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magnagaruzenmon · 3 days ago

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Fit For A King

A little follow up to a day to remember

Breaking the Mirror

The training hall echoed with the steady sound of Tiberius’s strikes against a wooden practice dummy. Sweat dripped from his brow as he moved with precision, alternating between slashes, strikes, and spinning flourishes with his naginata in its shortened blade form. His focus was absolute, his breathing steady.

That focus shattered the moment the doors burst open, and an energetic voice rang out.

“Tiberius, the man of the hour!”

Tiberius froze mid-swing, his head snapping toward the intruder. There she was, Ive’s Yujin, striding into the training hall like she owned the place. She was all confident and bright, her athletic build and infectious smile giving her an air of effortless charm.

“What the—” Tiberius muttered, lowering his weapon.

Yujin pointed a finger at him, grinning like she’d just caught him doing something embarrassing. “You’re really working up a sweat, huh? Training for Lucion, I bet. Mind if I watch? Or, better yet, join in?”

Tiberius blinked, thrown by her sudden appearance. “Uh… do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” she replied cheerily, plopping down onto a nearby bench without waiting for an invitation.

Tiberius sighed, wiping his brow with a towel. “Alright, what’s the deal? Did someone send you here?”

Yujin put on her best innocent face. “Me? Sent? Nah, I just thought you might want some company. You’ve got that lone wolf vibe going on, and trust me, it’s overrated.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

She laughed, leaning forward with her chin in her hand. “Fine, fine. Maybe I was encouraged to swing by. But can you blame them? You’ve been taking this whole ‘tournament’ thing way too seriously. Ever heard of balance, Tiberius?”

Tiberius shook his head, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about balance.”

Yujin gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I am the epitome of balance. Watch this.” She stood and immediately attempted a high kick, but the motion sent her tumbling backward into a roll. She sprang up as if nothing happened, brushing herself off with a grin. “See? Perfect recovery. Balance.”

Tiberius couldn’t help but chuckle, despite himself. “Okay, I’ll give you points for effort.”

“Darn right you will,” she said, plopping back down. “But seriously, you need to lighten up. You’re going to burn yourself out before the fight even starts.”

Tiberius glanced at his weapon, twirling it absentmindedly. “I don’t have time to lighten up. Lucion isn’t someone I can just mess around with.”

“Maybe not,” Yujin said, her voice softening slightly. “But you don’t have to take the whole world on your shoulders either. You’ve got people rooting for you, you know. You’re not alone in this.”

The sincerity in her tone caught Tiberius off guard. He looked at her, expecting to see the same teasing expression, but there was warmth in her gaze.

He sighed, setting his naginata down. “Fine. Let’s say I take a break. What exactly do you suggest?”

Yujin’s grin returned in full force. “Glad you asked. First, we eat. You can’t fight on an empty stomach. Then, we hang out. I’ll even let you teach me how to use that fancy weapon of yours. And who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

Tiberius arched an eyebrow. “Surprise me how?”

She winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He groaned, but there was no malice in it. “Alright, fine. Just try not to trip over yourself too much.”

“Deal,” Yujin said, hopping to her feet. She extended a hand toward him. “Come on, let’s go grab something good.”

As Tiberius reluctantly followed her out of the training hall, he realized that Yujin’s presence, as overwhelming as it was, had managed to lift a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected distraction wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Tiberius and Yujin left the training hall and wandered into town, Yujin leading the way like she’d lived there her whole life. She chattered nonstop, pointing out little details of the marketplace and cheerfully engaging with vendors as if she were on a sightseeing trip.

Tiberius trailed behind, his weapon tucked securely in its sheath. “Do you always talk this much?” he asked, feigning irritation.

“Only when I’m trying to drag a stick-in-the-mud like you out of their funk,” Yujin teased. “Come on, live a little!” She darted toward a food stall and returned holding two steaming skewers of grilled meat. “Here, eat.”

Tiberius accepted the skewer, eyeing it suspiciously before taking a bite. It was surprisingly good, and Yujin’s smug expression made him roll his eyes.

“I can’t believe this is all it takes to get you smiling,” she said, laughing.

“I’m not smiling,” Tiberius countered, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

“Sure, sure,” she said, dragging him toward a cluster of small restaurants. “Let’s find a spot to sit. This next part of the ‘Tiberius Rehab Plan’ involves a proper meal.”

As they walked into a cozy pizzeria, the warm smell of melted cheese and baked dough greeted them. Yujin didn’t wait for Tiberius’s opinion and ordered a large pepperoni pizza for the two of them.

“Pepperoni?” Tiberius asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s classic,” she replied. “Trust me, you’ll love it. Besides, you look like you could use carbs.”

As they waited for their order, the door jingled open, and Chowon walked in. She froze when she spotted them, her gaze flicking between Tiberius and Yujin.

“Chowon?” Tiberius said, surprised.

“Hey, uh… hi,” Chowon said, hesitating by the door. Her eyes lingered on Yujin, who was grinning as if she’d just found a new playmate.

“Oh, is this your girlfriend?” Yujin asked, leaning toward Tiberius with a mischievous smirk.

Tiberius sputtered, but Chowon recovered first. “No! I mean, we’re friends. Just friends.”

“Good,” Yujin said, standing and grabbing Chowon’s hand. “Then you can join us. I can’t be the only one dragging this guy out of his shell.”

Chowon hesitated, unsure how to react to Yujin’s boldness. But Yujin didn’t give her a chance to decline, pulling her into the booth.

“Yujin,” Tiberius said, rubbing his temples. “Can you not overwhelm everyone you meet?”

“Overwhelm? Please, I’m just being friendly,” Yujin said, handing Chowon a menu. “So, what’s your favorite pizza topping?”

Chowon blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… mushrooms?”

“Mushrooms?” Yujin wrinkled her nose in mock horror. “Alright, we’ll order another pizza for you. You’re not touching my pepperoni masterpiece.”

Despite herself, Chowon chuckled. Her usual reserved nature started to slip as Yujin’s relentless energy pulled her into the conversation. Within minutes, the trio was laughing over the most ridiculous topics—Yujin’s failed attempts at learning to cook, Chowon’s stories from the hostel, and Tiberius’s deadpan reactions to their antics.

When the pizzas arrived, the table fell quiet as they devoured the food. Yujin, unsurprisingly, was the loudest, praising the chef between bites. Chowon found herself smiling more than she had in days, and Tiberius, despite his initial reluctance, seemed to relax in their company.

As they finished their meal, Yujin leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, new plan. After Tiberius beats Lucion, the three of us celebrate with karaoke. Chowon, you’re coming, right?”

Chowon hesitated, but Yujin nudged her with an encouraging smile.

“Sure,” Chowon said softly, glancing at Tiberius. “As long as Tiberius agrees.”

Tiberius sighed, a small but genuine smile breaking through. “Fine. But only if you two stop ganging up on me.”

“No promises,” Yujin said with a laugh.

Chowon laughed, too, surprising herself at how easily Yujin had drawn her out of her shell. Maybe this loud, overbearing girl wasn’t so bad after all.

As the trio left the pizzeria, walking together under the soft glow of streetlights, Chowon felt lighter, her worries about Tiberius’s next fight momentarily forgotten. And Tiberius, for the first time in a while, felt like he wasn’t facing the tournament alone.

Later that night, Yujin burst into her apartment, still buzzing with energy from her impromptu pizza outing. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag onto the couch, not noticing Gaeul and Wonyoung seated at the dining table, sipping tea and waiting expectantly.

“There you are,” Wonyoung said, her sharp gaze fixed on Yujin. “Took you long enough. How’d it go?”

Yujin flopped into a chair with dramatic flair, her grin nearly splitting her face. “Oh my gosh, you won’t believe the day I had!”

Gaeul arched an eyebrow. “We’re waiting.”

“Well,” Yujin began, leaning forward conspiratorially, “first of all, Tiberius is so much cooler than I thought. I mean, he’s still got that grumpy vibe going on, but once you get past the walls? He’s actually really funny in a dry, sarcastic kind of way. And Chowon showed up—she’s so sweet, by the way—and the three of us had the best time!”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a quick glance, their expressions neutral despite the flicker of interest in their eyes.

“We got pizza, talked about the tournament, joked around—it was honestly the most fun I’ve had in weeks. And Chowon? Oh, I think she might secretly be as competitive as Tiberius. She just hides it better.”

“Interesting,” Gaeul said, resting her chin on her hand. “So… what’s your take on Tiberius? Think he’s distracted?”

Yujin tilted her head, considering the question. “Hmm… I wouldn’t say he’s distracted. But he’s definitely opening up a bit. I mean, the guy’s been under a lot of pressure. Maybe having people to talk to is good for him?”

“Good for him,” Wonyoung repeated, her voice laced with a subtle sarcasm. “Or good for us?”

Yujin laughed. “Oh, come on, you two! You’re acting like I went there to sabotage him or something.”

Gaeul gave a tight-lipped smile. “Of course not.”

“Anyway, I think Tiberius’s gonna be just fine,” Yujin continued, oblivious to the calculated expressions of her roommates. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes down Lucion. The guy’s got serious potential. And Chowon? She’s totally his secret weapon. I swear, she’s got this calming effect on him.”

Wonyoung sipped her tea thoughtfully, hiding the slight upward twitch of her lips. “That’s… great to hear, Yujin. Really.”

“Yeah,” Gaeul added, her tone deceptively casual. “It sounds like you’re doing a great job, keeping him… engaged.”

“Thanks!” Yujin said brightly, completely missing the subtext. “I’m telling you, we’re gonna be besties by the end of this tournament!”

As Yujin bounded off to her room, humming a cheerful tune, Gaeul, and Wonyoung leaned closer, their voices dropping to a whisper.

“She has no idea,” Wonyoung said, shaking her head.

“Nope,” Gaeul agreed, a sly smile forming on her lips. “But it’s working. If Yujin keeps this up, Tiberius won’t know what hit him. By the time he realizes how much time he’s spent bonding, Lucion will have the upper hand.”

Wonyoung smirked, clinking her tea cup against Gaeul’s. “Cheers to that.”

As Yujin’s laughter echoed faintly from her room, the two schemers settled back in their chairs, quietly pleased with how their plan was unfolding.

The sun had barely set when Yujin burst into Tiberius’s room at the hostel, followed closely by Chowon. Tiberius, who had been sitting cross-legged on his bed with his eyes closed, pretending to meditate, cracked one eye open and frowned.

“You two again,” he muttered. “What now?”

“Karaoke!” Yujin announced with a grin that could power a city. She was already pulling on his arm.

Tiberius didn’t budge. “No.”

Chowon crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t make me team up with her, Tiberius. You won’t win.”

“I have a fight tomorrow,” he replied flatly, shrugging off Yujin’s insistent tugging.

“Exactly!” Yujin shot back, hands on her hips. “You need to loosen up. You’re wound tighter than Chowon’s farm accounts at tax season.”

“Wow,” Chowon said, giving Yujin a sidelong glance. “Thanks for that.”

Yujin waved her off. “The point is, you’re overthinking. A little fun won’t kill you. Come on, Tiberius, live a little!”

Chowon softened her tone, stepping closer. “You’ve been working hard, Tiberius. Maybe Yujin’s right. One night won’t ruin you. And who knows? It might even help.”

Tiberius sighed, glancing between their hopeful faces. “Fine. But one hour.”

“Four hours,” Yujin countered immediately.

“Two,” he said.

“Deal!” Yujin grabbed his hand, practically dragging him toward the door. Chowon followed, hiding her amused smile.

Karaoke Chaos

The small, neon-lit karaoke room buzzed with energy. Yujin was in her element, belting out a high-energy pop song, her voice occasionally cracking from laughing too hard. Chowon cheered her on, clutching a tambourine she wielded like a weapon, adding rhythm to the chaos.

Tiberius sat in the corner, arms crossed, watching them with a bemused expression. But when Yujin handed him the microphone during the next song, he surprised everyone by not only singing but absolutely nailing the deep, soulful ballad.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Yujin shouted, nearly dropping her drink. “Since when can you sing like that?”

“I can’t,” Tiberius said, deadpan, handing the mic back.

“You literally just sang like a pro!” Chowon exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“It’s the same as focus training,” he replied with a small shrug. “You channel energy into precision.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” Yujin groaned, but she was grinning. “Do another one!”

By the end of the night, all three of them were hoarse from laughing and singing. Tiberius, despite his earlier reluctance, couldn’t deny he was having fun. He even allowed Yujin to teach him a ridiculous dance to accompany one of her songs, much to Chowon’s delight.

After their little incursion, Yujin heads back to her apartment where Gaeul and Wonyoung await Yujin leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, her lips pursed in thought. Across from her, Gaeul and Wonyoung stood, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and amusement as they listened to her recount the latest developments.

“So,” Gaeul started, raising an eyebrow, “how was it? Your little hangout with your new besties Tiberius and Chowon?”

Yujin rolled her eyes at the teasing tone but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “It was… fun, actually. Like, 's surprisingly fun. I mean, I thought dragging Tiberius out of his stoic bubble would be the hard part, but Chowon? She’s the real surprise.”

“Oh?” Wonyoung’s eyes glinted with interest as she leaned forward. “Do tell.”

Yujin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Chowon’s so different when she opens up. She’s sharp, but not in a mean way. She gets Tiberius in a way I don’t think many people do, but she’s also kind of awkward and shy in the cutest way.” She paused, her cheeks warming slightly. “It’s, uh, kind of endearing.”

Gaeul smirked knowingly. “Endearing, huh? Sounds like someone’s got a little crush.”

“On Chowon?” Wonyoung added, her tone playful. “Or Tiberius? Or… both?”

Yujin groaned, pushing herself off the wall and pacing the room. “That’s the problem! I don’t know! At first, I was just messing around, you know, flirting with Tiberius to throw him off his game. But then he turned out to be… actually really cool. And Chowon? She’s so different from me, but we clicked in a way I didn’t expect.”

Gaeul exchanged a glance with Wonyoung, both of them struggling to hide their grins. “So, let me get this straight,” Gaeul said, folding her arms. “You spent time with Tiberius and Chowon, and now you’re standing here confessing that you might have a thing for both of them?”

“Ugh, don’t say it like that,” Yujin muttered, her face flushing. “I’m just… confused, okay? They’re both amazing in their own ways, and I don’t know what to do with these feelings.”

“Sounds like you’re living your own little love triangle,” Wonyoung teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Who knew our Yujin had such a soft spot for the quiet and brooding types?”

“I’m serious!” Yujin snapped, though there was no real bite in her tone. “This isn’t some joke. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like… when I’m with them, everything feels lighter. Like I can just be myself.”

Gaeul’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “Okay, fine. We’ll stop teasing. But, Yujin, you’re going to have to figure out what you really want. If you keep leading this on, you’re going to hurt someone—maybe even yourself.”

Yujin sighed, flopping down onto a nearby bench. “I know. I just… I didn’t expect this to happen, you know? I was supposed to be helping you two throw Tiberius off his game, not falling for him—or Chowon.”

Wonyoung crouched beside her, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Feelings are messy, but that’s what makes them real. You don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Gaeul nodded in agreement. “Just… don’t lose sight of who you are in all this, Yujin. Whether it’s Tiberius, Chowon, or neither of them, you’re still you. That’s what matters.”

Yujin looked up at her friends, a small, grateful smile breaking through her conflicted expression. “Thanks, guys. I’ll figure it out… eventually. Until then, I’ll just try to survive being around them without making a total fool of myself.”

“Good luck with that,” Wonyoung quipped, her grin returning. “Because if what you’re saying is true, it sounds like they’ve both already got you wrapped around their fingers.”

Yujin groaned again, throwing her head back dramatically. “Why do I even talk to you two?”

“Because we’re the only ones who’ll call you out on your nonsense,” Gaeul replied, grinning.

As the three of them laughed, Yujin felt a little lighter. Her feelings for Tiberius and Chowon might still be a tangled mess, but at least she wasn’t facing it alone.

The next morning, the change in Tiberius was impossible to ignore. He strode into the arena with a relaxed, almost cocky confidence that had been absent before. His steps were light, his shoulders loose, and his eyes gleamed with a focused intensity that caught everyone’s attention.

The reporters swarmed him during the pre-fight interviews.

“Tiberius, you seem... different today. Did something happen?” one asked, leaning in eagerly.

“Different how?” Tiberius asked a hint of mischief in his tone.

“You’re... brighter,” another reporter said, searching for the right word. “More lively. What’s your secret?”

Tiberius smirked slightly. “No secret. Just good company.”

From the sidelines, Chowon and Yujin watched with proud smiles.

“He’s glowing,” Yujin whispered to Chowon. “That’s because of us.”

Chowon rolled her eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

As Tiberius walked toward the preparation area, the buzz among the crowd and media was clear: this wasn’t the same Tiberius they’d seen before. Whatever he had done the night before had transformed him into a fighter who wasn’t just ready—he was eager to take on the challenge.

And for the first time, Tiberius allowed himself to enjoy the anticipation.

In the quiet, private lounge overlooking the arena, Gaeul and Wonyoung watched Tiberius’s interviews play out on the large screen. Tiberius’s relaxed demeanor and sharp, confident answers immediately caught their attention.

“This... this isn’t right,” Wonyoung said, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms. “He’s supposed to be frazzled! Stressed! Overthinking himself into a loss.”

“Instead, he looks better,” Gaeul muttered, leaning forward on the couch, her expression growing colder with every passing second. “What happened last night?”

Wonyoung turned to her. “You sent Yujin to distract him. How did that backfire?”

Gaeul’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. I told her to annoy him, get under his skin, and keep him off balance. She wasn’t supposed to... I don’t know, inspire him.”

Wonyoung groaned, throwing herself dramatically back into the cushions. “Yujin probably did her usual thing—being overbearing, loud, and somehow impossible not to like.”

“She always turns everything into a party,” Gaeul said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I should’ve known better than to trust her to follow a plan.”

They watched as Tiberius finished his interview with a smirk, casually brushing off the reporters’ questions about his training. He walked away with a spring in his step that made it clear he was feeling better than ever.

“He’s glowing,” Wonyoung said, her voice filled with disbelief.

“That’s not just confidence,” Gaeul said, her tone sharp with annoyance. “He’s... happy.”

Wonyoung sat up, eyes wide. “Do you think Yujin helped him? Like, accidentally gave him the boost he needed to perform better?”

Gaeul’s silence spoke volumes.

“Oh no,” Wonyoung whispered.

“Oh no is right,” Gaeul muttered. She stood and began pacing. “We’ve got to think of something else. If Tiberius goes into this fight feeling like this, Lucion won’t stand a chance.”

Wonyoung frowned, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “But... if he’s this strong now, maybe we should switch gears. Instead of trying to stop him, maybe we should try to... I don’t know, guide him?”

Gaeul stopped pacing, turning to her with an incredulous look. “Guide him?”

Wonyoung shrugged. “Think about it. If he’s destined to win, wouldn’t it be better to be on his side when he does? We could steer him toward something beneficial for us.”

Gaeul didn’t respond immediately, her mind clearly racing.

“Fine,” she said finally, sitting back down. “Let’s see how this fight goes. If he wins, we’ll reevaluate.”

“And if he loses?” Wonyoung asked.

Gaeul smirked faintly. “Then we won’t need to worry about him anymore.”

The two leaned back, their expressions shifting from frustration to calculation. For now, they would watch and wait, their next move hinging on the outcome of Tiberius’s battle with Lucion.

Momotaro stood in the training hall, his blade resting against his shoulder as he watched the replay of Tiberius’s latest interview on the holographic screen. The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the polished floor as he leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. His usual stoic demeanor was firmly in place, but his eyes narrowed with every word Tiberius spoke.

“He’s... different,” Momotaro muttered to himself, frowning.

The Tiberius on the screen was nothing like the opponent Momotaro had fought. This version of Tiberius was sharper, more collected, and undeniably confident. It wasn’t arrogance, but a calm, centered assurance that radiated strength.

The door creaked open behind him, and Hulk stepped in, his massive frame barely fitting through the entryway. “You’ve been watching that for a while, Taro. What do you think?”

Momotaro turned his head slightly, acknowledging Hulk but keeping his focus on the screen. “He’s grown,” he admitted, his voice low. “Whatever happened after our fight, it’s made him stronger. More dangerous.”

Hulk grinned, stepping forward to join him. “That’s what competition does. Pushes people to evolve. You didn’t think he’d stay the same, did you?”

Momotaro clenched his jaw. “I expected him to improve. I didn’t expect him to become... this.” He gestured at the screen, where Tiberius’s playful smirk lingered after another sharp answer.

Hulk chuckled, folding his arms. “He’s got fire now. Looks like someone reminded him why he’s fighting. That’s the kind of thing that makes a warrior unstoppable.”

Momotaro turned fully toward him, his expression unreadable. “I’ve seen fire like that before. It burns bright... but it’s reckless.”

“You sure about that?” Hulk asked, raising an eyebrow. “He doesn’t look reckless to me. He looks like he’s having fun. That’s a dangerous place to be for someone who knows how to fight.”

Momotaro’s grip on his sword tightened slightly, but his face remained calm. “It doesn’t matter how much he’s improved. He’s still going to lose. Lucion won’t let him get through this fight unscathed.”

“And if he does?” Hulk pressed, watching him carefully.

Momotaro’s eyes flickered with something—determination, perhaps, or something darker. “Then he’ll come for me again,” he said flatly. “And next time, I won’t make the same mistakes.”

Hulk nodded slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good. I was starting to think you weren’t taking this tournament seriously enough. Let him push you, Taro. Let him remind you why you’re here, too.”

Momotaro didn’t respond immediately, his gaze returning to the screen. Tiberius’s confidence was unnerving, but it also lit a fire within him—a need to prove himself, to reclaim the focus and dominance he’d once held.

“He can grow as much as he wants,” Momotaro said at last, his voice low and resolute. “It won’t change the outcome. He’s still beneath me.”

Hulk grinned, clapping him on the back. “We’ll see, kid. We’ll see.”

As the door closed behind Hulk, Momotaro remained in the training hall, staring at the screen. He watched Tiberius’s final words before the interview ended:

"I’m ready for whatever comes next. Bring it on.”

Momotaro smirked faintly, his hand tightening on his blade. “Careful what you wish for, Tiberius.”

The arena was electric with energy, the crowd roaring as Tiberius stepped into the ring for his fight against Lucion. The clash was set to be one for the ages—both warriors had made names for themselves with their unique fighting styles and unrelenting determination. In the stands, Yujin and Chowon sat side by side, their eyes glued to the combat below.

Tiberius entered the ring with his usual calm confidence, his movements deliberate and precise. His katana glinted under the harsh arena lights, and the quiet intensity in his eyes was enough to silence even the most skeptical audience member.

“He looks… different,” Yujin remarked, leaning slightly toward Chowon as the fight began. “More focused, but also… I don’t know. Lighter?”

Chowon nodded, her gaze never leaving Tiberius. “That’s because he’s more in tune with himself. He’s not just fighting to win anymore. He’s fighting for something deeper.”

Yujin raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You’re pretty poetic about him, you know. Maybe you should be the one interviewing him after the fight.”

Chowon’s cheeks flushed, but she kept her eyes on the ring. “I’m just stating the truth. Look at him. Every move is deliberate. He’s reading Lucion’s every intention before he even makes a move.”

As if to prove her point, Tiberius effortlessly dodged one of Lucion’s powerful strikes, his counterattack swift and almost too precise to follow. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Yujin and Chowon stayed silent, both watching with growing admiration.

“You think he practices that smirk in the mirror?” Yujin asked suddenly, her tone teasing but her voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity. “The one he just did after dodging Lucion’s attack?”

Chowon bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “It’s not a smirk. It’s just… confidence. He’s earned it.”

Yujin tilted her head, studying Tiberius as he parried another blow. “Confidence looks good on him, though.”

Chowon turned to glance at Yujin, her expression softening. “You really think so?”

Yujin caught the tone in her voice and smirked. “Wait a second. Are you crushing on him, Chowon?”

Chowon froze, her composure cracking for a split second. “What? No! I mean… maybe? I don’t know!”

Yujin’s eyes widened, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “This is hilarious. You totally like him!”

“Shh!” Chowon hissed, her face turning red as she looked around to make sure no one else had overheard. “You’re one to talk! You’ve been practically swooning over him this entire time.”

Yujin leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a playful pout. “Fine, I’ll admit it. He’s… intriguing. And yeah, he’s got that whole ‘mysterious swordsman’ vibe going for him. But I’m not swooning.”

Chowon raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You literally gasped when he took off his jacket at the start of the fight.”

Yujin waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, that was objectively a moment worth gasping over. Have you seen his shoulders?”

Chowon laughed despite herself, her tension easing slightly. “I’ll give you that. But it’s not just that for me. There’s something… grounding about him. He’s been through so much, but he’s still standing. Still fighting.”

Yujin’s expression softened as she looked back at the fight. “Yeah. I get what you mean. He’s… inspiring. In a weird, annoyingly attractive way.”

The two women fell into a comfortable silence, their eyes once again fixed on Tiberius as he landed a decisive strike against Lucion. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Yujin and Chowon found themselves exchanging a glance, both realizing they felt the same thing.

“Well,” Yujin said with a sly smile, “this just got interesting.”

Chowon sighed, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” Yujin replied, her grin widening. “May the best woman win.”

Chowon rolled her eyes, but there was a playful spark in her gaze. “We’ll see.”

As Tiberius stood in the center of the ring, victorious, neither of them could deny the growing feelings stirring in their hearts. For now, though, they focused on cheering him on, knowing that the path ahead—for all of them—was bound to get even more complicated.

The two watch as Tiberius masterfully dodges Lucion’s attacks. Lucion’s bow provided little effectiveness as Tiberius closed the distance between them subtly and efficiently. Having studied all of Tiberius’s last fights Lucion was unprepared when Tiberius began throwing spells and attack patterns he had never seen before.

The fight continues as Yujin and Chowon watch pleased as Tiberius effortlessly defeats Lucion. The crowd is silent as they watch before erupting into cheers.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Tiberius stood in the arena, his arm raised in victory. His latest fight had been nothing short of spectacular, a masterclass in strategy and precision that left his opponent on the ground and the spectators on their feet. From the stands, Yujin’s excitement was practically bursting out of her.

“That’s my guy!” Yujin shouted, her voice cutting through the noise as she jumped up and down, fists pumping the air. “I knew he could do it! That’s my Tiberius!”

Beside her, Chowon clapped and cheered as well, her smile wide but more reserved compared to Yujin’s boundless energy. She glanced at Yujin, who was practically vibrating with pride and excitement and couldn’t help but feel her heart swell at how much Tiberius’s success meant to her.

Before Chowon could say anything, Yujin spun toward her, her eyes bright and sparkling with adrenaline and happiness. Without thinking, Yujin grabbed Chowon’s face and planted a quick but firm kiss on her lips.

Chowon froze, her eyes wide in shock as Yujin pulled back, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “Oh my gosh, I—uh—wow, I didn’t mean to just do that!” Yujin stammered, suddenly aware of what she had just done. “I was just so excited and you were right there, and—uh, okay, don’t hate me, but I think I might have a crush on Tiberius… and you.”

Chowon blinked, processing Yujin’s words, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd seemed to fade into the background. Then, to Yujin’s surprise, Chowon let out a soft laugh, her face breaking into a warm smile.

“Well, that’s… surprising,” Chowon admitted, her voice quiet but steady. She reached up and gently took Yujin’s hands in hers. “But it’s not a bad thing.”

Yujin looked at her nervously. “Really? You don’t think I’m, like, completely out of my mind?”

Chowon shook her head, her smile growing. “No, because… I think I have a crush on you too. And, um, on Tiberius.”

Now it was Yujin’s turn to be surprised. “Wait—what? You like both of us?”

Chowon nodded, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve kind of been trying to figure it out myself, but seeing how you reacted just now… I think we’re kind of in the same boat.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the noise of the arena fading away as the realization settled between them. Then, Chowon leaned forward and returned Yujin’s earlier kiss, this time with more certainty and warmth.

When they pulled apart, Yujin was grinning like a fool. “Okay, wow, this day just keeps getting better and better.”

Chowon laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess it does. But, um, we should probably talk about this more… later. After we figure out what to say to Tiberius.”

Yujin groaned dramatically. “Ugh, do we have to talk about feelings? Can’t we just cheer him on and let him keep being oblivious for a little longer?”

Chowon gave her a playful shove. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” Yujin teased, her grin widening.

Chowon rolled her eyes, but her smile never faded. As the two of them turned their attention back to the arena, the energy of the crowd surged around them, but at that moment, all they felt was the warmth of each other’s company—and the excitement of what might come next.

The duo approaches Tiberius after the fight and confesses. Obviously, confused Tiberius says, “Wait me really?”

The girls nod and say, “We make such a good team I think that we should stick together,” Chowon starts.

“Besides this way, we can protect you from the crazies,” Yujin finished.

Tiberius thinks for a moment and then says, “Okay let’s do this,”

Locked in My Head

The arena was silent as Burai’s massive frame hit the ground, the dust swirling around him in the dim light. His sword lay broken a few feet away, glinting faintly in the aftermath of the battle. The once-boisterous crowd, who had been roaring his name mere moments ago, now sat stunned, their cheers replaced by an uneasy silence.

Paladin loomed over Burai, his armored silhouette casting a long shadow across the defeated warrior. His Ikkakalaka, a monstrous weapon forged from an unholy alloy of Vibranium, Dragonite, and Uru, rested lightly on Burai’s chest. The jagged edges of the weapon seemed to hum with restrained energy, crackling faintly as if eager for more destruction.

Burai, battered and broken, forced himself to lift his head. The pain in his limbs screamed for him to stay down, but his pride as a warrior compelled him to meet his opponent’s gaze. What he saw, or rather didn’t see, unnerved him.

Behind the featureless mask that obscured Paladin’s face, there was no anger, no triumph, no humanity—just a chilling, predatory calm. The same quiet malice that had defined every strike of their fight. Paladin leaned down slightly, his voice low and barely audible over the faint murmurs of the crowd.

“Don’t get up,” he whispered, each word dripping with icy finality.

Burai’s instincts told him to resist, to rise, to fight back. But he knew. Paladin wasn’t making a threat—he was making a promise. Burai glanced down at the Ikkakalaka, its edge glowing faintly with the remnants of some destructive magic. One wrong move, one twitch of defiance, and Paladin would finish what he’d started.

For the first time in his storied career, Burai made the choice he had always sworn never to make. He slammed his fist against the ground in submission, his voice hoarse as he called out, “I yield.”

The crowd, initially stunned, erupted into boos and jeers. The air was thick with their dissatisfaction as they vented their frustration. Burai, the fan favorite, their golden warrior, had been dismantled by someone they didn’t understand and didn’t want to embrace.

Paladin stood straight, lowering his weapon. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd, didn’t bask in the victory like so many others. Instead, he turned silently and began walking back to the tunnel that led to the prep rooms.

As he disappeared into the shadows, the audience’s boos only grew louder, a deafening cacophony of anger and disapproval. It wasn’t just Burai’s loss they mourned; it was Paladin’s impenetrable aura, his refusal to play into their expectations.

The private viewing room was dimly lit, the trio sitting in tense silence as the fight between Paladin and Burai replayed on the large screen before them. The aftermath of the battle had shaken the tournament to its core, but it was the way Paladin had dismantled Burai that truly disturbed them.

Wonyoung leaned forward, her hands gripping the armrest of her chair as Paladin delivered the final blow with cold precision. The crowd’s boos echoed faintly through the speakers, but Paladin’s expression never changed. His face remained obscured, his movements methodical, almost mechanical.

“That was…” Gaeul trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Efficient,” Momotaro finished, his voice low. His sharp eyes never left the screen as the replay cut to the slow-motion highlights. “Too efficient. He wasn’t just fighting Burai—he was dissecting him.”

Wonyoung frowned, her brows furrowed. “Burai was supposed to win. He’s one of the strongest fighters in this tournament. How does someone like Paladin come out of nowhere and take him down like that?”

“It wasn’t just strength,” Gaeul said, her voice steady despite the unease creeping into her tone. “Look at the way he moves. He’s reading Burai like a book—countering every habit, exploiting every flaw. It’s like he’s studied him for years.”

Momotaro replayed the fight again, slower this time. Paladin’s movements were precise, almost surgical. Every step he took seemed calculated to draw Burai into making a mistake. The final blow wasn’t just powerful—it was perfectly timed, delivered with a level of control that bordered on terrifying.

“I’ve seen enough,” Momotaro said, pausing the footage. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “We need to know who this guy is.”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a glance before nodding. “Let’s dig,” Wonyoung said, pulling out her tablet.

Hours later, the trio sat in silence once again, their expressions grim as they stared at the information they had uncovered.

“Dargo “Dragon” Brando,” Gaeul said, breaking the silence. “Mutant Nephew of storm. Formerly affiliated with the Fantastic Four/ Future Foundation.”

“And fought Hulk,” Wonyoung added, scrolling through an article. “Back when he first returned from Sakaar. High ranking agent of the Wakanda Future Alianxe ”

Momotaro narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. “That alliance—between the Wakandans and Future Foundation. They were the ones who helped Reed and T’Challa escape when the war started turning against them.”

“Paladin—Dargo—was part of that,” Gaeul said. “He wasn’t just some foot soldier, either. He was a key player. Look at this—he helped design the extraction plan that got them off-planet.”

“And he fought Hulk,” Wonyoung repeated, her tone laced with disbelief. “Do you know what kind of power it takes to stand against him, even for a moment? And now he’s here, in this tournament, taking down people like Burai with ease.”

Momotaro’s jaw tightened. “He’s not just a fighter. He’s a tactician. A predator. He doesn’t just beat his opponents—he breaks them. Takes everything they’re good at and turns it against them.”

“Which means,” Gaeul said, her voice quiet, “he’s already watching us. Studying us.”

Wonyoung shivered, her grip tightening on her tablet. “How do we stop someone like that?”

Momotaro stood, his eyes hard with determination. “We don’t let him control the fight. If we ever face him, we have to make him fight on our terms. Force him to adapt. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise, we’re just his next prey,” Gaeul finished grimly.

The three exchanged a heavy look, the weight of what they had uncovered settling over them like a storm cloud.

From the champion’s box, Hulk leaned back in his seat, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He’d watched the fight closely, analyzing every move. Paladin’s precision, his cold efficiency—it was brilliant, undeniable. And yet, the crowd hated him.

“He’s too silent,” Hulk muttered to himself, his massive hands resting on the arms of his chair. “They can’t connect to him. He doesn’t give them anything to hold onto.”

Paladin’s face was always hidden, his body language guarded, his fights devoid of showmanship or flair. To the crowd, he was a phantom—a shadow of destruction they couldn’t cheer for or against. And yet, Hulk couldn’t help but admire him. His mystery intrigued the hulk and reminded him much of himself when he was on Sakaar.

In the prep room, Paladin stripped off his armor in silence. His movements were deliberate, methodical, as he folded the pieces into his locker. He swapped his battle gear for plain, dark clothing, pulling up a hood that shadowed his already obscured face.

As he finished, he caught his reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall. His hands lingered for a moment, brushing against the edge of the hood. Beneath the fabric, beneath the mask, his expression remained unreadable.

Hulk entered the room without knocking, his massive frame filling the doorway. The dim light of the prep room cast long shadows, making the space feel smaller. Paladin sat at the far end of the room, still in the process of cleaning the blood and dust off his Ikkakalaka, its jagged edges gleaming faintly. The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension.

“That was some fight,” Hulk began, his voice even but weighted. He folded his arms across his chest, the muscles in his forearms bulging. “But the crowd… they’re not with you.”

Paladin didn’t look up, his focus remaining on the weapon in his hands. “I’m not one for pageantry,” he said flatly, his voice cold and indifferent.

Hulk stared at the young contestant, his brow furrowing as he took a few steps closer. “But why? The crowd’s cheer plays a very important part in wins and losses,” he pressed, his tone edging into frustration.

Paladin stiffened at the comment, the cloth in his hands pausing mid-motion. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured but laced with quiet defiance. “The same crowd that cheered when you were exiled without a trial? The same crowd that cheered when Blue Marvel was forced to retire because no one was ready for a ‘Black superhero’? The same crowd that cheered for the Registration Act, sending heroes into a civil war? The same crowd that cheered when the Illuminati raised an army against you?”

Each word landed like a hammer, forcing Hulk to confront memories he’d tried to bury. His massive fists clenched involuntarily at his sides as he remembered the betrayals, the pain, the hypocrisy of those who had once cheered for him and then turned on him without hesitation.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Hulk said finally, his voice softer now, almost weary. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Paladin, searching for something behind the mask that covered the young fighter’s face. “But can’t you give the crowd something? A little nod, a smirk, even a damn fist pump? You’re not making it easy for anyone to root for you.”

Paladin didn’t respond immediately. He resumed cleaning his weapon, the quiet scrape of the cloth against metal filling the room. After a moment, he placed the Ikkakalaka down with care and rose to his feet, his full height almost matching Hulk’s imposing frame. He turned his head slightly, his voice low and steady as it echoed in the small room. “I don’t fight for them.”

Hulk frowned, his frustration bubbling up again. He stepped closer, his towering form casting a shadow over Paladin. “Then what are you fighting for?” he demanded, his voice firm but tinged with curiosity.

Paladin hesitated, his gloved hand brushing against the edge of the hood that obscured most of his face. For a moment, it seemed as though he might answer, as if the armor around his words might crack. But then he shook his head, his voice colder than ever. “That’s not your concern.”

Hulk exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re good—too good to ignore,” he said, his tone softer now. “But talent only takes you so far. You want to win this? You want to matter? You need to connect. Otherwise, you’re just another fighter in the arena. No one remembers the ghost who doesn’t leave a mark.”

Paladin’s mask tilted slightly, as though he were considering the words, but he gave no reply. Instead, he turned back to his locker, unhooking a plain black jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. Without another word, he picked up the Ikkakalaka, slinging it across his back, and strode toward the exit.

“Think about it,” Hulk called after him, his voice carrying an edge of desperation. “The crowd isn’t your enemy. They don’t have to be.”

Paladin paused at the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest hint of his voice escaping from beneath the mask. “They were never my enemy. But they’ll never be my reason, either.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Hulk alone in the silence of the prep room. The towering hero stared at the empty doorway, his thoughts a jumble of admiration, frustration, and concern. Paladin was a fighter like no other, but Hulk couldn’t shake the feeling that the young man’s silence wasn’t just a shield—it was a burden. One that could either make him unstoppable or be the very thing that broke him.

Paladin didn’t answer. Instead, he sheathed his Ikkakalaka and slung it across his back, walking past Hulk without another word.

As the door closed behind him, Hulk stared after him, a mix of frustration and respect in his gaze. Paladin’s silence was his strength, but it was also his weakness. And in a tournament where winning wasn’t just about skill but about leaving a legacy, Hulk wondered if Paladin’s approach would ultimately cost him.

In the tunnel leading out of the arena, Paladin moved like a shadow, the noise of the crowd fading into the distance. Whatever they thought of him didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to entertain them—he was here to win.

Paladin stepped into the dimly lit room, the faint smell of oil and metal lingering in the air. It wasn’t much—a repurposed office space in the abandoned factory he called home—but it was quiet, secure, and his. Or at least it had been until tonight.

His eyes fell on the group of armored women scattered across the room. The air was tense, heavy with a silent challenge. They weren’t ordinary intruders. Their stances, their weapons, the faint glow of otherworldly energy surrounding some of them—this was a team of killers. His gaze stopped on the leader, her blonde hair glowing faintly under the flickering light.

“Magik,” he said flatly, recognizing her immediately.

The other women turned their heads sharply at his tone. Magik stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to know that name.”

Paladin shrugged, casually tossing his bag onto a nearby table. “I don’t care what you do, just don’t make a mess. You can use the place for now.”

Magik didn’t flinch, but her voice carried a dangerous edge. “You know, now that you’ve seen us, we have to kill you.”

“Um, no, you don’t,” Paladin replied, his tone bored.

A tall, tan woman with a sharp glare stepped forward, the weight of her presence almost tangible. “Actually, yes, we do.”

Paladin sighed, his body language calm as he unsheathed his blade. He moved with precision, readying himself for a fight. But then, as if reconsidering, he sheathed the weapon again, giving the group a disinterested look.

“Is this it? Is this all you’ve got?” he asked, his tone tinged with faint mockery.

Magik’s lips curved into a smirk, though her eyes remained hard. “You think I’m afraid of the Hulk?”

Paladin rolled his eyes and stepped closer, his tone softening. “Illyana, please don’t do this.”

Her smirk faltered. The room grew still. The Hellions exchanged uneasy glances, and Magik tilted her head slightly. “How do you know my name?”

Paladin raised a hand and slowly removed his mask, revealing a face marred by scars but undeniably familiar. Magik’s eyes widened as recognition struck her.

“Dragon?” she whispered, her voice almost trembling.

He gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, Magik stared, her tough exterior cracking. Then, without hesitation, she crossed the space between them and pulled him into a tight hug. The Hellions lowered their weapons, watching the unexpected reunion unfold.

“I thought you died,” Magik said quietly, her voice tinged with guilt.

“I almost did,” Paladin—Dragon—replied simply.

Magik pulled back, her hands gripping his shoulders. “You’re so dramatic,” she muttered, though there was a flicker of relief in her eyes.

He gestured to the space around them. “My home is your refuge for now,” he said, his tone softer.

Magik gave him a small smile, motioning for her team to stand down. As the Hellions began to disperse, two of them lingered—Jihyo and Jeewon.

Jeewon, her face a mix of emotions, stepped closer. She looked at Dragon hesitantly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her armor. “Dragon… are you okay?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. But before he could speak, Jeewon closed the distance between them, her hands reaching up to gently remove the faceplate from his armor. She stood on her toes and kissed him, her lips soft but filled with urgency.

For a moment, Dragon froze, caught off guard. Then, as if a dam had broken, he returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around her. When they finally broke apart, Jeewon’s voice was breathless but steady.

“I’m never leaving you again, my hurricane,” she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as they rested against his chest.

From the corner of the room, Magik let out a soft laugh, her arms crossed as she watched the scene. “You two are so sappy,” she teased, though there was warmth in her tone.

Jihyo, still standing nearby, cleared her throat. “Dragon, what about Greyhound? Is he…”

Dragon looked at her, his expression softening. “He’s okay. He’s with Charles and the rest of the Illuminati.”

Jihyo’s face brightened with a smile. “Good,” she said simply, stepping back to let Jeewon have her moment.

Jeewon grabbed Dragon’s hand and led him toward the makeshift room he had built in the factory’s old office. Inside, the space was sparse but functional, with a bed pushed against one wall and a small table cluttered with maps and tools.

Jeewon sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning his face with a mix of relief and concern. “What happened after we left you on Earth?” she asked softly, her gaze lingering on the scars that crisscrossed his skin.

Dragon hesitated, his expression darkening. “A lot,” he admitted finally. “More than I can explain in one night.”

Jeewon reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “Then we’ll take it one night at a time,” she said gently.

For the first time in what felt like years, Dragon allowed himself to relax, the weight of his past momentarily lifting as he sat beside her.

“Well I guess it starts when i decided to go through with Hulk’s realm champion tournament.” Dargo began

The sounds of the forge filled the air—hammer on steel, the hiss of cooling water, and the low hum of machinery working in unison. The heat was oppressive, but it felt like home to Paladin—no, to Dargo. It had been years since he’d stepped into a forge like this, but the familiarity of it all tugged at memories he’d tried to bury.

Near the anvil stood the Forge Master, a stout yet commanding figure with arms thick from decades of crafting weapons for the strongest warriors and heroes across the realms. His beard was streaked with gray, his eyes sharp beneath bushy brows as they flicked up at the figure entering the room.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Dargo the Dragon,” the Forge Master said, his gruff voice tinged with amusement. “Back from the dead, eh?”

Dargo pulled back his hood, revealing his scarred face. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Miss me, old man?”

The Forge Master let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the chamber. “Miss you? Boy, you were always too stubborn to miss. Thought you’d finally kicked it for good, though. Guess the rumors were exaggerated.”

Dargo chuckled lightly, his gaze drifting toward the molten metal glowing in the forge. “I’ve heard that one before.”

The Forge Master shook his head, still grinning. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here. What’s your game this time? Looking to make trouble, or are you finally trying to get yourself killed?”

Dargo’s smile faded, replaced by a more solemn expression. He leaned against a workbench, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m here because I’m tired of watching everything fall apart. I’m tired of wars. I’m tired of heroes fighting each other. I want to bring back the peace that existed before the Registration Act. Before everything turned into chaos.”

The Forge Master let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “That’s wishful thinking, boy. But…” He sighed, his tone softening. “It’s a noble goal. Someone’s gotta try, I suppose.”

Dargo’s gaze hardened, his resolve unshakable. “If no one else will, I will.”

The Forge Master studied him for a long moment before nodding. “If you’re serious about this, you’re gonna need more than just resolve. You need a weapon worthy of your fight.”

He turned and moved to a large chest at the back of the forge, its surface blackened from years of heat and soot. With a grunt, he opened it to reveal a pair of weapons that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

“This,” the Forge Master said, pulling out a massive ikakalaka—a hybrid weapon that functioned as both a club and a blade—“is Achilles. Forged from vibranium, dragonite, and uru. It absorbs energy from every blow it lands, making it stronger with each strike.”

He then held up a shield, its surface etched with intricate runes. “And this shield? Same alloy. It’ll take whatever energy it absorbs and send it right back at your enemy.”

Dargo stepped forward, his hand brushing over the weapons. They hummed with power, as though alive, resonating with his very soul.

“These are yours,” the Forge Master said. “Weapons for a warrior with a purpose. Just don’t forget—power like this doesn’t come without a price. The stronger they get, the more they’ll demand of you.”

Dargo took the ikakalaka and shield, testing their weight. They felt perfect, as if they’d been waiting for him.

He turned to the Forge Master, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

The Forge Master waved him off. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of you, Dragon. Let’s see if you can live up to those scars.”

Dargo strapped the weapons to his back, his smirk returning faintly. For the first time in years, he felt ready—not just to fight, but to stand for something worth fighting for. The weight of the weapons on his shoulders was nothing compared to the weight of his resolve. This wasn’t about revenge or glory; it was about restoring the balance he once believed in.

Jeewon listened intently as Paladin recounted his story. His voice was steady but distant, as if he was narrating the life of someone else rather than his own. She could sense the hesitation behind his words, the deliberate omissions as he danced around the full truth. He was holding back, shielding himself from fully opening up to her, and it broke her heart. This wasn’t the Dragon she remembered. The man she had known was unflinchingly honest, brimming with passion, and carrying a spark of hope that could ignite an entire room.

Now, that spark was gone. The light that once defined him was buried beneath layers of pain and isolation. Jeewon’s heart ached as she watched him, his eyes heavy with the weight of his burdens, his movements careful and restrained, as if he was afraid to let himself feel anything.

Without thinking, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his tense frame and pressing her head to his chest. She let her warmth flow through her, hoping it would reach him. Paladin stiffened at first, unused to such closeness, but slowly, almost reluctantly, he relaxed into her embrace. It was one of the first genuine moments of comfort he’d allowed himself in years.

“Dragon,” Jeewon whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Please come back.”

Paladin didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. She could feel the walls he’d built around himself, thick and unyielding, but she wasn’t ready to give up.

“This stoic act, it’s not you,” she continued, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “You’re easygoing and happy, not guarded and cold. You used to laugh, even when things seemed impossible. You used to believe in people, in us.”

Jeewon reached up, her fingers trembling slightly as she unhooked the metal plate obscuring his face. The action was gentle, deliberate, as if she was peeling away the mask he had hidden behind for so long. When the plate fell away, she saw the face she remembered—the face of the man she had loved before war and responsibility had carved so many scars into his soul. His eyes, though weary, still held a flicker of the fire she knew was buried deep within.

“I want my Hurricane back,” she said, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes.

Paladin’s gaze softened for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He closed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping him as he struggled to respond.

“You don’t understand, Jeewon,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The man you knew… he doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve seen too much, done too much. I can’t be him again.”

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, her hands cupping his face. “That man is still in there. I see him, even if you can’t. He’s in the way you hesitate to hurt others unnecessarily, the way you protect those who can’t protect themselves. You might not feel it, but he’s still here, Dargo. And I’m not giving up on him.”

Paladin shook his head, his jaw tightening as he tried to pull away, but Jeewon wouldn’t let him. She pressed her forehead to his, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“You’re not alone, Dargo. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself. Please, let me in. Let me help you.”

For a long moment, the room was filled with silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Paladin’s hands slowly came up to rest on her wrists, his touch hesitant, unsure.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I’m afraid of letting you see how broken I’ve become. Of letting anyone see.”

“You’re not broken,” Jeewon said softly. “You’re hurt. But hurt can heal. It just takes time… and people who care about you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she continued, her voice trembling. “I care about you, Dragon. I always have. And I’ll be here, no matter how long it takes. I’ll wait for you to find your way back, but please… please don’t shut me out.”

Paladin’s shoulders sagged, the weight of her words breaking through his defenses. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to feel something other than numbness. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Jeewon tightened her embrace, her heart swelling with hope. She could feel it—the first cracks in the walls he had built around himself. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, Jeewon remained by Dargo’s side, her arms wrapped protectively around him. The tension that had been etched into his every movement began to ease, his breathing slowing into a steady rhythm. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to surrender, to let go of the constant vigilance that had kept him alive but had also worn him down.

Jeewon held him close, gently stroking his hair as his head rested against her shoulder. She could feel his exhaustion, not just physically but emotionally, and it broke her heart to think of all he had endured. Yet, for now, he was at peace.

“Sleep,” she whispered softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re safe here.”

Dargo’s lips moved slightly, a faint murmur escaping as he drifted into a deep sleep. Jeewon stayed awake, watching over him, a small smile playing on her lips as she felt the faintest glimmer of hope for the man she loved.

The early morning light filtered through the cracks in the factory’s walls, illuminating the makeshift bedroom with a soft, golden glow. Dargo stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. For a moment, he was disoriented, the memories of the previous night flooding back.

“Good morning, Hurricane,” Jeewon murmured, her voice laced with affection.

Dargo blinked, turning his head to see her still sitting beside him, a gentle smile on her face. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door to the room creaked open.

“Well, well,” came a familiar voice, sharp and teasing. “The great Dragon finally wakes up.”

Dargo sat up quickly, his body tense as Magik stepped into the room, her arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips. She was dressed in her battle attire, her soul sword resting against her shoulder.

“Ilyanna,” he said, his voice still groggy.

“Don’t ‘Ilyanna’ me,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been sulking in this place long enough. Time to see if you’ve still got it, protégé.”

Dargo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Magik said with a grin, tossing him a wooden practice sword. “I want to see if all that brooding has dulled your skills.”

Jeewon gave Dargo an encouraging look, gently squeezing his hand. “You should go. She won’t let up until you do.”

With a resigned groan, Dargo stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed the practice sword. “Fine,” he said, glancing at Magik. “But don’t blame me if you regret this.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Magik replied, her grin widening as she led him to the sparring area.

The two faced off in the wide, open space of the factory floor. Magik twirled her sword with practiced ease, her movements fluid and precise. Dargo, now fully awake and focused, settled into a ready stance, the wooden sword held firmly in his grip. He set his armor back in place and he was Paladin once more. Both Jeewon and Magik noticed his change in countenance as he armored up. It saddened them to see him so guarded and mechanical

��Show me what you’ve got,” Magik said, her tone challenging. Paladin nodded before getting in a ready stance. He faced her with a malicious silence that put the rest of Magik’s Hellions on edge. Magik charged. Using her stepping disc she tried to get the edge on Dragon but found it difficult due to his hardened reflexes. He anticipated her every move and the one after that leaving her on the ropes.

Jeewon watched from afar saddened by Dragon’s almost mechanical movements and stiff attacks. His fluidity was gone which she noticed is probably from all of the scar tissue covering his body. She made the mental not to try rejuvenation on Dragon later tonight to hopefully mend more of him.

After Paladin’s fight with Burai. Leviathan began running some calculations with his girlfriend as to who his next opponent would be. Had Burai bested Paladin it would have been Burai but due to his loss and Paladin’s new seating after his most recent fight his schedule was in flux.

Eventually the math checked out to be a fighter named Diobronto

The preparation chambers were dimly lit, the echoes of the arena still faintly audible through the stone walls. Leviathan leaned against a pillar, his face a mask of quiet contemplation. Across from him, Heejin sat cross-legged on a bench, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that matched her concern.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Heejin said, breaking the silence. “Something tells me it’s not just the fight you’re thinking about.”

Leviathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not just any fight, Heejin. It’s Diobronto.”

Heejin arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Diobronto? The crowd favorite? The one who cracks jokes mid-fight and has the whole arena eating out of his hand?”

“Yeah, that Diobronto,” Leviathan replied, his voice heavy. “It’s not just the crowd that makes him a problem. It’s who he is—and what he’s fighting for.”

Heejin leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Go on.”

Leviathan hesitated, his fingers drumming against the pillar. “You’ve seen how the crowd loves him. They adore his charm, his humor. But what most people don’t know is that he’s not here for glory or fame. He’s here for revenge.”

Heejin tilted her head, intrigued. “Revenge? Against who?”

“Burai,” Leviathan said, his jaw tightening. “Apparently, they were allies once, partners in the field. But Burai… stabbed him in the back. Literally. All for a shot at success. Diobronto barely survived, and now? He’s made it his mission to fight his way through this tournament just to face Burai again.”

Heejin whistled softly. “That’s… intense. No wonder the crowd loves him. A personal vendetta makes for a great story.”

“It’s more than that,” Leviathan said, his voice lowering. “Diobronto not just a skilled fighter—he’s unpredictable. He uses his humor to throw you off, but underneath it all, he’s calculating. Every move he makes is designed to exploit weaknesses. And after what Burai did to him, he fights like someone who has nothing to lose.”

Heejin studied Leviathan’s expression, noting the tension in his shoulders and the shadow of unease in his eyes. “You’re scared of him,” she said softly, not as an accusation but as an observation.

Leviathan didn’t deny it. “I’d be stupid not to be. He’s got the crowd on his side, a grudge fueling his every step, and skills that rival anyone in this tournament. He’s dangerous, Heejin. And what’s worse? He’s smart. He’ll study me, find every flaw in my technique, and use it against me.”

Heejin stood and crossed the room, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve faced dangerous opponents before, Leviathan. What makes Diobronto so different?”

Leviathan met her gaze, his voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. “Because he’s not just fighting to win. He’s fighting for something he believes in. And that kind of conviction? It makes people unstoppable.”

Heejin nodded slowly, processing his words. “But you’ve got something too, Levi. You’ve got your own reasons for being here. Don’t let his story overshadow yours.”

Leviathan gave her a small, appreciative smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Part of the job,” Heejin teased, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “But seriously, Levi, you’ve got this. Diobronto may be a crowd favorite, but you’re not fighting for their approval. You’re fighting for you. And that’s just as powerful.”

Leviathan exhaled deeply, some of the tension leaving his body. “Thanks, Heejin. I needed that.”

“Anytime,” she said with a grin. “Now, how about we strategize a little? If Diobronto’s as unpredictable as you say, you’ll need a game plan.”

“Good idea,” Leviathan agreed, his determination returning. “Let’s figure this out. Together.”

Vendetta

After my most recent fight, I headed home. It was another win—another opponent defeated, another step closer to what I really wanted. But it wasn’t Burai. Again. For the fourth time, I’d asked to face him directly, but Hulk had been adamant that I needed to earn my way there. “The right way,” he’d called it. He said my petty vengeance wasn’t fair, that it undermined the tournament’s purpose.

Unfair? It wasn’t like I planned to stick around afterward. My goal was simple: beat Burai, settle the score, and disappear back to my little corner of the world. But no. Instead of wrapping things up quickly, I’d been forced to climb this ridiculous ladder. The more I fought, the more my fame and legend grew, and the more tangled I became in the tournament’s narrative. Now people were rooting for me like I was some sort of hero. It was exhausting.

When adapting Mei to Mei Washio, her introduction gains a layer of serpentine mystique and a duality of nurturing and danger that fits her unique presence. Mei’s snake-like features and confident aura would shift the focus of her character, emphasizing her as someone both alluring and potentially treacherous. Here’s how this could adjust her introduction:

When I finally reached my door, I stopped short. A young woman stood waiting for me, leaning casually against the frame. Her presence was magnetic, her confidence almost tangible. She had an aura that was both motherly and serpentine—a strange combination of sultry allure and gentle composure that left my thoughts scattered.

Her body was undeniably captivating, but it was her subtle, reptilian features that caught my attention. Scales adorned her collarbone, shimmering faintly under the light, and her golden eyes were slitted like a snake’s. A mutant, I thought, my gaze traveling over her. I tried to keep my appraisal focused and respectful, but it wasn’t easy.

“Diobronto?” she asked, her voice smooth, with a teasing lilt that made it impossible to ignore her.

I nodded slowly, unsure what to make of her. Her smile widened as she stepped forward, moving with a grace that felt both deliberate and effortless. “I’m Mei Washio,” she introduced herself, her tone light yet tinged with intrigue. Her piercing eyes locked onto mine, and I felt like she could see straight through me.

As I hesitated, she tilted her head, her scales catching the faintest glimmer of light. “Like what you see?” she asked, her voice a soft purr.

I nodded again, unsure how else to respond. Her chuckle was low and melodic, sending a shiver down my spine. Without waiting for an invitation, she opened the door and stepped inside, her movements as smooth as flowing water.

Once the door closed behind us, I found my voice. “Why are you here?” I asked, my tone wary. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She turned back to me, her expression playful yet enigmatic. Raising a finger to her lips, she shushed me gently before stepping closer. “Oh, but I do,” she said, her smile revealing the faintest hint of sharp teeth. “You’re the funniest and most interesting part of this entire tournament’s story. You and Burai? That whole drama? It’s like something out of a myth. Two creators of great stories and characters… and then Burai stabs you in the back, both literally and metaphorically. And now you’re out for revenge? It’s perfect. You couldn’t write a better narrative.”

I sighed, her words cutting deeper than I expected. “That’s not entirely true,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Burai and I were good friends—or at least, I thought we were. Then something happened. I don’t even know what. Maybe I said something he didn’t like, or maybe I pissed off the wrong person. Whatever it was, he stopped talking to me out of nowhere.

“I could’ve handled that,” I continued, my voice growing sharper. “But then he goes around airing his grievances to everyone but me. And then—then—he stabs me in the back. I’m not letting that slide. It’s bullshit, and I hate it.”

Mei’s laughter burst forth, loud and unrestrained, as if I’d just delivered the punchline to the world’s funniest joke. She doubled over, clutching her sides, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s even funnier,” she said between breaths. “So let me get this straight—you’re facing off against some of the world’s best fighters just to be petty?”

I shrugged, feeling a little defensive. “Pretty much.”

She leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, a smirk still playing on her lips. “You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?”

“Oh, I know,” I replied, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “In my defense, I told Hulk to just put me in against Burai early on so I wouldn’t screw up the tournament for everyone else. But no, he wouldn’t do it. And now I’m four victories in, and more than half the contestants are out. So yeah, I look like even more of a jackass.”

Mei shook her head, her laughter fading into a softer chuckle. Her eyes, however, remained sharp, as if she was reading deeper into me than I was comfortable with.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said, though there was a strange note of admiration in her voice.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered, slumping into a chair.

She studied me in silence for a moment, her playful demeanor softening into something gentler. “You know, Dio,” she began, her voice quieter now, “you might think this is all about vengeance, but maybe it’s about something more. Something you haven’t admitted to yourself yet.”

I frowned, her words catching me off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She leaned forward, her movements deliberate, her golden eyes locking onto mine. “Revenge might be your excuse, but it’s not your purpose.” She smiled again, enigmatic and knowing. “You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

Mei then got up and approached me before kissed me as she did she wrapped her plush thighs around my waist and all semblance of self-control or restraint left as soon as she put my hands on her ass. We broke the kiss and she slid her panties down from her skirt.

“Naughty boy,”Mei cooed as I took her top off, before bringing me in for a sloppy kiss. Her tongue wrapped around mine like an anaconda trying to suffocate mine and I was totally into it. When she broke the kiss she elegantly uncoiled from around me and began to strip fully. She smiled as she led me to my bedroom as if she had done a thousand times.

We were both fully nude by the time we both entered the room. Mei pranced around my room wearing only her teasing smirk. Her body was even more insane bare. Full ripe breasts, a plump ass you could bounce coins off and the plushest thighs I have ever seen. My dick throbbed witnessing such a vixen. I closed the distance with another kiss. She purred at the control she had over me. I wrap a hesitant hand around her thigh and Mei goes berserk as she spreads her legs and coils her hands around me like a snake and pulls me in closer. “Fuck I gasp as she coils herself around me tighter and tighter. She whispers in my ear.

“Im not letting go until you pass out.” she smiles as she leglocks me before having my cock embedded in her pussy. I groan as I bottom out. Mei moans before grinding against my crotch. I lift her from the bed and her coils tighten around me as I thrust in and out of her. She is ungodly tight but so fucking wet. Her pussy drools almost hungrily as she takes me in and out of her lower gluttonous gullet. Her body snakes around mine as she whispers more and more filth into my ears. She smiles as I thrust in and out of her.

Somehow she seems to get tighter I groaned as her pussy constricts my cock.

“Fuck you're suffocatingly tight,” I groan. Mei smiles then says

“I am! Now Cum!” her voice was commanding and I acquiesce exploding inside of her. Mei’s greedy pussy milks me for all I'm worth. She forces my mouth on her full tits and oh my fucking god she tastes amazing the salt of her sweat congrats the sweetness of whatever thing she’s wearing. It’s spicy and reminds me of cinnamon. As I devour her breasts I can’t enough, so I suck and I suck. As she coils tighter around me she moans in ecstasy. I groan as I flip her over to get a view of that plump ass. Mei yelps

“Oh how brutish… more!” she pleads so I give her more. I bend her over before spanking her.

I barely can hold on as we spend the rest of the night fucking, and fucking, until I black out.

I woke up in a mild haze. Mei’s body strewn against mine. As I stirred Mei smiled at me and said, “Fuck babe you were an animal last night,” my mind raced as Mei kissed me on my cheek before saying, “lets get ready.”

I nodded and we were off.

After getting breakfast, Mei and I sat on a bench overlooking the arena grounds. The morning sun painted the sky in hues of orange and gold, and the chatter of early spectators drifted in the air. Mei had insisted we come here, claiming it was the perfect spot to “reflect.” Whatever that meant.

She took a long sip from her drink, her eyes watching the arena as if sizing it up. “So,” she began, her voice light but probing, “what’s the plan? If you make it to the last battle, and it’s you versus Burai… and you win?”

I leaned back, stretching my legs out in front of me. “That’s the plan. I win. End of story.”

Mei turned to face me, raising an eyebrow. “End of story? Come on, Dio, you can’t honestly believe that.”

“Why not?” I countered. “I get my revenge, put him in his place, and then I’m done. No more tournaments, no more fighting. I go back to my quiet little life, just like I planned.”

She tilted her head, studying me like I was some kind of puzzle she was trying to solve. “You really think it’s going to be that simple?”

“It’s not complicated,” I said, shrugging. “He betrayed me. He deserves to pay for it. Once that’s done, there’s nothing keeping me here.”

Mei set her drink down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Okay, but what happens after you beat him? You think all this—” she gestured broadly at the arena, the crowds, the tournament—“just goes away? People already see you as this larger-than-life figure. If you take down Burai, you’ll be a legend. You think they’ll let you disappear after that?”

I frowned, her words sinking in. I didn’t want to be a legend. I didn’t want the fame, the attention, or any of it. All I wanted was to settle the score and move on. But deep down, I knew she had a point.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I muttered. “I just wanted to fight Burai. That’s it.”

Mei smiled softly, her tone gentler now. “I know. But the world doesn’t work like that. You can’t control what people see in you, Dio. And if you win… well, you’re going to have to decide what kind of legend you want to be.”

I looked away, the weight of her words settling over me. “I don’t care about being a legend,” I said quietly. “I just want to be free of all this.”

She reached out and placed a hand on my arm, her touch grounding me. “Maybe you should think about what ‘freedom’ really means to you. Because right now, it sounds like you’re running from something. And I don’t think beating Burai is going to fix that.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. She wasn’t wrong. As much as I hated to admit it, this wasn’t just about Burai. It was about everything that had led me here—everything I’d lost, everything I’d buried.

Mei gave me a small, knowing smile, as if she could see the gears turning in my head. “Take it from someone who’s watched you fight, Dio. You’ve got more in you than just anger. Maybe it’s time you figure out what else is driving you.”

I sighed, leaning back on the bench. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who just met me.”

She grinned, a playful glint in her eye. “What can I say? I’m invested in the story. And you, my friend, are the most interesting character in it.”

Despite myself, I chuckled. “You really think this is all just some big story, huh?”

“Of course,” she said, her grin widening. “And the best stories? They’re the ones where the hero figures out who they really are.”

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m no hero, Mei.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms with a confident smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

Mei leaned into my shoulder, her breathing slowing to a soft, steady rhythm. It didn’t take long for me to realize she had fallen asleep. The warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the silence of the room worked their magic, and soon enough, I drifted off as well.

The next thing I distinctly remember is waking up to the sensation of a massive hand lightly shaking my shoulder. Blinking groggily, I opened my eyes to see Hulk looming over me, his expression a mix of sternness and warmth. His sheer size filled the space, but it was his knowing look that caught my attention. He wasn’t angry; if anything, his eyes carried a strange kindness that felt out of place, given my usual interactions with him.

“Good to see you so relaxed, Diobronto,” he said, his deep voice tinged with amusement. “You’re usually so uptight.”

I groaned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Mei stirred next to me but didn’t wake immediately. Stretching, I looked up at him and muttered, “Sorry for falling asleep in the arena.”

Hulk waved off my apology with a chuckle. “No need to apologize. You’re one of the few fighters here who understands the point of this whole thing. You get what this tournament is really about.”

I squinted at him, trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. “And what exactly is it about, big guy?”

He gave me a look that was both knowing and paternal, crossing his massive arms as he spoke. “This tournament isn’t just about who can throw the hardest punch or land the flashiest move. It’s about building something bigger—creating the next generation of heroes. And whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve become the aspirational everyman. The crowd loves you because you represent something they can believe in.”

I frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on me. “I’m not a hero,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I’m here for revenge. That’s it.”

Hulk laughed, the sound booming and filling the room. Mei, now fully awake, joined in with a chuckle as she leaned back against the wall, her sharp eyes watching the exchange with interest.

“Whether you think you’re a hero or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you act like one,” Hulk countered. “Despite your whole ‘revenge plot,’ you carry yourself with integrity. You’re upstanding, moral—well, mostly—and you respect your opponents. You understand what this tournament is trying to achieve, and you lean into it. You play the part of a hero without even realizing it.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “How? How exactly am I playing the part of a hero?”

He grinned, pointing a massive finger at me. “Remember that kid who came up to you after your last fight? He asked you how he could be like you, and you didn’t brush him off or tell him something dumb. You told him to eat his vegetables, exercise, brush his teeth, and finish his homework. That’s the kind of stuff heroes do, even when they don’t have to. You inspire people, Dio. Families come to watch your fights because they see someone worth rooting for.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Really? That many people care?”

Hulk nodded. “You’re the kind of fighter they bring their kids to see. You’ve got the strength, sure, but more importantly, you’ve got the heart. That’s why the crowd loves you.”

Mei chose that moment to chime in, her voice sultry as she leaned forward. “It’s also why I can’t get enough of you,” she purred, her tone teasing yet laced with sincerity. Her piercing gaze locked onto mine, making her intentions abundantly clear.

Hulk barked out a laugh, clearly amused by her boldness. “See? Even she knows you’re a hero. And I need you to stay in this tournament, Dio. You’re too good at this to throw it all away for some petty revenge. Heroes like you don’t just win fights—they give people something to believe in.”

I sighed, leaning back against the wall as I processed his words. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I admitted. “I just wanted to fight Burai and be done with it.”

“And yet here you are,” Hulk said, clapping a massive hand on my shoulder with surprising gentleness. “You’re here for more than just yourself, whether you like it or not. Don’t waste it.”

Mei smirked, tilting her head as she watched me. “Guess that means you’ve got to stick around, hero.”

I glanced between the two of them—Hulk’s unwavering belief and Mei’s playful admiration—and sighed. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was more to this than I wanted to admit. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. After hulk’s little pep talk he got up and said,

“Youre next fight is Burai. I do hope you make the right choice after,”

A rush of emotions and thoughts go through my head as Hulk and Mei laugh while Hulk leaves.

Here was everything I ever wanted but at what cost?

As the door closed behind Hulk, the room fell silent. Mei shifted closer to me, her gaze soft yet inquisitive. I could feel the weight of the moment settling over us. Burai. The name echoed in my head like a drumbeat. I had fought so hard, clawed my way through this tournament, just for a shot at him. And now, the fight was finally within reach.

“You okay?” Mei’s voice broke the quiet, her tone gentle but probing.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know. I mean… this is what I wanted, right? Burai’s next. Everything I’ve done so far has been for this moment. But now…” My voice trailed off as I stared at the floor, trying to piece together what I was feeling.

“But now you’re wondering if it’s worth it?” she finished for me, her expression unreadable.

I looked up at her, surprised. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

She shrugged with a small smile. “You’re not as hard to read as you think, Dio. You might act all tough and brooding, but deep down, you’re a lot more thoughtful than you let on. You care, even when you pretend you don’t.”

Her words struck a chord, and I found myself nodding slowly. “It’s just… Hulk said some things that I can’t shake. About being a hero, about people looking up to me. I didn’t ask for any of that. I’m not trying to inspire anyone. I just want to settle the score with Burai and move on with my life. Is that so bad?”

Mei tilted her head, studying me intently. “It’s not bad, but maybe it’s not that simple anymore. Whether you like it or not, you’ve become something bigger than yourself. People see you as a symbol, Dio. A guy who stands up, fights hard, and doesn’t back down—even when the odds are stacked against him. That matters to people. It matters to me.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she leaned back, resting her head against the wall, her eyes thoughtful.

“What happens after you fight him?” she asked quietly.

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s your plan? Let’s say you beat Burai. You get your revenge, the crowd goes wild, and the tournament wraps up. What happens next? Do you just disappear? Go back to your ‘little corner of the world,’ as you put it?”

Her words hit harder than I expected. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. All my focus had been on reaching this point, on confronting Burai. What came after was a blank slate.

“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I thought beating him would be enough. That it would give me closure.”

“And now?” she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

I exhaled heavily, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “Now I’m not so sure. Hulk’s right—this tournament has become something bigger than me and Burai. I don’t know if I can just walk away from it all without feeling like I let everyone down.”

Mei reached out and placed a hand on mine, her touch warm and steady. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she said softly. “But when the time comes, just remember that you’re more than your grudge. You’re more than what Burai did to you. You’ve already proven that.”

I looked at her, searching her eyes for any hint of doubt or insincerity. But all I saw was genuine belief—belief in me.

“Thanks,” I said after a long pause. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but… it helps to hear that.”

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #gravure smut #gravure fanfic #mei washio #cignature #ive yujin #ahn yujin #jeewon fanfic #yujin fanfic #jeewon #gravure idol fanfic #mei washio smut #gravure idol x oc #chowon fanfiction

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caramelcleopatraa · 1 day ago

Text

ALL UP IN YOU MIND

word count: 870

x: ..... hey y'all (,,>﹏<,,) i'm back with sum short and sweet while I'm writing some other stuff. I hope you enjoy :) excuse any errors I didn't catch ~ Cleo

You tried to act like it doesn’t bother you, but every time you see him, your sexual frustration rises. You were bound to explode at some point.

Your body was damn near vibrating. Restraint was your closest acquaintance recently. You sat there and watched him as he accepted business call after strenuous business call. You knew yourself. It was impossible to be in the same space as your husband and not be magnetized to him from the jump. It’s not like it was the only thing you noticed about him. The countless days of work that he’s put in, the stress that comes with maintaining good at his job, especially one that was so demanding like wrestling, and the physical work that has taken a toll on him is something that a lot of people can't handle. You understood what he had to do to even have these moments so that he can come home and relax… well, semi-relax, because those business calls just seemed to keep coming. You never wanted to seem superficial and at the very least, only concerned with sex. But… fuck, sometimes when you saw him relaxing and lounging around the house, taking a shower, or taking care of business. The simplest things were your biggest triggers. You couldn’t count on less than two hands how many times you had gotten hot and bothered over him being stern over the phone, when negotiations were rocky. Seeing him in such concentration just sent you into an enticing spiral that was fun at times, but excruciating in many other situations. Those times when he came home and he wanted nothing more than sleep, or the quiet days of solitude after energy draining events. You found yourself dealing with a puddle between your legs, leading to those suspicious long showers.

Roman was the best package deal you could’ve ever wished for. A mature man that preferred communication over assumption, paired with the face and body of a god, spoiled the ever living hell out of you, always made sure you were taken care of. Mentally, physically, and sexually. It’s like second nature for him, and he already does so much for you. So you figured you could just deal with yourself when you got too excited. But it started happening so often, you had to tell him. You needed him. Bad. As much as you tried not to burden him with your newly discovered and frankly annoying sex drive, you knew what he could do, how he could make that provocative ache subside. You daydreamed for hours about how euphoric it would feel once he finally put his hands on you. It pays to be selfless, but you wanted him to yourself just for the weekend. All yours, with no distractions. Just you and him.

That’s the position you just put yourself in. Such a conflict of interest. You had wished sometimes when he had heard your moans from inside the bathroom, due to you stopping trying to be quiet, that he would strip down to nothing and join you. But you knew when duty called, it was hard for him to get distracted when he had his mind concentrated on what he was doing.

You had daydreamed what it would be like if you teased him while he was working until he reached his breaking point. How he would never rush you, but be so impatient to take of your silk robe and sit you in his chair while he kneeled before you and ate you out like it was his first time tasting you, hands roaming your legs and up your torso and eventually grabbing your throat with both hands, still eating your pussy until you experience dizzying bliss. And after that, how easy it is for his dick to slip inside of you with his hands still around your neck while telling you how needy you are, and how he can’t wait to fuck your needy pussy. He’d damn near forget that he’s on a business call, unmuting himself to make some lackadaisical excuse as to why he couldn’t stay on, still snatching your soul with his strokes and eye contact that served as a nonverbal command to not make a fucking sound until they hung up. Your eyes would roll as you felt yourself closer to cumming as you worked circles on your clit, listening to his words that made you moan just on their own.

“Lemme see that beautiful face while you cum all over this dick.”

“You can take that dick baby, don’t tell me what you can’t take.”

“That pussy too damn good baby, got me addicted to you.”

You had blinked your eyes numerous times to bring you out of your daydream, rubbing your temple and letting out a heavy sigh. ”You okay over there baby?”

“How long until you're finished with your phone call?” He points to his phone, laying face down on the desk next to him. “Just got off.”

Your body moved on its own, walking over to him and sitting on top of him with no hesitation, massaging his shoulders softly. “Good, because I really want you daddy. I can’t wait any longer.”

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rainswriting-blog · 2 days ago

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Never Push the Ghost

Summary: After six years of marriage to Simon “Ghost” Riley, you’ve learned to navigate his temper carefully, but today, you’re done playing it safe. What begins as a frustrated outburst over his bad habits quickly spirals into a charged confrontation, where tempers flare, boundaries are tested, and passions ignite. As the tension between you and Simon peaks, one thing becomes clear: he always knows how to handle you, even when you’re determined to push his limits.

Warning(s): P and V pentation physical restraint, including choking, pinning, dominance, power dynamics, punishment, consensual rough intimacy, emotional intensity, teasing, role-specific, minor injuries during physical interactions, Aftercare. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Reblog’s and feedback are appreciated. 18+ minors do not interact

After six years of marriage to Simon “Ghost” Riley, now 40 and still serving in the British SAS, you’ve learned to tread carefully around his temper. At Mid twenties, you’ve always been mindful not to push his buttons. But today? Today, you’d had enough.

It started innocently enough—his boots. Always in the way. You tripped over them for what felt like the hundredth time, and this time, the frustration boiled over. He was sitting there, unmasked for once, watching TV as if everything in the world was perfectly fine.

You snatched up his boots and hurled them toward him, voice sharp with irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Simon! Stop leaving your damn shoes everywhere. I keep tripping on them!”

His head turned slowly, disbelief flickering across his features as he rose to his full height. His imposing frame towered over you, and his voice, low and deliberate, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Did you just throw shoes at me?” he asked, stretching as he stepped toward you, his tone more curious than angry.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I did,” you shot back, your words laced with sass and defiance, despite the undeniable power he radiated.

He moves swiftly, his hand wrapping around your throat as your back meets the wall with a sharp thud. Your head connects with the surface, leaving a dull ache, but his thumb brushes against your bottom lip in a startlingly gentle contrast.

"You better be careful what you say next," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "If it’s not an apology, I don’t want to fucking hear it." With that, he releases you, his hand falling away as if daring you to challenge him.

Glaring up at him, you rub the back of your head, fury bubbling to the surface. “You literally made me hit my head on the wall,” you snap. “Fuck you, Simon.”

Spinning on your heel, you stomp toward the stairs, heart pounding. You make it halfway up when you hear it—the quiet, deliberate sound of him following you. His footsteps are almost too soft to detect, but you know him too well.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter under your breath, the realization sending adrenaline coursing through your veins. Without thinking, you break into a run, bolting up the stairs as fast as your legs will carry you.

You barely made it a step past the doorway to your shared bed when Simon closed the distance between you. With swift precision, he tackled you—not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to bring you down to the floor.

“Simon, stop it!” you protested, your palms landing on his chest in an attempt to push him away. But he didn’t budge.

“You want to be a fucking brat? Fine,” he growled, his voice low and steady as he pinned you effortlessly. His muscular legs straddled your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Then I’ll show you how brats are punished.”

Before you could protest further, his hand captured both your wrists, bringing them above your head in a single, controlled motion. His grip was unyielding but not cruel, a balance of dominance and restraint.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your legs kicking out instinctively, but it was no use. He was stronger, his weight and precision leaving you at a clear disadvantage. You glared up at him in his brown eyes, heart pounding as adrenaline and frustration warred within you.

Simon’s grip tightened just enough to make his point, his voice calm but unyielding. “I’ll let go when you stop acting like a child and throwing fucking shoes at people,” he said. With a swift motion, he rolled you onto your stomach, keeping control as he got to his feet, now towering over you.

You stayed there, catching your breath, until his next words broke the silence. “Take off your pants,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Why?” you shot back, twisting your head to look at him.

His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Reluctantly, you complied, fumbling to unbutton and slide them off. Before you could ask what next, his voice cut through again. “Panties too.”

You hesitated, but the look he gave you made it clear he wasn’t asking twice. Sighing, you obeyed, sliding them off before he snatched both garments and tossed them down the hallway, the sound of fabric landing echoing faintly in the quiet room.

Without warning, his hands gripped your sides, lifting you effortlessly by your armpits. “Simon, what the hell?” you protested, but he ignored you, carrying you over to the bed.

He positioned you carefully, ensuring your body lay across the edge of the mattress, your hips and butt perfectly displayed for him. His grip was firm yet controlled, a calculated dominance that left you breathless. You squirmed, but it was no use—he had all the control.

Simon reached for his belt, pulling it from the dresser with a deliberate motion that made your breath hitch. He folded it over in his hands, the leather snapping sharply as he tested it.

“You’re going to count to 26,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “And you better not forget what number you’re on. If you do, we start over.”

Before you could respond, the first strike landed on your bare cheeks with a sharp crack. A startled scream tore from your lips as the sting spread, your fingers instinctively clutching the sheets beneath you.

“...One,” you managed to gasp, voice trembling.

“Good,” he said, his tone almost approving, before bringing the belt down again. The sound and sensation mingled, sending a rush of heat and embarrassment through you as you clenched your fists.

“Two,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the next strike.

The pattern continued, each snap of the belt prompting you to grit your teeth and call out the next number, your voice growing steadier as the count rose. His measured strikes and unrelenting focus made it clear—he wasn’t stopping until you finished, no matter how much you squirmed or protested.

By the time the 26th strike landed, your body trembled, and tears streamed down your face, soaking into the sheets beneath you. The sting of each strike blended together, leaving you raw and overwhelmed. Between sobs, the apology tumbled out of you, sincere and desperate.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you choked, voice shaky but genuine. “I’m so sorry.”

He immediately set the belt aside and knelt down beside you, his hands warm and steady as they guided you up into his arms. His chest was solid, comforting, as he wrapped you in his embrace. One hand gently rubbed your back, the other cradling the back of your head as he held you close.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone soft now, the sharpness of his earlier discipline gone. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His words soothed you as his touch anchored you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in the moment. He stayed with you, murmuring quiet reassurances until your tears slowed, your breathing evened out, and the tension began to melt away.

As your breathing steadied and your tears finally subsided, Simon leaned back slightly, his hand brushing gently over your cheek to wipe away the remnants of your tears. His voice softened, a teasing edge creeping into his tone.

“Do you want your reward now?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

You blinked up at him, still catching your breath, his words cutting through the lingering haze of emotion. His thumb traced soothing circles on your shoulder, waiting patiently for your answer.

You nodded, the weight of the moment leaving you breathless. Simon didn’t hesitate. With practiced ease, he lifted you in his strong arms, carrying you to the middle of your king-size bed. He laid you down gently, his hands lingering on your sides as his eyes searched yours for any hesitation.

Pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion, his toned chest and arms were on full display, the raw strength in his movements evident. He reached for your legs, guiding them open as wide as they could go, his touch firm but careful.

Then, without warning, his mouth found your core, warm and commanding. The open-mouthed kiss sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your back arching slightly as a soft moan escaped your lips. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his messy brown hair, gripping it as the sensation overwhelmed you. He hummed in response, the vibrations sending waves of warmth through you as he worked with unrelenting focus, every movement designed to unravel you completely.

Between gasps and the waves of pleasure coursing through you, a laugh bubbled up, light and breathless. You tugged gently at Simon’s hair, your fingers still tangled in his locks as you managed to speak through a moan.

“This is one of the reasons I married you, Si,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and bliss.

He paused for a moment, glancing up at you with a cocky smirk, his lips glistening. “Is that so?” he teased, his voice low and rich, the warmth in his tone matched only by the glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to keep proving you made the right choice.”

Before you could respond, he resumed his focus, his touch and attention reminding you exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place.

As your body trembled under his touch, your voice came out in a breathy whisper, the words tumbling out between moans.

“Another reason is… you’re so good to me,” you managed, your fingers tightening in his hair as the tension in your body coiled tighter. “Even though I’m a brat sometimes… you still love me.”

Simon’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a soft, almost tender smile playing on his lips even as he kept his focus. “Always,” he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice sending you closer to the edge.

His words, paired with the intensity of his actions, sent you spiraling, your climax crashing over you in a wave that left you breathless and utterly undone.

Simon stood, his movements deliberate as he shed his pants and boxers in one swift motion. His toned physique, now fully bare, radiated strength and confidence. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and detail as he leaned down, tugging your shirt off in a fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed beneath him.

Hovering over you, his warmth enveloped you as his lips captured yours in a deep, heated kiss. The intensity of the makeout session sent your head spinning, your hands exploring his firm chest before sliding down, wrapping around his sheer size. Your touch elicited a low groan from him, the sound rumbling against your lips as you slowly pumped him, feeling his weight and heat in your grasp.

Breaking the kiss, his mouth moved lower, finding your tightened nipple. He flicked it with his tongue before sucking gently, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. At the same time, the head of his cock teased your folds, sliding along your sensitive skin in slow, deliberate strokes, building anticipation with every movement. The combination of his touch and his skilled attention had your body arching toward him, craving more.

As the teasing continued, the overwhelming need to feel him took over. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, trying to pull him closer and push him inside you yourself. The desperation in your movements made him chuckle low in his throat, his tone dripping with amusement.

“So impatient, love,” Simon said, shaking his head slightly as a playful smirk curved his lips. His hand moved to your breast, delivering a firm yet playful slap that made you gasp, the sting mingling with the pleasure coursing through you.

“You’ve got to let me enjoy this,” he teased, his voice low and husky as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours again. “I’ll give you what you want, but only when I’m ready.”

Simon took his time, exploring every inch of your body with a precision that left you trembling beneath him. His hands, lips, and tongue traced over your skin, drawing out sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making. He seemed to revel in your every reaction, taking his sweet time, teasing and testing you until your body was wound so tight it felt like you might snap.

What felt like hours later, when you were on the edge of begging, he finally positioned himself at your entrance. Without warning, he thrust into your core in one smooth motion, filling you completely. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your back arching as the overwhelming sensation took hold of you.

“Finally,” you managed to whisper, your hands clutching at his back, nails digging into his skin as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to the sheer intensity of him. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of satisfaction and desire flashing in his gaze.

“Worth the wait, wasn’t it?” he murmured, his deep voice sending another shiver through you as he began to move, setting a rhythm that left you breathless.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping him as you locked eyes with him, his big brown eyes dark with intensity. Your voice came out low but firm, trembling slightly with anticipation.

“Now choke me, Si,” you whispered, the request hanging heavy in the air between you.

His movements paused for just a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the edge of dominance returning to his expression.

“You really are a brat, aren’t you?” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with that familiar authority. His hand moved up, brushing against your throat before settling there, firm but controlled, his thumb grazing your jaw.

“Say the word if it’s too much,” he said, his voice dropping lower, the weight of his care evident even in his commanding tone. When you nodded, his grip tightened just enough to leave you breathless, amplifying the sensation of everything else as he moved with unrelenting purpose, his eyes never leaving yours.

Simon’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to send a rush of heat through your body, amplifying every sensation. Without hesitation, he began thrusting into you rough and fast, each movement deliberate and powerful. The sudden intensity had you arching beneath him, your hands clawing at his back as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Your cries and screams filled the room, raw and uncontrollable, mingling with his low, guttural groans. The overwhelming sensations blurred the line between pleasure and pain, leaving you trembling and completely at his mercy. Tears streamed down your face, not from distress but from the sheer intensity of the moment, your body responding to him in ways that left you utterly undone.

“Look at you,” Simon growled, his voice thick with desire as his hand on your throat loosened slightly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Screaming for me like this… you’re perfect.”

His words only heightened your arousal, your body tightening around him as the pleasure built to a breaking point. You could feel the tension coiling in your core, ready to snap as he continued his relentless pace, determined to push you completely over the edge.

Your second climax hit like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as the release came with a splash. Simon pulled out briefly, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight—your release coating his thighs, cock, and the bed beneath you. A proud, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he ran a hand along your trembling body.

“You really are full of surprises, love,” he murmured, his tone filled with a mix of amusement and desire.

Your body trembled uncontrollably, your mind still hazy from the intensity, but he didn’t give you a moment to recover. Without hesitation, he pushed back into you, filling you once again as he resumed his relentless movements. His pace was just as intense, if not more so, driving you higher despite the overstimulation.

“Not done with you yet,” Simon growled, his voice low and commanding as his hips snapped against yours. His hands gripped your waist, anchoring you in place as he continued to take you apart, determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure from your shaking form. The overwhelming sensations left you gasping, your mind spinning as he pushed you toward yet another peak.

Your body gave in entirely to the overwhelming sensations, trembling uncontrollably as you couldn’t stop squirting with each relentless thrust. The bed beneath you was soaked, your cries filling the room as overstimulation consumed you. Tears streamed down your face, the intensity leaving you shaking and gripping onto Simon like a lifeline.

Your nails dug into his back, leaving red trails and even drawing blood in your desperation to ground yourself amidst the overpowering pleasure. He didn’t seem to mind—in fact, your reaction only spurred him on. His groans grew deeper, rougher, as he chased his own release, his movements becoming erratic.

Finally, with a guttural growl of your name, Simon thrust deeply one last time, his release surging into your womb. His weight pressed against you as he buried his face into your neck, his breathing ragged and heavy. The warmth of his release filled you, and he stayed there for a moment, letting the intensity of the moment settle.

Still trembling, you clung to him, your body utterly spent. His arms wrapped around you protectively, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered softly, “You’re incredible, love. Always.”

Your trembling arms wrapped around Simon’s neck, holding onto him tightly, as though letting go might make the world fall away. Your body shook with aftershocks, your breath uneven as you clung to him, seeking comfort in his warmth and strength.

Simon’s hands roamed over your back, soothing you with soft strokes and murmured reassurances. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” he said gently, his voice low and comforting as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

Carefully, he shifted, pulling out of you with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity you had just shared. A soft whimper escaped your lips at the sensation, but he was quick to gather you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he whispered, holding you close as he ran his fingers through your hair. His other hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, grounding you as he kept you wrapped in his embrace.

You buried your face in his neck, unwilling to let go, the scent of him and the steady beat of his heart calming the storm inside you. He stayed there with you, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you come down at your own pace, his love and care wrapping around you like a cocoon.

Simon held you close for a moment longer before his voice broke through the haze, soft but firm. “Love, we gotta get up,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “I need to clean you up… and we need new sheets,” he added, his gaze drifting to the mess between your thighs and the soaked bed beneath you.

You groaned softly, nuzzling into his neck, reluctant to let go. “Can’t we just stay like this a little longer?” you whispered, your voice still shaky.

He chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring as he gently stroked your back. “As much as I’d love that, we’re not exactly in the best condition to keep lying here.” His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Come on, love. Let me take care of you.”

With a soft sigh, you nodded, though your arms stayed loosely draped around his neck. He kissed your forehead before carefully helping you sit up, his hands steadying you as your trembling body adjusted. “Let me grab a warm cloth and something for the bed,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on your knee before moving to take care of things.

You stayed where you were, your legs still open, trusting him completely as he knelt in front of you with a warm, damp cloth. His touch was gentle as he began to clean you up, his focus intent on being as careful as possible.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the cloth brushed over your sensitive skin, and you looked down at him, your voice trembling. “Si, careful… I’m so sensitive.”

He glanced up at you with a soft, apologetic smile, his brown eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m trying, love,” he said gently, his voice calm and soothing as he continued his careful work.

His free hand rested lightly on your thigh, a grounding touch meant to steady you as he moved the cloth over you with deliberate precision. Despite your sensitivity, his care and attention helped you relax bit by bit, his patience and love evident in every motion.

“Almost done,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before finishing, ensuring you were comfortable and clean before setting the cloth aside. “There we go. All taken care of,” he said, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction as he stood, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

Simon froze mid-step, his eyes widening as realization struck. “Oh, fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“What?” you asked, suddenly alarmed, your body tensing at his tone.

“Johnny,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago.” Grabbing his boxers, he quickly pulled them on and strode to the bedroom door, which had been open the whole time. Your stomach sank as you watched him leave.

In the living room, Simon stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Johnny sprawled on the couch, his face a mix of mortification and sheer disbelief.

“Johnny,” Simon began, his voice low and cautious. “What did you hear?”

Without missing a beat, Johnny’s eyes darted to Simon, then quickly away, his ears turning bright red. “Everything,” he said, his voice flat and tinged with awkwardness.

Simon groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom, then back to his visibly uncomfortable friend. “For fuck’s sake, Johnny. You couldn’t knock or announce yourself?”

Johnny shrugged, clearly struggling to maintain eye contact. “Didn’t think I’d need to, mate. Thought I’d be welcomed like usual—not treated to… that.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

Annoyed that Simon hadn’t come back, you walked out of the bedroom, forgetting—or not caring—that you were still completely naked. The moment you stepped into the living room, Simon and Johnny’s heads whipped toward you, both sets of eyes widening in shock.

“Bloody hell!” Johnny exclaimed, immediately covering his face with his hands, though the damage was clearly done.

Simon’s reaction was instant and instinctive. Without saying a word, he bolted toward you, his expression a mix of frustration and protectiveness. In a flash, he scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Si!” you yelped, your fists lightly pounding his back in protest as he made a beeline for the stairs.

“Not a fucking chance I’m letting Johnny get another second of this view,” Simon growled, his voice low and clipped. He carried you back into the bedroom, kicked the door shut behind him with a firm thud, and set you down on the bed with an exasperated sigh.

“What were you thinking, love?” he asked, hands on his hips, though his tone was more amused than angry.

“I was wondering why you didn’t come back,” you replied with a shrug, though a flush crept across your cheeks.

“I wanted more cuddles, Si,” you say, pouting as you sit on the bed, watching him with big, pleading eyes.

Simon sighs, a soft smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “You’re unbelievable, love,” he mutters, walking over and pulling you into his arms. “But I’ll give you all the cuddles you want—after I deal with Johnny.”

Simon strides back into the living room where Johnny is still sitting, clearly trying to process everything he’s just witnessed. Simon waves a hand dismissively. “Sorry about that, Johnny. Do whatever you want—I need to get back to Y/N. She wants more cuddles.” Without waiting for a reply, he turns to head back upstairs.

“Uh, LT,” Johnny calls out, his voice laced with concern and disbelief. “Your back is bleeding. What the hell did she do to you?”

Simon glances over his shoulder, smirking slightly. “It’s part of the territory, Johnny,” he says nonchalantly before disappearing upstairs, leaving Johnny sitting there, dumbfounded and speechless.

Taglist

@aasouthteranoswife @edgarapoecolouredglasses @jovialbluebirddragon @soapsrubberduck @coqwuette

#modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare ii #modern warfare smut #simon ghost riley smut #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish

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y0ur-lovrr · 3 days ago

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—Sleep patterns.

Based off of this song-

A/n; hiii, this was my first attempt at writing some type of angst, so if it’s bad i apologize lol, I haven’t really wrote angst before so I thought I’d try it, spoilers of season two of aib ahead!!

…maybe I will do a part 2 to this 🤷‍♀️

Pairing; everyone x reader (but you can pair yourself with whoever)

—kuina, Anne, And Usagi looked at you as you slumped at the wall, your hands holding onto your abdomen where the king of has stabbed you multiple times-blood spilling out of you like a broken faucet.

“Thank you for playing with me…I gave it my all.” You mutter with a sigh and a faint smile, having already accepted your fate that you had lost at this game, that you had lost at beating the borderlands, but you didn’t seem afraid, even as your eyes closed. It was unnerving seeing you accept fate so easily, as if you gave up on fighting even though you gave the king of spades your all.

They were all beat up to, Anne barely able to sit herself up from the floor, Kuina stabbed multiple times in her side, Usagi stabbed in her knees. But in that moment, you looked worse, and they couldn’t comprehend it, all frozen as they stared at you. You had been there since the beginning, even though you refused to accept the alliance at first, they thought of you as family.

Kuina screeches your name as he knees buckle beneath her, her hands immediately latching onto you and shaking you by your shoulders, attempting to wake you back up-as if you were just taking a nap.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t move, getting shaken with no resistance, even as her tears dripped down her cheeks, even as her bloody hands grip your shoulders a bit too tight.

“Why aren’t they moving?! Why won’t they wake up?!” She asked in a frantic yet desperate tone, ignoring her own pain as she try’s to wake you up, knowing it won’t work, but she couldn’t comprehend that you weren’t going to wake up.

Footsteps came back, the recognizable pants of Arisu sounding out as he makes his way over, just got done blowing up the king of spades. But he stops as he sees the scene in front of him.

Usagi was crying as she leaned back against a wall, trying to stop the bleeding on her legs, Anne laying on the floor with ragged breaths, and you. Slumped against the wall, not moving or barely breathing with Kuina frantically shaking your shoulders, trying to not start sobbing.

It made him feel sick, his breath catching in his throat. Guilt forms in his stomach, his head already starting to spin, maybe if he hadn’t taken so long to kill the king of spades with Aguni, maybe-just maybe, he could’ve saved you. But maybe he could-maybe if he beat the final game quick enough! That would work, right? It had to of, if they beat the final game this would all stop, right?—

“Arisu…” Usagi’s voice muttered, her voice shaky and pained, her eyes looking towards him, watching his eyes move over to hers, his eyes softening at her condition. The tears in his eyes makes her heart clench, he had no idea how all of this happened-the plan to bomb the king was supposed to work, not have it end up like this. It’s a blood bath.

Her eyes spoke a thousand words to him, and he reached out and grabbed her arm, putting it over his shoulder, making her use him as a crutch, carrying her weight easily.

“M-Maybe if we finish the last game it would save them-save them and Chishiya, Anne-“ he sputters out, words trembling over another as his mind worked quickly, and Usagi couldn’t bring herself to argue, knowing that it might work..but it was very thin chance. But knowing Arisu, he wouldn’t give up, he already lost so many-losing you and Anne would just break him.

He doesn’t know it, but hours from now, his found family will be torn apart. And he will beat the games with Usagi and wake up in the hospital. Having no memory of what happened, and you won’t talk him or the others again, not even remembering that you existed.

He will forget the time when you both sat down on the hood of an abandoned car as the sun set down, and how he asked you what you wanted in life. And all you said was ‘I don’t know’, he will forget how that stuck with him.

Anne and Kuina won’t remember how you would ride in the car at night to games, blasting the music on full blast and letting them sing to some song you never heard of before.

Usagi would forget how you admitted you afraid that one time you both were hunting for food, how you admitted that you were afraid of not being good enough, and how you afraid of dying without a fight.

Usagi and Arisu begin to make their way to the Queen of Hearts game, trying to go as fast as they could, leaving Kuina and Anne with you.

Kuina had given up on shaking you and trying to wake you up, instead laying down on the ground, staring up the sky as her gaze often moves towards you and to Anne, and the sight makes her want to cry even more. You promised her, promised her that you would escape the games with her, and that you would still be friends in the other world.

But now you can’t finish that promise, and a part of her wants to be mad at you for that. But she can’t. She could never bring herself to be mad at you. She moves one of her hands and shakily grabs onto one of yours, the blood making it slippery, as her other hand reaches towards Anne’s, silently praying that they finish the game fast.

It’s quiet despite her ragged breaths and the light breathing of Anne, it’s quiet without your constant sarcastic comments and little quips, and she finds herself already missing it, missing you.

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xyywrites · 3 days ago

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How to write believable enemies-to-lovers dynamics.

Enemies-to-lovers is a beloved trope, but it’s also tricky to execute. The transformation from animosity to love needs to feel organic, not forced.

1. Establish the Initial Conflict

Give your characters a solid, believable reason to dislike each other. It could be ideological differences, personal betrayal, or clashing goals. The conflict must be significant enough to justify their animosity.

“You stole my promotion. Do you have any idea how hard I worked for it?” “You mean the one you weren’t qualified for? Grow up, Lena.”

2. Show the Nuance in Their Dislike

Enemies don’t always have to hate each other completely. Maybe they grudgingly respect one another’s skills or admire each other’s dedication, even if it drives them crazy.

“For someone so insufferable, you sure know how to shoot straight.” “And for someone so arrogant, you’re surprisingly not dead yet.”

“She’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” “And yet you can’t stop watching her, can you?”

3. Create Forced Proximity

Give them a reason to spend time together despite their dislike. Forced proximity allows them to see past their assumptions and grow closer.

“If we don’t get this presentation done by morning, we’re both fired. So, shut up and start typing.” “Only if you stop chewing on that pen. It’s distracting.”

“You’re bleeding.” “Yeah, and whose fault is that?” “Mine, obviously. Now sit down so I can patch you up.”

4. Allow Their Views to Shift Gradually

The transition from enemies to lovers isn’t instant. Let them experience small moments of vulnerability, trust, or understanding that slowly chip away at their hostility.

“You think I wanted this? That I enjoy being the bad guy?” “I didn’t think you cared.” “Well, maybe I do.”

“You fight so hard for your people.” “You do too. I guess we’re not so different after all.”

5. Use Banter to Build Chemistry

Snarky, sharp dialogue is the lifeblood of enemies-to-lovers. Their verbal sparring should reveal their personalities, highlight their tension, and hint at deeper feelings.

“Careful, you almost sounded like you cared about me for a second.” “Don’t flatter yourself. I care about not dying, and you happen to be useful.”

“If you were half as smart as you think you are—” “I’d still be twice as smart as you.”

6. Show the Cost of Falling for Each Other

Enemies-to-lovers works best when there are stakes. Their relationship should challenge their beliefs, goals, or loyalties, forcing them to make difficult choices.

“If I help you, I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.” “Then why are you still standing here?”

7. Add a “Breaking Point”

There should be a moment where their growing feelings clash with their existing animosity, leading to explosive tension.

“You lied to me!” “What did you expect? You’re the enemy!” “Not anymore. Or at least, I thought I wasn’t.”

“Why do you care what happens to me?” “Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you, okay? Happy now?”

8. Use Physicality Subtly

Small gestures can reveal their shifting feelings—hesitant touches, lingering glances, or protective instincts.

“Watch out!” He shoved her out of the way, taking the brunt of the explosion. “You idiot. You could’ve been killed.” “Yeah, but you’re okay.”

She caught him staring at her, his usual scowl softened. He looked away quickly, muttering something under his breath.

9. Build Toward a Satisfying Payoff

Enemies-to-lovers works because of the build-up. Don’t rush the resolution. Let their relationship evolve naturally before culminating in a moment that feels earned.

“I don’t want to fight you anymore.” “Neither do I.” “Then come here.”

10. Maintain Their Individuality

Their love shouldn’t erase who they are. They’re still the same people who clashed in the beginning, but now they’ve grown to understand each other.

“I’m still not letting you win.” “Good. I’d be worried if you did.”

“You’re still annoying.” “And you’re still impossible. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

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woosjoongie · 1 day ago

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black mamba | k.hj

pairing: serpent!hongjoong x f!reader

note: hi! this is my first story!! it's kind of bad, i apologize but i hope you like it. notes/reblogs are appreciated!

a light breeze traveled through your window as it was left ajar; although, you haven't tempered with it in god knows how long. the small change in the temperature immediately brought you out of your sleep.

staring at the window with squinted eyes and knitted eyebrows, you got up, dragging your stagnant body. as you reached your window, the bright moon light and the light breeze opened your senses.

you took a deep breath but before you release a proper exhale, a small thump rung in your ears. you whipped around quickly, the breeze and fear making your body accommodate with goosebumps. the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, making the indication that something bad was nearing.

you looked around the room, holding your breath. it was dark except for the moonlight that shined onto one section of the room. once again, squinting, you slowly walked forward. you gasped as the floorboard underneath you let out a screech. you held your chest, bending over a bit to catch your breath.

as you looked up, you notice a black boot reflecting off the moons light. your heart dropped, as your eyes traveled up the boot and to what, or who, it was attached to. your mouth hung open as you saw a man with burgundy hair staring back at you. his bottomless black eyes, staring back into yours.

"should I run or should I stay?" you thought to yourself. maybe if you stood still, he'd miraculously disappear. or maybe, if you ran, you could get far enough away from him, and get help. you slowly started to back away, back facing the door.

as you slowly walked back, the man stood up. you halted, only for him to do the same. moving back again only made him get closer. his heavy footsteps were much louder than the soft padding of your own.

you stopped before the door, scared that if you turned around, he'd get much closer. or worse.. maybe he'd actually grab you. but maybe if you were quick enough you could open the door quick enough to get away.

feeling overly confident, you turned around and opened the door. it immediately slammed closed. looking upward, you saw a black hand pressing against the door. this hand faded into his ivory skin at the wrist. you felt your hair slightly moving as whoever was behind you breathed.

you couldn't control your body nor its curiosity; you slowly turned around to look at them. you saw the same red hair and the same black eyes. "you can't run from me." it, or maybe his– you had no idea what this thing was; you weren't even sure if he was human– voice was seductive almost. it was sort of high pitched but not enough to sound silly or like he was a joke.

"i-i" was all the managed to spill out of your mouth before you his opposite hand came down to touch your cheek. his calloused knuckles and cold rings caressed your face lightly, making you recoil. he hated your response to his touch. he hated how you turned away from him.

"i've been studying you." he confesses. looking at him once again ask, "what's your name?" your vocal cords shook, fear and even anger flowing throughout your body. "I've almost every aspect of your life. the people that come and go.. what you watch, what you eat, how you touch yourself.. I know when you go to work. and i know you're so stressed. and tired. your body aches in so many different ways." he explains to you.

as much as it freaked you out, it also intrigued you. how could you go this long without knowing this thing was watching you. but stop. you need to know who he is. why he's doing this. "who are you?" your tone was firm and demanding, but he saw through that stupid act and knew he could break you; nevertheless; he found it cute. he felt proud his stalking paid off over the years. but he figured you wanted to feel powerful for once and gave in. "hongjoong," he finally answered. his black thumb slowly swiped over your bottom lips with a small smirk. his thumb dipped into your mouth, pushing between your teeth and pressing on your tongue forcing you pull back.

"hmm, you seemed to like that when that other guy was here, no?" he, unfortunately, right. but that other guy was just a fling. he meant nothing. which, now that you realize, shouldn't matter. you know nothing about this human (?) other than his name. "let me fuck you better. he was lazy, couldn't keep up with you."

he was right but what makes him think he can just break in and get to fuck you? he's out of his mind. "you're insane," you mumble. "insane for trying to help? you're funny. always have been." his hand drags done your face and to your neck and down your shoulder. his fingers hooked on the thin strap of your top. he slid it down with ease, making sure to make eye contact with you.

"maybe you're the crazy one.. letting me take this off of you.. not making me stop." he let out a small chuckle. your teeth bit back at your damp lip. looking down, both strap were down to your forearms, your breasts fully exposed. your nipples hardened at the cold air. his thumb slightly ran over your nipple, a pool of your wetness starting to soak through your panties; which, luckily for hongjoong, was the only form of outerwear on your lower body.

his tongued darted out, licking his lips. a light gasp escaped your lips. you were in shock and your fear grew a little more. his tongue was split down the middle.. just like a snake. "can i touch you here?" his hand traveled up your thigh. still, you didn't say no. and you still have no idea why not.

he grinned at your response, his pointy smile sucking you in. his hand ghosted up your thigh and to your clothed pussy. he hissed, the 's' catching your attention. it was more dragged out and more harsh. "holy shit," you gasped as his hand rubbed your pussy.

"feel better?" he's had one sided hatred with that guy ever since he saw his face. hongjoong's rough hand slipped into your underwear, middle and ring teasing your leaking hole. the ring on his thumb bumping into your clit. you grabbed onto his other arm, nails digging into his skin. throwing your head back, you let out a small whine. you didn't feel his fingers anymore. it slowly started to travel up your hole, making you squeal. it was smooth but ridged at the same time. you looked down and saw his arm white forearm slowly turn black and scales envelope the circumference of his arm. as much as you wanted to pull away, you couldn't. you felt so close just from this.

you felt whatever was inside of you, hit your g-spot. "oh my gosh," you grabbed his shoulders to stabilize yourself. your hips started to grind against him, and like he said before, the other guy couldn't keep up. but he could. he kept up with your pace, "good girl. you'll be ok." he said, his face burying itself in your neck, sucking lightly onto your skin. his teeth scraped against your neck and collarbone. you felt so close, your legs involuntarily closing.

a suddenly pinch at your neck made you slightly jump, his wrist bumping your clit making you cum on the spot. your eyes rolled back and you swear you saw your skull. you were out of breath and most of all.. you are dizzy. and you couldn't tell why. sharp pains flowed through your neck and shoulder. "hongjoong?" you called out, only to look up and see he was gone. your knees were weakened and you could barely stand. you don't know what happened and suddenly you were out cold.

#hongjoong #hongjoong smut #snake hybrid #serpent #ateez #ateez smut #ateez hard thoughts #kim hongjoong #hongjoong hard thoughts #hongjoong hard hours #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong

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chiasaaa · 1 day ago

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— mean it || part i

itoshi sae x f! reader

summary: loving someone as cruel as itoshi sae has to be the worst thing that ever happened to a hopeless romantic like you. years of pining over your childhood crush finally comes to an end, or does it?

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors.

— when itoshi sae left japan, he not only left his family and a broken promise with his little brother. no, he left a person that carved a huge hole in his heart when he did so. who would have known that japan's pride and joy had fallen for your charm? certainly not you, because you have been vocal about your interest to the auburn-haired boy since you were six, and he never bothered reciprocating your feelings. whenever you ask him how he feels about you, he never answers and would very much rather deadpan instead. his one true love is football, and there is nothing that will stop him from reaching his dreams. he will do whatever it takes to become the greatest; shifting his dream from being the world's greatest striker to the world's greatest midfielder is proof of that dedication. he didn't care what he has to do to get there. sae will continue playing football even after his legs break.

it was something you admired greatly about him. it was natural for both of you to become friends when you've met, given that you share the same interest. at some point, you both also shared the same dream of becoming the world's best striker.

it seems like only one of you has reached such doors of opportunity as you were finally scouted by re al madrid's women's division as a striker—a centre forward to be specific. you were seventeen when you were scouted, and through the one year you've worked with re al, you have never once caught a glimpse of itoshi sae. even so, you didn't mind. you were there for your dream, not to catch up to sae. it was one of the things that he came to admire about you.

since he was a kid, he had always known about your childish feelings for him. at first, he thought it was annoying and considered cutting you off if you prove to be a hindrance. he tried to see just how far you'll go for him—to please him. however, when he realized that you don't use your feelings as a reason to excuse his bad behavior, he couldn't help but feel gravitated towards you. it began to scare him, how you suddenly have control over his actions and plagued his thoughts, so he left.

it wasn't until your match against wc barcha that your paths have decided to reunite you two. the championship game for nationals is today, and the same stadium was used for both men's and women's games. right after sae took a shower and freshened up, their team captain informed them that they will be watching the women's match. though, it wasn't needed. the fact that it's the championship game and their team is in the game for the first time in five years was enough for the reigning champions of the men's division to watch.

that was how he ended up sitting with the rest of his team at the very front of the stadium, eyes wide by the slightest inch at the sight of you standing proud within the starting lineup as the match began its opening ceremony.

you have certainly changed. your previous long raven hair now had streaks of auburn in them and seemed longer than ever. contrary to how you used to tie your hair in french braids, you now tie it securely in a single high ponytail. you have grown taller, though he still towers over your figure. your clean nails that you religiously took care of now had gel polish in them.

and most importantly, the hideous neon pink cleats you used to play with are now replaced by a powder blue shade—your favorite. he would be lying if he said it didn't bother him, knowing fully well that those neon pink cleats were a gift from him, but he fooled himself to think that your shoe size simply changed over time and you can't use them anymore.

still, why did you have to change the color if you once said that neon pink reminds you of him?

throughout the entire match, his eyes remained on you. the fact that you're playing in a completely different level now made him feel like he never knew who you were at all. you have exceeded most strikers already, even within the male's division. playing against guys your entire life proved advantageous in the pro league because it certainly shows when you're put up with the rest of the lukewarm idiots. they all seemed like headless chickens compared to you.

you were graceful, yet destructive. that addictive yet terrifying feeling began to creep in from behind again, and it made him feel nauseous. you're one terrifying being, with that way you're able to win over people's hearts so effortlessly.

"and re al's shooting star delivered the decisive goal! for the first time in five years, re al has reclaimed the throne as spain's champions!"

having both teams win called for a big celebration for the entire re al team. it didn't help sae when you were invited as the opening speaker for the party. throughout your speech, his eyes never left your figure. a sense of pride welled in his chest now that he sees you holding three golden trophies you've most definitely earned. it was proof of your hard work. you were madrid's shooting star—the one person they needed to finally win and snatch the crown back to represent spain in the international league.

it wasn't until the end of your speech that your eyes have finally spotted sae in the crowd, your breathe caught up in your throat the moment you realized it was him. leonardo luna even had to assist you down the stage, mainly due to your long evening gown, for you to finally snap back into reality.

he is here.

quite funny how you first had to win nationals just for you to get a glimpse of him. now that he really is in the same room as you, you don't know how to react anymore.

should you hug him? wait, he might not even remember you. maybe a hello would do and not scare him away. what if he doesn't remember you, though?

you've been thinking about it too much at the balcony with a glass of wine twirling between your fingers that you failed to notice how you accidentally manifested said man by your side.

"finally decided to show up, huh?"

it took you by surprise, feeling his gentle breath against your ear as he spoke. you jumped back in slight surprise, and it was thanks to his quick reflexes that he avoided an unwanted accident by catching the glass you just dropped. he hands it back to you with a slight chuckle, finding it amusing that behind the new you is the same clumsy girl he once played football with.

"sae," you utter in disbelief. "f-funny seeing you here."

"huh? you know i play for re al."

"really? couldn't have known! haha..."

then, it was awkwardly silent. you quietly sipped on your drink as you actively avoided his gaze, finding interest in the pitch black emptiness they call the sky.

"i was waiting for you." he finally said, breaking the silence like shattered glass. "i knew you could do it."

"it took awhile," you slowly relaxed into the conversation until you're comfortable enough to start talking about your journey—how you always had him in your thoughts whenever you train. he painfully reminded you of your silly antics as a child crushing over him. how you promised to him that you'll one day go down on one knee at the centre of the football stadium to ask for his hand in marriage.

you couldn't help but feel hopeful now that he's mentioned all of it in one night, finding that maybe itoshi sae isn't completely against the idea of being yours. what else could it mean, right? he was the first to approach and congratulate you for reaching this milestone. he was the first to strike up a conversation for the both of you to finally catch up. he was the first to stir the storytelling to the silly romances you both shared before.

the feeling only intensified when he asked you to ditch the party with him and go someplace instead, hiding your adventures into the mystery of the night.

maybe, just maybe, itoshi sae wants you just as much as you've been wanting him all these years.

#sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #x reader #blue lock #bllk #angst fic #fluff #slow burn fanfic

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bethebesttoyou · 2 days ago

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Shiver - Choi Yeonjun

synopsis: Yeonjun and Y/N just can't let each other go.

pairing: College student! Yeonjun x college student! Reader

song: Shiver by Lucy Rose (I was way too young to be listening to just sad songs in middle school)

warnings: suggestive writing again,,,(does it seem like im slowly getting close to writing smut? IDK),,, lovers to exes to ??? to exes,,, ANGST NO HAPPY ENDING (it breaks my heart might have to do a part 2 FNKDS) not much dialogue again, just inner workings of reader who can't let yeonjun go, kinda like right person, wrong time... kinda cheesy ending cause we have fun here... OH NOT EDITED EITHER AHAHA

Wc: 1.8k (I wanted it to be longer T_T, maybe part two coming soon???)

A/N: Ive been writing in means of distracting myself from the reality that is our world rn, and its been really helpful...Ive also been feeling all down about my writing in general but I don't want to give up!!! I want to keep getting better!!! So ima keep just writing... hopefully down the line I get to see the growth ANYWAYS....

“What’s wrong?” Yeonjun breathes out, his hot breath hitting your face, glazed eyes of lust watching you intensely.

He had just shown up, like he usually did, and his hands began to slowly make their way under your shirt before you stopped them breaking the hypnotic spell of his kiss.

It was easy to forget with him pressing into you like this. To forget about the break up, the fact that it no longer was meant to mean anything other than another night together. To you, the kisses were still laced with love, with passion that were left over from the years spent together. You already knew that he was mirroring your love and emotions with his hands caressing your hips, the way he knew his way around your body, kissing where it mattered, touching where it mattered.

It was hard to move on. Hard to give up on every feeling he evoked in you, well because… this was Yeonjun. The very same Yeonjun that asked you out in 9th grade, with a cheesy note and nervous smile, the same one that took you to all the school dances and school trips. The Yeonjun that can make you laugh, cry, and desire all with his own vocabulary. He was the same guy you grew up with, he felt familiar, he felt like home. He was the one and only Yeonjun that could ever make you feel this wanted, this needed, this loved.

The one and only Yeonjun, the one you no longer had.

Not anymore. Not really.

Things had gotten complicated towards the end of the relationship. Young couples often face these common complexities of individual growth, individual paths, college and the opinions of friends and families. And while you thought your relationship with Yeonjun was strong enough to sustain these challenges, believing that the years spent together only added to the strong will of your love, nothing could’ve prepared you for the sudden distance, the change in goals, the shift in thinking, the shift in priorities. It was obvious what the issues had been. But you had pushed them down, buried deep enough to be convinced that time would fix it. So while you were good at pretending that everything had been normal and fine, it was Yeonjun that had visibly carried this boulder in his chest, the boulder heavy to the point that he had to sit you down and bring up the undeniable truth. You were drifting apart, bad. Arguments no longer lasted an hour, but days, schedules were no longer syncing, dates were being forgotten or willingly canceled, communication and keeping up with each other became rare and the voiced opinions of friends were starting to question the ethics in high school sweethearts.

With ache filled hearts, you both knew it was the end. The love never faltered, but time did and your lives were no longer in the same rhythm, your heart, while still beating for one another, no longer to the same young love beat. So with mutual understanding and a night full of sobs and goodbye kisses, you deemed your seven year relationship to be over. Or at least that's what was supposed to happen.

The entire idea was to give each other the space needed to grow and find yourselves, to explore the world of independence, the world of your 20’s, and the brain understood that concept, it made sense. You were both young and hadn't really figured out life, but your hearts, filled with years of history and love, branded with memories of your past, were not getting the hang of it, not just yet. Even with the ending of your relationship being meant to create a fresh start for the both of you, nothing stopped either of you from texting each other, meeting for ‘friendly’ coffees, meeting up at night, when your roommates were asleep, sneaking him in. That's what got you here now.

Nine months after the break up, he's in your hallway, pushing you against the wall in the middle of the night. And you weren't going to lie, you were obsessed with the feeling. Yet, you knew deep down, this was only hurting you both more.There was never any talk about getting back together, in fact there was never any talking about this aspect of your friendship?relationship? Whatever it was. When you were around your mutual high school friends, it was as though these nights never happened, it was as if you both were silently agreeing that this was merely sex. Merely a way of getting your needs taken care of.

But it felt like an excuse. In your head, you convinced yourself that this was okay, because who else knew you like this, knew your body and what you needed, before and after? And you knew he felt the same, when his soft moans and grunts escaped his mouth, when he would beg to hear your own soft moans and whines again and again.

The discussion and acknowledgement of what this was,would have only made things more real. More complicated, and like true Yeonjun and Y/N fashion, you ignored all of that. You would ignore his love filled eyes, the constant electrical current his touch possessed, the way his touch would have you shivering in anticipation, you would ignore the slips of ‘I love you’s from his mouth when he was on top of you. And he seemed to ignore all of your soft ‘baby’s’ and pleads, ignoring your single tears and would silently cradle you after, seeming to understand, yet never actually bringing it up.

Because, neither of you had not been ready, and maybe you still weren't, but things had been changing, life still existed outside of him, and you weren't sure you could keep this up anymore.

It was only recently that your friends suggested dating again. The thought itself made your stomach twist in guilt and fear. Your friends had known about this toxic stance you were in with Yeonjun, this idea that you were still each other’s, even if you weren't. And unlike you, they were worried about this deeply rooted attachment, considering it more obsessive, more out of comfortability than actual love. So even with your desperate rejections, they set you up. And when you suggested the idea of not showing up, they looked at you with concern filled eyes:

“Y/N, you have the chance to grow into the best version of yourself…don't let him keep you stuck here.”

It was in that moment then, looking up at him, when he had brought a hand up to gently caress the softness of your cheek, that you understood.

You knew they were right. And yet, a terribly hard pill to swallow. This didn't just apply to you, but to him too. You both had so many plans, goals, dreams. You both were only getting in the way of that, both keeping each other connected by the willfulness of your hearts. This love was too big for the both of you, and it was sucking the life, the happiness out of you.You loved him, you always did, always will. So much so, that you knew he deserved the same chance at an experience of life, without this weighing on him, without you pulling him back, just like you did.

“I can't do this anymore.” You whispered back finally, a tear hitting his thumb, and you weren't shocked when he sighed, before nodding, like he had known. That was another thing about Yeonjun you had loved,he always just knew.

You embarked in this minute of silence, both of you letting it settle, the room was dimly lit, but you were still able to make out his disheveled hair, his freshly kissed lips, and the tears that flooded the lining of his eyes. Neither of you hid them, neither felt the need too. Your heart fights this feeling of relief, and Yeonjun looks up at you and smiles softly before motioning to the front door.

“Do you remember orientation night?” He asked, once he was out the door. The fresh wind sweeps up a pair of leaves from the floor, and you both watch as the leaves dance around each other, before flying off. You smile.

“I do.”

Orientation night was hell. The world had been against you, you had been picked on by the orientation leaders, your dorm mates didn't seem like they were going to be good dorm mates at all, and to make it worse, you were in a new city, an hour away from Yeonjun’s college. You had decided to suffer in silence that night until he called, and just with the sound of his voice, you couldn't help but blubber out everything that went wrong. He listened and cooed, trying to relax your sobs, you heard the sound of an ignition turning on in the back. As you suspected, he made it to the front of your dorms in the next hour, already extending his arm for an embrace. At this time, the distance was still new and unfamiliar to both of you, no longer living in the same city, no longer having the same group of friends. You're no longer crying as dramatically as before, yet he still held you tightly in his chest, the smell of his cologne calming you greatly.

“Ima just give up and go home. Maybe I'm not made for college life.” You sigh.

“Hey, you are definitely not going back home. Youre gonna go back in there and tell your dorm mates to be nice or fuck off, and then youre gonna go tomorrow and say the same thing to those asshole leaders.” he rubs your back.

“No…” you sigh again, “I'm not gonna do that. I want to actually make friends, and I want my dorm mates to actually like me.”

“I'm your friend.”

“You also live an hour away.”

“So? Nothing can keep me away from you.” He smiles down at you, kissing your forehead.

“I wish I only had to deal with you and your antics…I miss you.”

I miss you too… Do you want me to talk to those leaders?”

“No but thanks.”

“Y/N…” you had been closing your eyes until he called, “I will always have your back. Always. You always have a friend, never hesitate to call him. He loves you, forever.” he finally attaches his lips to yours, quickly pecking your lips before pecking the rest of your face.

“I meant every word.” he says softly, grabbing your hands, “I'm always your friend and I love you, forever.”

“I love you too, forever.” And when he reaches to rub the tear off your cheek again, you chuckle to suppress the sniffle.

If your heart had not been enclosed in your chest, it would have been dragged by the last few strings attached to his, instead all you felt was the frantic pull, the desperate call for him to come back, and he must feel it too cause he turns back to you, already at the edge of the driveway.

“If I ever get you back in my arms, I will never let you go again.”

“Is that a threat?” You laughed already walking back to the door. He smiles upon seeing your smile, one last time.

“A promise.”

A/N: YAYAYAYAAY you made it to the end!!! Thank you so much for reading!!! I wanted to make this super angsty and I hope I tugged at the heart even just a pluck :3 Anyways, as always please let me know how you liked it, my asks are open for any requests as well!! Also let me know if you think I should do a small update (read: part 2) on yeonjun and y/n, maybe seeing each other again /.\ Thank you again!! :3

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secretlysamcro · 15 hours ago

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Female reader x Jax teller MAJOR SPOILERS! Violence (pregnancy) & Explicit language If you're under the age of 18. haven't finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: "The reader is Jax’s old lady and an rival club finds this out and kidnaps the reader using her for lovage against the sons, the reader is pregnant and hasn’t told Jax yet and when he comes to save her she gets injured and taken to the hospital during that he’s finds out and they get to see the baby for the first time together"

Backstory: The tension between the club and the Irish has been brewing for weeks now. Jax pushing to sever all ties with the IRA. Jax is determined to do so in order to protect his club and his family, no matter the cost. Galen on the other hand, isn't ready to let go of the SAMCRO connection so easily. He needs Clay out of prison, and the only people he knows that will get it done is the Sons. He knows Jax won't help him willingly, but he knows the one thing that Jax would do anything for, is you.

“Just one more” he says his voice low and steady, hanging in the doorway like he doesn’t want to leave. His hand wraps around yours, brushing his rough thumb over your knuckles as he closes the space between you once again. The kiss slow and smooth, making it last.

“Jax, go” you laugh, shoving him away playfully, even though part of you wants him to stay. You know he needs to be at the clubhouse. There’s a lot of shit going on at the moment, but as his old lady, you’re only told the stuff he chooses to tell you, the rest is a mystery.

He grins, giving you one last look before jogging down the steps, his trainers thudding against the concrete. The roar of his Dyna filling the air as he takes off down the road.

Your hand drifts to your stomach, cradling the secret you’ve been carrying. The new life you’ve both created. Tonight was the night you were finally going to tell him.

You’d had your suspicions for a while, the doubt creeping in until that one morning when they were confirmed by the positive test. Even then, the shock hit you like a punch. For the most part, you wanted to run to Jax, to tell him right then and there, but you knew it wasn’t the right time. He’d been carrying so much on his shoulders lately, stress from the club, the Irish deal that seemed to be falling apart. The last thing he needed was more pressure.

“Yeah, I’ve got eyes on her now” one of Galen's men says, his Irish accent thick as ever. “I’m sure... he’s just left, she’s home al-...”

You step out of the house in your comfy sweats, car keys and phone in hand. You get into your car, sorting yourself out before starting the engine, completely oblivious to the eyes tracking your every move.

“...Change of plan boss, she’s on the move” He watches your car pull off, tracking your every turn as you head down the street.

Jax sits at the head of the table, the presidential gavel in hand. “All in favour of the Sons breaking ties with the IRA?” he announces, Chibs already shaking his head, aware of the storm brewing.

“This is a bad idea Jackie boy” the VP warns, his voice tight with concern. “Galen’s a bloody butcher, and the IRA? they aint letting us go that easy” he says, Jax shooting him a look as if to say ‘do what I fucking say’ Chibs, screws his face in stubbornness. “Aye” he reluctantly spits out.

Jax bangs the gavel as the vote comes in as a yes. The other members leaving the room, Chibs staying behind. His eyes fixed on Jax.

“This is the only way we get out of this cartel mess” Jax says, his voice firm, truly believing this is the right move.

Chibs crosses his arms, his gaze still steady. “I really hope you’ve got a plan, Jackie” he says, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in his words.

“They’ll have to do it” Galen speaks down the phone.

“He’ll do anything I need him to” he looks down to the floor, clearly frustrated “I’m getting him out...tomorrow” he says, before hanging up the phone.

“You really think the sons can pull this off?” Connor questions, his voice sounding doubtful, clearly concerned about where their ties land.

Galen looks him up and down, his gaze cold and calculating. “They don’t have much of a choice” he says, “but I don’t trust Jackson, not after what went down with Father Ashby, God bless his soul” he makes the sign of the cross as he continues speaking “I need Clay out, and I need him out, now”. “And when he gets out, what's his plan? You know the Sons aren't taking him back” Connor states, the doubtful tone still evident.

Galen glances towards him, the corners of his mouth tightening at the frequent questioning “Clay’s heading to Ireland, He’s planning to set up his own charter, make his own way” He then goes into his pocket, to grab the burner phone that’s ringing. “Aye” he says, answering the call.

“We’ve got her” the line hangs up.

Jax and the club are still at the clubhouse. Jax sits at the bar, Chibs beside him. A text flashes on his phone from a burner number.

Unknown Number: Meet @ warehouse 13.00 -G

Jax looks up, his eyes sharp. “Galen wants us at the warehouse. Be ready to move” he tells everyone, making sure they're all prepared.

“Aye, but what for Jackie?” Chibs questions, not realising they would be facing Galen again so soon.

“I guess we’re gonna find out” Jax mumbles as he begins to text, not Galen though, you.

Jax: Hey babe. b home later than I thought. wait up 4 me. love u.

The guys ride in one by one, Jax leading the way as always, followed by his VP and then the rest of the crew. The warehouse looks empty, spookily quite in fact. Until the doors groan open. Inside, Galen, Connor and a few more of the Irish stand waiting.

Jax steps forward, entering first. His voice laced with sarcasm. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” The footsteps of the others following close behind.

Galen offers a distant nod, his smile stiff as usual. “Things have changed Jackson” he says, no trace of regret coming from him.

“Hey, if we’ve got some kind of beef lets throw it on the table” he says, his voice sharp.

Galen looks away, almost amused before responding “Don’t be so sensitive Laddy”

Jax snaps, “Grow some balls, you Irish prick” his tone, still unwavering. The others step closer, sensing something could potentially pop off at any given moment.

Galen pauses for a moment, then steps forward to Jax, the sound of his boots crunching against the gravel. “Alright” he says, “I think you’re arrogant, selfish and explosive...” he begins “...The wreckage you caused in Belfast got a man of God, and my dearest friend killed”

Jax frowns slightly, a confused look spreading across his face “You talkin’ about the priest?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Aye” Galen nods, his voice sounding bitter. “Father Kellan Ashby pulled me off the streets, saved my life” each word dripping with resentment.

Jax smirks, the tension getting thicker. “Gave you the Catholic blessing of the blood...made you Gangsta’ of Christ?” he mocks.

Galen lunges forward, landing a punch directly above Jax’s eyebrow. The whole warehouse erupts into chaos as both sides rush to break them apart.

Jax still smirking as his adrenaline rises shouts “Now we’re making progress!” eager to keep the fight going. The men spill out into the open space in front of the warehouse. The fight continues, both men hitting and being hit, sweat and blood flying with every swing, neither backing down until finally the men watching, pull them apart.

Galen wipes blood from his lip, a twisted smile forming on his face as he looks over to Jax. “Oh, and by the way Jackson…” he says, his voice cold. “…Clay’s getting transported tomorrow. I need you and your club to stop that from happening, and bring him here, to me.” he demands his orders.

Jax laughs, spitting the leftover blood out from his mouth, the confusion spreading across all the faces present. “And why would I do that?” he responds, stunned by Galens audacity.

“Because Jackson...if you don't…” he pulls his phone out, unlocking it calmy before holding it up to show Jax. A woman sitting in a chair, her arms bound and her mouth gagged. The room goes still as Jax works out who the woman in the picture is. “…She dies”. Jax’s expression shifts, the gravity of the situation hitting him.

The air is cold, the darkness surrounds you. Your hands are bound, your mouth gagged as tears trickle down your face, silently sobbing.

Deep down, part of you knew this was always a possibility. Being the lover of the notorious Sons of anarchy president, could you expect any less?

Footsteps approach through the silence, growing closer with each step. Your heart beating in your chest as he comes into view. Sliding into your peripheral vision. His face, now inches from yours. His breath warm against your skin. A sharp calloused finger brushes away your tear. “Cut the shite” he growls, standing tall once again.

“Those tears mean nothing to me” he turns and leans casually against a desk directly across from you. His legs crossed and his arms folded to match.

In a desperate effort, you manage to wriggle the makeshift gag away from your mouth. “what... do you want...from me” you manage to wheeze out, your breathing laboured due to fear.

He stares at you, not a slither of sympathy in his eyes. “I don’t need shite from you” he says, pointing in your face. “It’s your pretty wee lad we’re after”.

"Please, don't hurt me...I'm...I'm pregnant" you practically cry out.

"Well then you better hope, Jackson, does what he's told"...

“You think this is gonna work Jax?” Juice’s voice echoes through the silence. Jax keeps his eyes on the the road, looking through the passenger side window, his jaw clenched. “We don’t have a choice” he wipes a hand across his face. The image of you alone, with the Irish, twists in his gut like a knife. “We stop the van, grab Clay, then hand him over to Galen. It’s that simple” he says, relaying the plan instructed by Connor.

The transportation van was forced off of the road, leaving slight chaos in it’s wake. Juice and Jax were in one van, with Bobby, Tig and Connor trailing close behind in the other. Together, they worked effortlessly, forcing the officers to surrender without much of a fight.

Jax, swinging open the vans back doors to reveal Clay, a slight confused look on his face. Jax takes off his ski mask, a smirk appearing as Clay squints up looking towards Jax, clearly not expecting him. “Where’s the Irish?” he says, realising this isn’t the original plan.

“No Irish” Jax replies, his jaw tense. “Just me”.

The job was done, more or less. The boys had managed to pull it off with only one minor hitch, Bobby had taken a bullet in the process. Jax though, is focused on what matters the most, The trade. Clay needed to be handed over to Galen without delay. Clay, for you.

Jax strides into the warehouse, the club reunited once again. He heads straight for the small office in the back with Chibs and Tig only, the others hanging around behind the door. Inside, Galen stands waiting wearing his usual cocky grin. Jax doesn’t even give him the chance to speak. “You’ll get Clay, when I get y/n” he growls, his voice cold but firm.

Galen smirks, clearly expecting some sort of demand from Jax. He gestures to another Irishman lurking in the corner. The man follows his silent order, slipping out of the room only to return moments later.

He shoves you roughly into the room, you stumble and slam your side into the edge of the cabinet. Jax moves instinctively, about to rush to your side.

“NO!” Galen barks, stopping him from getting any closer. “You’ve seen her, now I want Clay” he spits.

Jax, who’s teeth are snarled, turns around to Tig, giving him a nod. The command clear, go and get Clay. He then looks back to you, sensing the fear rushing through your body. His gaze softens, seeing you in pain, seeing you like this. Your face is bruised, blood smeared across your cheeks. His attention now drawn to how your hands are clutching your stomach protectively.

Tig returns quickly, bringing Clay into the room. The tension is thick as the exchange happens all at one. Clay stepping forward beside Jax, Galen's attention now shifting to him.

You waste no time, you bolt towards Jax, throwing yourself into him. He catches you holding you close, then pulling you away slighting holding onto your shoulders, scanning your entire body for any injuries. “Its okay, y/n” he murmurs, his voice close to a whisper. “I'm so sorry” he says, knowing this is all his fault.

Just behind you, Jax catches Galen's movement. He steps forward, probably about to make some smug comment about the deal, but Jax doesn't wait to find out. “Close your eyes” he whispers into your ear. You barely have time to react as Jax looks over to Chibs and Tig, the three of them exchanging a knowing glance.

Within a second, their guns are drawn. Jax keeps you tightly against him, his free arm acting as a barrier around you as he fires. His bullet lands dead Centre into Galen's forehead, Chibs taking down one Irishman, and Tig dropping the other. The crack of the gunfire makes you scream into Jax’s chest, muffling the sound. Your knees buckle as you drop to the floor. Jax lowering with you, pulling you even closer.

“Jesus christ” Clay mutters, looking around seeing Galen’s lifeless body stretched across the floor. Jax looks over to him. “We had a vote” he says coldly. “This needed to happen” Jax, finally one step closer to cutting ties with the true IRA.

Jax’s eyes catch the way your hand trembles as it moves between your legs. when you pull it away, blood covers your palm. His heart dropping to his stomach as panic flashes across his face. “Shit” he shouts out, looking around the room trying to make sense of the situation.

“Did she get shot?” Tig questions, also trying to work out the cause of the blood. You don't respond right away, staring at your bloodied hands. This was not how you wanted Jax to find out. Your gaze slowly shifting to Jax, the look in your eyes breaking his heart.

“The baby...” you whisper, your voice exhausted

Jaz freezes, along with everybody else in the room. The words replaying in his head. “The... baby?” he echoes, his voice hard to hear.

It’s not anger or frustration but complete shock. However, there's no time for questions. His protective instincts kicking in like a flip of a switch. Jax shouts for Rat, it takes seconds for him to enter. “I need you to take y/n to the hospital NOW!” his tone sharp and commanding.

Rat, looking around the room taking in what has just happened. “What about-” he’s cut short.

“I SAID NOW!” he takes a deep breath, steadying his anger "please, just go now call me when you get there, I’ll catch up”.

You cling to Jax’s kutte as he leans down, cupping your face with both hands. “you’re gonna be fine” he says, his voice steady, even though his heart feels like its ripping apart. He places a kiss to your forehead. “I have to deal with this, but ill be right behind you ok. I promise... I love you” He kisses you again, helping you off the floor and passing you over to Rat.

As Rat leaves with y/n the other members pile into the room. Clay’s eyes follow, a look of resignation spreading across his face. “I guess you had another vote I wasn’t privy to” a short smile plays on his lips, as he realises what's about to happen.

“Yeah, we did” Jax nods his head slowly. “This time it was unanimous” they stare at each other for a while, before Clay finally speaks.

“fair enough” the eye contact lingering on a little longer.

Clay steps back, not fighting it and completely expecting what's to come. He says nothing, just looks at Jax with a hint of understanding. He moves slowly to the other side of the room, bracing himself in the corner. “This good?” he questions, his voice low as he takes one last look at club he used to call family.

“Yeah” Jax says, no feelings in his words what so ever.

Chibs silently steps forward, loading the gun. He hands it to Jax, who takes it with steady hands. Without hesitation he raises the gun, firing one final shot, hitting Clay straight in the neck. Clay falling to his knees, the blood gushing out like a fountain, he's flat on the floor, the life draining from him.

Jax hands the gun back to Chibs. “I’ve got to go” he says, sounding urgent. “You got this?” he asks his VP, making sure that the rest of the plan plays out just as well. Chibs nods, already moving into motion.

As Jax makes his way to his bike, Connor approaches. “Galen still in there?” he asks, completely oblivious to the mayhem behind the doors. Jax’s lips curl into a smile, a darkness forming over him.

“Yeah. He’s not going anywhere” Without waiting for a response, he jumps on his bike, speeding off doing his best to catch up with Rat, y/n and his unborn child.

Jax’s heart pounds through his kutte covered chest, as he pulls into the hospital parking lot. The roar of his bike engine fading as he skids into park. He waste’s no time, pushing through the hospital doors with urgency, the sterile smell hitting him in the face.

His eyes scan through the reception. Rat, sitting nervously in one of the chairs, looks up as Jax approaches, his chest tight with worry.

“Where is she?” he demands to know, the anxiety creeping in.

Rat stands quickly, raising his hand in a calming gesture. “They took her in to check her over” the words rushing out but in a calming manor.

“She's fine, the baby...your baby is fine” he reassures Jax. The weight of those words hit Jax like a wave, for the first time in hours, he allows himself to breath. The tension in his body easing, as he lets out a long shaky breath.

Rat eyes Jax curiously, his expression cautious, not wanting to over step. “How did it go?”

Jax meets his gaze, his voice finally steady. “It’s done”. Rat nods, understanding exactly what Jax is saying, no need for a further explanation.

“The guys probably need you, take my bike, leave the van... and thank you Rat, for getting them here safe” Jax, pats Rat on the back.

Rat looks at Jax, blinking in disbelief. “wait... take your bike?” he repeats the words, unsure if he misheard. “Nobody rides your bike” he adds, still in shock.

A smile curls on Jax’s face, but the warning still stands true. “If you leave a single scratch on it, you’ll be meeting Mr. Mayhem next” he gives Rat a wink, masking the seriousness in his threat.

The gel that the nurse places on your belly is cold, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. Your whole body aches, bruised from the events of earlier today. The relief however, over shadows the pain, you and the baby are fine and that’s all that matters. You try to focus on that, but your mind keeps drifting to Jax, wishing he was here with you.

Just as the thought crosses you mind, the door creaks open. You look up, and there he is, appearing in the doorway.

“Just in time” the sonographer smiles warmly.

“Hey Darlin” Jax murmurs to you, his voice steady with an apologetic look in his eyes. He slides into the chair next to you, leaning over kissing you softly on the lips. He lingers there for a moment longer, grounding himself in the reality that you’re both okay.

“okay, y/n are you ready?” The sonographers voice breaking the silence, her tone gentle as she prepares to scan you. She talks you both through what’s going to happen as she adjusts the machinery. You nod in response as Jax squeezes your hand, his eyes flicking between you, the sonographer and the monitor. His nerves still on edge, unsure of what to expect.

The room falls quiet as the sonographer moves the wand over your belly. The humming from the machine being the only present sound. Your focus shifting to the screen. A tiny unmistakable figure moving ever so slightly. “There’s your baby” she smiles, her presence warm.

“Oh my god” you sigh out, your hand moving to cover your mouth in disbelief. Jax is frozen, his eyes glued to the screen his grip on your hand tightens as it feels like the world has stopped spinning.

“Jax look” you say, looking over at him, admiration in your eyes. Jax is frozen, he blinks hard as his jaw tightens, his mood unreadable.“Jax?” you question, unsure of how he’s feeling.

His rough exterior begins to crack as he leans closer to the screen, his blue eyes shimmering with tears. “Jesus...” he mutters, as he wipes a tear falling down his cheek. He cracks a laugh in disbelief, returning the eye contact now. “That’s our baby” his vulnerable side now showing.

“From the measurements, I’d estimate you’re roughly 12 weeks, at the least” the sonographer speaks gently, her voice breaking into the emotion bubble you're both currently sat in.

“12 weeks” Jax repeats in a whisper, more tears slip down his face as he keeps wiping them away with the back of his hand.

It’s a lot to take in, everything that's happened in the last 48 hours crashing down on him at once. This wasn’t part of the plan, not at all. But as he stares between you and the little baby wriggling on the screen, his heart swells, a new level of protectiveness he has never felt before.

Jax holds the printed scan photo delicatley in one hand, holding you as delicatley around your waist with the other, as you make your way towards the van.

You glance around, noticing something is missing. “No bike?” you ask, confusion creasing your eyebrow.

Jax sighs, a small smirk growing on his lips. “I let Rat ride it back” he says, already regretting his decision

Despite everything thats happened, it’s as if this has shocked you the most. “you what?” you almost shout.

He shrugs, amused by your reaction. “Yeah, well desperate times babe. He knows what will happen if he messes it up” Jax reassures you, whilst trying to also reeassure himself.

You shake your head in disbelief , still trying to process what he’s just told you, as he helps you gently into the van.

The joy of the past hour almost made you forget what had happened earlier. But now, as you sit beside Jax in the van, it all comes rushing back.

The last time you saw him, he wasnt the man gently holding your hand like he is now. He was Jax, the president, Jax the outlaw, pulling the trigger without hesistation. You knew what he was capable of, but seeing it with your own eyes was a different feeling.

Jax notices the small shift in your demeanour and turns to you. “You okay?” he questions.

You nod, your voice on the verge of crying “Just... a lot to... take in” you manage to get out.

He sighs, squeezing your hand. “y/n I am so sorry you had to see that” he says quietly. “I didn’t want you too, but I had no choice” he reassures you, it wasn’t just for fun.

You look at him, his face so calm even though you know the burden he carries is much heavier than he ever lets on.

“I promise you, y/n. I’m getting us out of this” he looks upwards as if trying not to cry “I can’t ever have you, or our baby in a situation like that again… I don’t know what I’d do if…” he tries to catch a breath, you squeeze his hand as an act of comfort.

“I love you Jax, I love all of you, even the club” you breath out a small laugh, wanting him to feel secure. Even though deep down, the thought of your child growing up in this world makes you feel sick to your stomach.

“I love you too y/n, both of you” Jax smiles as he begins driving home, praying that the plan he set in motion, is enough to keep everyone safe.

Photos & gifs do not belong to me. Just edited them together.

Who rewatches scenes to fit them perfectly into their story plot? Yes, it’s me.

Pls pls pls send me some Jax requests, I love writing but when it comes to thinking of something to write, that’s where I go blank!

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Also, thank you all so much for your comments & feedback, love u all 🫶🏽

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