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suhkusa · 6 months ago

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HELL OF A WOMAN.

PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader

CW. slight enemies-to-lovers, some angst but not heavy, fluff, you're both snarky (romantic), ~4k words, slice of life, reader has a healing quirk

A/N. i'd say slowburn but it's only slowburn because i barely ever write fics this long lol

Throughout your time in the nurse’s office as Recovery Girl’s student apprentice, you’ve met many different students. They all varied– whether it be their quirk, their grade, or even the injury they had come in for.

Students from the general education, support and management departments rarely ever made their rounds to the nurse’s office, only coming in for a simple cut or bruise.

That left you with those in the hero department.

You got along well with nearly all of them, even going as far as becoming friends with a few. And while that was true, of course there were gonna be some who you couldn’t get along with. But, there was specifically one student you could not stand. And he’d probably say the same thing for you as well.

It was none other than Bakugou Katsuki.

———

The first time you really interacted with Bakugou Katsuki was within the first month of your apprenticeship. It was in your 3rd year, and you had already been managing well.

Your day had started off fantastic. Recovery Girl had left you to run the office by yourself, thoroughly trusting your working and communication skills, so that she could run errands out of town.

The office hadn’t been too busy, allowing you time to finish a bit of your homework at your own little desk next to hers. A few people came and left, just needing a simple healing of their arm or leg.

You had been lost in thought when he slammed the door open, practically huffing as he walked in. Putting your pencil down, your wide eyes looked up and met his own. It felt as though he was burning a hole straight through your skull with the way he stared you down.

You didn’t even have to ask to know who he was. In your first and second year, his face was plastered nearly everywhere throughout the media. Bakugou Katsuki. But you’d never talked to him. Well, until now.

Assuming he’d be like every other person who walked through that door, stating their business then quietly leaving, you broke the deafening silence.

“Uh, yes?” you let out, cringing internally at the way the words came out.

Bakugou looked around the room before back at you, “Where the hell is the old woman at?” he spat.

You were seemingly surprised at his not-so-subtle entrance and dirty language.

“If you meant Recovery Lady by “old woman”, then she’s out of town for some errands. I can help you if–”

“And who the hell are you?” he snapped before you finished, impatience laced in the way he spoke and stood before you.

You could practically feel how your jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed at his blunt question. If he didn’t hold back, then why should you?

“I’m Y/N L/N, I’m Recovery Lady’s helper. Now,” you put on the most calm and collected voice you could manage, “what the hell do you want?”

The day was going well, before now at least, and you were not going to let some egoistic, cocky guy ruin it for you. Tug of war is a game with two different sides, and you weren’t gonna let him win victoriously.

Bakugou’s face scrunched up at the words you spat right back at him, opening his mouth to retort something– probably an insult– before letting it fall shut with a grunt.

“What the– Just put a bandage on this shit,” he held his arm out for you to see a scrape wound running up the length of it.

You raised an eyebrow as you glanced between the injury and his eyes that looked down at you expectantly. And waited.

“The fuck you staring at?” he spoke– yelled, really– before stepping a bit closer.

A smirk tugged up at the corner of your lips before you sat back in your spinning chair, crossing a leg over the other. Like you were the one expecting something.

“You–”

“Please.” you cut him off, lifting a hand to inspect your nails nonchalantly. Hm, maybe you should get them done.

“Like hell I’m saying that, do something about–”

“Please.” you repeated, emphasizing the word in a louder tone. You looked at him from behind your lifted hand, the smirk that once teased at your mouth now sitting there fully– mocking him.

“Fine! Fuckin’ fine!” Bakugou snarled, his pearly whites peeking from under his lips. “Will you please do something about this?”

Satisfied, you responded, “‘Kay,”

———

Perhaps you should’ve bit your tongue before you spoke to the oh so great Bakugou Katsuki. In your defense, you didn’t know he’d hold it against you. You were joking, obviously. It was obvious. Right?

And so, everytime he walked into the nurse’s office, he’d send you the same nasty glare, practically seething through his teeth as he made eye contact with you. You knew exactly why he did the gesture every time he came in, but how long did this guy hold grudges for? It wasn’t like you publicly humiliated him or anything.

“Why are you always looking at me like that?” you asked him one day as the Recovery Lady escorted him to one of the vacant cots, leg stretched out as you leaned back in your chair.

“Hah? Like what?” he grunted in your direction as he took a seat, an eyebrow raised in curiosity? Irritation? Probably both.

“Mm,” you looked up to the roof as if you were thinking, “Like you like me or something, I mean it’s really flattering but you don’t have to sta—”

“As if. I’d rather watch an elephant take a dump than stare at your face any day,” Bakugou inputted as he lifted his arm to allow Recovery Lady to heal the injury along his bicep.

“Oh really? I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff, Bakugou,”

You fidgeted with the pen in your hand as you watched his face scrunch up.

“You know what—”

Just as he was about to rise and stand from his spot, Recovery Lady quickly and gently pushed him to sit back down.

“Y/N,” she emphasized your name with a familiar tone, “I think we’re running low on bandages, could you go get some from the storage room?”

Even though her words were anything but hostile, you and Bakugou could tell she was scolding you. You let out a sigh.

“Yeah, I can,”

Getting up from your seat, you set your things down before making your way to the door. Not before stealing one more glance at Bakugou. He was also staring back at you, but this time there was a bit of cockiness in his eyes. Getting the last word never hurt anybody.

You slid the door open, eyes still locked with his, “You know, you’d probably look cute as well if you didn’t look like you were constipated 24/7,”

“The fuck—”

Quickly sticking your tongue out at him, you shut the door before he was able to finish his sentence.

———

The nurse’s office had been particularly quiet today. The slow day in the office gave you more free time to yourself, which allowed you to catch up on a couple past assignments. Only two or three people came in before the lunch bell rang. After packing your bag, you waved off Recovery Lady as you excused yourself to the cafeteria.

And when you returned, it was still quiet. You quickly noticed that it was also void of Recovery Lady, the short woman nowhere to be seen. As you slid the door shut behind you, you heard a hushed groan come from one of the beds. Your head snapped to the source of the noise, quietly stepping closer to the person.

Almost naturally, you recognized the disheveled blonde hair. Bakugou.

But this was different. New. He was quiet for once, and the eyes that almost always were glaring at you were closed shut. Your body relaxed at the unusual sight of him. And maybe if you were crazy, you would’ve thought he was cute.

As you got closer, you noticed the slight crease in his eyebrows, as well as the bandage that was wrapped around his torso.

Perhaps you got too caught up in the moment, though. Too caught up in the way his chest slowly rose with each breath, the way his skin seemed to glow under the sun’s filtered light. So caught up that you didn’t realize those familiar crimson eyes were staring back up at you.

“You a pervert now?” his voice cut through silence, causing you to tense and step back. “The hell are you looking at?”

For a moment, it felt like your voice was caught in your throat. You caught yourself trying to find something to look at. Something other than him.

“Looks like you’re in quite a predicament,” you commented with a breathy laugh, not really knowing what else to say. Stupid joke.

“No, really?” sarcasm was laced in his tone, but you could hear the struggle as he grunted quietly afterwards.

Maybe you’d spare him for the day.

“Recovery Lady hasn’t gotten to you, yet?” you asked as you slowly made your way to your desk, setting down your bag.

“Nah,” he let out a huff as he sat up, “Shit— she wasn’t here when I got here,”

Letting out a hum in response, “Do… Do you want me to help you then?” you asked, even though you already knew the likely answer.

“What the hell do you think—”

“You know, on second thought I have some homework—”

He let out an exasperated sigh before surrendering once again, “Yes. Yes, please. Help me,”

Biting back a small smile, you turned back around to make your way back to the injured man. You pulled up a chair next to the bed, sliding in closer. After gesturing him to lay back down, your hands carefully peeled back the bandages that covered the wound. You’d never get used to the sight of blood.

You could feel the way his body tensed every time your hand neared his injury, though you tried your best not to touch it at all.

“Sorry if it hurts a little,” you said, lifting your hands over the gash, “Just do your best to relax,”

“Whatever,” Bakugou responded as he turned his head away from you.

It happened in a flash. From his peripheral view, he saw your hands glow, and the next thing he knew: he was fine again. Not a scar, scratch, or wound in sight. Like it wasn’t even there.

Though you enjoyed the perplexed look in his eyes, you could feel yourself becoming rather light-headed. You took a deep breath before standing up and going back to your desk to get your water bottle.

As you took a sip of your water, you watched as he sat up in the cot, lifting up his shirt to examine the skin.

“Never seen a quirk before?” you laughed at his amusement.

His face quickly snapped back to his normal grouchy look, “No, just didn’t know you had a quirk at all, you usually just bandage my injuries up. Plus healing quirks are rare,”

“Mm, I get that a lot,” you mused, twisting the cap back onto your water, “It’s just a normal healing quirk though. I’ve been working with Recovery Lady to train it’s capabilities,”

Bakugou grunted in response. Silence filled the room for a moment before he decided to speak up.

“Gonna head back to class,” he stated curtly, swiftly putting his blazer back on before stepping towards the door, “Thanks, I guess,”

With one last glance back at you, he was gone. Leaving you and the rapid thumping of your heart alone in the room once again.

———

“Is anyone sitting here?” a gruff voice came from above.

With the rest of the noise in the cafeteria, you nearly didn’t hear him. Your eyes gazed up from your food toward him, eyebrow shooting up in question.

“Uhm,” you swallowed the food in your mouth before responding, “what does it look like to you?”

You gestured to the empty seats around you before going back to poking at your lunch.

“Tch, just asking,” Bakugou murmured under his breath as he tugged a chair out from under the table and took a seat.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but sneak a couple of glances his way. Just why was he sitting with you? Was this his own silent way of tormenting you?

“So,” you started before clearing your throat, “what do you want?”

You could see him freeze mid-bite, eyes shooting up to you.

“To eat? What else?” he grunted nonchalantly.

Well no shit.

“Oh really? Didn’t know that,” you rolled your eyes, “why not eat with your friends?”

“Don’t wanna,”

Your lips pulled into a thin line before you gave up. You dismissed him as you continued to finish your lunch. After this you’d probably have enough time to take a nap in the nurse’s office. In an attempt to finish your food without starting some random argument with the blonde next to you, you kept the interactions to a minimum.

After you finished, you debated your options. Did you say goodbye or just… leave? Just leaving would be rude, wouldn’t it? Well who cares, you sure don’t–

“Hold on,” he called out, catching your attention.

You watched as he quickly finished the rest of his lunch, gathering his stuff before standing up.

“What–”

“Alright, let’s go,” he said as he walked past you towards the garbage can.

“Uh,” you followed shortly after him with your trash, “go where?”

Stacking his tray with the others, he sent you a glare with a rough, “Where else?”

When you didn’t respond with a word but instead with a confused look, Bakugou sighed and continued.

“The nurse’s office,”

Your mouth dropped open in a silent “Ohh”. You tugged your bag over your shoulder as you walked up next to him.

The walk through the halls was rather silent other than the couple of students that walked past the two of you. But not a word was said between the two of you. At least until he opened his mouth.

“So, what are your plans after graduating?” he asked, hands in his pocket as he continued to walk by you.

You let your eyes scan the exterior through the wide UA windows when you responded, “Hm, I think I’ll find a job in a hospital? I think I wanna work in some field with heroes, but I’m not quite sure yet… And you?”

“Obviously I’m gonna a hero,” Bakugou scoffed with a smirk, “Gonna be the best one, at that,”

“I see,” you let a light laugh slip out at his confidence.

“What’s funny, huh?” he asked, voice suddenly scarily serious.

Your eyes widened, “Nothing, nothing– It’s just we barely have normal conversations like this. I guess,” you quickly added.

Bakugou hummed in response, coming to a quick stop as the two of you reached the nurse’s office’s door.

“Well,” you step closer to the door, “Thank you for walking me here, Bakugou,” you smiled.

“Katsuki,”

“Hm?”

He rolled his eyes, “Just call me Katsuki,” he turned the other way quickly before waving you off, “Later, nerd,”

A laugh escaped you as you watched him walk away, waiting a couple of more moments before walking into the office.

Maybe if you stared for a little longer you would’ve seen the way his ears reddened at your smile.

———

“Oh! Good afternoon Bakugou and Kirishima!” the voice of the elderly woman snapped you awake, causing you to jump in your seat.

You could hear a snicker come from a certain person as you turned to see the two who entered the room.

Your eyes were met with a seemingly beaten up Kirishima and Bakugou, the two having scruffs, scratches and bruises on their skin.

“What were you guys doing this time?” Recovery Lady escorted the two to their own beds, tending to Bakugou’s injuries and gesturing to you to help Kirishima.

“Ah, just training, same as always,” the red head responded with a smile, “Oh, hey Y/N,”

You could feel the ends of your mouth tug upwards at his greeting, “Hey,”

“How’s everything been?”

As you continued your chatter with Kirishima and helped him with his injuries, you didn’t seem to see or feel the daggers of stares that Bakugou sent in your direction.

On the other hand, Bakugou didn’t even know why he felt like this.

What was he pissed about? It’s not like the two of you are friends. Did you consider him a friend? Yet why did it feel so utterly annoying to watch you interact with some other guy?

That was beyond Bakugou.

Maybe he already knew the answer. And maybe he didn’t want to come to terms with what that answer held.

Either way he couldn’t take another second of this.

“Bakugou? Where are you going—”

The sound of Recovery Lady’s frantic voice caught the attention of you and Kirishima. Your eyebrow raised in confusion as the blonde made his way to the door with the little lady following him.

“You’re not fully healed yet,” the old woman claimed.

“It’s fine,”

“Let him,” Kirishima said after Bakugou slammed the door shut. “He’s been a little off lately,”

You wrapped a bandage around Kirishima’s elbow, “Off? How?”

Kirishima’s eyes looked up in thought, “He’s been kinda closed off lately; barely comes to our hangouts,”

“Ooh,” you sighed as you continued helping the guy in front of you.

There was a seedling of worry planted in your stomach, and you barely had any clue why. It’s not like you guys were close. He was just some guy who came to the nurse’s office like every other student. Maybe those late nights staying up were finally catching up to you.

After cleaning up and sending Kirishima off, you were finally left alone. Recovery Lady had left a while ago to fetch some supplies from the storage room. And so that left you and your thoughts alone in the office.

———

A week had gone by.

A week had gone by, and there had been radio silence from Bakugou.

Either training had slowed down or he was completely avoiding you. And either way, it still made you a bit sad. Only a bit.

Days in the nurse’s office were slow and lonely. You never made a real connection with anyone. People came and people left. They come to get healed and leave. No side talk, albeit a few exceptions. Bakugou being one of those.

There were times where you thought you saw him entering the nurse’s office when you were leaving, but the glimpses were so small that you chalked it up to your imagination.

It felt like he was consuming your every thought, so you had no choice but to accept the fact that maybe you had a crush on Bakugou. Maybe.

But so what? That was normal, everyone had a crush on him at one point. Too bad you fell victim along with the rest of them, though.

Admitting to yourself that you liked Bakugou was hard, but having to actually deal with the feelings you had was harder. One, because you’ve never really had a serious crush. And two, he was nowhere to be seen. Having a crush on him made your heart beat so quick that you’d use your quirk on yourself to make sure you weren’t having heart problems.

Soon, one week turned into two.

And it seemed like the office was only getting busier as the third years prepared for their finals. Everyone was in and out as they practiced their hand to hand combat more vigorously and more often.

The first couple of days, it was easy. But towards the end of the week, you began to fatigue. Having to balance your own finals and running around the office having to use your quirk over and over was doing a number on you.

The injuries were becoming worse, the amount was increasing. At times, you were dizzy with how many times you’d have to keep turning around from bed to bed to help someone new.

Then there was a calm. You barely noticed a full week of finals had swung by, leaving the clinic empty and quiet.

“Is it alright if I nap during the passing period?” you turn in your chair to Recovery Lady, who is stocking up the medicine cabinets.

“Of course, you should be fine, if anything I can handle anyone who comes in,” she tells you.

You sigh in relief as you walk to the nearest bed on weak legs, basically melting into it as soon as your body hits the cushion. You knock out on the spot, letting your well-deserved slumber overcome you.

———

Your slumber is interrupted by a slight jolt to the bed frame you’re lying on. You groan as you flip onto your other side. The light escapes through your lashes, creating a blurred light illusion with a silhouette. Your eyes shot open, a silhouette?

You become conscious of yourself as soon as you realize the one before you is none other than Bakugou Katsuki. There’s a stupid grin on his face which makes you want to slap it right off of him. You sneakily nudge at the drool on the side of your mouth and adjust your clothing and appearance.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?” he says from the seat beside you, and it feels like forever since you’ve last heard that voice of his.

“Yeah, because of someone,” you grumbled, eyebrows scrunching up. He laughs, laughs, as his eyes focus on you.

“It’s getting late,” is all he says.

You have half a mind to respond, until you remember that he’s been avoiding you. Your eyebrows tighten together impossibly closer, as you flip to face away from him.

“You’re a dick,” you say matter-of-factly. “You’ve been avoiding me, I’m not stupid,”

Your eyes are jittery as they look everywhere. Trying to focus on something in the room to distract yourself from all of the possibilities of what might come out of his mouth.

“Why do you care?”

His words cause you to sit up, facing him once more. “What do you even mean, why? I used to see you everyday, then suddenly you just walked out and I never saw you again,”

Bakugou’s eyes slightly roll at your words, and it kind of hurts.

“I just thought maybe we were…” your words trail off causing Bakugou to stare at you more intently.

“Were what?”

“I don’t know, friends, or some shit,” you bury your head in your hands out of embarrassment.

“Did I say we weren’t?”

“Well, you never said we were,”

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says, “Thought you were smarter than that, doc,”

You smile at the nickname. “You can leave now, I’m awake, I just have to close up the clinic. Why were you here in the first place?”

“Had to make sure you weren’t dead or something,”

Laughing, you get up to fix the bed sheets. The words that fly out of your mouth come out on their own.

“What, do you like me or something?”

“Probably,”

His careless response didn’t register in your mind at first, but when it did, you could feel the heat rush from the back of your neck up to the tips of your ears.

“W-What? You can’t just say that… weirdo,” your eyes flick up at him then back down to the sheets, fluffing up the already neat pillows.

Silence filters through the room, the only noise filling your ears being the noise of cotton and linen being moved around. Along with the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. It felt so loud, that you swear he could probably hear it as well. You didn’t know what to do, was this real life?

Did those words really just come out of his mouth?

His head tilted and you could feel his gaze on you. It was nerve-wracking, and you were just hoping and praying he’d say something that’d clear your mind. A small, “just kidding,” would be nice right about now. The hurt you’d feel from that would be better than the anxiety you felt at this instant.

“Say what?” he mocks, and it causes your eye to twitch.

You decide you’re not playing these games with Katsuki Bakugou today, “Oh nothing, must’ve been the wind,” you flutter your eyes before turning the other direction to fix up another bed that looks like it’d been used.

A hand on your wrist puts a stop to your motions, and it immediately makes your head turn back to meet his eyes.

“B- Katsuki–”

You’d usually be able to come up with something snarky, but right now all your words were caught in your throat. You were actually scared to say the wrong thing for once.

“You were joking right?” you ask him, nervous for what his answer might be.

Bakugou is quick to retort, “Depends, were you?”

You gulp down your anxiety before giving him a response, “N-No,”

“Then? Use that smart little brain of yours, doc,”

“Say it,” you demand, “I’m not playing this little game with you, so say it,”

His ruby eyes roll before connecting gazes with yours once again, “I like you, or something,” he mimics your words from earlier.

You can feel yourself fluster. The dizziness in your head almost made you convince yourself that you were dreaming. If this was a dream, you wanted All Might himself to pop out and punch you across the face.

“Why don’t you say something now, hm?” his grip around your wrist loosens to a more gentle grasp.

His face closens to yours, the distance between the two of you is only breaths-length.

“Since you’re so smart, you tell me,” you sass, “Take a guess, smartass,”

A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth, “You’re such a dick,” he whispers under his breath before closing the distance completely, his lips locking with yours.

Your eyes widen at the pure shock, but you ultimately melt into the kiss. It’s sweet and you can feel the two of you smiling into it.

When the two of you part, you can feel slight embarrassment wash over you. “You’re an ass, you didn’t even let me confess, my high school sweetheart experience is ruined forever,

Bakugou lets out a breathy laugh at your words, “Thought you wanted me to take a guess,”

“And if you were wrong?”

“Hah, as if,”

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha angst #mha angst #bnha fluff #raeworks #bnha bakugo x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha fanfics

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edenesth · 20 days ago

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02. The Gentleman — By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

Pairing: gang member!Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Word Count: 21.5k

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

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

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

SERIES MASTERLIST | ATEEZ MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it wasn't.

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

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

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

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

That moment was his undoing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But no, here he was...

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were about him.

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

It scared you.

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

If he stayed, they'd break him.

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

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

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

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

Run. Escape. Fight.

Save himself.

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

Perhaps it was already beginning to.

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

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

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

What if you were a rebel?

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

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

This wasn't like him.

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

What the hell was he doing?

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

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

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

Not fuck this up over some girl.

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

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

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

And he hated it.

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

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

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

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

But deep down, he knew the truth.

Things weren't really going to go his way.

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Come on, you can do this.

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

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

"How do you feel?"

Regret. Endless regret.

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

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

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

"Tell the truth. How do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

Your mind spiralled back to where it all began.

Regret.

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

And then they took you.

Regret.

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

Regret.

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

And so they broke you.

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

"Repeat your response. How do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is it—no more nonsense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His stomach churned. Something was deeply wrong here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What were they doing to you?

The founder's voice snapped him back to reality.

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

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

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

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

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

But helping had only ever led to ruin.

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

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

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

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

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

You knew what it meant.

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

Her wink sent a shiver down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

The room seemed to freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seonghwa froze, startled by the intensity of your reaction.

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

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

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

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

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"Dance for him, won't you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you began.

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

But to him, it was unbearable.

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

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

When will I learn?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he couldn't.

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

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

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

The lady raised a sharp eyebrow. "Oh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forgive me, my brothers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence she left behind was suffocating.

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

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

Blinded by pain, you didn't notice him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All that mattered was you.

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

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

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

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

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

But it wasn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safe? Here...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But mercy wasn't what they had given you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll find out. Whatever it takes.

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

"How do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But damn him, he made it so hard.

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

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

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

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

"Your form's a little off."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mr. Park... thank you."

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

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

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

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"Message from Seonghwa hyung."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lab rat.

No—a person.

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

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

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

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

Project Android by the Red Room.

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

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

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

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

Jongho nodded sharply. "And the girl?"

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

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

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

And this?

This crossed every single one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught at the raw anguish in his voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

People he… cared about? Me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff

By Order of the Black Pirates Tag list:

@bethelighthalazia @tsunchani @starboyyoongi @soulphoenix1618 @dimeb29

@naps-over-degree @uniq-tastic @baeksofty @hanoishere @star-my

@skteezcursed @soocore @mountiiny @londonbridges01 @lemon-sage17

@ffenjoyerdazme @frequentlykit @callmeagardengnome @side-angel @byeolttongbye0l

@cotton-candycloudz @foxinnie8 @atinyreads @iwishiwasrichasfuck @sansaurora9904

@megseungmin @frobin4ever @holytidalwavechees3cake @hyukssunflower @babigriin

@haipyeongie @hyuninslutbbgirl @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @skersey33 @h3arteyes4mingi

#edenesth #by order of the black pirates #the gentleman #ice on my teeth #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #gang au #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez fic

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cherryc1nnam0n · 1 month ago

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Okay but why can't I stop thinking about slut!Eddie or pornstar!Eddie...

About how he would flaunt his slutty body until you would give in to let him fuck you

How he would wear crop tops and really low waist jeans to show off his slutty little waist

That waist, god that waist! So thin and just, there! Taunting you!

And his happy trail that would fall down into his pants, being hidden by the jean fabric you wanted to rip off like a feral animal

You had actually surprised him by how long you held on to not fucking him, at least 3 months went by until you finally caved in

And thank goodness you did, he had blue balls at this point-

He would be sloppy, eating you out so messily, getting his hair all up in there and spitting into your pussy, making you pull at his curls for more

Then when you saw his monster- I mean dick, monster cock, huge dick, who's horse is that?

Anyway when you saw it, you closed your legs in pure instinct "That won't fit"

"It will, I'll make it fit"

And make it fit he did, how did his waist hold all that weight of that big schlong? We'll never know

He would fuck you at his own random nasty pace, rocking his hips into you, then thrusting making skin on skin noises, then he would rub himself against you, his happy trail burning your clit, then he would go back to thrusting, all just to show off his skilled waist movements, such a slut

He would have you drooling, one leg hiked up on his shoulder, the other on his waist, one hand under his armpit holding for dear life to his back and your other hand pinned on the bed while he nursed on your tits

It would be messy, just a tangle of limbs and hair and fluids, the bed would be a total disaster when you would be done

And when he came? He came litters, literal gallons, and not because he had reserved it all for you, oh no, no no, that's just how much he cums in a normal day, just add a little more for the months of abstinence

You wondered in your hazy mind, after you came down from the 7th heaven, if it was a condition of some sort to cum that much, but you weren't complaining about it

When he finally claimed his prize aka you he was happy at last

But he was nowhere near done, haha, wrong again you are, no, now that he had you in the palm on his hand, he was not going to stop now, you were his' and he would fuck you whenever HE wanted

And, again, who were you to complain?

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson/reader #eddie x you #boyfriend eddie munson #eddie munson x chubby reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie smut #i need him

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altruisticalastor · 10 months ago

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↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

☒ Summary: "Alastor said we've met before. In the living world. But I seriously don't ever remember meeting him." Angel looked puzzled. "Soo... what do you remember from your life?"

☒ Warnings: fem!reader she/her pronouns used, hurt with no comfort sorry, tons of confusion for alastor and the reader, one kiss, very suggestive language (its from angel- are we surprised?), slight self harming (alastor), blood, tears, arguing, desprate!alastor, toxic themes, split pov (second devider is when alastor's pov starts!)

☒ Word Count: 2,653

"You- WHAT?"

Angel shot up from his spot on your bed. His eyes widened, eyebrows knitting in perplexity.

"I know- I know! It's bad... but I wasn't thinking clearly!" You slumped under Angel's judgemental gaze, pulling your knees up to your chest from where you sat on your bed.

"Toots, there is no way his pussy eating skills are good enough to fuck you that dumb!" You averted your gaze. Heat rose to your cheeks from Angel's crass words.

"Oh, but they are..." You mumbled before you felt two of Angel's hands grip your shoulders, shaking you out of frustration.

"Did you really have to pick an absolute psychopath to be the one to pop your cherry? Toots, you're gorgeous. You could have anyone you want!" You were flustered beyond comprehension as Angel stopped shaking you. Opting to glare at your heated face instead.

"We didn't go all the way! Plus he's the one who's been pursuing me all this time- I didn't get it at first, and I still don't. But-" Your expression morphed into one of contemplation. Angel's jaw went slack as he impatiently awaited your next words. "But what?! Spit it out!"

"He said we've met before. In the living world. But I seriously don't ever remember meeting him." Angel nudged you to the side before slotting himself atop your bed once more. "Soo... what do you remember from your life?"

You froze.

Angel's inquiry filled your mind with more questions than answers.

"I... not much," You paused, turning to face Angel before you continued. "The earliest memory I have is waking up in a hospital bed after surviving a blow to the head from some hunting accident."

You closed your eyes, wracking your brain for every last detail you could remember; no matter how small. "I ended up falling into a coma only days after that mishap. The next thing I know, I'm in fucking hell." You chucked bitterly. Angel let out a laugh of his own.

"No offense, babe, but that has to be one of the saddest fuckin' things I've ever heard," Angel outstretched his legs, overlapping them atop yours. "That accident, what else can you remember about it? Maybe that's the ticket!"

Your eyes shot open from Angel's question. "Wait... before I fell into a coma, there was this nurse- she told me that I was led into the woods by a dangerous fellow," You paused, eyes scanning Angel's wildly as he perched himself forward. Literally hanging on the edge of his seat from your musings.

"She told me the gunshot wound saved my life, fucking ironic now because It ended up killing me anyway. She also said that... the man who took me into the woods was a serial killer who had been on the run for decades. He ended up getting shot in the head that night, also. Except he died instantly..."

Angel was hanging on to every word you uttered. He could see the pieces falling into place from your look of awe. "What was the man's name, toots? What was it?!" Angel shouted a little louder than he intended. You jolted back from his outburst, taking in a shaky breath. You replayed that memory with the nurse over and over again.

She had to have said it at some point.

Come on! Think, think- think!

“Turns out the man you were out in those woods with was a wanted serial killer. That 𝘈⃒̅𝘭⃒̅𝘢⃒̅𝘴⃒̅𝘵⃒̅𝘰⃒̅𝘳⃒̅ fellow was an active murderer for decades! The papers say he was good at steering clear of the cops for all these years. The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer.”

"His target was a nearby deer."

A deer...

Again.

Retrace.

"That ɹ̸o̸ʇ̸s̸ɐ̸ʅ̸Ɐ̸ fellow was an active murderer for decades! The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer."

Fuck- it was just out of reach.

One more time, one more fucking time.

Think carefully.

"The hunter wasn’t even aiming for That A͊l͖a̪sto̶̸̅r̷̦͍ fellow. His target was a nearby deer."

You gasped sharply, startling Angel. You felt your heart sink into your stomach as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"Alastor... his name was Alastor."

Your voice was distant as you spaced out. Angel's face blurred out of focus through your line of sight.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me. That freak was going to kill you when you were still alive-? And now... you belong to him? Shit- toots! This is rough... and not the good kind of rough."

Alastor sat at the piano. Staring at the keys with that ever-present smile— but not daring to strike a tune.

You’ve been avoiding him again.

What was it going to take for you to realize that he was your fiancé on earth?

Sure, his features were more creature than man, but at the end of the day; Alastor was still the same man you fell in love with.

Maybe he should have held off from his… desires.

Could you blame him, though? He’s been waiting nearly a century to be reunited with his beloved.

You’re the person he thought about for all these lonely years in hell. The only solace for Alastor was the notion that you survived, lived a long happy life, and inevitably made it to the pearly gates.

So imagine his despair when you showed up at the Hazbin Hotel, looking to be redeemed.

Alastor recognized you immediately. He could spot that grin of yours in a crowd of billions.

Smile at the world, and she smiles back at you.

But— you didn’t even spare him the time of day. Alastor gave you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you just needed some time to reignite your memory.

And so, he gave you time. You’ll come around, Alastor thought.

But he couldn’t have been more wrong, as much as he hated to admit it.

He grew impatient— losing all of his resolve when you admitted to his voice reminding you of home.

Alastor presumed maybe a passionate encounter would jumpstart your adoration for him. You had never breached that level of intimacy when you both were alive. You were adamant about waiting until marriage, but those dreams never came true.

Yet even still, it was not enough.

Was he really that forgettable to you?

Suddenly, a knock on his door pulled him from his stupor. Alastor quickly cleared his throat, straightening his bowtie and taking steps toward his door.

The second he swung the door open, he was met by the person who invaded his every thought; you.

“What a pleasant surprise! Come in, my dearest.” Alastor piped up, stepping aside to let you into his safe haven.

Your face was devoid of any vibrancy, and your eyes frantically avoided his. Alastor watched you closely as you hesitantly stepped past the threshold of his space.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Alastor hummed as he shut the door before turning on his heel to face you.

You rubbed at the sleeve of your dress nervously. Alastor’s mind instantly flashed the memory of your first meeting.

The sight of you soothing yourself with a gentle caress to your bicep. Clammy hands seeping perspiration through that gorgeous vermilion dress of yours.

“I-I remember you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Legs trembling from where you stood before him.

Your words caused Alastor’s heart to race wildly.

At long last— you remember him!

“I knew you would, my smart girl! Ah- you have no clue how elated I am to finally hear those words leave your lips!” He invaded your personal space without missing a beat.

Alastor’s eyebrows knitted in confusion as you dodged his hand— that had full intention of clasping around your cheek.

“Don’t… don’t touch me.” Your voice was shrill as you took a step back from him.

Alastor took one step forward.

“My darling, why are you being so cold? You know how much I loathe teasing.” Alastor forced out a chuckle as you took two steps back.

Alastor took three steps forward this time.

“You’re sick! You’re the one who’s been teasing me all this time— how dare you?!” You spat, raising your hands to push him away, but to no avail.

Alastor grasped your wrists with his large palms. He gazed down at you with a frenzied look, grip tightening scarcely around your wrists. “Darling… this isn’t funny anymore.” His voice was low, and the corners of his lips twitched in irritation.

“It never was funny to begin with! I mean, how could you try to kill me on earth and then think it’s okay to fool around with me in hell?!” You glared up at him, tears of frustration now rolling down your cheeks.

Alastor’s grip loosened from your words. He was utterly astonished. "You think I... tried to kill you?" His voice was quiet, crimson orbs frantically searching yours.

You grimaced at him, rolling your eyes before you shouted, "You led me out into the woods, and the next thing I know, I'm in the hospital with a gunshot wound to the head and no memories before waking up in a stiff hospital bed! Everything I know about you and the accident was spoon-fed to me by some crappy nurse!"

Alastor's smile dropped. He wasn't even aware of the frown that crossed his features. The only giveaway was the absence of that standard achy feeling in his cheeks from holding an everlasting grin. "Darling, I-I'm not following... you mean to tell me you... don't remember your life before that mishap?"

You looked puzzled by Alastor's uncharacteristic display of distress. His hands slipped from your wrists as he wobbled backward. "Yeah, and It's your fault! If you didn't haul me out into those woods to kill me, I would still remember who I was! And my whole life before all this bullshit!"

You took a step forward.

"I would remember my family, my career, if I even fucking had one! I would remember my joyful memories, my painful ones, and— and- maybe I would remember somebody who actually loved me!" You furiously glared up at him. Pointing your index finger into his chest in an accusatory fashion.

Alastor snapped at your last words.

Somebody who actually loved you?

It was him.

It was always him.

Was his love for you really that immemorable?

"You truly aren't joking... you... don't remember me." Alastor felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. You were the last thing keeping it intact. All that he felt in his chest now was your blunt fingernail piercing his skin from where you jabbed him.

"I just told you I do! What the fuck are you talking about?!" Alastor could tell your patience was wearing thin. You were probably just as confused as he was but for all the wrong reasons.

Alastor's arms fell limp against his sides. Yet his fists were balled up so tightly that he could hear the pitter-patter of his blood spilling onto the carpet from how deeply his nails sunk into the flesh of his palm.

You weren't ever going to believe the truth, but Alastor still needed to try.

"My dearest... that is not how we met. And my intentions were not and never will be to end your life." Alastor paused, taking in a shaky breath before continuing.

"You're frustrated about not remembering somebody that loved you, yes? As am I..." You tilted your head in confusion. Finally pulling your finger away from his wounded chest. "What the fuck are you trying to say, Alastor?" Your voice was laced with annoyance, and your scowl was unwavering.

"Darling, that somebody that loved you was me-and still is. It will always be me," Alastor paused, hands now finding purchase on your shoulders. "That accident should have never happened! We were scheduled to be wed at the courthouse later that evening... but... we never... made it..."

Why were his cheeks burning unbearably so?

And why was your countenance blurring before his very eyes?

Alastor's grip on your shoulders was unwavering, but his hands now trembled. Your expression was one of perplexity as you shook your head incredulously. "I loved you in life and now in death. I've loved you all this time, my sweet girl. Nothing will ever change that! Please, I beg of you- you must believe me!"

The definitive radio static crackle to his voice was nowhere to be found. Instead, his voice was laced with desperation. You looked disoriented through his blurry gaze as you took a weary step back.

Alastor felt wetness trickle down his burning cheeks.

Oh, he was... crying?

The last time he wept was when he first arrived in this grim place otherwise known as Hell. The realization that he left you on earth all alone tore him up. Alastor was inconsolable for years.

You truly knew how to put him together just to rip him apart all over again, huh?

There is no undoing grander than love itself.

"I-I don't believe you..." Your voice was just above a whisper as you slipped out of his grasp and approached the doorway. You turned your back on him, literally and metaphorically.

Alastor didn't miss a beat. He rushed to you, large palm slamming flat against the wooden door. "We worked at the same radio station! Your bitch of a friend Elaine and her parents took you in after your pill-addict parents abandoned you on your eleventh birthday!"

You let out a sharp gasp as he hovered over you. Alastor couldn't read your expression, with your face practically pressing into the wooden door. All he could see was the top of your head as he pushed his chest into your rigid back. His arm was outstretched, keeping the door shut and caging you in entirely.

"It was love at first sight for me! We went dancing for our first date. Did you truly fail to notice how effortlessly we moved along the dancefloor at Charlie's last gathering? It's because deep down, your body remembers every dance we ever shared,"

Alastor flipped you over faster than you could process. Your back was now flush against the sturdy door, his arm still caging you in. He peered down at you as his thumb and index finger from his non-dominant hand grasped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Every lingering touch..."

He felt you tremble beneath his intense stare from how his chest now squashed against yours. Alastor's face dipped lower, invading your personal space. He brushed the tip of his nose against yours, breath fanning over your tear-stained cheeks.

"And every kiss..."

Alastor observed you desperately as he pressed his lips against yours. He poured all his love into the shared embrace, hoping it would jumpstart your memory. But instead, you just shoved him away harshly, breaking away from his embrace. Alastor felt his world crumble around him as you wiped his kiss away with the back of your hand.

"You're fucking crazier than I thought!" With Alastor still reeling from the rejection, you took your leave. The sound of the door slamming thundered through his head.

Alastor sunk to his knees. His hands came up to tug at his messy tufts of hair. Allowing the tears to flow freely now that he was completely alone.

Alastor did not think you were capable of hurting him until now.

Alastor yanked at his locks furiously as his cheeks burned brightly in frustration. His knees quivered as his forehead kissed the carpet that was stained with his blood from earlier—when he unintentionally ripped up his palms. Alastor curled in on himself as he wept.

This pain was worse than any other.

But more than anything, his love for you only burned brighter.

As did his determination to have you remember him and the pleasant life you both shared before all was lost.

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86 @saccharine-nectarine @c-thegingergirl @tsunaki @geminixbunny @softangxlicss @alleystore @sirens-and-moonflowers @fairyv-ice @honey132 @alastorsaries @zenix108 @michi-keinz @fokrilove @yourdoorisunlocked @willowshadenox @izakyun @fangirlbitch02 @kyana-chan @aquariaries @sincerely-lorely @maxlynn17 @ivebeenthearchersstuff

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #alastor angst #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel fluff

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hiraethwa · 3 months ago

Text

kageyama tobio isn’t normally so possessive. impatient.

but tonight especially he feels his control fray rapidly, like a spark of fire consuming everything in its path, blazing through his sanity.

he nurses a drink by the corner of the room, gaze pinned on you and the man you are talking to in hopes of securing his investment for your project. “be nice,” you had told him, bringing him as your date to this fancy gala event for your work. of course he is immensely proud of you, who had climbed the ranks rapidly to become one of the youngest associate directors in the history of your company.

though unfortunately, that also means dealing with men who are used to getting their way and fending off their shameless advances despite the gold band that sits securely around your ring finger.

if the man who is currently flirting with you unsuccessfully is the fire to his senses, then you are the flint that sets off the sparks that quickly razes it to the ground. he really shouldn’t have let you leave the house like that—bejeweled heels gracing your feet, further emphasizing your commanding stature that draped in satin fabric. fuck.

tobio slides his gaze over to the man, only to find him already looking at him with a smile. oh, i see how it is.

he feels his eye twitch at the audacity of men as he makes his way over to you, his instinct to mark his territory taking over any shred of reasoning that was left.

“hey,” tobio greets you, hand moving to rest on the curve of your hips without thinking.

you nail him with a look that he loosely translates to ‘don’t forget what i told you’. he sighs internally before turning to the man you were talking to, offering his hand in introduction. “kageyama tobio, nice to meet you.”

a strange sensation floods his mind temporarily, before tobio identifies it as envy. not envy over him flirting with you—he has learnt how to ignore men’s attempts of advances on you, like you had learnt how to brush them off and turn the conversation in another direction.

tobio blinks at the man, realizing just how pretty he is.

“excuse us for a moment.” you smile sweetly at the man before pulling him away from the event hall.

you take a few turns into an alcove hidden from prying eyes, that sharp gaze of yours making his blood boil just a few degrees higher.

so commanding and alluring, and you’re his.

he pays your surprise no mind, backing you up against the upholstered wall and dropping his head in the crook of your head, breathing your addicting scent in.

“tobio, w–” your breath hitches, confidence stuttering for a quick second as you feel his lips on your neck, trailing kisses down the length of it before returning to the base, latching on the spot he knows so well and sucking. “what are you d–doing?”

“marking my territory, what do you think?” he retorts, hand roaming up from his strong grip on your waists. traveling up, up, fingers ghosting over the underside of your breasts before continuing on their journey.

you wait, breath abated, as his hand—fuck, those hands that make you lose your mind from how well they know your body, your weak spots—just grazes over your nipples, separated by the satin fabric that you chose, knowing full well it would drive your husband insane, your own choices now coming back to bite you in the ass.

a whimper leaves your lips, lips that he intends to leave swollen by the time you step back into the hall, at the lack of attention, when he would normally torture you with pleasure, rolling the pink buds between his skillful fingers.

his hand comes to a rest cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing over your plump bottom lip, and your lips fall open instinctively. you gasp at the possessiveness in his eyes, as he experimentally gives the hair gathered into an updo at the back of your head a light tug, testing the waters.

tobio’s own heart betrays him, accelerating at the sight of you being so pliant before him. he thinks he surprises even himself, when his own lips part involuntarily, the word falling from them, “suck.”

he slips two fingers into your mouth, rationale really leaving him this time, as you obey him without hesitation, your soft tongue lapping at the pads of his fingers before applying pressure to do as you are told.

“f–fuck. look at you, being so obedient.”

tobio bunches the smooth satin fabric around your waist with his free hand, “hold it up for me, like the good girl you are, hm?” you nod, unable to speak with your mouth occupied by his fingers, obliging his request with shaky hands.

he withdraws his fingers from you with a soft pop!, digits trailing south towards where you need him the most. he nudges your squeezed thighs apart with his knee, you trying to resist ever so slightly before giving in to his desires with a heated look from him.

his thumb pulls the fabric of your panties out of his way, fingers immediately feeling the wetness that has pooled there. he teases your folds lightly, ghosting over your clit, leaving you breathless and begging for more with your doe eyes.

“what is it?” tobio leans in towards you, his lips so close and almost on yours. you whine, chasing his lips but he is quicker, moving away before you can catch him.

“t–tobio, please.” he nods in encouragement, fingers slipping through your hair again, tugging you open for him to slot his lips over yours, enveloping those sinful lips in a needy kiss.

he smiles into the kiss, as he feels more than hears the vibrations of your moan resounding through him when he plunges two fingers into you at the same time.

gods, tobio doesn’t think he would ever feel like he got enough of this, of you falling apart before him, heavy and messy kisses exchanged between you, as he desperately tries to get more of you, lips tender and swollen as he presses on, showing his heavy need for you through his kisses, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. he never does.

his fingers move on their own accord, pressing lightly against your spot before withdrawing fully, and returning to your warmth which envelops him fully, flooding his senses.

tobio gathers your moans into his mouth, dampening the sounds that overflow into the dark hallway just in case of any passersby, frowning slightly at the thought of strangers hearing the muted whimpers that are only for his ears.

he pours that possessiveness into his ministrations, fingers rubbing relentlessly against your sweet spot, as you break away from his lips for air. your mouth falls open into a silent broken moan, eyes rolling backwards, seeing heavens itself, as you come apart on his fingers.

this. tobio admires the sight of you falling apart for him. this is for his eyes only.

you whine at the loss of his fingers sheathed deep in you as he leaves you empty, unfilled, adjusting your panties back in place.

“later, that is, if you are being good,” tobio reminds you as he licks his fingers clean, his pocketsquare being put to use as he wipes off the slick on your thighs gently before moving on to his own hands. he stuffs the ruined fabric into the pocket of his pants.

you blush, head falling against his chest to hide your embarrassment, tender silence wrapping around you as both of you attempt to gather your wits.

“ready?” tobio noses the curve of your ear once your breathing pattern returns to normal. you take his extended hand, letting him pull you along back to duty, checking your hair in the reflection of a mirror as you pass by.

your mind wanders to the man that prompted your husband’s sudden possessiveness just as you arrive at the doors. “you know, the man i was talking to? i was actually fending him off from you.”

tags. @daisy-room @bakery-anon @hatsukeii tobio nation. @hiraethwa @shouyuus @yogurtkags @mcdonaldsnumberone a/n. ohhhh i had so much fun with this, lightly edited <3 (yes i did lose my last shred of sanity)

#kageyama tobio #kageyama #haikyuu smut #kageyama tobio smut #kageyama smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kageyama tobio x reader #hq x you #kageyama x you #haikyuu imagines #tobio kageyama #haikyuu x you #hiraethwa writes #too spicy #smut

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justanotherrpmeme · 1 year ago

Text

After-Action Patch-Up starters

"Hold still, [name], this might sting a bit." "You're lucky it's just a few scratches. You need to be more careful!" "Don't be such a baby. It's just a flesh wound." "I can't believe you jumped into that fray without thinking! What were you trying to prove?" "Here, let me help. I've had my fair share of battle wounds." "Ouch! Warn me before you start cleaning those cuts." "You're a mess. How did you even get into this situation?" "I never thought I'd see you so vulnerable. It's strange." "Let's patch you up before anyone else sees you like this." "You really need to work on your combat skills. I can't keep playing nursemaid." "I've got the first aid kit. Sit down, and let me take care of those injuries." "You did well out there, but you're not invincible. Let me help." "I told you not to charge in without a plan. Now look at you." "It's nothing serious, just a few cuts and bruises. You'll be fine." "I can't believe you're complaining about a little pain. You should see what I've been through." "Hold on, I'll get the antiseptic. This might sting a bit." "You're surprisingly fragile for someone who fights so fiercely." "You really know how to ruin a perfectly good day, don't you?" "I never expected to see you in need of my care. Life is full of surprises." "I suppose I should thank you for saving me, even if it means playing nurse now."

[CLEANS] The sender takes a cotton swab and gently cleans the dirt and blood from the receiver's wounds. [BANDAGES] The sender carefully wraps a bandage around the receiver's forearm, securing it to protect the cuts. [SCOLDS] The sender scolds the receiver, shaking their head as they tend to the injuries. [REACTS] The receiver winces as the sender applies antiseptic to a particularly nasty cut on their cheek. [COMFORTS] The sender reassures the receiver, offering comfort while tending to the injuries. [DISINFECTS] The sender pours antiseptic on a wound, causing the receiver to inhale sharply at the stinging sensation. [INSPECTS] The sender inspects the wounds, noting any deeper cuts that might need more attention. [LECTURES] The sender lectures the receiver, advising them to think before acting to avoid future injuries. [SMILES] Despite scolding, the sender smiles reassuringly, trying to ease the tension in the room. [COMPLAINS] The receiver complains about the pain, prompting the sender to roll their eyes and continue their work. [WORRIES] The sender expresses worry, sharing their concern for the receiver's well-being. [TREATS] The sender skillfully treats each injury, showcasing their competence in basic first aid. [ADMONISHES] The sender admonishes the receiver, emphasizing the potential severity of the situation. [ASSESSES] The sender assesses the overall damage, silently noting the toll the fight took on the receiver. [DISAPPROVES] The sender expresses disapproval, stating that putting oneself in danger is not acceptable. [ASSURES] The sender assures the receiver, claiming that despite appearances, the injuries will heal quickly. [HESITATES] The receiver hesitates as the sender reaches for a needle and thread to stitch up a deeper cut. [SYMPATHIZES] The sender sympathizes with the receiver, acknowledging the pain while praising their efforts. [SCANS] The sender scans the receiver's body for any hidden injuries, ensuring nothing was overlooked. [GRATEFUL] The receiver expresses gratitude to the sender for taking care of them amid the discomfort.

#rp ask #starter meme #sentence meme #inbox meme #ask meme

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aliteralsemicolon · 7 months ago

Text

I'll still be here

To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. You and Spencer plan to honour your vows at any cost, no matter how insignificant or difficult the situation seems.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is SFW but still intended for mature audiences. You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Not proof read.

WARNING: Light descriptions of cuts and bruises, PMS/period talk. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 2.2K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

You never felt more at peace than when you were with your husband. He’s your solace, your other half, your soulmate. You also never felt more dread than when he was away. Since his return from prison, you’ve been increasingly anxious whenever he leaves, scared that he might not return for God knows how long again. You're always holding your breath, only releasing it when you see him walk back in through the front door and immediately into your arms.

The relief you feel is instantaneous. Until you pull back after a minute, just to be greeted by shades of green, yellow, purple and blue staining various parts of his visible skin. Your smile drops when you notice the condition he’s in. Messy hair, dirty clothes, two shallow cuts on his lip and temple…and the bruises. So, so many bruises. Most noticeably above his brow, on his cheek and a particularly large one from the side of his mouth to his jaw.

The first time he came home like this was in the early stages of the relationship. He had offered you an out, stating that this was normal with his line of work and would most definitely happen again. You assured him that you weren’t going anywhere and that you’d be there every single time to nurse him back to health. True to your word, you were still here five years later.

You unintentionally sigh, slipping your fingers to intertwine with his and guiding him to the bedroom. You gently sit him on the edge of the bed and leave him there to retrieve the first aid kit. Spencer watches you disappear into the bathroom. You’d surprised him by choosing to stay, despite the many outs you were given. He’d come to expect being abandoned at one point or another, but you stuck by him through his worst times. Without fail or complaint, you were always there.

Something’s different today. He can’t put his finger on it exactly, but he’s literally trained to pay attention to human behaviour, no matter how skilled you are at masking your emotions, he’s better. You emerge out, making your way over to him and climbing into his lap with your legs on either side of him. He leans back onto his hands, allowing more room for you to get comfortable. Using the base of your index finger, you turn his face to one side by his chin and begin wiping his cut with some disinfectant.

He subtly winces at the initial sting, relaxing after the feeling passes. Not a single word’s been passed between you two since the initial greeting. He keeps his eyes on you waiting for you to meet them, but you don’t. You stay focused on tending to his injuries. You’d just finished with the butterfly bandages on his temple and had moved on to the cut on his lip.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers.

“Aside from the obvious?” You joke, tilting his head to the other side to deal with the bruises.

You begin rubbing some vitamin K cream, trying to be as careful as possible. His eyes are still locked in on yours. You nervously chew on your lip from the scrutiny. When you're done generously applying the cream you make quick work of stuffing it back in the first aid kit. You keep your gaze lowered and Spencer takes it upon himself to cup your face, tenderly demanding for you to meet his eyes.

The ambient lighting brings out the golden that hides in the usual brown. It’s almost impossible to hold eye contact, especially when he’s got his compelling puppy look plastered on his face. You scatter your sights anywhere else, feeling flustered and push yourself off him.

“S–stand up. I need to check the other bruises.” You gesture for him to comply as you speak.

“There are no other bruises. The paramedics already did a full check up.” He stands regardless, towering over you.

You nod as you take a step back and rush towards the bathroom again. You feel Spencer snake his arms around your waist while you put away the first aid, your body automatically leaning into his touch. He’s patiently waiting for you to look at him through the mirror, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You didn’t know why today was different from any other time. He’s come home in worse conditions, this was actually one of his tamer returns.

“Can you at least look at me?” He kisses your parietal, rubbing circles on your skin with his thumbs.

You forcefully take a peek at his face, throwing in a weak smile, but immediately retreat and try to walk away. He doesn’t let you this time, only giving you enough room to turn around before entrapping you between the counter and his body. He takes hold of your hands and you stare at them, letting your fingers caress his palms when he loosens his grip. Spencer observes you, desperately trying to figure out what’s causing your repulsion.

Was it the bruises? That doesn’t make sense, you’ve seen worse. Did something happen when he was away? You didn’t sound any different over the phone. He couldn’t recall anything strange about your behaviour until he got home. Something had to have happened between the last time he called you and now.

“Hon–”

“You need to shower. I’ll heat up dinner for you.” You’re broken out of your trance when he breaks the silence and successfully push past him this time.

You race to the kitchen, but your husband doesn’t relent, pacing after you. He calls your name a few times, but you don’t respond. His gaining presence makes the room feel like it’s shrinking. It’s when you feel him pull you by the shoulder that you finally snap.

“Spencer, please just stop!” You spin around to face him.

He comes to a halt, just inches away from you. The pained look on his face makes you want to beat the crap out of yourself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap…I just– please, go shower. I’m okay. Everything’s okay.” You plead with shallow breaths.

“Neither of us are going anywhere until we talk about this.” He pushes, knowing that if he doesn’t get you to talk now you’ll just close up.

You were much like him in that regard, always disregarding your feelings until they exploded on a much larger scale than necessary. He wasn’t going to let you avoid this problem. Tears welled in your eyes and you bit the inside of your cheek to try and evade them. You don’t expect the choked sob that spills from you. All the feelings you worked so hard to bottle, spill and sink you down to the floor.

“Hey, shh.” Spencer comforts as he puts his arms around your body, sinking down with you. “I’ve got you, my love, I’ve got you.”

He strokes your hair, offering you a safe space against his chest to cry into. He doesn’t stop with comforting stimuli, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head. The two of you stay there for sometime.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is muffled by his shirt, but still audible.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reassures, a hand still in your hair.

You pull out of his embrace, still sniffling and look up at him through clouded lashes. You feel slightly pathetic, but there’s no judgement on his face. Only empathy and adoration.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m probably just PMS-ing.” You mumble.

“Premenstrual syndrome is very common, in fact 3 out of 4 women have or will experience PMS in some form. The physical and emotional changes you experience with premenstrual syndrome may vary from just slightly noticeable all the way to intense– I’m rambling, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You sadly chuckle. “You know I like when you ramble. Plus it’s a welcome distraction.”

“I know that…my point is that even if that’s the case, I won’t let you use that as an excuse to invalidate your feelings. Please, talk to me. Say whatever’s on your mind.” He speaks so softly, it makes your heart ache.

“It’s not a big deal…” You begin and Spencer gives you a look to shut down the negation. “I guess it– the bruises, Spence. I don’t know why, but seeing you like this…it’s difficult today.”

“It’s not just today.” He exhales, shaking his head. “This is something that’s been going on since…I got back. From prison. We haven’t talked about it yet, but maybe we should.”

He wasn’t talking about the whole prison situation in general, the two of you had discussed that not long after his return. Spencer’s well aware of how antsy you get since then, even though you try to hide it. It’s why he texts you every chance he gets and makes time to call you, even in the middle of an investigation.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I knew what I was getting myself into long before all of that.” You shrug, not wanting to give him a reason to offer you a chance to leave.

“Yes…but, that doesn’t make it any easier.” He counters.

“Spencer, I swear to god if you try to give me another out–”

“No. No more outs. You’re stuck with me. I want us to find a way to make this easier for you.” He chuckles lightly, rubbing soothing patterns on your forearm.

He was so gentle with you, always finding some way to remind you that he loves you. If not with his words than with small touches. Though you didn’t see it as a small gesture by any means, knowing how he usually recoils from physical touch with others.

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t think it can get easier, you know? Seeing the person you love more than anything come home like this. Especially when you don’t see them for days to begin with. I mean imagine if it was the other way around.” You confide, biting your lip from the nerves.

His tongue darts out of his lip, an indicator that the gears in his head were turning.

“That’s fair.” He nods. “Then maybe…it would be easier if I came home everyday? And not like this?”

You pause, trying to comprehend what he means.

“Are you implying that you resign from the BAU?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He confidently replies.

“Spencer, you love this job. I can’t ask you to leave it for my sake. I mean this is your life’s work.” You remind him.

“True, there was a time when the job meant everything to me.” He smiles, briefly reminiscing. “But that changed the second you took me as your husband.”

Your heart threatens to leap out of your chest. At the same time you wonder if this is a cry for help. You never thought you’d ever hear him say he’d leave the FBI. Your concern must be plastered all over you, because Spencer feels the need to reiterate.

“I love this job, I love you infinitely more.”

“I only want you to quit when you’re ready to quit. Not for my sake. All I meant was that I want you to be a little more careful out there. I can’t lose you.” You’re dumbfounded by his admission and resist out of guilt.

You never wanted him to choose between you and his work.

“You won’t lose me. I’ll be by your side for the rest of our lives, the same way you’ve been by mine since I met you.” He drags you into his lap, pulling you impossibly close.

“That’s not a choice you can guarantee.” You scoff playfully.

“No, but it’s a choice I make regardless. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me.”

He wasn’t going to budge. Spencer would do anything for you. He’d already given over a decade of his life to the bureau, the rest of it was yours.

“I don’t want you to quit until it’s something you want for yourself. Just promise me that if things get too intense or dangerous, you’ll step back for a bit.” You throw out a compromise and drape your arms around his shoulder, prompting him to wrap his arms around your waist.

“I promise. As long as you promise me that if it becomes too much for you to handle, you’ll tell me.” He’s looking at you as if you’re the most rare jewel on the planet, which to him, you are.

“I don’t want to make you leave.” You oppose, running a hand through the base of his locks.

“You’re not making me do anything. I want to do this. I’ve let myself lose a lot to this job. Let me be very clear when I say that I won’t lose you to it. I will not let it push us apart. Promise me.” He implores.

It’s so hard to refuse anything this man says when he looks at you with stars in his eyes and speaks to you in such a sweet tone. He’s your whole world and you’d do anything for him.

“I promise.” You roll your eyes and giggle, the sound making him beam. “And by the way, I wasn’t going to let your job come between us either. Is it a pain in my ass at times? Yes, but I’ll still be here when you come home.”

“I love you.” Spencer blurts out, leaning in for a kiss.

“I love you too. More, actually” You contest.

“Whatever you say, my sweet angel.”

Spoilers: Established relationship, hurt + comfort, fluff.

AN - This is my most sleep deprived not-blurb, blurb ever. If this doesn’t make sense it’s because I wrote this without thinking about it or reading it over. There is no plot to this, it’s just a very self indulgent hurt/comfort fic that came to me in a dream (wish Spencer came to me (sorry)). This is your reminder that I am not Spencer Reid and I do not have an IQ of 187. The facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of this story.

Rumour has it that if you comment nothing significant happens but it makes my day because I enjoy reading what you have to say :0

Thank you for reading!

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erosiism · 7 months ago

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OBLIVION | YANDERE CROWN PRINCE X M!READER

prompt: very lazy (oblivious) reader x yandere crown prince who basically does everything for him. reader is clueless about his friends disappearing around him, historical setting where MC is a pampered son of a noble family

character(s): yandere crown prince, lazy!reader

warnings(s): mild violence, yandere themes. still considered rather fluffy and sfw

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, as far as this goes this guy is too green to be really called a yandere lol. his possessive and violence tendencies are not to be glorified regardless, loose use of magic, not beta read

Your biggest enemy is hard work, and your favorite hobby is sleeping. You can’t help it—you are spoiled, no doubt about that, and because you got lucky enough to be born into a prestigious family who dotes on you. Your social life is almost non-existent, but ever since you were young, your friend has stuck next to you.

Your friend, who happens to be a crown prince.

People say he’s scary. You doubt that highly—is His Highness Cassian not the one who has brought you sweet treats from young? Is he not the one who littered your skin with tiny kisses because he likes showing affection? Is he not the one who allows you to laze around or nap? Rumors tend to be untrue, and you feel almost sorry towards the prince for having to deal with that.

(“I heard that if you mess with him, His Highness has the ability to kill! Haven’t you heard the disappearances lately?”)

You asked the crown prince questions regarding the rumors. All you got was a surprised, flippant reply: kill? That’s ridiculous, [Name]. I haven’t even mastered my mana skills yet.

So you don’t trust the rumors. It makes sense for people to be jealous, after all: he’s the crown prince. He has objectively good looks, and he’s an amalgamation of everything someone would covet: wealth, prestige, brilliance, and skill.

“You slept in class again?” A voice tears you out of your thoughts. You’re lounging on the bench in the school garden, and your legs are propped up on the sides. Your bag is thrown loosely to the ground. Inwardly you wish you had the physical capability to be agile enough to scale up a tree—because god, the place up there looked amazing—but unfortunately, you didn’t.

You face him. Cassia raises an eyebrow, and his fingers reach out gingerly to touch your cheek gently. You don’t recoil. It’s become normal.

“I can see words imprinted on your face. How long did you sleep? Or rather, how long was your class?”

It takes a few moments for you to process the prince’s words, before you squint your eyes. There’s a red smear on his cheek that seems hastily wiped off. It’s not too obvious, not to others, anyways, but you’re so used to Cassian's face looking normal that you immediately notice it.

“What’s that red thing on your face?” You ignore the question. You know that he can guess the answer.

“…Red thing?” Cassian immediately narrows his eyes, pausing. His fingers leave your face and go to his own. It looks like blood; which is odd, and definitely not possible.

“Is that…” you mull it over for a second. It can’t be blood. Or lipstick.

Cassian, though having received multiple marriage proposals, didn’t seem to be settling down any time soon.

Strange, it doesn’t even seem like he likes women. So the only plausible thing is—

“—were you drinking tomato soup earlier?”

Cassian blinks his eyes, before a look of realization dawns on his face. And if you see correctly, there’s almost the tiniest hint of relief. Cassian’s lips tug up into a smile—he laughs, the prince laughs, the sound bright and mirthful and irrevocably fond. Your parents have teased you once about the prince nursing a crush on you. But this is how he has treated you for as long as you can remember.

“Tomato?”

“Looks like a tomato,” You furrow your eyebrows. “Hey, do they serve tomato soup in the academy? I really want tomato soup. It’s easy to drink, and…”

“I’ll get you some later,” Cassian says affectionately. He ruffles your hair, and you relax. “Don’t worry too much, alright?”

You shrug loosely. “Alright.”

[ before ]

He stares at the dead body on the ground. There aren’t a lot of rumors of you, but your laziness is well known. Some see it fondly, almost endearingly, but there are the rare few who view you with disdain because of your apparent lack of diligence.

Caspian doesn’t like that. He’s fine with rumors of his own—but of you? But of sweet, innocent, lovely you? He loathes it.

“Stop talking,” he smiles. “…You can do that, can’t you? After all, you’re already dead.”

A head lolls about and blood drips off a blade.

What, Cassian thinks with that sweet softness he has reserved for you, smiling gently, should I get for [Name] today?

shitpost since i had this lying around. lowkey cringe

#male reader #yanderexmale #yandere x male reader #yandere x male darling #possessive #yandere #yandere male #soft yandere #tw yandere #eroswrites

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santeofsurprise · 2 years ago

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 months ago

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Blood and Affection ~ LMH

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT: 1.6K

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅GENRE: established relationships, minho worried about his girlfriend, cute, fluffy, worried minho, mafia au,

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅PAIRING: Mafia!Minhox Fem!Reader

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

You are in a relationship with Minho, one of the most powerful and feared mafia leaders in Seoul, someone everyone knew never to mess with or lie to which was why you hadn't been surprised when your nurse who was treated you told him where you were.

"Traitor." You whispered to her as you saw his car pulling up in the parking lot. She smirked over at you and shook her head. She, along with everyone else who worked for Minho, had known you a long time.

Your history with Minho ran deep—you were once his top operative, known for your flawless execution of missions and unmatched skill in the field. You'd trained every single day alongside some of the best of the best in the business and you were incredible. Not to toot your own horn anything but you were.

There wasn’t a single task you couldn’t handle, earning you a reputation that made even the most hardened criminals wary of crossing paths with you.

"You knew he was going to find out anyway. I did you a favour." The nurse teased as you rolled your eyes at her playfully. It wasn't anything major. In fact, you felt stupid for it to have even happened in the first place.

You'd been caught completely off guard and left exposed to something that shouldn't have even happened.

"It's stupid, I wasn't even paying attention." You grumbled more at yourself than the nurse who was with you. But you hated it. How could you have missed something like this? Minho trusted you to be alone without a guard and now you knew that was never going to happen again.

You'd been out in town all morning, taking a rare moment to unwind in town, deciding to treat yourself at the spa and then at the local stores to some new clothes or some books if you'd seen any. But you'd only just left the spar when out of nowhere, you were ambushed by an assailant with a clear intent to kill.

Though you fought - and incredibly might you add - and managed to eliminate your attacker, you weren’t unscathed. A deep stab wound in your side left you bleeding profusely. The pain had been nearly overwhelming as you'd struggled to stay conscious on the way to the hospital, it was wishful thinking that you could hide it from Minho. The man saw you naked every single night, if you'd somehow managed to hide it from him while your scar healed you'd have a hell of a lot of explaining to do for the new scar when you eventually got naked in front of him again.

"Everyone has an off day," The nurse reminded you as she applied some cream to your stitches, eventually covering it with a bandage as you sighed a little. All you wanted was to go home and pretend the day hadn't even happened.

"But not everyone's off day is going to lead to them needing an armed guard at all times," You smiled at her and she bit her lip softly and nodded in understanding. As you lay back on the bed, trying to process everything that happened, the door burst open with a loud bang and you watched it vibrate off the wall. Minho, your stoic and usually composed former boss and now current boyfriend, storms in with a frantic look on his face. His eyes, usually so cold and calculating, are now wide with panic.

“Are you okay?! I heard what happened...” His voice cracks slightly as he hurries to your bedside, his usual air of control slipping away. Normally he was well put together and didn't show any kind of emotion since they were usually held against him but with you, he always let them out.

"Minho, don't make this a big thing." You laugh weakly but he shakes his head at you. You knew asking him not to make a big deal with a lost cause but you'd figured you'd try anyway. Within a second he was on his knees next to you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for yours, his gaze scanning your bandaged wound with a mixture of fear and fury. The thought of losing you had him on edge, his usual cold demeanour shattered by the raw emotion he feels for you.

Minho glances up at the nurse, his voice laced with tension. The whole way over he'd been panicking about what he was supposed to do now, he'd already called his guys to arrange protection for you.

“What’s her condition? How long until she’s fully recovered? Are you sure she’s getting the best care?” He peppers the nurse with questions, his usual calm replaced with a sense of urgency. Your nurse opened her mouth to speak but was quickly cut off as he pointed to the IV that was inserted into your arm,

“And those painkillers—are they strong enough? I don’t want her in any more pain. Is she going to need to stay overnight?” You stroked his hand gently, the small act calming him down within seconds but you could still see just how on edge he was with this whole thing and you nodded at your nurse.

“She’s stable now, sir. The wound was deep, but she was strong. With rest and proper care, she’ll be okay, she should be able to go home as soon as this round of painkillers is done with.” Minho’s gaze flickers back to you, his expression softening as he takes your hand and squeezes it softly.

“You hear that? You’re going to be okay,” he says, more to himself than to you, as if he needs the reassurance just as much. He placed his lips on top of your hand and kissed softly before shaking his head at you,

"Minho-" You tried to warn but you were quickly cut off,

“But this… this can’t happen again.” He pointed at your wound before leaning in closer, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand and smiling weakly. There was no way he was going to ever let anything happen to you for as long as he lived.

“From now on, you’re getting extra protection every time you step out. I don’t care if it’s just for a walk or to grab a coffee—you’ll have backup, no exceptions.” His tone leaves no room for argument, the fear of losing you still evident in his eyes. It was going to be pointless arguing with a man who was set in his ways as much as Minho was when it came to your safety,

“I can’t risk anything happening to you again. Not when you mean this much to me.” He whispered, the nurse excused herself once his men began to gather in the room. All of them watched Minho with a smile on their faces. You were the only one that had ever been able to pull any kind of emotions out of their scary boss,

"Is the hospital floor secure?"

"You did not kick anyone out, right?!" You screech at your boyfriend who looks at you with a nervous smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

"If I say no, it won't be a lie...technically

"Minho-" You hiss at him but he shakes his head at you, it wasn't as if he'd thrown them out of the hospital. He'd merely paid everyone to be moved quickly.

"I moved them to different floors," he shrugged at you before you scoffed and nudged his shoulder. You'd have been perfectly fine without him moving anybody.

"I don't need protection from a bunch of old people."

"I don't care," He mumbles, looking at you and then kissing your cheek softly as you playfully scolded him for being so damn overprotective.

"I can't lose you, Yn...I just can't." He finally whispered as you pulled him to sit on the bed with you, your head resting on his shoulder. His men quickly filtered out of the room leaving you alone again.

He’s quiet for a moment, just resting his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your arm as he tries to think of something to say to you.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low and heavy with emotion. It had been hard for him when he'd heard the news of the attack, he'd gone into overprotective mode within seconds,

“I can’t lose you. I just… I can’t,” he whispers, the words almost a confession.

“When I heard what happened, it felt like the ground was ripped out from under me. I’ve always been in control, always knew how to handle things… but when it comes to you…” He trails off, his grip on you tightening slightly as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him. You can feel the tremor in his voice, the raw vulnerability he rarely shows.

“I’ve lost people before, but you… losing you would destroy me. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” You lift your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. The depth of his fear is written all over his face, the tough exterior he usually wears stripped away in this moment. You reach up, cupping his cheek in your hand, your thumb brushing away a tear he didn’t even realize had fallen.

“You won’t lose me, Minho,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise you, you’ll never lose me.”

His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to believe it, trying to let your words sink in. Finally, he exhales a shaky breath and presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m holding you to that,” he murmurs, his voice a little steadier now, but still tinged with the lingering fear of what could have been.

“Because I can’t… I won’t let you go.” He promised you as you nodded at him, cuddling into him softly.

"I'm not going anywhere," You whispered to him, closing your eyes as you laid your head on his chest.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @s3ungm1nxxl0ve

#skz #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz imagines #strau kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #minho #minho x reader #minho imagine #minho imagines #lee know #lee know x reader #lee know imagine #lee know imagines

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metal-mouse · 2 years ago

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Because You're Mine

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC (m/f pairing)

themes: smut. troping tropeily. ye olde patch him up and then bang him.

warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. p in v. unprotected sex. fingering. horrendous pull out game. possessive!Ominis. someone threatens to dose you with a love potion. blood. mentions of violence. everyone is aged up.

summary: 3.9k word count. You are most surprised to see Ominis Gaunt return to you with a broken nose and a black eye from a fight. He's being awfully cryptic about who he got into a fight with, until you've finished healing him and he confesses why he's so upset.

note: Had a dream about this recently and decided to share it as a treat and also sometimes the best way to break through writer's block is to lean on the tropiest of tropes. Come get y'all juice. left MC house as ambiguous - I'm very Slytherin coded my b. i take liberties on what kind of undergarments they wear. Not an ounce of editing to be found.

@anto-pops @localravenclaw look guys i finished it

You didn’t look up from your book as the door to the Room of Requirement groaned open. There were only two people who knew of this room besides you, and as Professor Weasley hadn’t stepped foot in it since your fifth year, that left only one person.

“Hello Ominis.” You called out your greeting, nearing the end of the page. He didn’t respond, which made you look up. You dropped the book and sat up straight at the sight of him. His cheeks were pink, there was a gash on the bridge of his nose which was steadily dripping blood, and one of his eyes was beginning to swell shut. Worry filled you, as your mind went to all of the worst case scenarios for what could have caused this. You stood up and hurried towards him, urging him to sit down on the sofa you had just been occupying.

“Hello.” He said finally, in a dejected voice.

“Are you alright?” You asked, a table appearing next to you with a bowl of water and some cloths. You very gently took his jaw in your hands as you tilted his head up to inspect his wounds. The cut on his nose was deep, and now that you were up close you could see his nose was slightly crooked. His pain was very evident, and his frown likely wasn’t making it any better.

“I’m wonderful, thank you for asking.” Ominis hissed as you turned his head to get a better look at his eye. You were fairly certain his cheekbone wasn’t broken, which was more than you could say for his poor nose.

“What happened?” You asked, ignoring his irritated sarcasm. If anything, it only suggested to you that he was fine beyond the wounds on his face and possibly a bruised ego. You weren’t sure if you had the skill to repair his nose. In the last year, you’d taken to spending more time in the hospital wing with Nurse Blainey. You’d assisted her during a detention once, and she had been more than happy to show you some of the healing arts. You knew the spell… perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try?

“I got into a fight.” He said, skirting around your question.

“Well, obviously. I would love some detail, if you’re willing to provide. When Sebastian comes around all beat up like this it makes sense, but you mostly keep your hands to yourself,” You said while taking one of the cloths and gently pressing it to his nose, “hold that. I’m out of wiggenweld, I’m going to brew some.” His hand replaced yours as he held the cloth to staunch the blood dripping from his nose. You looked down at his uniform. His shirt and tie were covered in blood.

“Is detail truly important? I was in a fight, and now I’m here.” Ominis’ voice was muffled from the cloth. You poured some water into the cauldron atop your potions station. He was usually very open with you, content to tell you all of his deepest thoughts. Somewhere deep in your mind you wondered if this fight had somehow been caused by you. He had gone to Hogsmeade today with Sebastian, and Rookwood’s Ashwinders still tried to prey on you. You prepared your Horklump juice and Dittany leaves, waiting for the water in the cauldron to begin bubbling. It was strange that he would keep something like that from you, even if he didn’t want you to worry.

“It’s clearly bothering you a lot, Ominis.” You said softly. He made an angry noise and didn’t respond. Now that the cauldron was bubbling, you added the ingredients and stirred the correct amount of times. You turned away to let it brew until it was ready, and returned to Ominis’ side. You wordlessly took the cloth from him and pulled it aside. It was drenched in blood, but it had mostly stopped the bleeding coming from both his nostrils and the gash on the bridge of his nose.

“Ouch!” He hissed as you reached up and gently poked at his nose.

“Stay still. It’s broken. Does anything else hurt?” You mumbled, climbing into his lap and holding his face steady with one hand. You fumbled for your wand, and he let out a little panicked breath and shook his head a little.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his good eye widening slightly.

“The Wiggenweld can’t straighten a broken nose. Don’t move. Episkey!” You said. He yelped as his nose cracked back into its normal position and the gash healed. You nodded in approval, pleased that the spell had worked. You’d never cast it beyond Nurse Blainey’s watchful eye.

“There. I bet you can breathe a little better now.” You said, removing yourself from his lap to check on your potion. Ominis took a long, very audible breath. You watched him as he reached up and felt his nose. He looked absolutely miserable. Your lips pressed together in a frown, it was worrying how little information he was willing to divulge.

“Have you seen Sebastian?” He asked.

“No, I thought he was with you.” You said, scooping some of your completed wiggenweld potion into a glass. Anxiety briefly pulsed in your chest, worrying that whoever had attacked Ominis had also gotten Sebastian. No. He wouldn’t have come to you unless he knew Sebastian was safe.

“He never met me. Must be with Violet.” He snorted, sounding absolutely furious with his friend. You tilted your head, making a small sound of agreement. Violet McDowell was Sebastian’s particular flavour this week after you’d forbidden him from asking Poppy Sweeting on a date. You had promised him swift and painful retribution if he had even looked at Poppy without the intent of marrying her and loving her forever.

“Here. Drink this.” You said, handing Ominis the glass full of wiggenweld. You crouched in front of him, a hand on his knee balancing him as he drank. The bruising around his eye faded, and he sighed with relief as he set down the now empty glass. You stayed crouched before him, your fingers drumming on his knee as a sign that you would love an explanation.

“You really can’t just let it go?” He asked.

“I’m sorry, I’m worried. It’s frightening when you get hurt.” You squeezed his knee a little. He let out a little sight, his frown softening.

“No, please don’t apologize. It should be me apologizing, I can see how someone arriving covered in blood would be worrying - especially for you.” He put his hand over yours. You stood then, setting your wand to the side as you settled down beside him.

“If you really don’t want to tell me what happened, please just tell me if this is going to be a recurring problem.” You said in compromise, taking his hand again. He looked deep in thought, clearly battling with his inner thoughts.

“I heard two sixth-years plotting about how they were going to slip you a love potion.” Ominis said finally. You blinked in surprise. Out of everything that could have come out of his mouth, that had been the one you least expected.

“A love potion?” You echoed. He nodded, and you admired the rage on his face. He’d fought two boys purely because they wanted to give you a love potion. You fought the smile spreading on your lips. For someone who was awfully composed, he was certainly prone to his jealous moments.

“Yes. A love potion. They’re lucky I haven’t gone directly to the Headmaster. I should have them both expelled.” He sneered. Your face went hot at the arrogance in his voice. You leaned in, loosening his bloody tie and tossing it to the side.

“You’re covered in blood.” You informed him. He wasn’t really listening to you at all, instead he was caught up in his own rage. You took that opportunity to unbutton his shirt so you could remove it and try to clean the blood off.

“Foolish, impudent worms. Gryffindors always think they’re entitled to that which is not theirs.” He pulled his arms out of the sleeves when you tugged on his shirt. He may not have been paying attention to you, but you were hanging onto his every word. That which is not theirs? That statement certainly held some heavy implications. You were grateful he’d stepped in of course, love potions were risky and you did prefer to make your own decisions.

Ominis continued his monologue, describing precisely what he had done to the Gryffindor boys for their crime. You took a clean cloth and dampened it to wipe the blood off his neck and chest. He’d been exceptionally cruel to the boys, and every word he spoke had your heart beating faster. It was becoming difficult to pay attention to your cleaning. He’d taken their threat personally, and had essentially destroyed them for it. Broken their wands, hanging them upside down from a tree, blackened eyes, he had truly done a number on them. Out of your little trio he was widely regarded as the most peaceful, with Sebastian being the most violence-prone and you falling somewhere between the two. He was incredibly protective of you, something you’d discovered even when your friendship had only just begun to bloom.

His hand closed around your wrist suddenly, and you realized you had stopped moving. You looked at his face, his hair was a mess, his cheeks were still pink, and he held an expression you’d never seen before. You were suddenly desperate to break the silence. His other hand lifted to your cheek, his fingers delicately tracing along your jawline.

“They can’t have you.” He whispered, his fingers moved down your neck slowly. Your breath hitched at this display of possessive intimacy that you had never seen before. You and Ominis had your fair share of intimate moments, but this? Never anything like this. This was an entirely new side to him. It was something you’d expect of Sebastian, the man who moped over girls he’d barely been involved with for longer than a week, but never Ominis. You didn’t know what to say. When you had first crossed that border between friendship and something more, it had been relatively laid back. You went for walks together, bought each other sweets and butterbeers from Hogsmeade, and spent late nights in each other’s arms in the Room of Requirement or the Undercroft. This change was almost as unexpected as its impact on you. You knew deep down that this should not be making you so aroused.

“Where has thi–'' You were cut off when Ominis leaned in and kissed you. You dropped the cloth from your hand as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his lap. You draped one arm behind his neck, and rested the palm of your other on his cheek with your fingers in his hair as you matched his passion. It wasn’t rough, so much as it was claiming. His cold hands pressed against the skin of your back making you gasp and arch against him. He took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue moving so sinfully your core was steadily aching now. You knew precisely what that tongue was capable of, and you’d grown to anticipate it. Dream about it even.

His rapidly warming fingers stroked your sides as he brought them under your front and withdrew them from your shirt entirely. As Ominis began to unbutton your shirt, you began to lightly rock your hips to create some friction between you and the bulge in his trousers. He let out a low groan and proceeded to rip your shirt open. Your eyes snapped open as you sat back a little bit in surprise, but he pulled you back against him with a single tug of your shirt. His hands went to your chest, and he let out a dark laugh against your mouth when he felt only skin. You weren’t wearing anything under your shirt. His mouth lowered and he left hot, wet kisses and little nips down your jaw and onto your neck. You couldn’t contain the small moans and gasps that tumbled from your lips.

Ominis’ tongue ran along your collar, and his hands roamed to your backside where he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up more. The hand you had in his hair shot to the back of the sofa to brace yourself. You cried out as he bit down on the side of your breast. His tongue delicately swiped out licking the hurt he’d just caused. He held you up with one arm, his other hand running along your backside and between your legs. The fabric of your trousers was disappointingly thick, and you felt far too constrained while wearing them. His hand moved to cup your breast as he swirled his tongue over your sensitive nipple. He stopped suddenly, his hands falling to your waist as he pushed you back slightly.

“Take off your trousers.” He commanded. The bark in his voice sent a wave of heat to your core. You stood up, fumbling with the buttons before finally pushing them down. He reached out and made a sound of displeasure when his hands ran over your underwear. He hooked his thumbs in the waistline and yanked them down. You stepped out of your trousers and undergarments, and Ominis checked to make sure you’d done precisely what he had wanted. He made no move to remove his trousers. You stared at his bulge desperate to see him undressed. It wasn’t fair that you were now bare in front of him, and he was still half-dressed.

“I want to taste you.” You pleaded in an attempt to get him to take his trousers off.

“As reluctant as I am to deny you, don’t you think you’ve taken enough care of me today?” Ominis’ lips twisted into an arrogant smile, as he turned you around and pulled you back. You fell into his lap. One of his arms looped around you pulling you back against his chest. His lips pressed to your neck, leaving kisses and small bites all along the smooth column. He pushed your legs open wide, biting down hard on the flesh of your shoulder. You cried out, your eyes squeezing shut at the pleasurable pain. One hand ran along the inside of your thigh, and the other stayed planted on your belly.

“Those fools think they could have this. That they could have what is mine.” His breath was hot on your neck. You whined as his hand stroking your thigh got closer and closer to where you wanted it.

“Please Ominis.” You complained when his fingers brushed next to your wet and aching center but he didn’t touch it. Your lip curled, two could play at this game. You began to rotate your hips slowly, grinding down on the bulge in his pants. Your hands covered his and you moved them to where you wanted them to be. One between your legs on your heat, the other cupping your breast. He huffed out a laugh.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He chided.

“I thought you wanted to prove I’m yours.” Now this spurred him on. Without warning he curled two fingers inside of you. Your back arched as you let out a gasp and Ominis began to pump his long fingers deep inside of you, ensuring the heel of his palm pressed against your clit while he worked. While his fingers curled against your sweet spot, you shamelessly rutted against his palm to elevate you even higher into ecstasy.

“Is that better, darling?” He asked, nibbling on the back of your ear.

“Uh huh.” You moaned, nodding your head. You wished you could kiss him. You wanted to face him and have him buried deep inside of you. You would have turned around if this didn’t feel so fucking good. There was something about him being in complete control and doing what he wanted with you. You weren’t even tied up, yet you felt useless to do anything to pleasure him beyond grinding against his bulge. There was a tantalizing pressure building inside of you, and you knew you weren’t going to last much longer. Ominis seemed to have realized as he pressed further into you and his fingers kept up the exact same pace. Your head fell back against his shoulder, his free hand coming up to wrap around your throat.

“Right there?” He asked. You nodded against him, unable to form a coherent thought. You writhed against him, pressing his palm hard against your clit. Your eyes squeezed shut as you fell over the edge and bolts of pleasure made your toes curl. You let out a sinful scream that may have been his name. Ominis didn’t stop, letting you ride out your orgasm on his hand until your knees clamped together and he withdrew. You were a panting mess as he gently guided you to lay on your back. You heard the sound of his belt hitting the ground, and you opened your eyes and watched him pull down his trousers. You moaned at the sight of his cock springing free, delightfully pink and large.

Ominis knelt on the couch between your knees, lowering himself over you. Impatient and greedy, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him to press your lips to his. You were hungry for him, your tongue swiping over his bottom lip prompting him to open up for you. You were certain the way he tasted would stay with you for the rest of your life, so damn sweet and addicting. Reaching down, you gently wrapped your hand around his cock and lined it with your entrance. Slowly, Ominis pressed into you with a low moan. You were distracted from your kiss at the feeling of his cock filling you up. He always went slow when he started, knowing it drove you crazy. Once he was sheathed fully inside of you, he stayed completely still aside from the hand that laced in your hair lifting your head again to press a sweet kiss against your lips.

“I’ve always been yours.” You whispered as his forehead rested against yours. His eyes snapped open at this, his fingers curling so he was pulling your hair. He ground into you, and you choked on a moan. Ominis pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back into you with a husky groan. He hooked his free arm behind your knee, pushing your leg up and out of the way as he settled into a slow and steady rhythm.

“Of course you have. I fit s-so perfectly, it’s like you were made for me.” The little stammer in his sentence made your heart flutter. You gasped when Ominis rolled his hips forward deepening his thrusts. Your nails scraped across his shoulders as your mind was overtaken by pleasure and thoughts of him. The moans and small praises that came as a steady stream from his mouth paired with his cock hitting every angle inside of you had you on a high you didn’t think possible.

You arched your back in an attempt to let him deeper inside of you. Despite being connected at your most intimate part, you wanted more. You wanted inside of his heart, inside of his soul. Through your pleasure, you opened your eyes to look upon his face. His eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure, his mouth hung open and his skin completely flushed, his hair an absolute mess. You loved it. Without warning, Ominis picked up the pace slamming into you without restraint. You dug your fingernails into his shoulders now, forcing him down to kiss you. His arms wrapped around your waist arching your back even further and changing the angle which he fucked into you. Between the feeling of his lips on yours, and his cock inside your already sensitive cunt, you were rapidly tumbling towards another orgasm. When Ominis took one hand from under you and reached down to rub circles on your swollen clit, your head fell back.

“Come.” Ominis ordered, and you didn’t even have it in you to scream this time. Ominis muttered a string of curse words as your walls clenched around him and you rose up to clamp your teeth down on his shoulder. It was almost painful how hard he had made you come, and some primal part of you needed him to share in that feeling. He kept his steady pace, not faltering once as he chased his own pleasure with a great moan. The hand that had been rubbing you clamped around your neck and squeezed. You watched him and saw in his face he was close. You met his thrusts, matching his rhythm. His chest heaved and a light sheen of sweat had formed across his body. In that moment you were certain that it wouldn’t matter if someone gave you a love potion, Ominis was all you’d be able to see.

“Yours, Ominis.” You whispered, incapable of telling him truly what you were thinking. His fingers dug into you and his grip on your neck tightened. Almost there. You watched in awe as his head dropped and he let out a guttural groan that slightly resembled your name. His cock twitched and his body trembled as he emptied himself inside of you with shallow thrusts. Ominis’ hand let go of your throat, and he collapsed on top of you. Both of you were breathing heavily, and you wrapped your arms around him holding him tight to your chest. You pressed kisses to the top of his head and he let out a wordless groan. After a few moments passed, Ominis slowly pulled out leaving you feeling empty.

“We should have conjured a bed.” He mumbled. You let out a little laugh as one appeared next to the sofa. Ominis rolled over, taking you with him so that you were laying on his chest instead of him atop of you. You knew that you should get up and probably clean yourself off, but with his arms around you and your genuine concern about your ability to stand, you were content to just stay.

“Maybe you should get into more fights.” You sighed, reveling in the lovely feelings of your afterglow. He laughed, gently rubbing your back.

“If men don’t learn how to behave, I just might.” He said. You could do without him getting injured, but if this was how he reacted when he was jealous or feeling possessive? You could definitely get behind that.

“I’ll be here when you do.” You sighed, thinking about how you should really restock on your wiggenweld potions.

“And, for the foreseeable future, I will be tasting your food and drink before you.” Ominis said, making you snort.

“What am I, the Queen of England? I don’t need a food taster, Ominis, if anything I’ll just start carrying around an antidote to love potions.” You told him.

“You can be my Queen.” He grinned at you.

“You’re not allowed to speak with Sebastian anymore, he’s rubbing off on you.” You sat up a little bit to get a better angle as you looked down at his face.

“That’s your job, Darling.”

“My point has been proven.” You smiled widely at the sound of his laughter. When you were with Ominis is when you were happiest. You were safe, comfortable, and content. You were in love, and you were his.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt smut #ominis gaunt oneshot #ominis x you #ominis x reader #reni writes

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iovetecchou · 1 year ago

Text

Saccharine ⧸ Dazai Osamu & Chuuya Nakahara‧₊˚

༞ Contains...! smut, implied fwb situation amongst the three of them, banter, competitive!chuuya, and competitive!dazai, kissing, teasing, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, aftercare

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 2,124 words.

kinktober masterlist!

“Ah, you lost again Chuuya!”

Dazai gleamed as the short-tempered man cursed under his breath. Murmuring something along the lines of “You fucking bastard”.

“Now, now. Boys, play nice!”

You shot Dazai a look as you replenished Chuuya’s newly emptied shot glass. Some of the liquor spilled on the temperamental man with your attention elsewhere.

“Oi, watch what you’re doin’ sweetheart.”

Your eyes darted down toward Chuuya’s hand, watching as the saccharine liquor dribbled down his fingers.

“Sorry Chuu, wasn’t paying attention! Here, lemme clean you up.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling his sticky digits to your lips. Dazai watched quizzically as your tongue darted out, lapping up the stretch of Chuuya’s lithe fingers.

“H-Hey! What do you think you’re doin’?!”

Chuuya silently thanked the alcohol for coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. If it wasn’t for that, You and Dazai would know his face was truly growing hot because of your lewd display.

“Cleaning you up? I don’t mind. You have really pretty hands, Chuu!”

Your eyes were locked on his azure ones as you lapped up the last of the mess you made on his fingers.

“Oh no! Belladonna, I made a mess. Be a good girl and help me clean it up, yeah?”

You and Chuuya whirled around at the commotion. Dazai had ‘accidentally’ spilled the drink he was nursing all over his hand. The chestnut-eyed man pouted in faux distress, now holding his sticky digits out in front of you.

“You asshole! You did that on purpose!”

Chuuya barked out, glaring down his counterpart. You couldn’t help but chuckle at Dazai’s actions. He piqued your interest. You didn’t think twice before crawling closer to the devilish man.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind cleaning you up, too. Although you didn’t have to pull such a stunt if you wanted this. All you had to do was ask, darling.”

You quipped, offering Dazai a playful wink before your tongue slipped past your parted lips. Licking the sickeningly sweet liquor right off his elegant fingers.

Dazai smirked as he watched you lick him clean. You could hear Chuuya grumbling behind you about how much of an ‘asshole’ his counterpart was.

“You have pretty hands too, Dazai! Your fingers are so long.”

You noted, causing Dazai’s smirk to grow tenfold. He shot a sly gaze in Chuuya’s direction before he retorted,

“I’m glad you think so, belladonna! My fingers are way longer than Chuuya’s. I’m not surprised, though, considering his… small stature.”

Chuuya shot up from his spot, marching toward Dazai before letting him hear it.

“You got a lot of nerve, you know that? Just because your fingers are longer doesn’t mean they’re more skilled.”

His words caused Dazai to perk up. You could tell the lanky man sitting before you was up to no good now. But you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious to see how this would play out.

“Oh, why don’t we put that to the test? We have a perfect subject right here!”

Dazai wrapped his arm around your waist. Pulling you into his frame as he beamed brightly. Causing the copper-haired man to scrunch his brows in confusion.

“The fuck are you takin’ about, asshole. Stop screwin’ around.”

Dazai’s hand trailed further down your waist, soothing over your hip. Your mind felt fuzzy as he drew small circles into the side of your thigh.

“We’re going to see whose fingers are more skilled and the lovely Y/N is going to be our little helper, obviously! You gotta start paying attention, Chuuya.”

Chuuya stammered, watching as Dazai turned to face you. You allowed him to trail his fingers further down your thigh. His nondominant hand came up to caress the other side of your hip. Causing a pleasant shiver to run down your spine.

“I think I like where this is going…”

You whispered. Your eyes finally met Chuuya’s as his counterpart flipped the hem of your skirt up, slipping his hands beneath the fabric. Dazai tugged your panties down your legs slowly, before tucking them in his back pocket for a later date.

“Well, Chuuya? You in or out?”

Dazai teased, not daring to take his gaze off you. Too focused on the sight of your pretty pussy on full display for him.

“Yeah Chuu, in or out?”

Your voice was laced with honey, drawing him into you; without even trying. Chuuya tried to keep his eyes on yours, he really did. But when his azure gaze flickered down, getting a glimpse of your most intimate parts… he caved.

“Fuck it, I’m in.”

Dazai snickered as his hands now ghosted over your inner thighs. Spreading your legs further apart for better access.

“You’re too easy, Chuuya.”

Dazai teased, reveling in the way you gasped as his fingers ghosted over your clit. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, watching as Chuuya scooted closer toward you.

“Shut it, asshole. I don’t wanna hear your voice anymore. I’d much rather hear my sweetheart callin’ my name right now.”

You shuddered as Dazai began rubbing languid circles against your puffy bud. Chuuya wasted no time bringing his fingers up to your slit. One of his digits teased your entrance before he ultimately slipped inside you.

“What do you mean by, ‘My sweetheart’? I thought you knew by now that Y/N is mine!”

Dazai declared in a sing-song voice. Feeling his cock twitch from beneath his slacks as another whine rolled off your tongue.

“Now, now… no— ah, no f-fighting.”

You managed to say, nearly fumbling your words when Chuuya inserted another finger. Curling his adept digits deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot with ease.

“Fighting? Who’s fighting? I’m simply reminding Chuuya of his place here.”

Chuuya began thrusting his fingers faster inside you. Aiming to prove his point; that his fingers are more experienced than Dazai’s just to rub it in his face even more.

“You’re on thin ice, asshole. I told you before, be quiet!”

Dazai let out a drawn-out sigh as his fingers teased over your clit. Alternating between rubbing vigorously and leisurely. Leaving you feeling desperate for more.

“Dazai, don’t stop— please.”

You whined, bucking your hips up. Greedily begging for more.

“Tsk, how shameful my belladonna. Are you this needy for me already? But Chuuya hasn’t even made you cum yet.”

That was Chuuya’s last straw. With that, he shoved his counterpart away from you with his free hand. Never once ceasing in his movements inside you.

“You’re fucking done. Watch and learn from over there if you can’t understand how to keep that big mouth shut.”

Chuuya hissed, not sparing another moment on Dazai from that point on. Your breath hitched as Chuuya’s other hand came up to your pelvis. His thumb pressed firmly against your swollen bud, rubbing your clit just how you liked it.

That’s something you loved about Chuuya. When you asked for something, he gave it to you. Rarely teasing you the way his counterpart did nearly every time. They were like day and night, but something about that contrast was thrilling.

“Fuck— yes! Just like that Chuu, don’t stop!”

You braced yourself on your elbows from where you rested. Propping yourself up slightly to get a better view of Chuuya as he fingered your drooling pussy, with more intensity than before.

“Yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me as you cum all over my fingers.”

Before you could process, Chuuya added a third finger. Plunging fiercely inside you, matching the pace with his thumb that still toyed over your puffy clit.

All you could muster was a silent plea of Chuuya’s name as your orgasm crashed over you. You squirted all over his fingers as he worked you through your high.

“That’s it, sweetheart, so good for me.”

Chuuya whispered, absolutely mesmerized by your blissed-out face. He loved watching your eyes roll back when you came. And knowing he was the one provoking you to writhe in pleasure caused his cock to throb in his jeans.

Chuuya slowed down his pace after a few moments. Retracting his hands from your warm wet heat as you tried to catch your breath.

“Okay! My turn~”

“Dazai, wait— ah—!”

Before you could finish your thought, Dazai was shoving Chuuya aside just like the short-fused man had done to him earlier. Payback, he thought. Dazai wasted no time shoving two fingers into your messy hole. Pushing as deep as he could, delivering shallow thrusts from within your gummy walls.

His fingers scissored inside you, curling ever so slightly on the drag down. He was teasing your G-spot. But you weren’t surprised; teasing was Dazai’s specialty, after all.

“To m-much! Please, no t-teasing tonight. I’m too sensitive…”

You babbled, unable to control the way your hips bucked up each time Dazai’s nimble digits grazed over your sweet spot. Once more, his other hand was ghosting over your clit. His middle finger stroked your slit, only granting you the smallest bit of friction against your puffy bud.

“You heard her, stop teasing’ goddamnit!”

Chuuya grumbled from beside you, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He was trying his hardest to ignore his erection, which only ached more and more as you whined out in pleasure.

Dazai finally let his middle finger press down against your swollen nub. He rubbed your clit slowly as his fingers pulled out of you almost completely, before thrusting right back into you.

“Oh? I didn’t know you were barking out orders now, Chuuya. Your turn is over, so why don’t you just sit back and take notes.”

You could hardly mediate under these circumstances. Your mind was too far gone, fuzzy from all the pleasure both Chuuya and Dazai granted you tonight. Your end was nearing, and the chestnut-haired man was more than aware of that.

“Do you want to cum, my belladonna?”

He halted in his movements altogether. Dazai allowed you to catch your breath before you cried out,

“Y-Yes! Please, just make me cum!”

Your eyes were swirling with desire as they met his, and you didn’t fail to notice the smirk that etched its way into his features from your pathetic plea. He was enjoying this; and the tent in his pants wasn’t the only giveaway.

“Good girl~”

And with that, Dazai fucked his fingers back into you; relentlessly. Adding the perfect amount of pressure to your g-spot as his middle finger circled your clit fiercely.

“Hah— ‘m cumming—!”

Your whole body tensed as you clenched around Dazai’s fingers harshly. The coil within your tummy snapped, causing you to squirt all over Dazai’s palm. Not that he minded, though.

His bronze eyes raked over your body as you came for him. Dazai could hardly contain his grin as you cried out his name.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you make a mess all over me like this.”

Dazai cooed, slowing down his moments before stopping entirely. Letting his fingers slip out of your spent hole.

“That’s enough out of you! Make yourself useful and grab Y/N a towel and some water.”

Chuuya grumbled. He put all of his attention back on you after uttering those words. He could tell you were exhausted after everything. And Chuuya was sure all the alcohol you consumed earlier didn’t help with the drowsiness.

“Alright, alright. Sheesh, you know you’re really bossy for a short-stack.”

Before Chuuya could bark back, you brought your hand up to his face. Grasping his jaw between your thumb and forefinger before turning him to face you.

“Ignore him for now, Chuu. For my sake, yeah?”

You watched as Chuuya’s expression softened as he gazed into your eyes. You offered him a small smile before pulling him in for a lingering kiss.

The sweet embrace didn’t last too long though, because only a few minutes later, you heard Dazai call out;

“Aww, where’s my kiss, belladonna?! And after I took the liberty to grab you water and a nice clean towel!”

Dazai clutched his chest in feigned pain. He knelt down, handing you the bottle of water he fetched.

“That’s only because I told you to do that, asshole!”

Chuuya retorted, yanking the towel out of Dazai’s hands so he could tenderly clean you up. You couldn’t help but smile as the two men attended to you.

You leaned forward to place a chaste kiss atop Dazai’s lips. Pulling out a hum of approval from the cheeky man himself.

As you pulled away, your hands crept down to rest atop both Chuuya and Dazai’s thighs. You gave each of them a knowing look before whispering,

“I think it’s my turn to show you two how skilled my hands are. It’s only fair, right?”

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penvisions · 8 months ago

Text

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 7}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: A letter, clear words, the work forged by skilled but aching hands, all of it helps you to heal from what had been one of the worst weeks of your life.

Word Count: 13.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, age gap (reader is early 40's and joel is 57), pining, requited unrequited love, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, mild injuries, confessions, lots of feelings, light angst, hurt and comfort, fighting, two (2) satisfying slaps, joel miller's hands need their own warning, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), soft joel, pet names (sweetheart), serious conversations, apologies, references to child loss, minor character death, blood, talk of female anatomy, reader has no assigned name but has a commonly used nickname, lemme know if i missed any major ones!

A/N: SURPRISE, Y'ALL!! i was supposed to have internet installed this week but it's been delayed again and my local library is only open today and since queues make me nervous, i threw caution to the wind and yeah - WE MADE IT. this is the final chapter! i am so delighted and humbled by the responses to this fic. i put a lot of myself into olive and for everyone to root for her and cheer her on means so, terribly much to my lil heart. i love y'all and i hope this finds you well ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The hush of cardstock is the only sound in the room as Joel shuffles through the recipes you had written down for him, for him and Ellie. The fancy loops of your cursive are faded, a little blurred in some spots and he regretted your time and devotion getting smudged by his lack of attention. He had been too slow to retrieve all the index cards where they had landed, flying into the air as you had run straight into his back. It had taken so long because Marsha hadn’t seemed to get the hint or his direct words that he was not and would not be with her the way that she wished for him to be.

But she did now. She had been picking Millie up when Joel had all but kicked the door in, shouts of needing help echoing down the street. The woman had flattened herself to the wall, eyes taking in your unconscious form in Joel’s arms. How carefully he maneuvered, how mindful he was to not jostle your body too much, how frantic his expression was even as he tried to explain what he could to the nurse and doctor who sprang forward at the sight. His brows were drawn together, worry evident as he explained to them your stitches from a few days ago had opened, how you had been coughing up blood before he found you. The fear in his strong voice when he detailed how cold you were, how unresponsive. All of it combined was a reflection of his care for you. Something only seen in his interactions with Ellie. And now with you.

Joel had felt pride surge in his chest at seeing the damage you had inflicted on the other woman, guilt flaring just seconds after. You had been pushed to your breaking point, not just by her but by everyone in your life. Evidence of the fight was etched across your body from the scratches from the woman’s nails up and down your arms, the tangled tresses of your loose hair, to the bruises that had blossomed along your soft skin.

The most notable with the tearing of your stitches. The stain of blood on your skin in places he couldn’t wipe it away, for fear of harming you further, even in your unconscious state. It had been three days, and you still hadn’t woken up. Even after the repair to the wound, a better stitch pattern was implemented and two blood transfusions. One from him and one from Tommy.

He hadn’t wanted to leave your side since he brought you in, but he had things he needed to take care of. The few people who interacted with you coming in and checking on you, him coming to spend each evening by your bedside and staying through the night. Maria was across from him now, Macon sound asleep in her arms as the clock ticking on the wall displayed the post sunset hour.

“Marsha will be interrogated at the next town meetings, for her behavior and words towards Olive.”

“Good.” Joel croaked, his voice gravely from disuse.

“Millie will be on next week’s patrol with you, per your request. Once she’s adequately trained, she’ll be added to the rotation.”

“If she takes to being trained. I have a feeling she might pretend to not learn anythin’ just to get out of it.”

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Maria hummed in agreement, knowing more than Joel the small requests and complaints the woman has made in her time behind the walls. “It’s time some of the people who have been idle share the responsibility. Besides, Olive requested to be taken off patrol before. I’m sure she’ll double down on that once she’s recovered.”

“Please tell me she didn’t hate being forced to be my partner when Tommy asked. I don’t think I could ever apologize enough if it was somethin’ she didn’t want to-“

“Joel, she was okay with it, believe me.” Moving to stand, the woman reached to rest a hand on your legs beneath the blankets. “She was glad to feel like she was trusted enough to be asked. She never had any ill feelings toward you, even when she didn’t know you.”

She watches him, he can feel the weight of her stare on him as he continues to go over each of the cards contents. There’s a bag beside him, a small canvas thing he had loaded up with some spare pieces of lumber from bigger projects, scraps that he spent the evening hours whittling and carving as he sits beside you bed. He alternates between doing that and going over the cards, habits to keep him awake as he sits vigil and waits for you to return to him.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect when you came back. But…you surprised me.”

“How so?” He knows he was always a sore and heavy subject between her and his brother. Even more so when he quite literally stumbled onto their doorstep. He had been determined to change, to give back into the second chance at life he had been handed, for Ellie, for his brother– for himself. Aligning himself with the customs and way of life carved out in the plains of Wyoming. He’s glad he hadn’t fallen completely to the depraved, hallowed out version he had adapted to, had been forced to become with the loss of everything he knew, with the loss of his daughter.

“You’ve meshed well with the lifestyle we created here, got onto good terms with one of the best people we have here.”

He didn’t look up from the cards in his hands, he knew that. Deep down, he knew you hadn’t minded patrolling with him. But it was hard to understand with how messed up everything was at the moment and he lost himself to the circling thoughts of how hurt you had looked as you stood your ground with him a few days ago in your kitchen. But his head shot up when a whimper sounded into the air that wasn’t from the woman or his nephew.

You were stirring in the bed, eyes still closed. Hands shaking as they raised to cradle your middle, mind no doubt recalling the circumstances of your last waking moments. Joel’s heartbeat was loud in his chest, echoing in the spot where they had drawn blood from the inside crook of his right elbow. Macon gurgled in Maria’s hold, wide eyes cut towards you as you shifted a little underneath the blankets.

“Joel…” You murmured, eyes clenching shut tightly. You weren’t rousing, you were still unconscious, though your mind seemed to be in working order if you were dreaming. Joel sets down the index cards atop the blankets over you, moving closer to grip a hand with both of his, the other laid out flat to ensure the line of the IV didn’t get tangled or kinked.

“I’m here. It’s okay, you’re okay. ‘m not going anywhere, you hear me? I’m right here, Olive.” He soothed you as best he could, the wrap of your fingers around his stirring his heart to beat faster in his ribcage.

As he’s leaving the morning, a patrol that he would be taking Ellie out on with the approval of the council to begin her training as well, he see’s the shadow of two figures approach your room out of the corner of his eye just as he’s placing a parting kiss on your forehead.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t know anyone would be here this early.” It’s the sister and brother pair you had insisted on bringing back. The woman, Callie Joel thinks her name is, is holding a hand to her swollen stomach protruding out from beneath her long coat. It looks like it wouldn’t fasten with how far along she was. Nolan, the man who had been with you when this whole mess started was a step behind her and a bouquet of dried flowers clenching in his hand.

“It’s okay, was jus’ leavin’.”

“Look, Mr. Miller.” Nolan steps up to him, leaving a few feet of space as Joel turns to head to the door while Callie sidles up to take the chair he had slept in and scoot it close to your unconscious form. “I tried my best to tamp down the fight, but Olive, she’s…she’s a scrappy one. Was on that other girl before I could even blink.”

“Millie. The other one’s name is Millie.”

“Millie did this?” Callie questions from her spot holding your hand in hers, eyes wide. “She’s been so nice to me, I had dinner with her and her mom just last week…”

“Millie ‘n Olive don’t get along too well, bad history.” Joel hopes he isn’t overstepping your privacy by saying so, but if the two were intent on being at least friendly with you, they deserved to know that not everyone was so forward in their interactions with you. “Patrol gone wrong, they both lost someone important to them and Millie didn’t deal with it well.”

“She called her a whore, when she saw us talking.” Nolan explained, “Olive moved first and apologized, but all hell broke loose when Millie hit her back.”

“She what?” Joel felt anger burn hot through his veins, the implication of you being anything other than kind and thoughtful not sitting well with him. No wonder you had snapped, Joel hadn’t found out exactly what had occurred, the council stemming the raging gossip as best they could as soon as it began to spread. Reminding people to deal with personal issues in non-confrontational ways or punishment would be doled out and extra duties would be tacked on.

The two fell quiet, feeling the anger simmering in him. Joel’s face had darkened, brow furrowed deep and his jaw ticking as he tried to get a control on it.

“Y’all have a good day.” He manages before he’s out the door, his steps even and nearly silent as he makes his way out of the infirmary. He’s at Marsha’s in the blink of an eye, fist knocking against the wood of their front door.

“Marsha isn’t home, she’s serving out her punishment by taking over Olive’s morning shifts at the mess hall.” Maria’s voice calls to him as she strolls down the street. Macon is in her arms, but he’s fussing. She stops and places him in the baby carriage in front of her and quiets him with a pacifier. “Millie is out getting the rundown of how patrol works and what her responsibilities are.”

“Did you know that Millie called-“

“Yes. It’s been dealt with.” Maria’s voice implied she didn’t agree with what happened, that it was indeed being considered with much thought, not taken lightly with how it built up to the point of combustion in the town’s center on one of the busiest nights.

“Easy now, honey, there you go.” Tommy’s soothing voice allowed for you to feel less embarrassed about how slow moving you were, how long it was taking to trek from the infirmary to your house. His arm was around your waist, his other in front of him as he held onto your right hand for added support. “Joel will probably be knocking on your door the second he gets back from patrol and finds you gone from the clinic.”

“He can knock all he wants.” You huffed out, not too sure how you were feeling toward the man at the moment. Once you had woken up, the nurses told you he hadn’t left your side during the nights you had been there. Tommy and Maria sharing with you the way he had been frantic to find you the second he had found out about your fight with Millie. The decision of you no longer wanting to do patrol being portrayed as a punishment for your violent outburst. But the council held no real ill will toward you, having addressed the behavior you faced from more than a few of the townspeople.

“Marsha is due to cover your shifts at the mess hall, the early ones. Until you’re ready to go back.”

“Dunno, think she needs more ‘n a week or two tackling that hectic shift.”

“There’s my girl,” Tommy beamed, glad to know you weren’t too injured to show the side of yourself he knew.

As you turned down your street, Tommy let go of you at your insistence to try and support yourself. After a few stumbling steps, you managed to find your balance, even if your pace was still on the slow side.

“Joel ‘n I fixed your door. Well, we made a new one, actually. Old man did some damage to the other one when his big bulky frame was pushed into it by those storm winds,” He chuckled, most likely picturing the ordeal that was far more tense and serious than a mishap on Joel’s part. It had been…one of the hardest things you had to do, stand your ground and deny the man you had come to care. Especially in the face of him practically confessing to you that he shared in your feelings. “Cranked the heat up to get it back to the temperature you prefer. Even watered the plants for you, fed that stray that comes around sometimes. I think it found the crate you set up for it on your back porch.”

“You’re too sweet, Tommy. Thank you.” You watched as he unlocked the door and for the first time since leaving the infirmary you noticed how he was constantly shifting. His weight from foot to foot, his hands raking through his long, dark curls.

He helped you up the few steps of your stoop, his hands a gentle weight, arms ready to tense and catch you should you lose your balance. Once you were settled in your bed, a bottle of pain killers and a glass of water on your bedside, the man tentatively settled on the foot of your bed.

“I wanted to apologize, formally.” He started, brown eyes glittering in the midafternoon sunlight filtering in through the blinds. You leaned up from the pillows propped up behind your back and up against the fabric headboard, about to say something but he held up a wide palm to stop you. “You told me ‘n Maria in passing the behavior people have toward you. It was out of our control, freedom of speech ‘n all but…we should’ve at least tried to tamp it down more than we did.”

“Tommy, everyone has already done so much in letting me in, giving me a chance. I did-didn’t want to stir any trouble and it wasn’t real-really anything I couldn’t handle.”

“Honey…” He stands up and nestles himself between you and the edge of the bed, his back on the headboard right next to you. He brings you into his chest and kisses into the crown of your head as you return the embrace. something he hadn’t done since you appeared back at Jackson’s gates with blood covering you head to toe and the corpse of your friend draped over the back of your horse. “You deserve to feel comfortable, to feel safe. No matter what.”

The next morning, after a night spent tossing and turning, you shuffled down the hallway and into the kitchen without turning on a light. It was still dark out, using what little of the streetlight so close to the front of your house filtered in through the sheer curtains. When you sat at the kitchen table, you tried to set your mug down but there was a clatter as the bottom of it collided with something already resting there. And the space next to it, it seemed the whole table was covered in stuff, leaving no room for you to set it. Mumbling about people being in your house and rearranging your stuff, you shuffled over to the lamp atop the storage hutch’s middle shelf.

But you’re shocked when you flick the light on and turn back around to the table. It’s…covered. Every inch of the surface taken up by small stacks of what looks like intricately carved plates, serving trays, spoons, spatulas, and small figures that look like birds moving in a downward swoop. The coffee still in your hand splashes a little to the tile beneath your bare feet, starting you as it bounces up to kiss the skin of your ankles. But you pay it no mind as you absently set it on the hutch beside the light and move to the table with watering eyes.

It had to have been him. Joel.

The plates are beautiful, vaguely floral shaped and stained such a deep mahogany. They’re not too heavy, though they are very sturdy in your inspecting hands. Turning each one from the three separate stacks of them, each a different size from dessert to salad to serving plates, reveal a small J.M branded into the wood. Each of the leaf shaped serving trays reveal the same, though they are heavier and a bit harder for you to turn over in your weakened state. Large smoothed edged bowls are nestled in each other, the topmost one holding matching large serving spoons made your heart lurch and your stomach swoop.

The carving had been lovingly attended to because each rivet and swirl, each boarder and flat surface, it was all so seamlessly smooth. On evert single piece littering your table.

Tears are trailing down your cheeks to rest atop his intricate creations. The sight of two sets of spoons and two sets of spatulas held together with twine making you have to clap a hand over your mouth as a sob wracks through your body. The memory of hurling the ones you had requested from him flashing too bright and loud. You had taken something crafted by him and thrown in across this very kitchen, disrespecting the time and attention he had devoted to the request you had made.

Collapsing into the chair, you let the emotions of the last week take over you. Your coffee is lukewarm when you rise to retrieve it, but you twirl a carved bird in your hand as you sip from it, tears waned for the moment. That’s when you spot the large, flattened pieces on the other side of the table.

Cutting boards, three of them. Each one with a branding on the thick sides to label them individually for herbs, vegetables, and meat. The entire surface of each it sealed with a coating, but beneath it on the corners are floral patterns that you squint your eyes to take a closer look at. Gasping, you realize he had depicted the blooms often found on olive trees. His voice suddenly rings in your head as your mind recalls something you weren’t even conscious for but had filed away.

‘I made you one…I made them all for you. All of them, every single one….C’mon, sweetheart. You gotta let me save you so you’ll have one. I’ll give you anything, I’ll give you everything. Olive, please.’

‘I’m here. It’s okay, you’re okay. ‘m not going anywhere, you hear me? I’m right here, Olive.’

The tears flow, with no end in sight as you reach a shaking hand for the note you see laying atop the largest one.

‘Olive, I know I’m shit with words, I know I’ve sent such mixed signals with everything. But I want you to know, need you to know that seeing you is the best part of my day, of every day. Even if it’s just across the mess hall, across the street, as I walk home from patrol and see you in the window of your kitchen with a soft smile. The talks we have, the questions we share, every single word we’ve exchanged as made me feel worthy of the things you think of me, for the first time in a long while.

You are such an extraordinary, kind, thoughtful person and I am so lucky to have made it here to Jackson to cross paths with you. I can’t change what happened, but each hitch of your breath, each tug of the brim of your hat over your eyes, each moment spent with you makes me want to wrap you up in my arms and keep you close. I don’t want the first time you hear the words from me to be in writing, but, Olive. I fear I’ve fallen for you, and it’s made me such a fool. Please take these gifts for what they are, a representation of how I think of you every second of every day. Of how you inspire me to be a better person. Of how much love I have for you. J.M.’

Your coffee goes completely cold as you sit at the table, reading the note over and over again.

The gentle knock on your door kickstarted your heart, fluttering hard in your chest as you knew who was on the other side of the repaired wood. You turned the burner off on the stove top, shifting it to rest atop one of the cooler ones. You called for the man who held your heart to ‘wait a second, please’ before you turned to the table and reached for one of the serving bowls, spooning out the steamed contents of the pan into it and placed it back among the others already atop the table. The table was full, dishes coloring the spread laid out across the table. The rest of his gifts had been carefully places in the hutch along the back wall, some of them displayed behind the glass of the topmost part.

Toasted sandwiches cut into triangles rested atop one of the leaf serving trays, the one you had just filled up with three different types of steamed and roasted vegetables. A glass pitcher of fresh juice you pressed earlier a deep red and shining in the flames from candles interspersed between the trays and plates. You nervously ran your hands down the front of your apron, a worn but loved patterned thing that wrapped around the back of your neck and at the back of your waist.

The brownies looked a little thick, now that you took a second to consider them. A rich buttercream piped into a swirling tower amid them stacked up on one of the larger flower plates. The midsize ones set in front of two chairs with empty glasses and clean utensils beside them. All set up, all waiting.

For him, for Joel.

Moving to the door, you paused and took a deep breath to calm yourself, the titter of shyness you weren’t sure you would ever overcome when it came to the man on the other side. Reaching for the lock, you clicked it out of its setting and twisted the handle to open the door.

Joel was stood there, silhouetted against the bright winter sun, the broadness of his shoulders and the volume of his curls on display so close for you. His head had been hanging, one hand on the wall beside the door. And when he looked up to catch your eyes, your breath hitched and you felt your fingers twitch at the urge to pull him close. To let him make his written words a reality and cradle you in his arms.

“I-I got your no-note. And the – the things you left f-for me.”

“Did you,” He cleared his throat, hand moving from where it was supporting him to fall to his side, clenching and unclenching in that own nervous habit he had. His eyes roved up and down your body, taking the image you were making in your doorway. You felt like you looked okay, but your hair was a little frizzed out from the heat of cooking. And you were so, incredibly self-conscious. He was such a handsome man, and you were…just you. His voice was shaky, something you couldn’t ever recall hearing from someone normally so controlled. “Did you…like everythin’ alright?”

“It’s all so perfect. Th-thank you.” You smoothed your hands down the front of the apron again, nervous and unsure of how to approach him even as your body hummed in anticipation from the thought of it. He loved you. And you loved him back.

“And the- the note?”

“Y-yeah.” You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his, too self-conscious with how all uncharted everything seemed to be.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I-“ He surged forward through the open door, but his boots scuffed as he cut the movement short. You had unconsciously stepped back, nerves alight from the last time you had been approached. Muscles twitching, your arms tingled with the way you tried to relax from the sudden tension that had flooded your entire body. Fight or flight activated. You could see the way his throat bobbed with the nervous swallow he took before sighing out a deep breath. “Olive, I swear to you, I- you’re so good. The sweetest, prettiest thing I’ve had the pleasure of knowing in my time and if you’ll let me, I’ll be a good man for you. I’ll be a good man with you.”

“Joel, I-“ Your words choked off into a sob, tears trialing hot down your cheeks as your emotions spiked and cascaded over you. Hands trembling as you did reach out for him, fingers wrapping around the unzipped edges of his thick jacket. He moved into you, his own hands coming up to cradle your cheeks as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here, I’m with you. Not goin’ anywhere unless you want me to, okay?” He holds you, letting you bury your tear-stained face into his neck. The flow of them still falling from your eyes dampening the fabric of his flannel.

“D-do you want some lunch?” A shy smile pulled at your lips, heat blooming in your chest even as the tears continue to fall.

He seems to release all of the tension in his shoulders as he sighs out something relieved. You can tell he’s a little confused by the question, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. The opportunity to spend time with you, to talk to you. He had come here, after all, not even knowing where you two stood after everything. Fresh from a patrol, you could smell the lingering scent of hay from the stables on him. The leather from his gloves sliding along and holding the reigns of his horse. Nodding, you finally manage to meet his eyes and your breath hitches even as a pang of worry echoes in your chest.

“H-how was patrol?” You wait for him to take a seat before you go to pick up the pitcher and pour him some of the juice you had made. His hands are a soft hush over yours as he takes it from you and pours himself a glass before reaching for your own empty one with a lopsided smile.

“It was good, took Ellie out for her first one. She’s been buggin’ me about it since the start of winter.”

“Is she going to be my replacement? I don’t want her to feel like she has to if she’s not ready.” His eyes move over your face as you spoon steaming vegetables onto his plate and then yours.

“Maria agreed with me that Millie should be trained up, she’s starting with me next week. It’s part of her punishment for instigating the fight.”

“Oh.” Another thing for the woman and her mother to hold against you. You worried for a second of how much damage you had done to her in your near fugue state but then realized if she was okay enough to start patrol then she was far better off than you happened to be.

“We don’t have to talk about that or we- we can, if you want to. Just…just want to talk with you. About anything.” About anythin’, about nothin’.”

The conversation isn’t much from then on, but it’s enough to hold his attention. You’re tired, so incredibly tired and lethargic from the emotional morning you had, from putting all the food spread over the table together, not much of it left after Joel devours a lot of it. Starvin’ he had said through a bite, pink tinging his ears as you offered to make another sandwich for him. He had assured you everything you had made was enough and now a half pot of coffee sits in mugs in front of you each, brownies bitten into after dipping it in the frosting you had made.

As soon as his two were swallowed, he turned beseeching, wide eyes to you and you found moving to stand between his legs. His arms were so warm around you, the food and his company weighing you down in the best way as you wrap your own around his neck. His face is buried in your chest while you press a kiss to his steel curls, something that worries you for a split second before he sighs out a small ‘you’re so soft, sweetheart’.

“I-I want to talk more, but,” Your weight sagged against him, his arms tightening around you to help keep you on your feet. “I’m so tired, Joel. I think I need to lay down.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand, lemme just- I’ll clean up lunch and get out of your hair, go on and rest.” But you didn’t move, your breath hitching as you leaned back enough to peer up at him. Your eyes surely gave away how drained you were, but you weren’t quite yet ready to let him go. Even if things were a little stilted and there was so much to discuss. Right now you just wanted to lay down, to get off your feet and relieve some of the tension on your stitches.

“W-will you stay?”

“Of course.”

He follows silently behind you, boots thudding on the hardwood flooring of the hallway. Each step matching the beating of your heart. Through the door and into your room, you realize he must’ve already been in here, it was so tidy and the laundry that had piled up was neatly folded atop your dresser.

If he’s just as nervous as you are, he doesn’t show it. Seemingly taking things as they come, letting you shrug him from the flannel you had unbuttoned. When you move your hands to the buckle of his belt, one of his large hands covers both of yours. Looking up, you reassure him nothing has to happen and that you aren’t ready for anything to happen but you don’t want the denim on your clean sheets. He nods, letting you continue to disrobe him. A shaky laugh falls from his plush lips as you notice the line of him through his boxer briefs, it twitches under your quick glance, and you feel a swoop in your own stomach in response.

He asks if you need to change to, offering to turn around. But you grip his wrists and bring his hands to the ties at the side. It’s a loose thing, to help you manage to move around better, the prospect of pants and a belt too daunting despite the season. He carefully lifts the fabric from your body, his eyes on your face the entire time, even as the clothing falls to pile on top of his. With a nervous giggle, you lead him to the bed and you both get comfortable underneath the covers. It’s early, not even the sun has set, but neither of you seem to mind the time.

He's settled against the pillows when you reach out a hand on your normal side of the bed, fingers tangling with his as you lay slightly on your side toward him. The bandages around your middle are obvious underneath the camisole you wear with your underwear. He’s facing you too, his other hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I…I want to.” Your words are barely above a whisper, as you take in the image he creates beside you, filling the empty part of your bed with his broad frame. His steel curls flattened on the pillow, his warmth only a few inches away, his eyes soft and watching you as you collect the words from your mind to fill your tongue. It had been something you yearned for since that first brush of his hand against yours, that first smile you managed to pull from him with an offhand comment, from the first moment he asked you a question in return to one of your own. Even if someone else had shown you the same kindness, his would be the one you sought after. “Be with you.”

“I want that too, sweetheart, more’n anything, but…I hurt you. I know that, I was careless in my attempts to be careful, to not push you. To…surprise you with what I wanted to be the first thing I gifted you.”

“Tommy told me. You know I thought some kids stole that piece of the trunk?” Your eyes glitter with a hint of mirth, teasing tone light and reminiscent of times past. It’s fleeting, the bone deep exhaustion settled in your body not only physical but mental. “I…Joel, I worry about…everything. All the time. You deserve to the chance to thrive here, for Ellie to thrive here and…being with me would-“

“I’d choose you over the town any day, you’ve gotta know that. Me and Ellie, we’ve been through a lot but we’re tough, you don’t gotta worry about us. I know…that people see her lack of manners and anxious tendencies as something that needs to be fixed. Maybe, yeah, the little troublemaker could stand to hold her tongue sometimes but she’s so young, she’s got a lot to unlearn from being raised the way she was. She’s a good kid, she’s good but you are too. We’ll take it slow, because I haven’t done this dance in while, hell, ever really. And I want to do it right, I want to be what you want because I definitely know you don’t need me.”

“I haven’t needed for anything in a long time, but Joel Miller believe me when I saw my days are better when they’re spent with you. Even…even the bad ones to an extent.”

“I’ll apologize a thousand times.” He tightens his grip, tired eyes trained on them. There’s a sadness to them, the depths of which he had let you glimpse once before. Loss, pain, devastation in the wake of when the world has broken and then turned into. You share in that sadness, having lost the person you had devoted your life to protecting, having lost the life you had just begun to flourish in before it was ripped from your hands, having lost a child that you could still hear crying in your sleep some nights…

The words are on the tip of your tongue, the need for comfort from the one person you wanted it from, needed it from. It was true that you had been complacent before him, not concerned with the things people felt the need to pursue in the lives they felt safe enough to pursue here in the town. That he stroked yearning in the very core of who you were, something you hadn’t ever experienced even back when the world was thriving and bustling as it once had been.

“Can we j-just kiss a-and start to move for-forward?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think I exactly deserve that right now…” Your face falls. The small, shy smile dipping and the sides of your mouth dropping into a frown as you feel the burn of tears prickle again behind your cheeks. The rejection hurts, even if you understand why he feels that way and agree with him to an extent that this situation isn’t going to magically fix itself.

“But I do.”

He doesn’t even think to argue, not with the way that he’s leaning close to touch his soft lips to yours as soon as the words leave them.

“I’ve gotta get goin’, sweetheart.” Joel’s whisper roused you, so close you reached for him. Long fingers curling around his wrist, nails lightly scratching the soft skin there. He felt the cumulation of inching out of bed slowly and quietly to not wake you as the vain attempt it was. He should’ve known his efforts would be fruitless, his resolve chipping away to nothing when you breathed his name out on a sleepy sigh. “I got training patrol. Be back early this afternoon, bring you something from the mess hall, alright sweetheart?”

You only hummed in response, lips pressed against his wrist now, sending tingling trickles of sensation all over his body at the easy way in which you displayed your affection for him now. It had been a couple of weeks. Two weeks of you making dinner one night, then walking him through another the next day. Of coffee in the mornings when he wasn’t busy, the never-ending list housed on the spiral notepad in his back pocket present in only the worn fabric over his pockets, the actual thing mysteriously gone. A break for the season, he has said when you asked him, palming the fabric of his back pockets one day.

As you lay in bed, dozing back off in the wake of his departure, Joel is outside the gates with a nervous Millie astride a horse beside him. They stop on as Joel figures an open field a few miles away would be the best bet for practice. Far enough for the sound of gunfire to not echo back and alarm people but close enough to rush back should something go awry.

“Know anythin’ about guns?” He looks over to the younger woman, her eyes wide and her head on a swivel as she constantly takes in her surrounds. He feels a little bad that she’s so on edge, but the only way to make her more comfortable is to get her out more and more. Allow her to see that it doesn’t have to be all bad. But he does understand her reaction, she’s never been outside the walls, had never been outside the town that it was before the walls went up. She had been younger than you when the world shattered, had people to look after her and care for her.

“My daddy taught me how to shoot them when the world fell apart. But that was…a long time ago now.”

“Okay, well, we’re gonna see what suits you better. On patrol we use shotguns, but a handgun will do in a pinch. The key is range, keeping any threat as far away as possible.”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.” She watches him closely as he removes the shotgun slung around his back. He checks that the safety is secured and he holds it out to her as she moves to stand beside him at the beckoning of his hand. He walks her through the general mechanics of the gun, firm in her not placing her finger on the trigger until she was ready to shoot.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Um…I favor my left.” He hands off the gun to her, telling her to practice her grip on the large gun while he rummages in one of the packs attached to his saddle. He’s got a cloth bag that he fills with snow and ice that coats the ground, propping it up a good distance away on top of a long dead tree stump.

Time passes and her aim gets a little better, though she’s taking too long to line up her shots. Joel reminds her to just take a breath in and shoot as she exhales. But the words cut off as he sees movement on the horizon of their spot on in the field. He’s off a ways from her, by the target he had set up for the woman to practice on. He’s turned to hold a halting hand up to her before he takes his own gun out from the holster and puts one of them down.

Another sprints from the cover of the forest nearby, but he’s focused on taking down the other two far too close for comfort. Just as he turns to take out the one closing in on him, it lunges and he’s struggling not to fall with the sudden weight slamming into him. His gun goes flying and he curses out as he tries to fend it off with his arms, the snapping of its mangled teeth loud and far too close to his face.

He wishes he had spent a few more minutes with you in bed, pressing his lips to your forehead to your cheek, to your plush lips, to any part of your body he could as the bullet ripped through him and pain sparked hot across his entire chest. Through it, he manages throw the stunned thing to the ground, another shot flying from across the field to land directly in the back its head. Joel is looking up as he bends down to retrieve his gun, his other hand pressing hard to the burning in his shoulder. Millie is too focused on him to see the blur running toward her, too late in her shifting attention as it grips her shoulder tights. Taking a deep breath, Joel tries to focus as best he can to line up his aim and take out the single Infected that remained.

He shoots and it goes down.

His shoulder throbs and his vision darkens at the edges.

“Joel!” You shout, simmering panic making you forget common manners as you burst through the door leading into the main exam room of the infirmary. There are three beds lined up on the opposite wall, other rooms set up for more serious cases that required overnight stays. Millie and Joel are settled into two of them, the younger trembling and holding her right shoulder while Joel is pressing a kerchief to his front, blood soaking it through.

Marsha is already plastered to the side of her daughter’s bed. Making no noise whatsoever, which was just as uncomforting as you realized how pale she they both were. Blood splattered over Joel while Millie looked relatively unharmed.

Millie launches into a jumble of words as she gets up from the bed, but you stop her in your tracks with a chilling look over your shoulder as you go immediately to Joel’s side.

“You need to back the fuck up, Millie. I told you I’m not engaging with you anymore, now go back to your own bed and mind your business.”

Turning from them, your eyes land on Joel and he’s barely able to keep his eyes open as he lays across the bed. Your heart stutters, as does your voice the closer you get to him.

“You two are just perfect for each other with your penchant for harsh words.” Jealousy was ugly on the older woman, making her act out towards you but more concerningly towards Joel. He hadn’t done anything wrong, even in the moments he had let his anger flare around her and he scolded her for her manipulation and childish behavior. He had told you all about it, about every interaction between them to tide your hurt feelings and assumptions about them. He hadn’t needed to do it, but he had wanted to be completely transparent. To share with you the things he experienced.

“And you would be just perfect for recognizing harsh words, wouldn’t you?” You fire back, not even bothering to look over your shoulder at the woman who had caused so much grief and anxiety. Your words seem to stun her, as she doesn’t rebuff you in anyway, but you feel guilt flash at the kneejerk reaction, still so worried about upsetting anyone or instigating anything remotely unfriendly. But Joel was bleeding and it you were far more worried about him at the moment.

“What ha-hap-happened? That’s so mu-much blood!”.” You ask him quietly, concerned with how his unseen injuries could be affecting him. His fingers twitch, letting you know he was trying to reach out for you. You sidle up beside him, hands reaching for his left as your wide eyes take in the expanse of his naked chest. The nurse has on pink stained white. One of the nurses bursts through the open door, ignoring the tension in the room, quickly getting to work with the tray of equipment she brought in. Her pristine gloves immediately take on a pink stain, blood gushing over his front as she digs a pair of long tweezers into a large bullet hole. She exposes in his right shoulder once she peels back the collar of his jacket and cuts away the tattered collar of his undershirt. “J-Joel, did you g-get ambushed by In-Infected? Or was it peop-people?”

“Was an accident.” He grunts out, hand tightening over yours as the nurse works to stall the bleeding.

“Millie sh-shot you?” You feel ire bubble up ugly and thick, heart beating hard at the thought of Joel out there with no protection other than the person in question, the person who had no idea how to begin to fend for herself or an injured person beyond the walls. She had been so young when the world broke, a few years younger than Aiden had been when you took him as your responsibility, his parents being the first to turn in the restaurant.

“Oh, would you shut up with that god-awful stuttering? Grown woman can’t even speak properly in a moment of crisis.”

“Mother!”

“Making a bad situation worse by simply being here, why don’t you let the nurse take care of him and just leave?”

“Mother, enough! That is no way to talk to Olive, she puts her life on the line every time she goes out beyond the walls. She and Mr. Miller have helped to make this a safe place, you should show her respect and leave her be!”

“Millie Antoinette, that is no way to speak to me.”

“You’re going to lecture me on language with the way you’ve been slinging backhanded insults about Olive all these years? Blaming her for something completely out of her control, berating her for her stutter when you know she can’t help it because the whole town makes her feel like she’s walking on eggshells.”

“This conversation is not over, we will continue this at home.”

Finally turning to look over your shoulder at the way she began to take out her frustrations on Millie, your eyes were set hard and your displeasure was obvious as you took in the way Millie’s good arm was being held far too tightly by the woman.

“Why do-don’t you just keep my na-name out of any future conversations you may have. You’ve caused enough damage, your own daughter paying for your actions and getting injured because of it. Joel getting injured because of it. No one is to blame but you and the influence you’ve lorded over her all these years. Twisting and tainting the memory of the man she loved, the man I devoted my life to protecting and ensuring he got to live a somewhat normal one after the world fell apart. He wouldn’t have wanted her to harbor such ill feelings toward me, toward what happened. But you turned it into something to use against me and you hurt her worst of all, teaching her it was okay to behave like such a child!” Your

You’re breathing heavy by the end of your outburst, finding your voice after stuttering through the first words. Unconsciously reaching for and tightening the hold on Joel’s hand through the entire exchange. He squeezes it in reassurance, through the nurse’s ministrations.

“You tell ‘er.” Joel slurs as the nurse secured a large patch of gauze over his would, betadine staining the edges of the material. The action of pressing down the tape around the corners making him hiss out a pained breath and your attention focuses on him once again.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you ungrateful little-“ You could feel her approach you from behind and you let go of Joel’s hand, not wanting to jostle him should she push or shove you. She was about your height so when you swung your hand out, your palm landed right on her cheek with enough force to turn her head as the sharp slap echoed around the room.

Red blossomed bright on her skin. Her fingers twitched and you landed another hit without thinking before she could make a more intentional move.

“I know you were not about to touch me,” The feeling of your lip lifting up in a slight snarl was unpleasant, but you couldn’t help the visceral reaction to the woman after everything she had done.

Even in the wake of trying to be polite and cordial with her when you thought her and Joel were a thing, she had shown you thinly veiled niceness in return. Her eyes always watching, much like a hawk stalking its prey. But you wouldn’t be her prey any longer, unwilling to play the part she had bestowed upon you for no good reason. You weren’t a malicious person, you weren’t a violent person. Not anymore. You were kind and thoughtful and did everything you could to be nice and help out where you were needed or wanted, and you would not put up with the woman any longer.

She raised her hand up once the shock of your quick movement wore off and you used the back of your forearm to knock it down, your hand sliding down her arm to capture her wrist in your grip. Her widened eyes found yours and you hoped, fleetingly, that she was unnerved. She cried out when her wrist began to smart underneath the force of your grip, trying to pull it from you but you didn’t budge. She was a fool to think using her free hand to pry at the fingers you had wrapped around her to no avail. You saw the thought for her to raise it at you flash across her face before you felt Joel’s hand gently pull at the back of your sweater.

“That’s enough, Marsha.” Maria’s voice was harsh, cutting into the scene suddenly. “Seeing as your daughter is in good hands, let’s have a little chat.”

The woman’s harsh expression, the twist of her mouth about to shape around a degrading insult, the furrow of her brow as she focused on you, it all fell away the second she realized she had an audience.

The nurse tending to Joel moved silently from Joel’s bedside to Millie’s as you released Marsha from your hold to follow behind Maria.

“Olive, I am so sorry. For everything. You’re right, Aiden wouldn’t have wanted any of this. I-I feel so…badly for how I’ve ignored you all these years when I should’ve been there to comfort you. You lost him too.” Millie cries as the nurse tends to her bruised and swollen shoulder, there now that Joel is taken care of. There was a large bruise marring her skin that was around angry looking welts, scratches that looked like they hadn’t broken the skin, no doubt from whatever occurred outside the walls. You tried focus on her, but it was hard with the adrenaline of confronting Marha thumping harshly through your entire body, Joel could surely feel the trembles where he held onto you.

“We were practicing shootin’ and a group of five or six of ‘em came outta the trees.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you began to peel back his opened flannel and shoved up the shirt he had on underneath. Hands frantic as you felt all around his body for signs of a bite. When you brushed against his groin to move down to his legs to check underneath the denim, you noticed he had fallen quiet. Looking up at him from where you were inspecting his shins, you clocked the way he rested the inside of his wrist over his zipper and belt buckle. His face was tinged a little pink at his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

“You could’ve led with that!”

“I’m okay, sweetheart. Millie shot the one that almost got me, but the first shot missed and then she took it down. She didn’t see the one comin’ up behind her cause she was so focused on helpin’ me.”

“Just lay back,” You croon sweetly, gently pushing the bulk of him to sit atop the bed.

“Yes, ma’am.” Joel groans, adjusting his hips as he scoots up to lean against the plush headboard.

It’s soft everywhere in your room, from the fabric of the headboard to your sheets and covers, to the dried flowers and sheer curtains hanging over the windows. He feels swaddled in the best way, completely wrapped up in the little world you’ve created in your space. The mix of him seen interspersed between your many books lining new shelves he crafted for you to replace the old, creaking ones worn down over time. A carved serving plate he had made for you, atop your bedside table and housing a tube of hand lotion, a note left from him the other day when he had to leave in the early hours. One of his flannels hanging up from a set of floral hooks he had made to go on the back of your door.

He was just a present influence in your home as you were in his. From the multiple bottles of oil scattered about his stove top, to the leftovers clearly labeled and stored in his fridge, to the pair of underwear that had ended up nestled with his in the top drawer of his dresser. The very ones you wore underneath his shirts when you slept over in his bed, making the sheets smell a heady combination of you both that had him seeing you in his dreams even more.

It had been a slow dance of homemade dinners, of nights spent in each other’s bed, of searing kisses and soft words shared between you both over the last two months. Both healed from the events that had allowed for the confusing and heartbreaking one to shift to this one, where it was obvious you both wanted each other, both had so much adoration for each other. But you were still so shy around Joel, never letting things go further than wandering hands sneaking beneath clothing.

But tonight, you were feeling so encompassed by the need to see him, to touch him, to be seen and touched by him in return. Tommy had let slip it was your birthday tomorrow when he asked if you were still coming around his and Maria’s for dinner. Joel had been confused why you hadn’t shared that with him, you knew when his birthday was after all. And everything that came tangled with the date.

“Joel,” You whispered against his lips, having moved to hover over his lap with your arms atop his shoulders. His hair had grown long, the thick locks brushed back by his large hands to swoop into gorgeous curls behind his ears and over the back of his neck. Nearly brushing the tops of his broad shoulders, he groaned out as you toyed with the ends of the long locks now. Nervous energy made it hard to keep your hands still and you confessed quietly as you ran your fingers through the curls. “I…I need to tell you something before we- before we, um, do this.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” His eyes blink open, concern and worry glinting in them as he takes in the way you’re worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “We don’t have to do nothin’ if you don’t want to or aren’t ready. Just wanna be with you, no matter what.”

You start and stutter a few times, the words trailing off as your emotions spike and memories find their way to the surface. But it was the right thing to do, to share this part of your past with him. The potential for the mood to be ruined all to glaring as you realized it would be one of the heavier things you shared with the man who had become you partner in every definition of the word.

“Joel, I…I don’t have, um, I don’t have all my…parts.” Waving a hand over your lower stomach, right where you rested over his own. His confusion was obvious as he focused on the part of your body in question, his plush lips parting as he contemplated how to better ask for clarification. But you leaned back a little, your thighs tightened around his hips as you did so to pick up the hem of your camisole and unbutton the jeans you were still dressed in. A faded but thick scar ran from the bottom of your belly button, swooping below it in an imitation of a smile and then down in a straight line from the middle to disappear beneath the band of your underwear. It was completely healed, but still pink in discoloration.

“The doctors at the QZ we briefly stayed at in the beginning of everything…they did a hysterectomy after I had my…son.”

“Olive…” His hands raise from where they were around your hips, shaking slightly as he pauses in his reach to caress the marred skin. His eyes flash up to meet yours in a silent question for consent and at a small nod, he brushes the knuckle of his index finger over it. Shuddering at the soft touch, you watch the way emotions flit across his weathered face.

“They weren’t nice about it, I still…I still have pretty vivid nightmares about it because there was very little anesthesia, something about rationing the drugs and it…it was one of the most painful things I’ve had to endure. But…I thought you-you should know because I know you have some years on me, and you said you don’t think…an accident would happen and you seemed genuinely concerned because of my age. But it wo-won’t because of this.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel presses the palm of his right hand over the scar, the warmth of his skin soothing just as much as the kiss he placed on your cheek. “You’re…you’re okay though?”

“As okay as I can be about it,” You consoled his worry, breath hitching as he gently caressed the skin beneath his hand. “I waited until I was healed a year, when the threat of infection was long gone, then I took Aiden and…and Ezra and I got us the hell out of there.”

He didn’t ask how you lost Ezra, he didn’t berate you for your choice to leave the QZ, he didn’t ask how you had even ended up in that situation in the first place. He didn’t do anything but slowly move to where your back was on the bed, and he was hovering over you. Soft kisses and the brush of his mustache trailing over every inch of skin he could see. His fingers slid beneath the thin straps of your top in a silent question, and you sat up enough to allow him to life the garment from your body. Willing to show yourself to him, to take the offer of his soothing comfort. His breath puffed out at the sight of your naked chest, his fingers skimming up to brush against the supple skin and hardened peaks now on full display.

He clocks the way your fingers move to the buttons of his flannel and fumble, prompting him to take over for you to push it off his own shoulders, his undershirt disappearing along with it to the floorboards. But before you can move onto his belt, he’s gently pressing you back to the bed and pressing the plush softness of his lips to your body, trailing lower and lower until he brushes them so lightly over your scar.

Your breath hitches and you can feel the small smile as he takes his time to worship your body. To sooth the emotions he must know it took to confess something so big, to engage with him in this way even if you wanted to. Mind’s always tickin’ he would tease, no heat behind his words, but adoration.

Fingers skimming over soft skin, the callouses of time and skill a heady sensation over it ahead of his lips, he slowly shimmies the undone fabric of your jeans down your legs. He takes the time to undo and step out of his own pair before he’s back on the bed, attention focused on your legs as he begins to move up, up, up. Only giving you the barest of chances to take in the thick line of his hard cock as it twitches beneath dark fabric.

His fingers slide underneath the waistband of your underwear from where his palms rest wide on your upper thighs, his mouth suckling the plush skin before him. His lips feel like heaven, like finally stepping through your front door after a long shift, like a hot bath after a long day, like a breath of fresh air after being in a stuffy room. It feels like home. Startling slightly at the sudden press of his nose to your clothed core, you feel more than hear the rumble of his chuckle.

“This okay, not too much?”

“Not too much,” you assure, lifting your hips to allow him to drag the fabric down. Heat blooms in your chest, worry for not being as pretty as someone else or as groomed as you used to be. But all of your anxieties and insecurities fade away as you look down and see the way his eyes are trained on your glistening cunt. He groans out as he drags the beck of a knuckle over your puffy outer lips, reveling in the jerk of your hips at the light contact.

“’s pretty, sweetheart. So perfect.” Is all the warning he gives you before he’s spreading you open with both of his hands and burying his face between your thighs. A long, warm wet lick with the flat of his tongue from one end of you to the other has your head thudding against the pillows and your hands searching for purchase in his hair. Pleasure sparkles all over your body, glitters behind your eyes as he tastes you, suckles that little bundle of nerves, as he gently glides two of his thick, warm fingers right inside and curves them up.

His name is a strangled sound puffed into the air, your breath hitching in the way he admitted to loving so much as he begins to pet your inside walls with his fingertips, his lips latched around your clit. His patchy scruff and mustache adding to the feel of him against your skin, against the most intimate part of you he’s taking his time in pleasuring. It takes everything you have to lift your head enough to peer through bleary eyes to find him already staring up at you. His pupils blown so wide there’s no hint of the deep brown they’re made up of. His brow is furrowed in concentration, the tops of his cheeks barely visible a deep hue of pink as he worships you.

While still holding your gaze, he purses his lips and sucks, turning the sparkles of pleasure into hot waves as they overtake you. Your body isn’t your own any longer as it tenses, back arching clean off bed, your thighs clenching around his ears. Your lost in the force of the pleasure he pulled from you as easily as breathing, taken every moan and sigh as signals to what you liked best, listening to your body like he was meant to. It’s no longer yours but his.

“They’re we go, so good, sweetheart. You taste so good,” He murmurs as he helps your through the crest before pulling again to palm at himself through his underwear with one hand, the other holding your bucking hips down to clean every last bit of your release from where his fingers are pulled from you.

Reaching for him, you tug at him, urging him up to his knees so you had run your palm over the trail of dark hair that disappears below his waistband. He moves his hand from where he’s holding himself through the fabric as your fingers sneak below and touch him for the first time. His hips cant, pressing firmly into your willing hand.

“Take these off, please.” You whisper as you wrap your hand around him, barely able to touch the tips of your fingers with the girth of him fully hard. He’s hot against your skin, velvet soft over the rigidness of his cock. Finally seeing all of him as he pulls the fabric down and pushes it past his thighs. You let him go for him to toss them over the side of the bed, eyes taking in the stretch of his body through the action.

He’s peppered with freckles over his tan skin, chest covered in thick hair that’s the same steel grey of his curls, thick thighs tensed with the way he sits before you on his knees. He’s littered with scars, some thin and crisscrossing over each other, some raised thick to disrupt the smoothness of his skin, though none hold the same untold story of the one at his temple. The one he lets you brush softly before sleep. But they don’t take away from his beauty, they enhance it and let you know without a doubt he’s a fighter.

His cock is thick and long, ruddy at the tip and bobbing despite the heft to kiss his stomach as you eye him up and down. Every inch of him is beautiful and you tell him with a sigh, body singing for him to come back to you. Locking eyes with him, you see his own insecurities wash away at the wonder and admiration you gaze at him with.

As soon as you move to reach for him, he’s doing the same. Mouths connecting and laying his body over yours to feel every bit of your skin against his that he can manage, your legs parting to wrap around his waist. You gasp at the bump of his tip to your folds, the breathy sound turning into a moan when he grinds down against you, his hands tangling in your hair as he swallows it straight from your lips.

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he reaches down to grip himself, guiding the ruddy tip to your entrance and holding his breath for the barest of seconds. You nod, unable to form words so wrapped around him, so covered by him, to consumed by him and what he means to you. Twin moans decorate the air as he pushes in, the girth of him stretching you and causing heat to lick at every single nerve.

It’s soft and slow, sensual the way he moves against you. Taking in the moment for all that it is, showing you in the most intimate way what you mean to him as you feel how deep he gets with every thrust. But when you moan out for him to go harder, to go faster – he willingly obliges. The slow roll of his hips shifting into quick snaps against yours, a hand gripping your thigh over his shoulder as he presses down in such a delicious way. You can tell you startle him when you cry out, the head of his cock catching that perfect spot, as your hands scrabble at his shoulders and your nails dig into the freckles skin of his broad back.

Sighing, you take a moment to stretch out your shoulders once you remove the apron from around your neck. It’s well into February and you’ve take back control of the morning shift at the mess hall.

Marsha had done a…well, she hadn’t done the best, but Maria had stepped in the week before you had been due back. To ensure everything was exactly the way you preferred it. It had been a lot of long early morning shifts on top of staying through the lunch service. You had tried to stifle your amusement at Maria complaining about how fast the woman had tried to get through cleaning tasks to get home before the sun set. None of it had been good enough for Maria, knowing that you dedicated yourself to making sure things were not only clean but ‘Olive clean’ as she termed it. Turning the whole dining room and setting up the kitchen for a smooth open the next morning since dinner was normally left to the individual households or the Tipsy Bison.

Part of her punishment was formally apologizing to you and thanking you for your service to the town, but it hadn’t happened. You weren’t holding your breath for it to happen, either. It wouldn’t undo all the anxiety and hesitancy you still had even now interacting with anyone outside of your very small circle.

“Miss Olive?” The sudden voice of someone peeking their head through the swinging door that led into the kitchen caught you off guard. “Oh shoot, I am so sorry! I didn’t meant startle you.”

“Oh, it’s okay, just lost in my own head. How can I help you?”

They step inside, an older couple that comes at the same time everyday, enjoying the quiet before the rest of the residents make their way into the dining room.

“Just wanted to say it was a good meal this morning. We really appreciate all the work you put in providing for the town. Glad to have you back in the swing of things.”

“Oh! Well, th-thank you very much. I’m glad you enjoyed today, had a couple friends urge me to include the pastries.” They nod at you, waving before turning away and disappearing back through the door. A smile graces your lips as you shrug on your coat and wrap a scarf around your neck. The kind words help you to trudge your way through the built up snow from the night before, none of it having melted once the sun rose. The winds are still sharp, piercing in their added chill to the air.

Your home is nice and toasty when you enter, intending to shower the splash of porridge that had gotten you, sinking into your skin even after you had wiped off. But you pause when you catch the scent of fresh coffee and hear a distant grunting coming from your back room. Instincts taking over, you reach for the bat leaning up against the corner behind the front door.

“Hello?” You call out, unsure of who would be in house since Joel was supposed to be on patrol with Ellie. Maria and Tommy wrapped up in council meetings with Macon dropped off at the school to be watched over.

“Jus’ me! Shit-“ A loud thud cuts off Joel’s words and you’re rushing down the hall to find him crouching on the floor, hands busy holding the framework of a shelving unit where it had tilted over. “Hey, sweetheart, wanted to have this done by the time you got back.”

You had torn out the old shelves of the back room, the wall smoothed and painted over a few days ago when you had tried to reorganize everything and one of them came crashing down. Ellie had been over a week or so ago, indulging in your vinyl collection as she did homework while she stayed the night, Joel on an overnight patrol. Apparently, she had shared with him the scary moment that prompted the change to the wall.

“Are you okay?” The words rush out as you move around him to help push the large structure back onto it’s base. He sighs as he stands, knees cracking from the added weight of the wood against him as he tensed and braced against it. When he did, your eyes rove over him to ensure he really was okay. Then the bump on his forehead catches your attention as he looks over to you. It’s red and slightly swollen.

You see the small scrape on his cheek, blood beading up along the thin lines.

“Damn thing just shifted as I was adjusting the line up. ‘m okay, promise.”

But you close in on him, hands cupping his face as you pull it down to you, brushing your lips lightly against the bump as his hands wrap around your waist. Shifting down, you kiss just below the thin scrapes, not wanting to pull at them or irritate them further before reaching for a kerchief from your back pocket and dabbing lightly at the blood. Pulling back to peer into his eyes, you see the almost shy way he’s looking from you to the shelving unit.

“There,” You press your lips to his next, his eyes fluttering shut at the swipe of your tongue against his plush bottom one. He swallows the sound that bursts from your chest as he pulls you close. He tastes like the coffee you had smelled when you first walked through the front door. Humming out an, “All better.”

His grin is bright, the dimple in his right cheek fluttering your stomach as you catch sight of it hidden in his scruff.

“All better.” He parrots before shifting you both so your back is to the wall he had been working on installing the shelving unit against. “But you ain’t supposed to be home yet. Your present isn’t ready.”

“Present? I didn’t ask for anything, Joel Miller.” You crane your head around to try and look at what he was doing, too concerned with him to see what he had been trying to do exactly. But he brought a hand up from your waist to grip at your chin and he halted the movement. “And aren’t you supposed to be on patrol with Ellie?”

“Traded off with Tommy, told ‘im I had something important to do today.”

“Joel…”

“Nu-uh. You’ll have to wait to see it, birthday girl. Macon is due for pick up in an hour,” You huff a laugh as he bends his knees to lift your weight and toss it over his wide shoulder. Hair falling loose around your face, it’s impossible to see anything as he struts out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. He sets you down atop the vanity counter with a light of his own at how disheveled your hair got.

“So pretty,” He muses quietly as he brushes it from your face and tucks it behind an ear. Heat creeps up your face, still not used to such open compliments from the handsome man. Stepping away for a moment, he fiddles with the shower knobs to get the water going, ensuring it’s the perfect temperature that you prefer. He helps you to disrobe, trailing his lips over every inch of your upper body as it becomes exposed before ushering you into the stall with a parting kiss. We’ll head over to Tommy’s for an early dinner once I’m finished up here, yeah?”

“Yes, of course.”

Dinner was a small affair, Ellie using one of the recipe cards you had made for Joel to attempt her hand at a casserole and a cake. The noodles were far too mushy and the cheese was a little too crusted, but you wouldn’t trade her bright smile as she set it down with a flourish for anything in the world. The cake was a touch better, the frosting smooth in most places and the perfect amount of sweetness to counteract the rich chocolate she had been adventurous in trying out. Two candles were lit atop it after meal, her smile infectious as you thanked her and reached to squeeze her smaller frame to yours.

“Alright, alright. Now make a wish and blow them out!” She was excited, Macon imitating her as he bounced in your lap.

“Macon, want to help me?” He gurgled his agreement, barely able to hold his head up and only for short bursts of time. But he pursed his lips as you leaned closer to the cake and blew. He made a sputtering sound, bubbles forming at the corners of his lips and everyone laughed as he seemed shocked at the smoke lifting from the now spent candles. You looked over to Joel, catching the soft smile he was sporting as he watched on.

But you were both in your home now, having left at the assurance of dinner being cleaned up and the kitchen tidied. You were standing in the back room, taking in the sight of what he had been working on all day. Floor to ceiling shelves had been installed on the wall that was shared with the kitchen on the other side. The supplies you kept for the harvest from the olive trees aesthetically placed in the cubbies.

“Joel, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much.” You felt the heat of him as he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle. His deep voice was so close as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. He guided you out of the room and across the hall to your bedroom, waddling his frame around yours as he refused to let go.

“What’d you wish for, sweetheart?” He whispered, as if it was a secret he was hoping to be privy to, your breath hitched as you turned in his arms and snaked your hands around his neck.

“Nothin’, just…for everything to keep on the way it has been. I’ve got everything I need.” You leaned up and kissed him, his hands tightened around your waist, and you giggled as he dipped you a little with his enthusiasm. You could feel his own smile as his lips moved against yours and you breathed out one last laugh before pivoting your bodies toward the bed. He let you, so willing underneath your touch.

The next morning you both rise early before the sun, helping each other dress and then walk hand in hand toward the stables, boots crunching over the thin ice that had formed overnight. Just as you lead Lowry through the gates, Joel astride is own horse, he turns to you with a lopsided grin.

Your eyes trail over him, landing on the worn fabric of his back pocket, the spiral top of his notepad tucked securely inside. It turns out the faded patch was your business after all and you smile at him in return as he speaks.

“So what’s your favorite movie?”

You answer him honestly, earning a huff of slight exasperation for your answer. Turning the question on him as the sound of steady hoofbeats and soft conversation flows over the open plains of your morning route.

previous chapter || end

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