? either sirius realizing remus cares about the reader and starting to trust him more or remus realizing he really cares about what happens to sirius/their duo!!

Thank you for your request gorgeous!!

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, brief and lightly implied past abuse

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2k words

You’re only a few days out from flying to the Olympics when Sirius doesn’t show up to walk you to practice. You call him and wait around with Remus for a while, but eventually you decide to get in whatever training you can without him. It’s far from unheard of for Sirius to sleep through his alarm. 

Remus seems grateful for the extra time with you. He’s been laying it on a little thick since you’d reacted so drastically to his unintentional Peter-ism, praising you for everything from how you stretch to the simplest of jumps, and any criticisms are softened into measly recommendations. You’ve done your best to let him know that you’re not upset with him (you never were, honestly, how could he have known the effect those precise words would have on you?), and now things seem to be more or less normal between the two of you. 

You like Remus more by the day. When he’d first come to coach you and Sirius, you’d been happy to see him, but only because of what he represented. A fresh start, a guiding hand, the possibility of his greatness transmitting to your duo and making you better than you’d ever been. And all of those things have proven true, but as you’ve worked together and learned from each other you’ve grown to appreciate your miracle coach as a man, too. 

Remus is kind. He’s smart, and discerning, but he doesn’t boast about it, and he’s patient with you and Sirius when you can’t always keep up with his reasoning. He’s patient in general, though you know neither of you have made it easy for him and you’ve often wondered if you deserve it. He has a serious manner, but sometimes when you’re joking around with Sirius you’ll see him smiling, tongue pressing into his cheek like he’s trying to repress it. You can tell that, despite years in front of cameras and a well-earned self-assuredness, he’s shy about certain things. Like Sirius, he doesn’t always like to have his kindnesses acknowledged. But there’s a warmth about Remus. Not bright and dazzling, but a soft, steady warmth, like the flicker of a candle or the glow of the moon. 

You can see it now, the faint gleam of approval and something else in his eyes as you land your final jump in the routine on a solid ankle. His lips tilt up as though the accomplishment were his own. 

“That was lovely,” he says as you skate over for feedback. “Really, really good.” 

You beam at him, the praise lighting something in your chest. “But…”

Remus shakes his head. “No buts. I think you’ve got your part of the routine down completely.”

It’s impossible to contain your elation. You want to hug him and so you do, the toes of your skates pressed against the edge of the rink and your arms wound up around his shoulders. 

Remus seems surprised for a moment, but eventually his arms come around you too. Gentle, tentative. You don’t mind; you squeeze him extra hard to make up for it. 

“Now all we need is for Sirius to get the spiral,” Remus says. 

You laugh, your good mood unshakeable. You know Remus has questioned the wisdom of his decision to add the death spiral into your routine over the last few days. After several practices on and off the ice, you’ve made no progress on getting even an inch lower than you were, which isn’t enough to gain full points in competition. You know by now that it’s not because Sirius isn’t strong enough to crouch further down, or that he has his skates in the wrong position. He just won’t do it. It’s frustrating, but there’s nothing left for you or Remus to do. It’s like you under-rotating your jumps when you’d first started practicing; it’s a mental block, something he has to get past on his own.

“He’ll figure it out,” you tell Remus certainly. “Sirius does well under pressure. You’d be surprised what he can pull out at the last minute.” 

And speak of the devil. The door to the rink bangs shut, announcing Sirius’ entrance. He looks about as happy as he always does to be up before sunrise, worse because he’s clearly rushed out of bed to get here. His sweatshirt is on backwards and there’s a pillow crease on his cheek. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, slumping down onto the bench to put his skates on. 

“It’s okay.” You comb your fingers through his sleep-fluffed hair, moving some of the larger pieces away from his face. The look Remus is giving him borders upon fond. “As it turns out, I do much better when you’re not here.” 

“Always knew you would.” He brushes your hand away, using the hair tie on his wrist to pull his hair back into its usual haphazard bun. And as usual, you have to make a concerted effort not to watch how his biceps flex with the motion. 

“Let’s have you do a shortened warm-up today,” says Remus. “Ten minutes, alright?”

“No, I’m good.” Sirius stands, stretching his arms behind his back as he walks towards the ice. “We’ve missed enough time today, let’s get to it.” 

Remus frowns but doesn’t argue, and you know better than to try either. Sirius doesn’t seem grumpy, per se, but he’s never in his best mood when he first wakes up and he’s stubborn at the best of times. 

However half-asleep he may seem, Sirius is still resplendent on the ice. He skates with a lazy grace, the illusion breaking only when he has to tighten his form for jumps and turns. He never wobbles, never falters, every movement as easy and sure as if he’d been born with blades on his feet. 

The death spiral goes the same as it has been. Sirius makes it look like that’s the way it was always meant to be performed, but no matter his bravado any judge will know the difference. Still, you get your practice in with the general movement, and then he’s throwing you into your next spin, then jump after spin, spin after jump, the routine crescendoing in music, pacing, and difficulty. The world whirls around you, Sirius’ hand a home base that you grasp and let go of only to find again, the sounds of your skates on the ice their own rhythm conducted by muscle memory, complex and quickening and so consuming you almost wouldn’t notice Sirius’ had stopped if he didn’t cry out. 

You stop, breathless. Sirius is on his side. He’s no stranger to pain, but he doesn’t like it any more than the next person, and it’s all twisted up in his face now. 

It takes you a beat to move. When you do Remus is already coming out onto the ice, the rubber soles of his shoes slipping until he goes down on his knees to slide the rest of the way to Sirius. 

“What is it?” you ask, though you think you know, your friend’s body curving and hands reaching for his skate. 

Sirius’ breaths are short and pained. “My ankle.” 

“Let me see.” Remus’ fingers are deft and sure as he undoes Sirius’ laces. Your own hand quivers slightly as Sirius sits up and you set it on his shoulder, hoping to anchor him even if you don’t feel very anchored yourself. He inhales sharply as the skate comes off. Remus shushes him, gentle fingers circling his ankle. “Shh, love, you’re alright.” 

“Does it feel broken?” you worry. 

Sirius is watching Remus prod at his ankle with a bemused sort of caution. “No,” he says. “I think maybe just twisted.”

“It could be a sprain,” Remus says. He’s rolled down the top of Sirius’ sock and is turning his ankle over carefully in his grasp. “Bruising might show up later.” 

“It’s fine.” Sirius sits up further, but when Remus doesn’t let go of his ankle he doesn’t pull away. “I just need to stretch it out and it’ll be good.” 

Remus’ eyes flicker up to his, and you see the kind sternness in them. “Whether it’s sprained or not, you can’t just skate it off. We’re done for today. Probably for tomorrow, too.” 

“Don’t be daft.” Sirius reaches for his skate. Remus moves it away. “We don’t have time for me to take a sabbatical.”

“Sirius,” you say, “practicing more won’t mean anything if you can’t compete.” 

Remus nods his agreement. “We’re not risking you injuring yourself no matter how close to comp we are,” he says. “We’re not.” He stands with Sirius’ skate in hand. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“I’m confiscating this,” Remus holds up Sirius’ skate, and you press your lips together to hide a smile, “until you’re cleared to skate again.” 

Sirius is appalled. “But—but it’s mine!” 

“Oh, don’t be a child, Pads.” 

Now you can’t suppress your snicker. Sirius lets out a shocked huff, elbowing you in the ribs. You can see the corner of his mouth twitching unwillingly. 

“Hey.” You pinch the back of his arm in retribution. “Do you want my help getting off the ice or not?” 

You end up finding ice for Sirius in the staff break room and sitting with him for a while as you hold it to his ankle. Remus stays, too, the three of you chatting about banal things that you enjoy immensely nonetheless. The car Sirius had nearly walked right out in front of in his rush to get here this morning, Remus’ mother and how she loves to bang around the house as soon as the sun is up, the new syrup flavor you’ve discovered at the coffee shop. Every sliver of information you can get about Remus feels precious, and though you sometimes feel like you know Sirius inside and out you never tire of hearing his stories either. He has such a fun, vibrant way of telling them, all big gestures and dramatic words, whereas Remus seems almost tentative when he talks about his life, smiling when you laugh along as though it hadn’t occurred to him that humor could be shared. 

When the hockey team shows up Sirius only lets James fret over him for a minute before he’s dragging him and his messed up ankle out the door, forcing you to hurry after so you can act as his crutch. You walk Sirius home, where he vows to stay and rest, before heading back to your own apartment. 

It’s only once you’re alone that your mind, unbidden, begins turning over the way Sirius and Remus had looked at each other today. You’d been too worried about your friend to think of anything else at the time, but there had been a moment, between Remus’ gentle handling of his ankle and his soft, kind placations, where Sirius’ expression had faltered. Surprise, vulnerability, and something else. Something that rings of familiarity, and yet you can’t place. 

It’s clear to you that the dynamic between your partner and your coach has shifted. That while you’ve been feeling closer to Remus’, Sirius has too, and they’ve passed some boundary you missed along the way. Maybe the chemistry between them was always obvious. They’d fought, antagonized each other, but some people enjoy that, don’t they? Maybe you’ve been naive to think that you’ve been working to get them amicable, when really they’ve had this unspoken tension tethering them to each other all along. 

The idea of Sirius and Remus together feels…strange. But that’s probably only because it’s so new to you. Sirius is your best friend, and you’d thought you and Remus were getting close, so it’s odd to imagine the two of them interlocked in this other dynamic together, separate from you. You can see how it might happen. They’re both very attractive, both headstrong in their own ways, and you’ve seen how they can soften for one another when the circumstances call for it. You think they could take care of each other. And you can take care of them both, though in a different way. You can support them, make things easy between the three of you, be a good friend. Nothing has to change in your dynamic with either of them, even if theirs with each other has shifted. 

You could be alright with that, you think. You can be happy for them. You will be.

[manmuncher777]

UNDER THEIR WATCH

・❥・ Satoru Gojo x reader x Suguru Geto

・❥・ In which the reader gets assigned with the most obnoxious first years for a mission, tensions rise. And of course… theres only one bed.

・❥・ warnings! SMUT 18+ p in v, unprotected sex, spanking, pet names, threesome, oral f and m, mild facefucking, fingering.

・❥・A/N - Holy shit thank you guys so so much for 6k likes on one of my fics, im so amazed. So in thanks I decided to extend the idea. I am so greatful to all 750 of my beautiful followers. PLEASE LIKE, COMMET, AND REBLOG THIS FIC

ALSO MY REQUESTS ARE FUCKING OPEN, PLEASE SEND ME SUMMMMM ❤️

You’d always prided yourself on being unshakable, but Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru tested that resolve at every turn.

They were a pair of opposites that somehow operated in perfect harmony, balancing one another so seamlessly that it felt almost unnatural. Gojo, all sharp edges and searing brightness, was impossible to miss. He carried himself like the world existed for his amusement, his white hair and perpetually cocky grin making him stand out no matter the setting. His teasing was relentless, and he had a knack for getting under your skin with just a few words.

Then there was Geto. Where Gojo was loud and brash, Geto was calm and collected. He moved through the world with a quiet confidence that was almost more dangerous than Gojo’s in-your-face arrogance. His rich voice always seemed to carry just enough amusement to leave you second-guessing yourself, as if every interaction was a game he was playing and you were the unwitting opponent.

As a second-year at Jujutsu High, you were well aware of your reputation as the strongest in your year. It wasn’t something you flaunted, but it was a title you’d earned, and you wore it with quiet pride. That pride, however, took a hit whenever you found yourself in the presence of the school’s infamous third-year duo.

Satoru made a point of reminding you of your place whenever he could.

“Don’t feel bad, Shortstack,” he’d say, slinging an arm around your shoulders like you were old friends. The sheer size of him made you bristle, his tall frame utterly dwarfing yours. “Not everyone can be me”

You’d shove his arm off, scowling. “Thank God for that.”

Suguru, ever the smoother of tensions, would chuckle at the exchange, his deep voice somehow managing to be both warm and teasing. “She’s got a point, Satoru. The world can only handle one of you.”

Then he’d meet your gaze, his dark eyes crinkling with a smile that could almost be called kind if it weren’t for the faint glint of mischief in them. “But you have to admit, you’re lucky to have us around. We’re setting the bar for you, after all.”

They were infuriating. And yet, there was no denying the strange pull they had, not just on you, but on everyone around them. Satoru’s raw power and Suguru’s measured confidence made them a force to be reckoned with, and standing next to them often felt like being caught in the eye of a storm.

But you weren’t one to be overshadowed. You’d earned your place at Jujutsu High, and you weren’t about to let their larger-than-life presence make you doubt your own strength.

Still, as much as you hated to admit it, their friendship fascinated you. The way they moved in sync, their banter so effortless it was like they shared the same brain—it was a connection you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. And when they turned that attention on you, teasing and pushing and prodding, it was hard not to feel like a mouse caught between two very large cats.

Every interaction with them was a battle, and while you hated to lose, there was something about the way they pushed you, challenged you, that made you want to keep fighting.

You just wished they weren’t so damn tall. Towering over you like some kind of gods

You leaned against the doorframe of the small conference room, arms crossed as you surveyed the chaos inside. Gojo Satoru was sprawled out across a chair, his legs stretched impossibly far and his blindfold pushed up just enough for his piercing blue eyes to peek through. He was tossing a pen into the air and catching it lazily, his grin wide enough to reveal just how much he was enjoying Yaga’s barely-contained irritation.

Suguru Geto, on the other hand, sat beside him, deceptively poised as he tapped his fingers against the table. The small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed his role in their synchronized mischief.

Yaga sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you two pretend to act like professionals for five minutes?”

“I am being professional,” Gojo said, spinning his pen between his fingers with maddening ease. “You haven’t even told us the mission yet. I’m conserving energy.”

Suguru chuckled, tilting his head in mock consideration. “You can’t fault him for being efficient, Yaga-sensei.”

You bit back a snort, earning Suguru’s attention. He raised a brow, his gaze flicking to you with an amused gleam. “And here I thought you’d be the voice of reason.”

“Don’t lump me in with you two,” you shot back, stepping fully into the room. “I actually respect Yaga-sensei enough to listen.”

Gojo’s grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, balancing it precariously on two legs. “Respect, huh? Sounds like someone’s trying to score extra credit.”

“Or maybe,” Suguru mused, “she just wants us to think she’s better behaved than she really is.”

You rolled your eyes, but the slight warmth in your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed.

“Enough,” Yaga said, cutting through their teasing with a sharp tone. He motioned for you to sit, and you took the chair furthest from Gojo, only for Suguru to shift closer with a casual ease that made your pulse quicken.

“The three of you will be heading to Tokyo for this mission,” Yaga began, his voice all business now. “There have been reports of curse activity in multiple locations across the city. It’s unusual in both volume and concentration, which is why I’m sending the three of you together.”

“Tokyo, huh?” Gojo perked up, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs. “Sounds fun. Maybe we’ll grab some ramen while we’re there. You like ramen, don’t you, Shortstack?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Suguru chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he glanced at you. “She’s right, Satoru. We should be more respectful. After all, she is the strongest second year.”

The words were polite, but his tone was teasing, and the way his dark eyes lingered on you made you squirm.

“I can see why you two are best friends,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“Best friends?” Gojo repeated with mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “We’re more like soulmates.”

“Twin flames,” Suguru added dryly, earning a laugh from Gojo.

Yaga ignored their antics, handing out the mission details before delivering the news that made your stomach drop.

“You’ll be staying in Tokyo for at least three days,” he said, flipping through the file. “We’ve arranged accommodations for you at a nearby inn.”

The silence that followed was unnerving, especially coming from Gojo and Suguru. You narrowed your eyes, suspicious as the two exchanged a glance.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

Gojo’s grin returned, wider and sharper than before. “Oh, nothing’s wrong. It’s just—”

“We’re sharing a room,” Suguru finished, his voice calm but no less smug.

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“It’s standard for missions,” Yaga said, clearly unaware of the tension now thrumming through the room. “And with Tokyo’s prices, it’s the most practical option.”

“Practical,” you echoed weakly, your mind racing at the thought of spending three days—nights included—with the most infuriating duo at Jujutsu High.

“It’ll be fun,” Gojo said, leaning back again with that irritatingly easygoing grin. “Like a sleepover. You can braid our hair, Shortstack.”

Suguru chuckled, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Or we can braid yours.”

“Enough,” Yaga snapped, cutting off whatever retort you were about to make. “Focus on the mission. You leave first thing tomorrow.”

The meeting ended quickly after that, but the smirks on Gojo and Suguru’s faces lingered, following you out of the room like shadows.

“You nervous?” Gojo teased as you walked toward the dorms, his voice lilting with fake concern.

“Nervous you’ll snore,” you shot back.

Suguru hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Satoru. She seems more worried about us getting too close.”

You glared at him, ignoring the warmth in your cheeks. “I’m worried about my sanity.”

The two of them laughed, their voices blending in a way that made your chest tighten. This mission was going to be hell.

And yet, despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the faint flicker of excitement beneath your frustration.

The Tokyo streets were bustling with their usual chaotic energy, but as you and the boys walked through the dimly lit alley leading to the inn, a strange, almost suffocating quiet seemed to settle around the three of you. The mission had gone smoothly enough for the day—surveillance was tedious, but necessary, and you were all more than capable of handling it. Still, the weight of the day lingered, and the air was thick with something else now.

You were too aware of the proximity between you and the boys, even as you tried to focus on the mundane task of finding the inn. Gojo had, unsurprisingly, been goading you with teasing remarks about your “seriousness” during the mission. Suguru, ever the cool and composed one, had offered little more than a few knowing glances, his dark eyes always glinting with something that sent your pulse racing.

By the time you reached the inn, you were more than ready to retreat into the safety of your room—except for one small problem.

The front desk clerk had handed Suguru the key, and as he walked over to the room, you followed him with a feeling of dread creeping up your spine. You’d known something was off when you’d seen Gojo’s smug little grin, and now you couldn’t help but feel that you were walking right into some kind of trap.

Suguru unlocked the door with a casual flick of his wrist, pushing the door open to reveal the inside. You froze in the doorway, blinking at what you saw.

There, in the center of the room, was a single large bed—big enough for two, but a bed nonetheless.

You stared at it in disbelief. “There’s only one bed?”

Gojo, who had been hovering at your shoulder, grinned ear to ear. “One bed, huh? I guess we’ll just have to make do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched upward, his eyes never leaving your face as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, princess, we’re more than capable of sharing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not sleeping with you two.”

“Well, you’ll have to take the couch then,” Gojo said, his voice nonchalant as he shrugged out of his jacket. He was already taking the liberty of unbuckling his belt, clearly unbothered by the situation. “I mean, it's only fair. You’re the third wheel here, after all.”

You shot him a look, but your irritation only seemed to amuse him more. Suguru, ever the calculated one, just took a few steps into the room, his voice a low murmur.

“Is that what you really want, though?”

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze settling heavy on your skin. For a split second, you considered the thought—taking the couch, being left to your own space. But then you remembered the absurdity of the situation.

“Fine, you two share the bed,” you said, trying to maintain an air of calm that you definitely didn’t feel. “I’ll just make do.”

Gojo’s grin grew wider, and Suguru, still leaning against the doorframe, eyed you thoughtfully. His voice, now laced with something darker and more teasing, was just the right mix of sweet and dangerous.

“You sure you don’t want to be closer to us?” Suguru asked, his smile slow, deliberate. “You can always join us.”

You rolled your eyes, trying your hardest to ignore the blush creeping up your neck. “No thanks. I’m good.”

Gojo, of course, wasn’t about to let you get away that easily. “C’mon, don’t be shy. We won’t bite. Well, I won’t bite,” he added, giving Suguru a quick side-eye. “Suguru might.”

Suguru let out a soft chuckle, eyes twinkling in amusement as he slowly pulled the cover back on the bed, clearly making himself at home. You shot him a look of pure disbelief.

“Are you two seriously acting like this right now?”

Suguru ignored you, unbothered as ever, and Gojo wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying this. He flopped back on the bed, bouncing slightly before throwing one arm behind his head. “You know, if you wanted to snuggle up, all you had to do was ask.”

You refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked over to the couch, crossing your arms in the most nonchalant way you could manage—though, in truth, your heartbeat was racing in your chest.

Gojo’s voice carried over to you as you settled yourself uncomfortably on the couch. “You sure you’re okay out there, Shortstack? The couch isn’t the most comfortable place for someone like you.”

You smirked, resisting the urge to glance back at him. “I’ll be fine. Just make sure you don’t fall off the bed, ‘cause you’re the one who wanted to share.”

Suguru’s low chuckle rumbled from the bed. “And here I thought you were the one with no sense of humor. You’re not as stiff as you look, huh?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “This is the worst.”

Gojo’s grin, the same one that never quite seemed to fade, only grew. “Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be fun. We’ll all make it work. I mean, we’re gonna be stuck together for the next few days, might as well enjoy it, right?”

You shifted on the couch, still trying your best to ignore the way their voices seemed to surround you. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken things you couldn’t name. It wasn’t just the mission anymore. It was the way their teasing comments lingered, the way they towered over you, the way their presence filled every corner of the room.

You bit your lip, trying to fight off the flush creeping across your cheeks. They might be frustrating, but damn if they weren’t also impossible to ignore.

And that was exactly what made this situation the worst—and also, maybe, the most exciting.

The evening had fallen quickly over the city, painting the sky with hues of dark blue and orange. The tension from earlier in the room hadn’t fully dissipated, but it had been replaced by the warm exhaustion of the mission being over. You had stretched out on the couch, closing your eyes for just a moment—just long enough to take a breather, to let your mind wander.

But the moment you drifted into sleep, you were awoken by the unmistakable sound of Gojo’s voice.

"Princess, wake up," he said, a little too cheerfully. "We’ve got places to be."

You squinted against the blinding light that filled the room from the open window. There they were: both Gojo and Suguru standing in front of you, already dressed in their clothes, their presence too commanding for someone still recovering from a nap.

“What time is it?” you muttered, rubbing at your eyes. Your head felt a little too heavy, still clouded by the remnants of sleep.

“Time to stop napping and start living,” Gojo teased, walking over to you with an almost mischievous grin. “We’re going to hit a bar in Tokyo—mission’s done, and we still have time to kill before heading back. Come on, don’t leave us hanging.”

You groaned, still half-dazed. “A bar? I don’t even have any clothes to—"

“That’s the part we’ve got covered,” Suguru interrupted smoothly, holding up a bag that had been carefully placed beside the bed. He set it down in front of you. “We packed a little something for you.”

You stared at the bag, suspicion flooding your system as you hesitated. “You packed clothes for me?”

Gojo’s grin was wide and almost taunting. “Of course! How could we let our lovely second-year go out looking like she’s just woken up from a nap?”

Suguru, on the other hand, gave you that same quiet, knowing look, his lips curling ever so slightly. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll look great in whatever we chose.”

Your eyes narrowed, still unwilling to fully believe them. “You didn’t pack anything ridiculous, did you?”

“Oh, we did,” Gojo answered with a wink. “You’ll see.”

You looked from one boy to the other, your heart already racing for reasons you couldn’t quite place. But you were too tired to argue at this point—and besides, the prospect of a bar in Tokyo seemed to offer the perfect escape from the stress of the mission and the strange dynamics of your current situation.

“I’ll be quick,” you muttered, reluctantly standing up from the couch and walking over to the bag. You unzipped it slowly, not sure what to expect.

The idea of a night out with Gojo and Suguru was tempting, no doubt. But the prospect of navigating your... complicated relationship with the two boys while surrounded by Tokyo’s night-life made your stomach twist with nervous energy. You didn’t know why the idea of them watching you—teasing you—felt so different tonight. But the playful looks they exchanged earlier only made your pulse race a little faster, and now, here you were, left with a bag of clothes they so thoughtfully packed for you.

You hadn’t really expected much when you’d opened it, but you were definitely surprised by the black dress. It was simple but undeniably flattering, clinging to all the right places. It was a little out of your usual comfort zone, but the moment you slid it on, you couldn’t deny the effect it had on you. It fit like a glove, accentuating your curves, and as you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your breath hitched.

You hadn’t heard them at first—Gojo and Suguru were already dressed and ready, standing by the door, but the sound of their voices brought you back to the present.

"Princess, are you ready yet?" Gojo’s voice came from the other side of the door, playful, almost mocking. "We can’t leave without you. You’ve gotta hurry."

A faint blush crept up your neck at the sound of his teasing. You were still working on your makeup, your hand trembling slightly as you tried to concentrate on your eyeliner. You hadn’t realized how much their presence had affected you until now, and the attention you were already getting—just from their casual glances and playful comments—was enough to make your heart race.

You finished your makeup quickly, but as you adjusted your hair in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice the way Gojo and Suguru both leaned against the door frame, watching you. They weren’t hiding it—both of them were staring, their eyes gliding over you like they were savoring the moment.

And gods, they looked good.

Gojo’s dress shirt was a crisp white, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off the muscles in his forearms. His usual carefree grin tugged at the corner of his lips, his messy white hair falling perfectly around his face. He always looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine, effortlessly perfect. But tonight, he looked even better somehow. His scent—clean, fresh, with just a hint of something that made your stomach flutter—drifted over to you as he leaned closer.

Suguru was just as handsome, but his approach was different. His black shirt fit snugly over his chest, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders, his dark eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He didn’t have to speak to command attention; it was in the quiet way he held himself. And the way he smelled—earthy and warm, like a soft cologne mixed with the slight scent of tobacco—was enough to make you feel all sorts of things you weren’t sure how to name.

You swallowed hard, trying to regain some composure.

“Are you ready, Shortstack?” Gojo’s voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge to it. His eyes lingered a little longer than necessary, and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks once again.

You took a deep breath and turned to gather your things. But as you did, Gojo’s playful voice followed you. “Hurry up, or I might just have to carry you out of here.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. Look at you.”

Gojo smirked. “I told you, Suguru. She cleans up nice.”

You quickly tried to look away, but you could feel Suguru’s gaze settle on you. “You look stunning,” he murmured, his tone more serious than Gojo’s, but no less intense. “Definitely glad we packed that for you.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, but it was hard to stay mad when the air between the three of you was thick with something unspoken. Something that felt like it was just waiting to spill over. You grabbed your things, took one last look in the mirror, and stepped out to face the boys once again.

You gave them both a quick, self-conscious smile. “Thanks.” The word came out softer than you intended, but their constant attention was making it hard to focus on anything else.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your heart was hammering in your chest. “Alright, enough with the compliments. Let’s just get this over with.”

Suguru chuckled softly, that low sound sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s the spirit.”

They were both so close now, practically crowding you, and you couldn’t help but feel the way their presence loomed over you. They had always been bigger—taller, more imposing—but tonight, the tension was palpable, thick in the air.

You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the idea of getting out of this hotel room and into the bustling streets of Tokyo. But as you all stepped toward the door, Gojo’s hand brushed lightly against your back, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

Satoru glanced at you again, his lips curling into an almost imperceptible smile. “You look good enough to cause trouble.”

The way he said it, low and smooth, only made you feel that much more exposed, like the night was just beginning, and you had no idea where it would take you—or what might happen between the three of you.

But one thing was for sure. It was going to be a night to remember.

The bar buzzed with the low hum of conversation, the faint clink of glasses, and the soft thrum of music filling the air. You sat between Gojo and Suguru, the two of them practically towering over you as they leaned in, their attention entirely on you. The dark interior of the bar, lit only by neon signs and dim pendant lights, seemed to accentuate the heat between the three of you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so… exposed.

Gojo had already ordered you your first drink—a bright pink cocktail that looked as sweet as it tasted. Suguru had followed suit, making sure your glass was never too empty. They kept a close eye on you all night, their eyes wandering over you with that familiar mischievous glint. And though their presence was more than enough to keep you on edge, there was something about tonight that felt different. Maybe it was the drinks, the way they’d kept fending off advances from other men, or maybe it was simply the atmosphere—the one where things that had once been so casual were beginning to feel more… intimate.

You could hardly focus on the conversation as both of them leaned in every now and then, their voices low and teasing, keeping the flirtation between you alive. Gojo had a habit of making the smallest comments, his voice light and mocking, but the way he looked at you spoke volumes. Suguru, on the other hand, was quieter, his glances more deliberate, his words slower, as if savoring every moment. Every time he’d catch your eye, his lips would curl up just slightly, like he was enjoying the power he had over you.

"How are you holding up, Shortstack?" Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts. You could feel his body pressing close as his arm slid over the back of your chair, almost touching your shoulders. "You look like you might need another drink," he teased, his fingers brushing against the back of your neck lightly.

You could feel the heat of your face rising, your heartbeat speeding up as he leaned in a little closer. "I’m fine," you murmured, trying to sound unaffected by his proximity. But it was hard to ignore the weight of his presence.

“Fine? Nah, I don’t think so,” Gojo chuckled, pouring you another drink. The sound of the liquid filling the glass was almost too loud, the slight tilt of his head making you acutely aware of his gaze. “You’ve gotta have a good time tonight, y’know. You’re our guest.”

Suguru watched you, his eyes soft but knowing, almost predatory. “I think she’s enjoying herself, Gojo,” he commented, a playful edge to his tone. “You’re just distracting her, like always.” His hand brushed against yours as he reached for his own drink, and you could have sworn you felt a spark at the touch.

You tried to ignore the heat rising in your chest, but it was hard when the two of them were so effortlessly close. Suguru leaned in, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “Besides, it’s hard not to enjoy yourself when you’re surrounded by two handsome men like us.”

Your blush deepened. “I—stop it.” You stammered, trying to focus on your drink but completely aware of how the space between the three of you seemed to shrink with every passing second.

But just as you were about to try and regain some semblance of composure, a man from across the bar sauntered over, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made you immediately uncomfortable. He flashed a smile, completely unaware of the two towering figures beside you. “Hey there,” he said, leaning a little too close for comfort. “You look like you could use some company.”

Before you could even react, Gojo’s arm shot out, effortlessly blocking the man’s path. “You’re a little too close, pal,” Gojo said, his voice low and dangerous despite the lazy smirk on his face. “She’s already taken care of, so why don’t you get lost?”

The guy stumbled back, clearly intimidated by Gojo’s imposing presence, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He turned to Suguru, giving him a look of challenge. “What, you two think she belongs to you? You can’t just claim her”

Gojo's smile didn't reach his eyes anymore; instead, it was cold, the kind of smile that promised nothing but danger. "I don't think I can. I already have, so why dont you fuck off?." His posture remained loose, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable.

Suguru didn’t even flinch, his gaze steady and calm. “One thing is for sure ” he replied smoothly, his voice a silky whisper. “She certainly doesn’t belong to you, so I’d suggest you step off before we make you.”

The man hesitated, then seemed to reconsider. With a glare at the three of you, he backed off, retreating into the crowd of the bar. You were left with a sense of relief, but also—surprisingly—something else. A feeling of possession, of being protected by them in a way that was... unexpected.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and Gojo leaned in close again, his lips brushing against your ear as he chuckled. “Don’t worry, Shortstack. We’ve got you covered.” His voice was so casual, yet there was a hint of something darker beneath it.

Gojo casually swirled the drink in his hand, flashing you a look of reassurance, though the amusement still danced in his eyes. "You don’t have to worry about guys like that." He raised his glass to you, the playful glint in his eyes returning. "Not when you’ve got us around.”

Suguru didn’t say anything, but his fingers grazed the back of your hand, and the look he gave you spoke volumes. He wasn’t angry, just... satisfied. And the way his fingers lingered there, just for a second too long, sent another wave of heat through your body.

The atmosphere between the three of you had shifted once more, the protective nature of the boys now taking center stage. The tension was still there, palpable, but there was a subtle, deeper understanding that lingered in the air—a silent acknowledgment that tonight, you weren’t just a guest in their presence. You were theirs to look after, and no one would dare come between that.

Geto’s voice broke the silence as he grinned mischievously, that familiar carefree energy returning. "Now, how about we forget about that loser and have a little fun, huh?"

But even as he said it, Suguru's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, something darker and more intent flashing in his eyes before he looked away with a quiet smile. There was no more teasing in his voice now. It was just the quiet certainty of a man who knew exactly what he wanted—and that tonight, you were a part of it.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though the tension still simmered in the air. It was like everything was slowly starting to shift—the jokes, the teasing, all of it suddenly carrying more weight. The night was just beginning, and as the boys took their seats back beside you, the reality of the situation slowly began to sink in.

It wasn’t just a night out anymore. It was a night with them—and somehow, you weren’t sure how much more of this teasing you could take before you gave in to the attraction you were trying so hard to ignore.

The night seems to stretch on, the air between the three of you thick with an intoxicating mixture of alcohol and unspoken intentions. The bar has started to quiet down a little, leaving you, Gojo, and Suguru in a cozy, dimly lit corner booth. The buzz of the crowd and the clinking of glasses fades as the attention in the room becomes drawn solely to the three of you.

Gojo’s gaze hasn’t left you since the awkward interaction with the other guy. It’s almost unsettling how intense it is, that smile of his never fading—yet it’s darker now, more calculating. His eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes, a knowing glint dancing in them.

“So, You gonna flirt back?” he asks, his voice teasing, his finger tracing the rim of his glass idly. "Or are you letting us do all the work tonight?” He’s giving you that playful challenge, and the way he says it feels like a dare.

Before you can even answer, Suguru’s voice slides in from your other side, smooth and almost coaxing. “She doesn’t need to answer that,” he says with a smirk, leaning in just a little, the scent of his cologne—warm, woodsy, and faintly spicy—invading your senses. "The question is, what would you do if we decided to spoil you a little more tonight?” His voice dips lower as he lets the words linger, making it clear he’s not just talking about drinks anymore.

Your stomach flutters, your pulse quickening despite your best efforts to stay calm. They’re practically taking turns pulling you in, weaving their words like a careful trap. And you’re in it, stuck between them in a way you don’t quite know how to escape. Or maybe you don’t want to.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they’re both sitting. Gojo, as always, is close enough to brush against your side with the slightest movement, his long legs stretching across the booth like he owns the entire space. Suguru, on the other hand, remains a little more composed but no less overwhelming. His hand rests on the edge of the table, close enough that his fingers are mere inches from your own.

You try to focus on the conversation, but it’s impossible. They’re both watching you, waiting for your reaction, and the constant pull between them is starting to feel like an endless game. A game you never agreed to play but are somehow already losing.

Suguru leans in a little further, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this. We’re here for you, after all.” His words are teasing, but there’s an edge to them—an underlying current of something darker.

You feel a shiver run down your spine as your face flushes. "I—" you start to speak, but the words catch in your throat.

Gojo cuts in before you can finish, leaning over, his lips just a little too close to your ear as he adds, “You’re cute when you get flustered. But you’ve been doing this all night—trying to act like you’re not interested.” He chuckles softly, the sound rich with amusement. “We both know better, don’t we?”

Suguru grins, clearly enjoying the way your face turns even redder. “It’s funny,” he says casually, his voice rich with playful arrogance. “You think you can hide it from us, but we know exactly what you’re feeling.”

It’s suffocating, the way they speak to you—so confident, so sure. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to pull away. You can’t even look away. The way they hover over you, leaning in just enough to make you feel small and breathless, it’s like they’ve wrapped you up in a web of their own making.

Gojo, noticing your silence, tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s the matter, princess? Too shy to admit you like the attention? Come on, we won’t bite,” he teases, but his voice holds that knowing lilt, like he knows exactly how you feel.

Suguru leans back in his seat, but his gaze is still laser-focused on you, watching your every move. “We can take it slow,” he offers with a raised brow. “But we both know it’s not really about that. You want this—just as much as we do.” His smile is almost predatory, but there’s still that warmth, that care that lingers in his tone.

Your breath hitches, caught between their words and the heat building in your chest. You wish you could escape the intensity of it all, but there’s no way to. They’ve drawn you in, and now you’re at their mercy, just as much a part of this as they are.

Gojo’s finger taps lightly on the edge of his glass, drawing your attention once again. “You still haven’t told us what you want,” he teases, his voice a soft, persistent tug on your nerves. “So, let’s make this easy. Do you want us to keep the night going, or are you too shy to keep up?”

Suguru doesn’t even wait for an answer, leaning in once more and catching your lips with his eyes. “You don’t have to answer right away,” he murmurs, his voice calm yet daring. “But we’re both getting impatient.”

It’s too much, too close, and the teasing undercurrent between them is almost palpable. And now you’re stuck, caught in the web of their attention, unable to say anything but let yourself be swept along by their ever-increasing energy.

You’re trapped—and it feels so good.

The door clicks shut behind you as the three of you enter the hotel room. The air is thick with anticipation, the weight of the night’s flirtations following you inside. It’s a quiet room, but the tension is palpable, humming in the space between you.

Before you can even take a breath, both of them are there. Gojo’s hand finds your back, pressing you gently but firmly toward him, while Suguru is right beside you, his fingers brushing against your arm like a whisper of heat. Their proximity is overwhelming, and the alcohol still courses through your veins, making everything feel just a little more intense, a little more exciting.

“Had enough of the crowds?” Gojo murmurs, his voice low, eyes glittering behind those dark shades he hasn’t bothered to take off yet. It’s a teasing question, but his smirk says he already knows the answer.

Suguru’s gaze is steady, but there’s something there, something that makes your stomach flip. “Think you’re ready for some quiet time?” he asks, his voice so smooth it feels like velvet on your skin. His hand brushes across your hip, sending a shiver up your spine.

You feel like you’re caught between them—enticed, but unsure. It’s all so overwhelming, yet thrilling.

Before you can gather your bearings, Gojo steps closer, tipping your chin up with his finger. The heat from his body radiates off him, his lips barely a breath away. “You’ve been a good girl tonight, haven’t you?” His voice drops lower, a hint of challenge in it.

Suguru, always in tune with Gojo, leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “He’s right, you’ve been so good, letting us treat you like this.” His breath is warm against your skin, and you feel that same flutter in your chest that’s become all too familiar.

The room is thick with desire, and for a moment, the world outside of this hotel room feels miles away. There’s no more playful banter now, just an unspoken understanding between the three of you that tonight is something different.

Gojo moves first, the gentle touch of his hand on your neck sending a spark through your entire body. Slowly, deliberately, he presses his lips against yours, soft at first, as though testing the waters. The kiss deepens, and you feel his hand slide to the back of your neck, anchoring you against him. You can’t help but melt into it, the tension of the night finally snapping, leaving only the heat between the three of you.

Suguru’s hand moves to your waist, pulling you in closer as he places his lips against your temple, his warm breath a soft contrast to the intensity of Gojo’s kiss. You’re surrounded, engulfed in warmth and longing, and for a brief moment, it feels like nothing else matters.

When Gojo pulls back, his lips leaving yours with a faint trace of a smile, Suguru is there, his eyes dark, a satisfied glint dancing in them. “Told you, didn’t we?” he murmurs softly, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s a promise of something more, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Knew you were going to end up like this for us” Suguru murmurs into you skin, he lips kissing gently across your cheeks until he reaches your lips, snatching them up in a kiss. His kiss is different to Gojo’s, gentler. Still with the bubbling undertone of want that flowed through the air.

You were hot, and definitely drunk, but you weren’t so sure it was from the alcohol anymore. Their kisses addictive.

Slowly the men managed to shift you through the room, never removing themselves from your body. Small steps guiding you towards the bed as they set you down, sitting either side of you, kissing their way down your neck. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, it was like all your senses where hyper focused on Gojo and Geto. Goosebumps prickled over you skin as they made their way down your neck. Still in sync, but each of their movement carry characteristics of each men. Gojo moved quicker, more eager. Not leaving a single patch of skin on your neck un-kissed. Nipping and biting at the skin as he went. Geto was slower, taking him time to litter kisses all over, stopping momentarily to suck on certain spots on your neck. Settling on the sweet spot right near your pulse point that had you moaning breathily.

Geto’s hand was the first to touch you, his hand resting on your knee, caressing your thigh, Gojo was next, his hand travelling further and further up your leg teasingly. Both of the men listening intently to your reactions to their touches.

Your head tipping back allowing them more access to ravage you skin with marks, Gojo’s kissing travelling further down towards your breasts, kissing the skin that poked out the neckline of your dress. His hand dancing daringly close to where you needed it. Further and further up your thigh until it ghosted over your panties. His hand gathering the material of your dress.

The sharp gasp you let out telling all the men they needed to know as they pulled away from your neck. You were speechless. Both of them unbuttoning the shirts they had on, and as fucking amazing they looked with them on, they looked even better with them off.

The air in the room is thick with the remnants of the kiss, your heartbeat still racing in your chest as you try to steady yourself. Gojo and Suguru are standing there, shirtless, their broad chests and toned muscles on full display. They move with such confidence, it feels almost like they’re daring you to react. And you do—because, despite yourself, you can’t look away. It’s like you can still feel them on your skin, its burning from their touch.

Gojo, ever the cocky one, leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are locked on yours, a lazy grin curling on his lips as he surveys you from head to toe. “Still catching your breath, huh?” he teases, voice dripping with amusement. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart. It’s cute when you’re flustered.”

Suguru sits on the bed, his posture relaxed, but his eyes burn with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. He’s got that knowing look on his face, the one that says he’s completely in control of the situation, and the fact that you can’t help but notice only fuels his confidence. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve been staring at us, sweets,” he says, his voice low and purposeful. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to look. Just don’t forget, we’re used to being the center of attention.”

Gojo chuckles at Suguru’s words, his grin widening as he takes a step closer. “That’s right. But don’t worry, we don’t mind sharing,” he adds, his voice light but with that edge of something darker, something more calculated. “After all, you’ve been a little shy tonight, haven’t you? Hiding behind your cool exterior, pretending like you’re not into us.”

Suguru stands up, moving toward you with the same fluid, predatory grace that’s become second nature to him. His eyes never leave you, his smile never faltering. “But we see through that act, princess,” he says softly, stepping into your personal space. “We know what you really want. You can stop pretending now.”

Gojo follows, closing the gap between you with his signature cocky swagger. He leans in just enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, his presence overwhelming. “You’ve been teasing us all night, haven’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping low. “You know what you’re doing. Playing hard to get. But we’re not the type to let you get away with it for long.”

Suguru’s fingers graze the side of your arm, sending a shiver down your spine as his eyes flicker to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “You’re not the only one with patience,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But even we have limits.”

Gojo laughs, the sound rich and low, a teasing note laced through it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. We get it. You’re just waiting for us to make the first move, right?” His finger lightly brushes your chin, lifting your face so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Well, you don’t have to wait anymore.”

Suguru steps closer, his breath warm on your neck as he leans in just enough for you to feel his presence. “You’ve been looking at us all night,” he murmurs, his tone full of heat. “And now, you’re going to get exactly what you want.”

Their words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, their proximity making it harder and harder to think straight. Your breath catches in your throat as they tower over you, teasing you with their words, their bodies, and their shared understanding of the game you’re all playing.

It’s almost as if they’ve been waiting for this moment, for you to crack, to let go of the wall you’ve built around yourself. And with every passing second, it’s becoming harder to resist the pull they’re creating.

You know what they’re doing, but somehow, it only makes the tension more unbearable.

They are the first to move, Satoru sitting on the bed, pulling you so you sat in his lap, your back pressed against his muscular chest. You went to protest, confusion on your features but Suguru is beating you to it

“Shhh sweets, just relax for us” Us. As much as you didnt want it to, that turned you on. You allowed Satoru to manhandle you into his lap as Geto positioned himself between your legs on the bed. Holy fuck, this was way to erotic for your mind to handle.

Satoru’s long fingers swiped their way down to your breasts, kneading the soft flash over the material of your dress. Your pink lips being brought between your teeth, you couldnt help but bite on the flesh, trying to stifle your moans. That didn’t’ t last for much longer however, when you glanced down to see Suguru peeling your panties down your thighs, his eyes glued onto your dripping entrance. You had never felt so vulnerable before, but it wasn;t uncomfortable. You just couldnt believe you were revealing yourselves to them like this. Your mind was cut shirt, not given the chance to over think and Gojo slips your tits out of your dress. Pulling the material down and allowing them to spill out. A light moan leaving his mouth as he plays with the skin.

“Damn baby, can’t believe you were hiding all this from us for so long, you’re so pretty.” He whispers, his lips tickling your ear as he spoke. His words resonating deep within you, prickling your skin as his touch never ceased.

“Fucking perfect” Suguru echos, agreeing with his friend. He sounds a lot more… feral however, his mouth hovering so close to where you needed him, but he wasn’t going to just dive in. He had to savour this moment. His fingers pulling at your skin gently, admiring your already slick folds, shining in the dim light of the room. Quietly groaning to himself as your writhed under his touch. It was so light, bordering on teasing.

He couldn’t stop himself from running a finger through your folds, gathering your slick on the tip, before bringing the digit up to his lips, and sucking slowly. All while never breaking eyecontact with you, teasing fuck.

You whines pathetically, you were sure why, maybe to beg for more, maybe because of satoru’s fingers rolling your nipples so cruelly. Or maybe that fucking look Geto was giving you as he sucked his fingers clean.

“You even taste perfect sweets.” He groaned out, almost like he was expecting this. He wasted not a second more, large hands gripping your hips, pushing the material of your skirt over your hips before diving in. He tried to start of slow - he really did. Taking little kitten licks, that then turned into thick stripes. But that wasnt enough, he wanted you to suffocate him, he didn’t want to be able to think about anything else but that sweet little cunt you had been hiding from him.

You couldn’t help but cry out in shock, your hand trying to grasp at his hair. Geto did the best he could to hold you still, recieving no help from Gojo who was too busy playing with your tits and chuckling at the noises you were making.

“F-Fuck! Suguru” You yelp, his tongue never slowing in its movements. He was devouring you, using his hands to push your further down onto his face.

He was already covered. Your slick dripping down his face as he moved messily. He didnt even care, he wanted it so bad. His nose bumping against you clit with each sloppy kiss he left against you cunt. Sucking on your pussy so happily. Groaning as you tugged on his hair so sweetly trying to get him to slow down. That was never going to happen

“Relax sweetheart, jus’ let him make you feel good, hmm?” Gojo whispered to you, pressing a sweet kiss to your head as you moaned out. God it was good, it was too good. The way you were the centre of attention was making your head spin. Satoru trailing hot kisses down your neck as he squeezed your nipple, loving the way you cried out from overstimulation. “Fucking love these tits”

You coul do nothing but just lie there and take what they were giving to you. Just accepting the way they were sharing you between them. Gojo was trying to calm you, cooing in your ear so sweetly, like he wasnt part of the reason tears of pleasure were brewing in your eyes. You must have looked a mess you thought, but to Satoru, you had never looked more perfect. Glossy eyes, puffy lips and his marks all over you. And god your tits, they were teasing him all night, poking out of the top of your dress like they were begging to be released. He moaned as he fondled them, his hands cupping them with a hunger. The way your nipples perked as soon as he got his hands on them, he never wanted to forget this sight.

You could already feel your orgasm building, you had never cum this quick before. That delicious sensation building in your abdomen as both them men continued their attacks on you. Suguru had been pretty silent in comparison to Gojo’s constant rambling. The only noises you could hear was crude slurps and groans. You wriggled in his grip as your orgasm approached, the pleasure increasing with each swipe of his tongue.

“Satoru - ahh - sugu-“ You were trying so hard to form a sentence, not sure who you were trying to talk to.

“Awh you close already baby. Didn’t take long.” Gojo’s syrupy voice rang out in your ear once again, and you could swear the sound was pushing you even closer “You hear that Suguru, she’s close. Should we let her cum?”

Panic flies through you, they wouldn’t stop you right? You’re so close! Oh god please, they couldn’t

For the first time Suguru poked his head up, his fingers replacing his tongue, swirling over your puffy clit.

“M’ not sure. She’s been teasing us all night, don’t think she deserves it.” He grinning at you, smug. His face glistening with your slick as he speaks. That image you wanted to live in your head forever. Stray strands of hair floating in his face, gos he looked fucking angelic.

“True, she’s not been a very good girl for us” Gojo responds, and you can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. It was like they couldn’t hear your desperate whines. Discussing you as if you weren’t being destroyed by them both in that very moment, Gojo’s hands still massaging you tits as he shared a grin with Geto

“Not sure if I can keep away from her sweet little pussy though, she’s calling me back already.” The squelching of your soaked cunt floating through the room.

“No no no- Please!” Yo couldnt stop yourself from begging. They couldn’t leave you teetering on the edge like this, you needed to cum. Needed them to make you cum. “Please! D-Don’t stop!”

“What was that sweets? Please what?” Geto glances at you, that stupid smirk still gracing his features. He wanted you to beg, it was written all over him.

All the previous fight in you had gone, you didn’t have it in you to resist them anymore. “Please- make me cum! Fuck- need it”

“She even used her manners” Gojo chimes in once more, you’d slap the sarcastic bastard if he wasn’t making you shiver right now “You need it huh? How bad?”

“So bad ‘Toru! Please” Hoping the white haired man would show you some mercy.

“Oh yeah? What about me?” Suguru’s fingers dropped from your begging cunt, and your eyes snapped to him in a silent plea

“You too sugu, need you both.”

“There we go” And that smug grin between your legs was the last thing you saw before your eyes screwed shut. They were keeping you on the edge. But now, nothing could stop your orgasm from hitting you, hard.

You weren’t even sure what you were saying, screaming out both their names in a broken symphony, mixed in with a string of curses as your came. Your legs fucking shaking around Geto ‘s head, but that didn’t stop him. He was riding out your high along with Gojo, who was talking you through it so sweetly.

“Oh good girl, feels good huh?”

Whining was the only thing he got in response as the pleasure wracked your body. Practically quivering as your soaked Geto’s face.

Stupidly, you thought they might give you a second to recover, you were wrong. You were still laying there panting as Gojo was manhandling you once more. It was like you weighed nothing to him. He was careful with you as you mewled. Turning you over, picking you up and helping you onto all fours, facing the end of the bed.

“You ready for round 2?” Geto ‘s face appeared in front of yours as he asked you softly, stroking your slightly damp hair. Your legs were still quivering as you tried to catch your breath. Your fucked out eyes lifting to meet his. You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice. He couldn’t help but chuckle

The men had swapped sides now, Gojo now placing himself between your legs as Geto was at your front. When you saw the dark haired man towering over you, you understood your current position. The kind and gentle look in his eyes moment ago, now replaced with something darker, hungrier.

You stared shamelessly as he unzipped his trousers, hearing Gojo do the same from behind you on the bed.

It was a good view you couldnt deny, his muscles defined by the low lighting, you stared at the vines in his arms popping as he rid himself of his trousers. His v-line teasing you as he pulled down his boxers. But nothing beat the sight of what came next. His cock sprung free, his hand stoking it slowly as his eyes never left you face. He was big, you had no idea how you were going to fit that in your mouth, and if Gojo was anything similar, you were in serious trouble

“Don’t look so nervous baby, we’ll be gentle” Suguru soothes, but the look in his eyes tells you the opposite.

“I don’t know Suguru, I want to break this pretty pussy in half” Gojo drawls, mesmerised by the sight before him. Your puffy pussy glistening, inviting him in. His hands tracing over the skin of your ass, squeezing the flesh. Before giving it a slap, watching as red splotches grace the skin.

“Be nice Satoru” Geto warns him, but you can hear the smile in his voice

“I always am…” That was a lie. You knew he was mean, just by the way he was rubbing his weeping tip through your folds.

You whined at the sensation, still overly sensitive from your orgasm just seconds ago. Suguru’s hand rested on top of your head, drawing your attention to him

“You ready?” He asked once more, making sure they weren’t pushing you too far. But to you, it wasnt enough. “Yes” your voice rang out, hoarsely

“Good, now open.” The command was simple, and you followed it eagerly. Your tongue lolling out as you waited for him.

Slowly he lined himself up with your mouth, resting his heavy tip on your tongue as he slid in, inch by inch into you. That gentle hand on your head now gripping your hair as he fucked your mouth, his hips slowly rocking back and forth as he was kind enough to give you some time to adjust.

“No fair, we should’ve started at the same time” Gojo complained from beind you but Geto was far to occupied to care about Hi childish complaints

He laughed out dryly “shut up Satoru”

Satoru didnt even bother to respond, too busy sinking his cock inside of you, he was less slow that Geto . Eager to be wrapped inside of your welcoming walls. The groan that left him was sinful as he fully sheathed himself inside you. He paused like that for a moment, breathing deeply, before his hips snapped into you again, and again, and again.

You moaned around Geto’s cock, being cut off each time he hit that back of your throat. Both the men still in sync as per usual, their thrusts following the same pace as they destroyed you. Your dress still scrunched around your middle, your ass completely out, along with your tits.

Gojo’s hands on your hips, using them to pull you back into each thrust, ensuring he was hitting as deep as he could each time. His shakey breaths could be heard over your shoulder, broken up by shuddering groans

“Shit- you weren’t lying sugu, this pussy-“ Gojo was struggling to keep himself together, struggling not to get lost in your body as he rambled on. He was watching himself, watching as he entered you pussy with such ease, watching as yout tried to suck him back in each time he pulled out. He was in heaven.

“Told you- s’fuckin’ perfect.” He gritted out. He was trying not to bully himself into the back of your throat, but god. You were taking him so well. Your eyes watering, stray tears falling down your face as he moved. Doing you best to suck his soul. Every now and your voice vibrating against his cock as you moaned. You while body shaking as your arms tried to support yourself.

Veins popping all over his flawless skin, poking through his hands as his grip on your hair never faulters, using you as an anchor to ground himself, trying to hold back. Veins bulging in his neck as he strains, doing everything he can to not cum early, he wants to enjoy this for as long as he can. But with how hard he’s been all evening, he doesnt know how he is going to last like this. The way your tongue glides up and down his shaft, tracing over the jagged veins that run up his base. The noises you make every time he hits the back of your throat. Those hollowed cheeks, wrapped around him so perfectly.

He couldn’t quite believe his luck, having you beneath him so sweetly while you allowed yourself to be shared between him and his best friend. Him and Satoru had always spoken about this, on nights where it was just them, sharing a beer. When they were discussing their classmates and the conversation would fall onto you. At first they would joke about you, how you could be a bit of a brat. Always whining at their jokes, nagging them. Then Satoru made a comment about your body, and the conversation took a turn. Discussing how they would share you, how tight you would be for them, how you would sound when they got their hands on you, what you would let them do to you. To say it was better than they imagined would be an understatement. Both men going home after that evening with an achingly hard cock, that conversation putting an imagine in their mind that they couldn’t escape.

Satoru was doing no better than Suguru in trying to keep himself in control. In fact he was finding it incredibly difficult. His hands never stopping, grabbing, caressing and stoking any part of you that he could get his hands on. The skin of your ass prickled with red and pink marks from where his large hands had been getting rough with you. Hand shaped prints on both your hips from where he had been gripping you so tightly. This was better than he had imagined, all those nights spent with his hand around his cock could not compare to how you felt right now. How natural it felt to be inside you. He never wanted to leave. You didnt want him to either. His cock repeatedly hitting that sweet spot inside of you, you could hardly control the noises you were making, despite them being muffled by Suguru’s cock.

Finally Satoru ‘s hand found your clit. Gentle ghosting over the puffy bundle of nerves at first, fingertips getting coated in you juices. You jolted forwards at the sensation, every part of you feeling so sensitive to his touch. Geto choked out a moan, you sudden movement causing you to take him deep, your nose brushing against the skin on his stomach. Gojo did it again, a smile on his face. One more you let out a muffled yelp, moving away from his hands, trying to escape the stimulation.

“F-fucking hell- think she liked that.” Suguru chokes out. He’s getting too close now, and your sudden movements forward aren’t helping him

“Oh y-yeah? That feel good sweets?” One again his cruel fingers roll over your clit, applying more pressure this time. If you weren’t getting some of the best dick of your life you would make fun on the stuttering men, but you weren’t exactly keeping your composure either. This time however, gojos other hand was wrapped tightly around your waist, stopping any escape plan you had, forcing you to seat there and take what his was giving to you as you screamed out pathetically around Geto’s cock.

“Nuh-uh, don’t run from it. Just take it baby.” He’s cooing at you, and you obey. Succumbing to the pleasure. His fingers moving in fast circles around the bundle of nerves and you feel like youre going to explode. Your legs shaking, your hips trying to buck away from his movements, but your stuck there as he impales you on his cock. Once again you can feel an orgasm building, quickly and sharply in your stomach. Hot tears continuing to roll down your cheeks, dragging your makeup of the night with them.

“That’s it, let it out baby.” Geto spots the tears, stroking them gently from your face, his actions contrasting the harsh thrusting of his cock in your mouth

And there not much you can do to stop your orgasm as it crashed over you. Fucking wrecking you.

Eyes squeezing shut tightly as you convulse, unable to still yourself as you clench tightly around gojos cock. You cum hard, juices flowing around Gojo’s cock, overspilling around the edges and coating his abdomen as his thrusts never stop. Both of the men moaning as they watched you, you looked absolutely stunning like this, completely falling apart beneath them.

Your loud moans vibrating down Geto ‘s shaft, and he cant stop himself. He cums down your throat, his hips pushing as deep as they can into your mouth as thick ropes of cum trickle onto your tongue, you swallow it down greedily without a second thought, still sucking when he’s done. His harsh breathing and cut off moans letting you know he’s finished

“Fuck-“ he curses with a groan as he pulls out from your mouth. Watching you gasp for air now.

Gojo still hadn’t stopped, his hips punishing you even after your second orgasm. Your arms couldnt take it anymore, buckling underneath you leaving your face planted into the mattress as you scream out. The overstimulation so good it almost hurt.

“Easy Gojo, be gentle.” Geto pants out, watching his best friend basically fuck the life out of you. Satoru had gone silent now, purely focused on chasing his release that was ever nearing.

“A-almost done baby.” He gasps out as you squeeze him “hafta cum in this sweet pussy”

And cum he did.

His hips stuttering as he fucks his cum deep inside you. Hot spurts of white coating you walls as he fucks himself deeper and deeper. Releasing with a broken groan. His legs almost shaking just like yours

Pulling out and staring in awe as his cum drips out of you, trailing down your puffy folds in elegant drops.

You didn’t end up needing to sleep on the couch that evening, the bed fit all three of you perfectly fine, especially when you were wrapped up in their arms for the whole night. You werent sure what this meant for you from now on, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care after tonight

Principal Yaga’s office was dimly lit as usual, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting shadows on the piles of documents and mission reports. You stood before his desk, flanked by Satoru and Suguru. The air in the room felt heavier than usual, though you suspected it had less to do with the mission and more to do with the recent... developments between you and the boys. You were here to go over the end of mission report

Yaga leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together as he looked over the three of you. “Well, I’ve got to say, you handled that mission well. Minimal collateral damage, objectives met, and no major injuries.” His tone was gruff but approving.

“Of course we did,” Satoru said, his signature grin plastered on his face. “You’re looking at the dream team here.”

Suguru chuckled beside you, his voice smooth as always. “It helps when you’ve got the strongest second-year on your side.” He shot you a look, the corner of his mouth quirking up just enough to make your pulse quicken.

You fought to keep your face neutral, your fingers tightening slightly at your sides. The tension was suffocating.

Yaga narrowed his eyes, clearly picking up on the strange energy in the room. “Something’s different,” he muttered, his gaze flicking between the three of you. “Usually, you two can’t stop bickering. And now you’re practically glowing with camaraderie. What gives?”

“Oh, you know…” Satoru began, his voice dripping with mischief. He stretched his arms behind his head, his casual posture doing nothing to hide the smug glint in his eyes. “We just… found some things to bond over on the trip.” His eyes flitting over to your with a knowing wink.

Suguru hummed in agreement, crossing his arms as he leaned against the desk. “Yeah, turns out, spending a few nights together can really bring people closer.” His voice was calm, but his smirk was anything but innocent.

Your stomach flipped as Yaga’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion practically radiating off him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing!” Satoru waved a hand dismissively, though the grin splitting his face betrayed him. “We’re just saying, you throw three people in a high-pressure situation, and sometimes… sparks fly.”

Suguru let out a low laugh, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “It’s teamwork, Yaga. Pure, unadulterated teamwork.”

You cleared your throat, desperate to regain some semblance of normalcy. “Right. We just worked really well together, is all. Nothing to… overthink.”

All you could do was think, think about what happened, their hands on you. You could feel your face flushing, clearing your throat as you tried to regain composure

Yaga stared at you for a long moment, his brows furrowed, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Whatever. As long as the job’s done, I don’t care how you got along.” He rubbed his temples as though already regretting his decision. “Dismissed.”

The three of you turned to leave, but not before you caught the shared glance between Satoru and Suguru, their eyes gleaming with unspoken amusement.

As the office door closed behind you, Satoru leaned down, his voice low and teasing in your ear. “See? Told you we’d sell it.”

Suguru smirked, his hand brushing against yours as you walked. “Though I think Yaga might still have questions.”

Your face burned as you quickened your pace, ignoring the way your heart betrayed you with every beat. What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

[kentuckyfriedmegumi]

i have made a comprehensive list as to why i think that itadori yuuji and fushiguro megumi love each other and are soulmates (platonic or otherwise)

edit: i also may or may not have an entire stanza by stanza analysis of the first year trio’s songs if anyone wants that too….

i read the entire series from start to finish in one sitting for this. here it is:

saving each other without question or second thought (volume 1)

megumi: “i don’t want to let him die.” gojo: “personal?” megumi: “yes.”

yuuji eats the finger to save megumi.

note: in the manga he is not trapped in a curse’s mouth

their entire interaction during the detention center (cursed womb arc)

yuuji: “fushiguro! please.”

 yuuji to megumi before fighting finger bearer alone

Megumi: “it was a selfish, emotional decision.”

megumi telling yuuji why he saved him

megumi running back to grab the name off the body of one of the inmates because it’s what yuuji would have wanted

“what kind of woman is your type?” “as long as the person is compassionate (see also: has unshakable character, unwavering kindness, etc.), i can’t ask for more.” (chapter 17)

yuuji’s kanji quite literally translates to unwavering humanity. could be a stretch, but an interesting connection considering that gege does not just throw things around like that

not necessarily a moment where i think they love/care for each other, i just love it, but… (chapter 33)

“i don’t know what he was up to while he was gone, but if it comes down to a brawl without any cursed energy involved… itadori would win.”

nothing special, just megumi appreciating and acknowledging yuuji lol

before the exchange event, megumi noticing something happened to yuuji (junpei’s death) (chapter 33)

megumi: “itadori, you okay?” yuuji: “well, it’s a big job but i should be fine.” megumi: “no, something happened, didn’t it?” yuuji: “huh, what are you talking about?”

megumi can tell that something has been/is bothering yuuji, even after his insistence that he’s fine

megumi being worried about the kyoto students trying to kill yuuji; specifically, he’s the one who figured it out (chapter 36)

yuuji stepping into the fight with hanami after fushiguro gets the bud curse (chapter 48)

yuuji: “fushiguro, don’t worry”

btw, this is a direct parallel of point two, back in the detention center

megumi: “if you die again, i’ll kill you” yuuji: “i guess i can’t go dying on ya then”

yuuji checking on megumi at yasohachi bridge when tsumiki was mentioned to have gone to the bridge and being worried when megumi tried to send him and nobara back to the school so he could exorcise the curse by himself (chapter 56)

megumi telling yuuji to go after kugisaki from the domain, parallel of the detention center when yuuji told megumi to go after kugisaki (chapter 57)

yuuji: “if you get in trouble, you better get out too!”

after the fight at yasohachi bridge, both megumi and yuuji are protecting each other from their burdens (chapter 63)

megumi: “don’t tell him.”

explaining to nobara that yuuji eating the finger caused curses to start killing people

yuuji: “hey! don’t tell fushiguro. don’t you dare tell him”

yuuji to sukuna after being told that because of him people were going to die.

see: cursed womb arc; “why’d you bother saving me then?

this one is just another funsie thing that i wanted to add, but in It’s Like That, megumi is the first person that yuuji notices when he arrives at the diner, completely bypassing nobara and ozawa (chapter 64)

the entire fight with the inverse guy was just peak duo-ism, you can’t even deny it, there is so much content in there (chapter 94–98)

megumi: “itadori!” yuuji: “no worries, it’s just a scratch!!!”

giving parallels with gojo and geto when toji first snuck up on gojo

megumi, using rabbit escape: “let’s retreat for now.” yuuji picks up a bunny, bc of course he does

inverse guy: “man up and come at me!” megumi, pointing at yuuji: “that’s really more his style.” yuuji: throwing a fucking car

yuuji: “i’m heading into the station” megumi: “fine, but–” yuuji: “’if you die, i’ll kill you,’ right”

them just working together in general, we love to see it

fellas, is it gay to think of your friend during your last moments? (chapter 117)

“i’ll see you later!” “sorry… itadori…” megumi summons mahoraga and apologizes to yuuji.

post-shibuya arc, yuuji spends the entire time between shibuya and the culling games avoiding megumi in order to protect him (volume 16)

megumi and yuuji taking on the burden of the deaths in shibuya arc together (chapter 143)

yuuji: “i killed people! because of me, lots of people died!” megumi: “it’s our fault, don’t be selfish and give up all alone.”

megumi tries to explain to yuuji that they need to save who they can

parallels grandpa itadori’s last wish

yuuji: “no, fushiguro, it’s because… as long as i’m around… you will suffer!” megumi: “so start by saving me, itadori! … i’m begging you, itadori. i need your strength.”

yuuji has a purpose and a reason to keep going (see chapter 212: “thank you for giving me a role to play”)

yuuji telling yuuta to kill him if he ever switches to sukuna, without hesitation, in order to protect megumi (chapter 144)

yuuji: “sukuna is plotting something involving fushiguro”

megumi not caring about the dangers of sukuna so he can stick with yuuji (chapter 146)

megumi: “if that happens and i die, just have him (yuuta) kill you” yuuji: the point is to not let that happen

they just care about each other, your honor

yuuji trying to avoid megumi once again before the culling games (chapter 146)

megumi panicking at yuuji getting beat by hakari (more so than panda was) to the point where he was about to jump over the rail and start interfering (chapter 157)

megumi: oh no! if he gets hurt anymore… “itadori! that’s enough!”

yuuji (again) trying to avoid being with megumi during the culling games in order to protect him from sukuna (chapter 160)

yuuji: “i’m just worried!” megumi: “are you going to say that every time? it’s annoying a waste of time!” (he is stubborn, refuses to be separated from yuuji)

they are bickering like an old married couple here imo

megumi and yuuji are split up and start working to find higuruma. they are each told different locations and immediately think of each other (chapter 162)

megumi: “shinjuku…” i hope itadori is on his way there too… yuuji: “ikebukuro?!” is fushiguro there too?

another cutesy one that i just wanted to add: megumi smiling when he realized that yuuji got the points to add a rule to the culling games (chapter 168)

megumi waking up and immediately speaking to yuuji (he doesn’t acknowledge hana or anyone else in any way, shape, or form for like an hour (chapter 199)

megumi immediately notices something is up with yuuji when they learn about “the disgraced one,” and this has one of my fave duo interactions with them (chapter 200)

megumi: “itadori, what’s wrong”

always so akin to yuuji’s feelings bruh

yuuji switches with hana to communicate to megumi that sukuna is the disgraced one. hana is just staring lovingly at megumi, megumi is only concerned about yuuji

their cute little charades act, oh my god they are so fucking silly bro

megumi: i don’t get it. what’s he trying to say?

oh my god bro pls

yuuji: *nod nod* did he get it?

yuuji is fully resolved in dying because megumi and tsumiki (as far as they knew) are safe, so he is okay with dying as long as they can live

megumi is immediately worried about yuuji killing himself and dying to end sukuna

my god they are both so worried about each other all the time

megumi is quick to notice yuuji’s disposition towards hana (chapter 210)

megumi: “this isn’t like you.” yuuji: “you sure about that?”

megumi: “don’t be dumb.” yuuji: “i’ll apologize later…”

can they stop flirting in dire times?

yuuji thinking of both gojo and megumi as they gave him a role in the world (chapter 212)

maybe i should have done it sooner. i could have helped fushiguro and disappeared. thank you for giving me a role to play

megumi suppresses sukuna’s technique when he first incarnates in his body (chapter 214)

literally any point during the fight with sukuna where yuuji is locked in on saving megumi (shinjuku showdown arc)

“wake up, fushiguro.” (chapter 251)

i’ll do it as many times as it takes! “wake up, fushiguro!” (chapter 263)

“you’re right, sukuna. i have the ability to end your life. if you release fushiguro and return to me, i will spare your life.” (chapter 265)

literally all of chapter 266 bro this entire fucking chapter hurts me so fucking bad??????

megumi just wanting a peaceful life with his sister and yuuji

yuuji knowing and understanding megumi’s pain to the point where he knows it isn’t fair to force or expect him to want to live

“i’ve started to understand and emphathize with the decisions made by people who encounter unavoidable realities, like grandpa. for that reason… for that reason, i can’t tell you to continue living, fushiguro.”

megumi: “huh? what’s with that face?” yuuji: “nothing, it’s just that… it’ll be lonely without you, fushiguro.”

what if i was suicidal?????

megumi hears yuuji telling him it’ll be lonely when he’s gone and sees one (1) tear form in his eyes and immediately locks in, using his technique to throw sukuna off guard and allow yuuji to land a hit

yuuji smiling when he realized that megumi was fighting back

see chapter 168: megumi smiling when he realized yuuji got the points for the games

EDIT: OH MY GOD CHAPTER 268????????

megumi: “i think i’ll try to live for someone else.”

also, see yuuji and megumi’s theme songs that were selected by gege:

yuuji’s songs:

heart ni hi o tsukete by 9mm parabellum bullet – a song about two people struggling to recover from their traumas and pain and wondering if they will find love within each other.

the last line of the song is “will we love each other? will we not love each other? will we turn to ashes?”

itsuka dokoa de by kuchiroro – this song overall seems to be a sort of conversation that the narrator is having with an unknown person. there is mentions of belief, love, and a desire for a simple, mundane life.

love is mentioned a lot throughout this song (it’s 13 minutes long and translations are hard to find online though)

megumi’s songs:

hakujitsumu by uchujin – the song is about wanting to save someone, but also battling with their own internal struggles as they try to navigate their trauma.

“don’t disappear yet, i’ll rescue you.”

island in the sun by weezer – this song is about a narrator and their desire to run away with someone and live a peaceful life, away from their troubles so they will “never feel bad anymore.”

this song i feel reflects most with that idyllic life that megumi wanted to build for tsumiki and yuuji

[ceratedfish24]

Your takes on c!Scott and flower husbands have honestly been so refreshing that its reignited my old Hot Takes on c!Jimmy bc I detest the way people characterize him.

I feel like so many people portray Jimmy as this dejected downtrodden victim of bullying, which feeds into a narrative that Scott was cruel and abusive and awful or whatever, and tends to act like Jimmy doesn't have any agency ever. But IN REALITY??? Jimmy is not downtrodden and dejected and sad!!!!! In my opinion, Jimmy's defining character trait is his unshakable TENACITY! Ppl never want to admit that Jimmy is a little shit! That he acts out of spite, that his friends' teasing only tends to motivate him!! He *thrives* in environments that challenge him! AND to be so for real, he is a grown man with agency and decision-making skills and I'm tired of people acting like he isn't.

In general I feel like people just have the wrong outlook on him as a character. Maybe they've just collectively misunderstood him, or a Helpless Miserable Victim is easier to write about in fic, or they just want to project their own bullying-related trauma onto him or whatever. (People do similar things to Scar when talking about desert duo, which I understand even less). IDK. These are just my thoughtssssss sorry for rambling :P

No because you’re literally so real for this. Jimmy is SUCH a little shit. His response to Joel being mad at Jimmy for trying to kill him was to SHAKE HIS ASS AT JOEL. He taunted Joel because Jimmy successfully used Lizzie to bait Joel out. He tried to guilt trip Scott into giving him time. These aren’t negative qualities. This is a guy being silly with his friends. Embrace them when writing c!Jimmy. These are wonderful and realistic qualities.

Jimmy’s tenacity is so remarkable. He gets knocked down and all of his friends tease him about it, and he stands right back up with pep in his step. A lot of people treat Pearl the same way. Like, guys, these people are adults who make their own choices, and, often times, people who are given free will are not going to make the responsible choice most of the time when there are no real world consequences to their actions other than maybe “I might not get to be in the finale of this Minecraft series”.

There is SO much favoritism in the Life Series. Jimmy and Pearl are always reduced to their greatest tragedies, while Scott and Cleo are reduced to their most selfish moments, even though everyone else is equally selfish because IT IS A DEATH GAME. IT IS A COMPETITION. THAT IS THE POINT.

A lot of Jimmy’s deaths tend to be his own doing. Whether he unnecessarily made an enemy or just wasn’t being careful, a lot of Jimmy’s deaths are his fault, and that’s fine. He likes to play into bits. He’s not that serious about winning as opposed to making fun content. Pearl has made her fair share of mistakes and enemies, and that adds plot and drama to her content. That’s how she plays it, and it’s fine! Don’t infantilize them for dealing with the consequences of their actions just like everybody else!

Scott was widowed, and he had to watch his allies die before he did for seasons. Nobody ever comforts him about it. Nobody says “oh this man is so sad he’s just doing his best but he can’t keep his friends alive and it’s eating him up and everyone should baby him”.

Nobody even calls Joel toxic for constantly targeting Scott, but somehow Scott is toxic for teasing Jimmy now and then? (Which is not to say that Joel is toxic. He just finds it fun to target his good friend and knows where Scott’s limits are. It’s actually a sign of how close they are in real life). Nobody calls Etho and Bdubs toxic for being so mean to each other. Nobody calls Impulse manipulative when his whole thing in Third Life was betraying people. Nobody says Ren is controlling for taking the lead in Dogwarts or calling the Renwood Mound the Ren Mound. Scar is a liar and a scammer and no one thinks less of him for it.

Do you wanna know why? Because they’re friends having fun. Scott and Scott’s character should be treated with that same respect given to everyone else. Also, people need to keep in mind that Scott is not actively playing a character. Scott is just playing the game the way that cc!Scott wants to play the game, so any in depth analysis of Scott’s “character”? That’s an over analysis of cc!Scott in a competitive environment, and that man is literally on this site, people. He knows about Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, Girldad. I’ve seen him reply to analysis posts on why Scott is manipulative. He’s literally just a guy playing a game for fun.

Imagine if someone accused you of playing an evil and selfish character because you asked your friend to give you the monopoly money they owe you. Or, worse imagine if someone accused you of playing a manipulative character because you let your friend land on your monopoly property without paying you????? Because you love your friend??????? Like, excuse me????????

Thank you for the ask!!!!!! 🩵🩵🩵 It’s always flattering when someone calls my posts “refreshing”💕💕💕(also I see you all the time and I love seeing your additions to my posts💖)

[oneshotnewbie]

Reader walks through fire to save Emily Prentiss. That's it, that's the prompt. You can decide what you do with it. Thank you 💖

Authors note: Somehow lately I've had a thing for long oneshots that go well over the actual 1000 words. I just can't stop writing once I start haha. I wish you a nice start to the week ♥

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the slight mention of burn injuries and fainting. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

As Special Agent Emily Prentiss and you brought your car to a stop on a remote forest path, the dense treetops reached high into the sky, forming an impenetrable canopy of leaves that barely let in the light of the sun. It seemed as if nature itself wanted to keep a secret as a cold wind blew through the branches, carrying with it the whispers of the leaves.

A brief exchange of glances between Emily and you revealed the determination burning within you as you checked your gear and got your vests ready. As a well-rehearsed duo in the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, you were familiar with the darkest depths of the human psyche and had faced the most dangerous criminals. But even for you, this case was of unusual intensity.

A series of brutal murders had terrified residents living on the edge of the Arkansas grove. The victims appeared to be chosen at random, and every lead the team found at the crime scene led to a dead end. But now a clue had led you here, to this dark place that was far from any civilization.

Together you made your way down the rocky and arduous path deeper into the forest, the cracking of twigs under your boots and the occasional call of a bird accompanied you like a dark melody. Imbued in your minds was the determination to solve this mystery and put an end to the evil that threatened the innocent inhabitants of this remote area.

Eventually you came to a small clearing dominated by a dilapidated log cabin. The centuries-old wooden walls were overgrown with moss and ivy, which covered the abandoned building like a veil. The windows stood empty and dark, like the eyes of a ghost from a bygone era, silently bearing witness to long-forgotten stories.

Emily sensed an eerie presence that seemed to emanate from the place, as if the walls themselves spoke of the horrors they had experienced. But she forced herself to suppress her fear and focused her gaze on the task before you both. Despite the ominous feeling that surrounded the place, your resolve remained unbroken as you prepared to explore the secrets of this mysterious place.             

“Ah, here we are,” you whispered quietly to her as you crouched and crept up to the entrance, gun drawn. "Let's see what we can find and finally close the case."

You entered the abandoned building together, your flashlights cutting through the darkness and illuminating the path before you. A hint of decay hung heavy in the air as the old parquet floors crunched beneath your feet as if revealing the secrets of the building beneath you. But your resolve was still unshakable, and you searched every room with meticulous care, looking for clues that could solve the mystery.

As you began to move further into the next room, Emily paused in her position in the largest room and raised a hand to silence you before you could even begin to speak. You listened intently, and a quiet but distinct sound reached your ears - a gentle breeze that seemed to whisper through the gaps between the door and the frame.

“Over there,” Emily whispered as you returned to her, pointing to a locked door at the end of the hallway. The two of you approached the door slowly, your hearts pounding loudly in your ears as if anticipating the rhythm of the horror to come. With a quick nod, you released the lock on the door and entered the room first.

What unfolded before you chilled your blood. In the middle of the room sat an altar made of weathered stone, surrounded by extinguished candles and mysterious symbols that formed a dark coven around it. On the walls hung grotesque paintings of dark figures whose eyes seemed to pierce you, as if they wanted to explore your soul.

But the horror reached its climax with the sight of the body lying on the altar - a young girl, bound and mutilated, her face contorted in pain while an iron stake protruded from her chest, her breathing long stopped. The sight of her echoed in your mind, a cruel testament to the evil that permeated the place.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" you asked, an ice-cold shiver running down your spine as the ominous scene before you slowly took shape. Emily shrugged, her gaze caught by the gloomy atmosphere as she swallowed hard to maintain her composure. "We have to get out of here and call for backup," she said firmly, but the undertone betrayed the growing concern that threatened to overwhelm her too. She signaled for you to back off as she took a few steps back to give you cover. "This is bigger than we thought."

You nodded in agreement, but before you could take a step, another sound echoed across the ceiling - a soft rustling, followed by an ominous hissing that seemed to be emanating from a hidden pipe, accompanied by the pungent smell of smoke coming from beneath the door.

Panic rose within you as you realized that you possibly were in danger and that the rest of the team might be taking too long to reach you. You were trapped, surrounded by the dark remnants of a ritual space that seemed to harbor evil and now encircled you menacingly.

As you walked up the short steps and opened the door to leave the basement, and hastily return to your vehicle to call for backup, the blockhouse was engulfed in thick smoke.

Emily felt the heat rising on her skin and the acrid smoke entering her lungs as she coughed and pressed her sweater under her nose to escape the choking smoke. "We have to get out of here!" she shouted over the infernal crackling of the fire, which threatened to spread greedily, as if it was hungry for more fuel.

You nodded in agreement and reached for her hand, and together you fought your way through the impenetrable fog, your eyes burning with tears as you searched for a way out of this nightmare. But the fire, which had spread for reasons still unknown, seemed to cut off your path, your every movement blocked by a wall of heat that threatened you and that blocked your view. You didn't know where the exit was. Every step you took brought you closer to the certainty that you were surrounded by the merciless forces of destruction that were driving you closer to the abyss with every second.

Fear gripped both of you tightly as you looked around and realized the terrible reality. The flames around you burned higher and higher, their glowing tongues lashing out greedily at everything in their path, spreading an atmosphere of desperation and chaos.

And as you progressed on your way, you suddeny saw the outline of a dark figure. You strained to sharpen your focus, to heighten your senses in this inferno. "The perpetrator! He's here!" You shouted out to Emily, your voice filled with determination as you moved resolutely towards the unknown, clutching your gun tightly, the desire for justice burning in your heart.

But in the rush of the moment, you didn't notice that Emily wasn't following you, her own thoughts torn apart by the urgency of the situation. Her eyes searched desperately for a way out of this blazing hellfire as she fought within herself against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

But as you got closer, you realized with horror that it wasn't the murderer, but just a shadow dancing in the pale light of the flames. A moment of relief quickly gave way to anxiety as you realized that the perpetrator was still lurking somewhere in the dark corners while you had lost sight of him. And now you were separated from Emily, your ally, your anchor in this burning hell.

Emily called out to you, but her voice was swallowed up by the angry crackling of the flames that raged around her like a wild animal. Her heart began to race involuntarily as she looked around and realized the cruel reality - she was completely alone, surrounded by the surging waves of fire that threatened to consume her and destroy her existence.

With her back pressed against the wall, she pressed her flashlight hard into the fog that permeated the room, hoping that the beam of light would attract you and lead you back to her. “Y/n, I’m here!” she cried desperately, her voice laced with the pain of isolation. "I'm trapped in the flames. Follow the light, please!" Her words echoed through the burning room, a silent cry for help amid the raging inferno.

Less than a minute later she heard a faint sound rising above the roar of the fire - the sound of a figure, a jacket over your head, fighting through the flames to get to her.

Emily turned to the side and watched in horror as you emerged from the blazing inferno, your face contorted with pain, your clothes scorched by them, and your skin marked by the cruel scars of the fire. “Oh my god, y/n!” she shouted, her voice filled with fear as you fell the last few inches towards her, her eyes wide in terror. "What have you done?"

You couldn't speak a word; the pain unbearable, your voice paralyzed by the torment of the fire. Your only job was to get your partner safely out of this burning house, so you placed a wet blanket over her head and body before carefully guiding her out of the flames, yourself also hidden under the blanket to protect yourself from further burns.

Her hand gripped yours tightly as she pulled you closer to her, feeling the pain and heat of your skin. "Y/n, you are seriously injured. Let me guide you," she whispered softly as she placed your arm over her shoulder, but the adrenaline rushed through your body, your mind numb from the agony that was coursing through you, her words unheard.

You struggled through the flames, your senses numbed by the unrelenting burn that accompanied you as you leaned heavily on Emily. Every step was agony, every breath a fight against the heat and smoke that threatened to suffocate your lungs. But despite the darkness of the inferno, you did not give up, but continued to fight, driven by the irrepressible will to bring Emily and yourself to safety, out of this hellfire.

As you finally made it out into the open and made your way to safety, a deafening bang ripped through the air, followed by a blinding flash of light that pierced the dark clouds of smoke and bathed the night in blinding daylight. Emily and you were thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion, the impact shattering your bodies as chaos erupted around you.

Fire shot out of the windows of the log cabin and quickly spread to the surrounding trees, the forest itself was going up in flames. The air was filled with an infernal crackling and hissing that shook the ground. The forest immediately became a burning fortress, enveloped in an impenetrable veil of flames that seemed to block any possibility of escape. "Y/n, get up," Emily urged, her voice firm and determined as she leaned towards you, "We have to get out of here. I'm going to take you to the hospital to get you looked after." Her words pierced the chaotic scene, a promise of rescue and hope amid the tumult of flames.

She shook your motionless body, but you didn't move. The adrenaline that had once fueled your senses was gone, and now your body was collapsing like a house of cards blown away by a merciless breeze. Emily gently turned your lifeless body onto its back, an act of tenderness in the midst of chaos that reflected your sacrifice and bravery - you had gone through hell to save her.

Half your body was scorched by the flames, your skin scarred by the fire, and your breathing was shallow and uneven, a faint sign of your struggle to survive.

Emily fought the panic that overcame her when she saw your badly injured body. "Stay with me, y/n," she whispered, her voice cracking with fear as the flames around her licked at the trees and ate through the undergrowth, a warning sign of destruction. "You can do this, you hear me? You have to do this. Please, y/n."

But you didn't move, unconscious and silent as death itself. Emily felt the tears burning in her eyes, but she forced herself to stay strong so as not to give up on you. Her hands rested gently on your bruised skin, a silent vow of loyalty and hope amidst the flames.

Emily pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, her fingers shaking with tension as she dialed the number for her boss, Aaron Hotchner. She raised the phone to her ear, hoping for a connection as the chaos raged around her, the flames spreading unstoppably.

"Hotch, we need help urgently," she said, her voice firm and controlled even as fear burned in her heart. "Y/n is seriously injured, we need firefighters and paramedics here. The whole forest is burning down. Now!"

He reassured her that help and the team was on the way, and Emily put the phone away, her thoughts entirely on you, still lying motionless in front of her. "Please, y/n. Wake up," she pleaded, running her hand gently over your burned neck, as if she could call life back into you through the touch. "You have to fight, you hear me? You can't give up."

The minutes passed like hours as Emily waited, her eyes fixed on you, counting every breath, watching every movement of your body as she evaluated your vitals every second. But nothing changed, you remained motionless, your face expressionless like a mask of ash, and your thoughts swirled in a whirlpool of fear and hope.

Finally, the sound of engines pierced the oppressive silence as firefighters burst through the flames and rushed to your rescue. She was accompanied by the paramedics who immediately lifted you onto a stretcher and took you into the ambulance while she followed you with a worried look, closely watching the rescuers' every move.

The ambulance raced through the mountainous streets, sirens blaring across the countryside, as Emily sat next to you, holding your hand tightly amidst the furious roar of the sirens and the rattling engine.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The bright morning light filtered gently through the hospital room window as you slowly came to consciousness. Every breath was accompanied by pain, every muscle in your body felt like it was filled with lead. A silent struggle against the stabbing pain shot through you as you tried to move, only to be thrown back into the soft hospital bed by a painful retreat.

Emily sat by your bed, her eyes full of concern, her hand gently stroking your fingers as if she was trying to ease your pain with her touch. Noticing you had awakened, a soft smile broke across her lips as she reached for your hand that wasn't injured. “Welcome back, y/n,” she whispered quietly, her voice warm and sensitive. "How do you feel?"

You tried to speak, but your voice was only a hoarse whisper, choked by the pain of your injuries, and you coughed painfully. Emily handed you a glass of water and gently held it to your lips, helping you take a slow sip before continuing. "It's okay, speak slowly," she encouraged patiently. "You've had a tough time, but we're here to support you." Her words were a promise of care and hope in the midst of the darkness you had lived through.

You nodded slowly, your mind raging like wild whirlwinds, flooding with memories of the past mission - the fire, the flames, the heat that had penetrated your skin. And then there was Emily, strong and unwavering, standing next to you and holding you as your body slowly gave out and you tried desperately to get her out of harm's way.

“I remember,” you finally whispered, your eyes cloudy with pain as you tried to form the words through the thick fog of memories. A faint hint of understanding crossed Emily's face as she heard your words, her eyes full of empathy and compassion.

"You literally walked through fire to save me," she spoke quietly, her voice laced with a hint of awe as tears pooled in her eyes, glittering like diamonds in the light.

A faint smile crossed your lips, trembling with exertion, as you slowly raised your hand and placed it gently on her cheek, your touch a delicate promise of love and devotion. “You were inside,” you murmured quietly, your voice a whisper in the quiet of the hospital room. "No fire in the world would stop me from saving you. I can't lose you." The words were a confession that reached deeper than words could, a promise that was anchored in the infinite expanses of your connection.

Emily reached for your hand, her touch as delicate as a gentle breath as she leaned against you, letting her tears flow freely. "Thank you for coming to get me," she spoke, her voice filled with admiration and gratitude. "You are incredibly brave. I was deeply impressed by your courage and willingness to sacrifice. I will always be there for you, just as you were there for me."

Your eyes shined with gratitude and a hint of relief. You knew the road to recovery would be long and difficult, but you also knew you didn't have to walk it alone. You had Emily by your side, strong and unwavering, and the team that supported you. Together you would overcome this challenge, side by side, hand in hand, ready to weather any storm that blew your way.

You knew that the bond between you both was strong, strengthened by the flames of fate you had traversed together. And so began a journey of recovery and growth for you that would bring you closer together than ever before. Every step you took together would show you that the love and connection you felt for each other was stronger than any darkness that threatened you.

[bijouxcarys]

Bad News (Roman Reigns x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Description: They told her to stay away. But something about him makes her keep coming back for more.

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: @octaviastargirl @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @heauxvibez (let me know if you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics)

Saturday, May 27th 2023 – Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

It had always been the three of them.

Despite not sharing a father, the sibling bond between Jasmine and Kevin was unshakable. Their shared history spanned so many years that neither could recall a time when it was otherwise. Although he was nearly a decade her senior, the two of them wreaked havoc together like a dynamic duo from Hell. The real transformation came when Sami entered Kevin’s life, escalating their antics to new heights.

Inseparable, irreplaceable, indestructible. Nothing could come between them.

Except… the face of pro wrestling. The one man that Jasmine was incessantly warned against—stay away from him, Jas; he’s not worth the trouble.

Roman fucking Reigns.

Ever loyal to her brother’s and best friend’s advice, she made an earnest attempt to heed their warnings. Attempt being the operative word here.

“Give me a bit of slack, man, I’m trying my best here,” she’d mutter, her face buried in the couch pillows.

“There’s no slack when it comes to that man, Jas. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s a wrestler, not the mafia.”

“Well…”

“Don’t be so dramatic—”

“I’m not. He just has a way of…” Sami shivered slightly, “getting into your head.”

“Yeah, we’re well aware of your little man crush.”

Jasmine was fully aware of her family’s fraught history with Roman and The Bloodline, so it wasn’t unusual for them to vent whenever they had a private moment backstage. They were always careful—God only knew the repercussions if the wrong ears caught wind of their conversations.

“He has kids, doesn’t he?”

“And an ex-wife.”

“Yeah, but kids.”

“What’s your point?”

“…Potent dad nut?”

“Jasmine!”

She understood the gravity of someone overhearing Sami and Kevin. Being a new addition to the main roster afforded her certain privileges that others might not have. However, nothing—absolutely nothing—would compare to the trouble she’d be in if either man discovered her… extracurricular activities.

> Still held up?

Jasmine glanced down at her phone, the text neatly displayed under the name BDU—an alias Roman had adopted from a fan’s moniker for him, “Big Daddy Uce,” circulating on social media.

She hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering over her screen, before typing out her reply.

Just a bit longer. Kevin and Sami are running late.<

Hitting send without a second thought, she sighed to herself. Navigating this bullshit lie was exhausting. The thrill of sneaking around with Roman clashed with the constant fear of those who loved her the most finding out. She glanced at the clock; time was slipping away.

Just then, the door to the locker room inched open, a familiar voice calling inside.

“Jas, you in here?”

“Yep. Just me, Kev, you can come in.”

She swore she felt the contents of her stomach clawing its way up her body when she noticed the stern expression on her brother’s face. Oh, shit, he’s found out. Time to move to Antarctica and live amongst the penguins.

“What’s up?” she asked after clearing her throat and sending him a nonchalant smile.

With a grunt, Kevin flopped down beside her, chewing over his thoughts. “Look… I know you’re trying…” he began slowly, choosing his words carefully. “And I can only interfere so much, and as your big brother, it’s my responsibility to prote—”

“Will you just spit it out already?”

“You really need to stay away from him, Jasmine. A-and it’s not just about us—he’s bad fucking news. I don’t wanna lose you because of all that.”

“I get it, I really do…” Jasmine furrowed her brows, unsure as to why he was spouting the same lecture he’d already given her a million times already. The two of them locked eyes, as if they were trying to see into each other’s thoughts. Jesus, just tell me what you really mean.

“I noticed it, y’know.” Kevin sighed.

“You noticed what?”

“The little smiles you give him whenever he goes past catering, or whenever we just so happen to cross paths before and after a match.”

“Sorry, am I not allowed to smile at people anymore?” Jasmine huffed, reaching down to tighten her bootlace.

“That’s not what I’m saying! But I know you, Jas—I know how you get with guys—”

“What the fuck is that meant to mean?”

“It means you’re a flirt, and so is that asshat,” he stood up, angled over her just to solidify his point.

“And?” she looked up at him, her hands flying out in an act of defence.

Kevin studied her face for a moment, before eventually sighing. “Just… please be careful, okay?”

“Listen,” she stood up, still inches shorter than him, but with the same gusto. “Nothing you’ve said to me about Roman Reigns has gone in one ear and out the other. I get it. You and Sami drill it into my head enough, how could I forget to be careful with him?” Her face softened and she placed her hand on her brother’s arm. “I’m fine, Kev. Really. I’m a big girl, I can handle a 6ft 4 Samoan wrestler, even if it means telling him to fuck off when he steps wrong.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay… I’d like to see you square up to him.”

“You know what I mean, idiot. Now, go and do whatever you were doing and stop worrying about me and my wondering eyes.”

Jasmine took the seconds after Kevin’s departure to release the heaviest sigh known to man.

You’re really not making this easy for me, Big Dog.

Giving herself a once over in the mirror, she slipped out of the locker room, making her way through the labyrinthine halls of the arena. The crowd’s distant roar echoed around her, reminding her of just where the fuck she was and the spectacle unfolding just beyond the breeze block walls. The audiences in Jeddah were always loud.

Finally, she reached the private room where she knew Roman was waiting. Knocking softly on the door, she slid in as smoothly as she could, meeting the never-faltering intense gaze of the man she really shouldn’t be seeing right now.

“Jassy,” he drawled, pulling her further into the room and closing the door behind her. “Thought you were gon’ stand me up.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she replied, rolling her eyes as he wrapped his girthy arms around her. “Kevin practically cornered me.”

Roman’s expression shifted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Always playin’ the big brother, huh? Thinks he can keep you from me.” He lowered his gaze to her lips, looking over her face with the same shit-eating air of arrogance he displayed in the ring.

“Maybe he should,” she shot back, though her tone was more teasing than anything else. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

He chuckled lowly. “You like bad influences, baby.”

Dramatically sighing, she couldn’t stop herself from smirking herself. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I have to like you, though.” She poked at his chest in a half-hearted attempt at separating their bodies.

“Oh, you like me, Jasmine. More than you wanna admit.” He leaned into her, breath warm against her ear. “And that’s what drives your pretty ass crazy.”

She huffed, her palms flat against his bare chest, still waiting to be oiled down. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re full of it if you think you can keep resisting me.” Hands settled on her waist; he tugged her closer. “But I get it, baby, I do… You’re just mad ‘cause you can’t get enough.”

Her lower lip slipped between her teeth as she attempted to suppress a smile. God-be-damned if she even so much as thought about matching the grin on his perfect fucking face.

“You wish.”

“Shh, you gotta stop tryna push me away so much, mama.” To her utter surprise, Roman placed a tentative kiss to her forehead, though the grip he had on her remained possessive. Territorial.

The two stood there for a moment, savouring the rare peace of their stolen time together. But the reality of their situation loomed large, regardless of their circumstances, and Jasmine knew they couldn’t stay in this tiny ass room for long.

Reluctantly, she pulled away completely. “I should go before they start looking for me.”

Roman nodded, though his qualms mirrored her own. “Be safe out there, Jassy. And remember,” he quickly added, causing her to stop in her tracks and half-turn in his direction. “Anythin’ goes wrong over there, you got me.”

She smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes. “Always.”

Of course, he couldn’t resist landing a small, teasing, slap to her ass just before she pulled the door open and disappeared for the night. She could still feel the light sting as she made her way down to catering, where she knew Sami and Kevin would be.

“Everything okay?” Sami asked, noticing the distant look in her eyes.

Jasmine nodded, forcing a casual tone. “Yeah, just needed a breather. It’s hot here, don’t you think?” She took a seat opposite the pair, instantly pulling her phone out once she felt the small buzz in her pocket.

> See you later ;)

You’re so sure about that aren’t you?<

> I told you… you can’t stay away

She tucked the phone away with a determined smile, knowing he was right. He always was.

And that proved to be true a lot sooner than she had hoped. Later that evening, as the arena buzzed with the looming anticipation of the night’s main event, Jasmine found herself once again lost in the battle of her morals. Roman and Solo’s tag team match against Sami and Kevin was literally minutes away, and she knew she had to wish him luck. Even if it meant risking another confrontation with her brother.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way to where she knew The Bloodline would be. Distant from everyone else, so she was thankful for that aspect.

Jimmy answered her knock, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of her.

“Hey, Jas. What you doin’ here?”

“Just wanted to, uh… wish Roman luck, I guess,” she said, trying to sound casual about her impromptu detour.

The Uso raised an eyebrow but stepped aside to let her in. Inside, the air was thicker than it was in the corridors. It was like the pre-match mental preparation seeped into the ethos. Paul and Solo were over on the couch, both eyeing her with curiosity. And in the very centre of the room, angled towards a mirror as he adjusted his red glove, was Roman.

“Look who decided to show up,” Roman chimed, his voice dripping with playful pride. Sauntering over to her, his wet hair hung at the sides of his face as he angled down to look her in the eye. “Told you, you can’t stay away… You here to give me a good luck charm, baby?”

“Maybe I am,” she crossed her arms and met his gaze head-on. “Not that you need it, Mr. Head of the Table.”

“Ooh,” he chuckled, eyes darkening with that familiar glint. “You know I love it when you call me that.”

Jasmine snorted a small laugh with a swift roll of her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

Roman leaned in closer, dropping his voice to that husky whisper she usually only ever heard in their most private moments. “You sure you don’t wanna stick around? Might need a little extra motivation.”

Even though his tone caused a shiver to shoot down her spine, she maintained her composure. “I think you’ll be just fine without me distracting you.”

“You always distract me, Jassy. That’s half the fun.”

Before she could respond, Jimmy interrupted with a grin. “Hey, Uce, you better focus on the damn match. Don’t let Jas here mess with your head.”

Roman shot his cousin a glare. “I got this. Ain’t nothin’ gon’ mess with my head tonight.”

Jasmine shook her head, unable to suppress the amusement that came with every visit to any locker room belonging to The Bloodline. “Alright, alright. Go out there and show them why you’re the Tribal Chief.”

His intense glare softened as he looked back at Jasmine. “You gonna be watchin’?”

“Aren’t I always?” she raised an eyebrow as she made her way to the door.

“As long as you keep acknowledging me, baby, that’s all I need.”

She shot him a grin before closing the door behind her. Oh, I’ll always acknowledge the fuck out of you.

Roman’s domineering presence was palpable, right from the very start of the match. She wasn’t sure if it was just where she watched on from the shadows of Gorilla, but every move he made exuded a confidence in him like never before. But… Kevin and Sami were relentless. They pushed The Bloodline to their limits. And her eyes couldn’t decide where they wanted to be focused. Once again thrown into the back and forth of what outcome she really wanted…

Roman and Solo seemed to have the upper hand at times, but her own family fought back with a determination that left everyone on the edge of their seats, even her.

Eventually, Kevin had Roman alone. Squaring off in the ring. Their rivalry coming to a head in a series of brutal exchanges. A Stunner from Kev, an immediate Spear by Roman. Usually, she could tell which direction a certain match was going. But this? A whole other level.

The climax of the match came in a flurry of action. Solo unleashed a devastating assault on Sami, while Roman engaged Kevin in a battle of wills. The crowd erupted as the evening reached its fever pitch, the finale hanging in the balance.

In a final, dramatic moment, Sami managed to evade Solo’s grasp and tag in Kevin, who launched into a brutal offence against Roman. And despite Roman’s best efforts, Kevin and Sami’s relationship proved too strong. Another Stunner to Roman, followed by a classic Helluva, secured the pinfall that retained her family’s title.

Everyone seemed to explode with cheers. Jasmine couldn’t decide if she was proud of Sami and Kevin for their win, or disappointment that her illegal partner of sorts had actually… lost.

The same engulfed her as she tried her best to celebrate with her brother and best friend backstage. Tried to look happier than she really was. A horrible feeling if there ever was one.

You’re betraying your family; you should be happy!

Then she caught it. Focused, intense eyebrows narrowed down atop eyes that lit up whenever in her presence. Though, this time, approaching was out of the question. Roman passed from afar, followed by Jimmy, Solo, and Paul. His fists clenched at his sides, and his nostrils flared, she held no remorse for him ignoring is surroundings. He was in his head, and she empathised.

However, no amount of losing could stop him from approaching her.

Her phone buzzed as she flopped down onto the bed in her hotel room, snug in a fluffy robe after a hot shower.

> You busy?

Nope<

It took him a while to respond, but once he did, a wide smile overtook her features and she shot up into a seated position.

> Unlock your door and sit on the bed. Don’t fucking move. I’ll be there in 15.

[officialspec]

i just started following you and holy shit all of your ocs are so gender your character design is PEAK

Speaking of (angel's) peak, do you have a synposis or a way to read the comics you've made in order or anything like that?

im still trying to be a Little Bit secretive about this kind of thing, but ill post the last synopsis i wrote for the pitch bible

"The titular town of Angel’s Peak is a hotspot for unexplained events, and its newest resident Caleb Martinez is a naive young adult looking to blaze a path for himself as a monster hunter like the obscure figures he looks up to. Lightning strikes when he runs into one of these idols by chance, a man named Gabriel de la Rosa who turns out to be far from the action hero Caleb admires. 15 years since his public disappearance and simultaneous hiring by the shady organisation S.E.E.R, Gabriel is a jaded shell of a man just barely forcing himself through the motions of his day to day life. A life which is suddenly made infinitely more complicated when Caleb is hired as his protege, and he now has to deal with Caleb’s unshakeable optimism alongside the drudgery of his monster hunting career.

This duo is surrounded by a cast of supporting characters ranging from pessimistic bureaucrats to mad scientists, and the show is driven just as much by interpersonal connections as it is the monsters they take down week to week. The connections they make and break and the horrors they endure serve to bring Caleb and Gabriel closer as they each learn to better understand the other - Caleb learning to direct his idealism towards more productive endeavours and Gabriel learning to let go of his ennui and take control of his life again. In the depths of the facility, however, a conspiracy is brewing. One involving disturbing experiments with angel’s blood and resurrection conducted by the new head of research, Felicity Sawyer, and her predecessor Francine “Skinny” West. Tensions rise as the duo struggle between settling into uncomfortable complacency, or risking everything to do what’s right."

[lance-space-mommy]

Any Luck on the Boyfriend Front?

“I like you.”

“Huh?”

“I like you!”

“Yeah right, I’m not interested in your games.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf? I don’t care about what you have to say Deku.”

“Ah, okay. I understand.”

It had taken Midoriya months to gather the courage to confess to Bakugo. A part of him always knew he loved Bakugo, but he never had the chance to address how he felt.

They had gotten much closer throughout their time at U.A. High and Midoriya had reason to believe Bakugo felt the same way. Unfortunately, Midoriya was mistaken. Bakugo made it very clear he wasn’t interested in Midoriya and that whatever Midoriya wanted to express wasn’t important.

The wonder duo’s once strong and seemingly unbreakable bond was broken.

In the days following Midoriya’s rejection, he didn’t bother speaking to Bakugo. While he still had an unshakable crush on Bakugo, he couldn’t bring himself to talk or be around him. It hurt too much.

The entire class instantly noticed the shift in Midoriya’s mood and mannerisms. Usually, Midoriya was happily calling out to Bakugo and walking around with him. Mina was the first to rush over and ask Midoriya what was happening on day three.

“Are you okay?” asked Mina worriedly, trying to keep her voice to a hush.

Midoriya took a moment to smile, and the action looked like it hurt. Following his physical reaction, it took a couple more seconds for him to respond. Through gritted teeth, Midoriya answered, “I’ve never been better.”

Mina grabbed Midoriya by the arm and dragged him out of the room. “Cut the shit, let’s talk.”

Uraraka got up and quickly followed the two outside of the classroom. Mina closed the door behind them and grabbed Midoriya’s shoulders.

“Spill.”

“Wait, what’s happening,” questioned Uraraka quickly. She didn’t want to assume what Mina was telling Midoriya to talk about, but she hoped it was about his concerning behavior.

“Midoriya here is acting weird and is avoiding Bakugo. I’m asking what happened,” informed Mina, looking at Uraraka before turning back to Midoriya.

“It’s nothing guys, really,” sighed Midoriya, waving his hands.

Uraraka and Mina gave each other an unimpressed glance before pointing their stare at Midoriya. Midoriya wilted at their expression. Uraraka called her best friend out quickly. “Nothing my butt. You look like a kicked puppy. I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah, we just want to know what’s upsetting you,” agreed Mina, keeping her voice hushed and gentle. She’s been more careful around Midoriya after the war.

Midoriya stared at the ground with such intensity it scared the two. Midoriya felt his lip wobble as the dam of tears behind his eyes was prepared to break. Despite doing his best to compose himself and act like everything was okay, he couldn’t.

He wasn’t okay. He wanted to cry. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, and undesirable. If Bakugo had politely rejected Midoriya, that would have been easier to bounce back from, but that wasn’t the case.

Bakugo spat on Midoriya’s heart. While Midoriya knew Bakugo could be harsh on his bad days, it was still extremely out of character for him.

In the middle of the hallway, Midoriya crumbled. His shoulders trembled as he let out loud sobs he tried to muffle. Uraraka jumped at the suddenness of Midoriya’s breakdown.

Mina swallowed hard as her frown deepened. Guilt started eating her up, worried she overstepped a boundary and hurt Midoriya.

Uraraka pulled Midoriya into a hug, not bothering to waste words when it was clear Midoriya wasn’t going to hear them anyway. Mina on the other hand began to guide Midoriya and Uraraka away from the classroom for more privacy. 

Kirishima, who had been on the other side of the door, turned around with a pale face. The rest of the class who were waiting for Kirishima to fill them in all felt their expressions fall when they saw his face. It was clear Midoriya wasn’t doing okay, and Kirishima’s expression confirmed their fears.

“Guys… Midoriya’s crying,” revealed Kirishima slowly with panic laced in his voice.

Todoroki walked over, growing nervous. “What do you think could’ve caused him to be this upset?”

Iida shook his head, crossing his arms. “He was already acting strange yesterday afternoon. He skipped dinner.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Midoriya cry like that before. Sure, he’s been through hell, but this cry is heartbreaking,” explained Kirishima, looking at the rest of his peers.

“I hope it’s nothing too serious. Midoriya’s been through so much already,” recalled Momo, letting her fingers nervously fidget.

Bakugo on the other hand was trying to keep his cool. It was quickly becoming apparent that Midoriya’s breakdown was because of what went down earlier that week.

He didn’t have a good reason for why he acted the way he did or why he said the things he did. He just assumed Midoriya was messing with him, and Bakugo took it personally because he was genuinely interested.

Too bad he went and fucked it all up.

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he pushed back his chair and stalked to the doorway. With one strong swing he threw open the door and quickly slammed it shut behind him.

Crying quickly met his ears, and he turned his head to spot Uraraka and Mina failing to console him. Bakugo stalked his way over, feeling his pulse pick up at the sound of Midoriya crying knowing it was his fault.

“Pink cheeks, raccoon eyes, leave,” instructed Bakugo with a seriousness they hadn’t seen or heard in a while.

The duo instantly backed off, making their way back towards the classroom. Meanwhile, Midoriya was struggling to get himself together. He didn’t want Bakugo to see him in such a state. Midoriya didn’t want Bakugo to know he still held so much power over him years later.

“Izuku.”

Midoriya quickly cut him off, raising a hand. “Don’t.”

Bakugo stilled, not expecting Midoriya to respond with such hostility. “I just wanted to apologize.”

“Wow. Really? That’s surprising,” scoffed Midoriya, lowering his hands to show an unimpressed expression accompanied by red puffy eyes.

“Don’t be a smartass,” fired back Bakugo, not one to take disrespect lightly.

“Well, excuse me for not being nice after how you spoke to me yesterday,” replied Midoriya bluntly, crossing his arms.

Bakugo paused, balling his hands up. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Izuku, please. If you will… let me explain.”

Midoriya narrowed his eyes, taking a step forward. “Please, enlighten me as to why you don’t care about anything I have to say and that my feelings aren’t important to you.”

It was quiet for a bit, Midoriya watched as Bakugo’s face turned a rosy shade of pink. The resentment, anger, and hurt that Midoriya had been feeling almost instantly faltered. This wasn’t an expression Midoriya expected to see on Bakugo’s face.

“Kacchan?”

“Shit, this is embarrassing!” admitted Bakugo angrily, rubbing his face.

“What?” questioned Midoriya with concern, a part of him was worried Bakugo was embarrassed about feeling the same way.

Bakugo looked into Midoriya’s beautiful green eyes before revealing, “I thought you were pranking me.”

Midoriya stilled, his worried expression morphing into something resembling irritation. “Excuse me? Why would you ever think I’d fake confessing to you?”

“I saw you with Pink Cheeks yesterday whispering about something like weirdos,” explained Bakugo.

“Hey!” yelled Midoriya, offended by the unnecessary detail.

“Let me finish Freckles! After you guys were done whispering, I overheard Pink Cheeks talking with Dunce Face and Raccoon Eyes. They were laughing about some great prank and your name was mentioned a lot. You approached me less than ten minutes later,” detailed Bakugo, crossing his arms.

Midoriya looked up at Bakugo to see the way his expression softened, and his eyes were filled with remorse. Butterflies filled Midoriya’s gut as he realized he still had a chance. Bakugo may really like him.

“I don’t know about any prank, but I’m about to go find out,” hissed Midoriya, his blood boiling at the realization his friends set him up.

“Hold it right there. You aren’t going anywhere,” countered Bakugo, swiftly grabbing Midoriya’s wrist.

Snapping his gaze up to Bakugo, Midoriya was put back into the present. His head was all over the place as one strong emotion after the next came over him.

“Do you,” started Midoriya before having to stop and swallow a lump in his throat. “Do you like me too?”

Bakugo pulled Midoriya’s arm. Midoriya flew towards Bakugo, yelping before feeling a muscular arm hold his waist. “Fuck that cheesy kid shit. I’m in love with you, Izuku.”

Before Midoriya could get a word out Bakugo captured his lips. Midoriya let out a relieved sigh as he melted into Bakugo’s arms. Bakugo let go of Midoriya to set both hands on his waist and pull him close.

Midoriya swiftly moved his hands to Bakugo’s shoulders before sliding them up the nape of his neck. He felt his legs get weak as Bakugo kissed him like he was the most perfect person in the world.

When the two pulled away for a moment, Bakugo declared, “We are dating.”

“Just kiss me again,” sighed Midoriya and he looked up into Bakugo’s piercing stare.

Bakugo didn’t waste a minute to capture Midoriya in another kiss. They both ignored the fact that class had started, and they were definitely going to get in trouble for kissing in the middle of the hallway.

Meanwhile, Uraraka and Mina were staring at the duo with dropped jaws. Kirishima had opened the door to get an update and was also frozen in surprise at the sight of Midoriya and Bakugo making out in the hallway.

Their teacher took one look at what was going on in the hallway before going right back to the teacher's stand. It was about time the two teens figured out their feelings. The teacher no longer had to deal with the strange air that surrounded the two.

By the time Midoriya and Bakugo returned to the room, everyone knew what had just happened. Todoroki pointed a finger at the duo with a smile. “I’m glad to see you finally figured out the obvious.”

“Ha?” shouted Bakugo, hand ready to blast Todoroki to space.

“Good for you two! I was wondering when you’d finally get together,” cheered Mina, clapping her hands.

Midoriya was bright red, covering his face in embarrassment at the realization all his classmates heard and witnessed their confession and kissing. “Oh god.”

The teacher cleared their throat, grabbing the attention of everyone. “You may all talk about your personal lives after class. Let’s leave both Bakugo and Midoriya alone and continue our lesson.”

Twenty students all sadly shuffled back to their seats. Bakugo sneakily took Midoriya’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Midoriya flashed Bakugo a giddy smile before squeezing his hand back.

Even if the way they started dating came from a less-than-ideal situation, Midoriya couldn’t be more grateful. If it took a misunderstanding and some tears to get the ball rolling, then so be it. Bakugo would spend the rest of his life making up for it.

Midoriya was now dating the boy of his dreams.

[azul-nova-24]

why Jayvik (Arcane) is similar to Rambheem (RRR)

The relationships between Ram and Bheem from RRR and Jayce and Viktor from Arcane share a few thematic similarities, though they are set in very different worlds and contexts. Here are some points of comparison to why I love to believe Jayvik was coppied from Rambheem:

Deep Bonds of Friendship: Both pairs have strong, complex bonds of friendship that are central to their stories. Ram and Bheem form a deep, unshakeable brotherhood/queerplatonic relationship despite their initial differences. Similarly, Jayce and Viktor have a close friendship grounded in their shared scientific pursuits and aspirations, even as their relationship evolves and faces tensions over time.

Contrasting Ideologies and Approaches: A key theme in both relationships is the difference in ideologies and methods. Ram and Bheem are often seen working in tandem despite having distinct personalities and approaches to problem-solving. Similarly, Jayce and Viktor, though united by a common scientific goal, begin to diverge in their views on how to achieve progress, with Jayce seeking to work within the system and Viktor desiring more radical change.

Mutual Respect and Conflict: Both relationships show a balance of mutual respect and inevitable conflict. Ram and Bheem, while friends and allies, sometimes clash over tactics or principles. The friendship between Jayce and Viktor also faces a growing divide as their ambitions and moral perspectives shift, particularly with Viktor's more ethically ambiguous choices and Jayce's pursuit of power.

Shared Trauma and Ambition: Both duos have experienced personal trauma or difficult pasts that shape their actions and aspirations. Ram and Bheem's shared history of oppression and their pursuit of justice mirrors Jayce and Viktor’s struggles, where their experiences of societal injustice fuel their scientific ambitions and desires to change the world, albeit with different methods and outcomes.

Transformation and Tragedy: Both pairs experience transformation—sometimes tragic—in their relationships and individual arcs. Ram and Bheem undergo personal growth, with their relationship tested by the larger events in RRR. Jayce and Viktor's bond is also tested, especially as Viktor becomes more consumed by his own pursuit of power and technology, leading to inevitable consequences that affect their friendship.

Overall, while the contexts—one set in historical India and the other in a fictional steampunk world—are very different, both relationships explore themes of friendship, betrayal, personal ambition, and the tragic consequences of ideological divides.

[maoam]

What do you think of itafushi and satosugu?

Ah I think I was asked about this before but back then my opinion was very non-opinion. Because I hadn't gotten that deep into the series yet. I also answered an ask about satosugu earlier.

I will say that they complement each other very well. They understand each other better than other characters, like I don't believe that something like Gojo not realising how bad Geto's state was until it was too late would happen with Yuuji and Megumi because they seem to figure each other out pretty well. Gege also did draw parallels between Geto-Gojo and Yuuji-Megumi duos. But that's not something I'm gonna focus on here.

(Manga spoilers up to chapter 266 ahead!)

Yuuji and Megumi's relationship is deeply intervowen into the text of the manga itself. The fact Megumi chose to save Yuuji despite the fact it put more people at risk is what sort of started everything. And the actions of the two impact each others development.

Todo was asking Megumi about his type, and when he is not hearing an answer he adds that it's fine if he prefers men. Why is this needed here? Gege is not making a joke, like a homophobic joke some average dudebro author would make because a male character is taking his time to answer, where said male character then gets offended and the audience laughs. Todo is very chill, it's a non-issue for him. Megumi is also not shown to be offended or even phased at the implication. Well there is no joke, so why did this need to be added? To imply. To hint. To put the idea in the reader's head. And then Megumi answers and uses 'person' instead of a girl/woman. Also the fact many male characters seem to point out Megumi's cuteness/attractiveness makes it even more obvious that Gege seems to like the idea of Megumi being 'available' to both men and women. Obviously women think he's cute as well but that's sort of given.

Megumi's type is someone who has an 'unshakeable character' according to a translator I asked about it. I once read another person say it's 'unwavering humanity'. This translator said this goes with Yuuji's name. Regardless, Yuji's name has 'unwavering/unshakeable benevolence/compassion/humanity' so whether the word refers to unshakeable humanity or character, both fit Yuji and the type clearly is a nod to his name. Which many translators have pointed out.

However when asked about his type, Megumi thought of Tsumiki.

Before that, when Yuuji "died" Megumi was imagining Tsumiki on a field surrounded by countless sunflowers. Now we know Gege is aware of hanakotoba, since he mentioned the meanings of both white lilies and black lilies in the manga, and he drew them around Tsumiki, to reference her innocence/purity (white lily) and the fact she was cursed (black lily). Sunflowers apparently symbolise passionate love, and the more sunflowers, the more intense the love is. 11 sunflowers is true love, 108 sunflowers is marry me etc. So there is that implication that Megumi's feelings for Tsumiki might be not completely familiar... Megumi is someone with abandonment issues, because his mom died and his dad left. So he has low self esteem and doesn't value his life. But he had Tsumiki. And he developed that intense need to protect her and care for her. In Jujutsu Sousen which is the prototype for jjk, Yuuji also mistook Tsumiki for Megumi's girlfriend, and Megumi's reply was that "well, she is someone important to me". Megumi did everything for her happiness' sake, which is why he lost all hope and will when she died.

Gege also drew Yorozu and Sukuna in their bodies, with Yorozu acting the way she did towards Sukuna and talking about 'love' as a sort of dark humour.

Yet, I do see that Megumi has a soft spot for Yuuji.

Megumi tries to come up with ways for Yuuji to live, while Yuuji tries to come up with ways to die. I noticed Megumi is a bit tsundere because he's not that smooth about comforting another person, so he comes off a bit mad like here, calling Yuuji selfish for caring about him, haha. Which is kind of call back for Megumi saying his decision to save Yuuji was a selfish decision?

Back to Tsumiki.

It feels like in the absence of Tsumiki, Megumi started to look for Yuuji as someone to idealize, as someone who to learn from. That mission where he took the criminal's badge to give to his mom, that action is something he wouldn't have done without Yuuji's influence. And in this moment above he's thinking about both of their genuine, sweet smiles, placing them next to each other in his mind. Yuuji has in a short time become someone important to him. But it's very telling how his type of people in his mind are Tsumiki and Yuuji. It's not even subtle from Gege.

And as I said it seems like Megumi has a bit of a soft spot for Yuuji.

Which is why Yuuji has this effect on Megumi. I never see Megumi melt like this as a response to other people. It's like Yuuji gets through his defenses.

Here's the tsundere again. Megumi shows his care with certain level of aggression because like I said, he's not the smoothest person around.

Even when he's about to die, he thinks about Yuuji. I do think it makes sense that someone like Yuuji has become so important to him in such a short time. Because he's Megumi's type of person.

And I also noticed that whenever Megumi smiles in the manga, it's either due to him making progress as a sorcerer or it's because of something related to Yuuji.

It's the framing here how Gege does the little smile that I find interesting.

Of course there's also this moment where we see a very genuine Megumi smiling. This moment is very important because it was even used in the recent MV with Yuuji, Megumi and Sukuna. I think Megumi's connection to both is very important to the conclusion of the story.

Notice how I talked mostly about Megumi? Because the differences in his behaviour are easier to notice, compared to Yuuji's "I get along with everyone" personality. Obviously, Yuuji does like Megumi a lot, as we see in the previous images he easily gives him compliments like calling him reliable and smart (or even cute when teasing him with Hana lol) and he is also very protective of Megumi.

What's funny is that the last moment immediately reminded me of Naruto and Sasuke's dynamic in the land of waves. It's identical (please don't kill me narusasus who dislike itafushi and itafushis who dislike narusasu). I also think he really does admire Megumi and immediately notices him first out of all the other people (like with Ozawa and Nobara). And just like Yuuji influences Megumi, Megumi influences Yuuji, and makes him think outside of his own mindset "what if someone you saved killed someone else in the future?". They both also acknowledge each others differences and respect them.

I don't think his answer to Todo (I mean he seemed unsure in his answer too) or his comment about Jennifer Lawrence are necessarily dealbreakers considering this is Gege lol. Gege seems to make Yuuji indecisive, like how he couldn't answer the question whether he prefers dogs or cats because he's unsure, or how he says "I guess" when referring to his type of girl. He says 'tall girl' but when actually tall girls that fit his supposed type show up like Ozawa and Yuki, he doesn't show that kind of interest in them. I'm not saying he can't like girls by the way, I'm just saying Gege hasn't shown Yuuji show genuine interest in women unlike for example Horikoshi has with Deku. With Yuji it's a one-note joke, with Deku we actually see him show attraction.

But the reason why I point these things out is because Gege is very particular about Megumi's character, to the point his editor commented on it, so I don't think he would draw things for no reason. If Yuuji is the only person that makes the usually stoic Megumi smile and if he manages to melt down Megumi's worried/distressed side then that is something important, since Gege feels the need to repeat these situations. Author intent is always important. However I know some people probably aren't fans of this but Gege is clearly very fixated on the connection between Megumi and Sukuna as well. Possibly even more so. They have a lot of connections that would need their own post. I talked a bit about Megumi and Sukuna here but it's not even close to being everything you could write about Gege's writing concerning them. Also, Yuuji and Sukuna can't stand each other and are currently pretty much fighting over Megumi (lol). I don't think Megumi will stay passive though, as we see in this recent chapter, he is fighting back. But it's something to think about.

And in this recent chapter, Megumi is once again placing Yuuji and Tsumiki next to each other, imagining a calm, relaxed life with them. I already imagined that one of the character image songs Gege chose for Megumi , Weezer's 'Island in the Sun' was just about having fun with Yuuji and I was right!

Yuuji dares to finally admit he needs Megumi too. And Megumi's comment 'Someone like you'... Megumi really does place Yuuji high, and I think people are starting to see it. Yuuji makes him happier and more relaxed. And the fact he lost all will to live, yet regained it because Yuuji would be lonely without him, speaks volumes as well. And to Yuuji Megumi is also a special person. I don't know if there will be a happy ending for them, but they definitely changed each others lives.

[rubberizer92]

Meet Adrian and Marcus, a power duo who command both the waves and the stares on the beach. 🌊✨ Adrian, in his sleek pale pink latex shirt and jet-black trousers, exudes sophistication with every step, his strong jawline and piercing gaze cutting through the ocean breeze. 🖤🔥 By his side, Marcus glows under the sun in shimmering silver shorts and a half-buttoned shirt, proudly showcasing his chiseled abs and rugged masculinity. Together, they’re a balance of elegance and raw power, a couple who turns the shore into their runway.

Their chemistry is undeniable, their confidence unshakable. Adrian, the quiet strategist, stands tall with an air of mystery, while Marcus, ever the playful charmer, lets his smile and physique do the talking. 💪✨ The sea may crash behind them, but nothing could outshine the magnetic pull of this duo. Their perfectly coordinated outfits aren’t just fashion statements—they’re declarations of dominance, allure, and unity.

Would you dare to approach this unstoppable pair? Or would you stay transfixed, letting their aura consume you from afar? Step closer, and discover the world they rule together. 🔗

https://ko-fi.com/rubberizer92/commissions

[bisexual-king-icon-tonystark]

oh no f1 twitter are slandering lestappen again and always using the same nonsense cheap narratives and consequently having engagement at the expense of this iconic duo.

✨ powerful pair is badass like that ✨

✨ couple so strong that they shake the fragile structures of the haters ✨

✨ lovers who make their deniers angry ✨

✨ partners who despite all the negativity are unshakable ✨