Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru

The air was thick with the scent of expensive whiskey and cigarette smoke. The dim golden glow of the chandelier cast long shadows over the lavish room at the Masamichi-gumi estate.

Bound to a chair in the centre of the room was you, wrists tied behind your back. Across from you, the devil himself lounged on a black leather couch--Gojo Satoru, most feared Oyabun, lazily appraised you, his long fingers swirling the ice in his crystal glass. Those sharp, almost otherworldly, eyes pin you down, studying every micro expression.

"An undercover agent," he muses, tilting his head, feigning surprise. "And here I thought we had something special." Satoru tilted his head toward a figure behind you, his lips quirking up into a smile that seemed far too soft for the hardened criminal.

Across the room, leaning against the mahogany desk, was Geto Suguru--one of Japan's most decorated detectives in the Organised Crime Unit. His presence was in stark contrast to Satoru's--composed, measured, yet no less commanding. His dark eyes flicker between you and Satoru, unreadable, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You knew." Suguru says, voice smooth but edged with something dangerous. His gaze lingered on you, and he swallowed deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing. You were his junior in his department at work, and someone Suguru had grown to really care for. To the point he was so protective over you.

Satoru exhales, setting his glass down. "Tch, of course I knew. What kind of idiot to you take me for, Suguru?" His tone was teasing, but there was something possessive in the way he said Suguru's name, something that tightened the air between them.

Suguru's jaw clenches. This had been a dynamic that had existed between them for years--two sides of the law, two sides of the same coin. Their history tangled with a kind of loyalty that neither time nor duty could sever. And Satoru knew that--he was always pushing Suguru, seeing how far he could test him before Suguru eventually snapped.

Suguru tore his gaze from Satoru, stepping toward you and crouching in front of you. His warm brown eyes softened, his touch gentle as he hooks a finger beneath your chin, searching your eyes. "I told you not to come back here, didn't I, sweetheart?" He murmurs, so quiet, like it was a secret between them. His heart beat for you, as Satoru's beat for him.

Behind him, Satoru watches with interest, clicking his tongue. "Look at you, always the noble one," he murmurs, voice dropping with something akin to jealousy. He stands, placing his glass down and stepping into Suguru's space. His fingers ghost over Suguru's shoulder before retreating. "So protective of our little detective here."

Satoru stepped past Suguru until he was behind you. His gaze honed in on Suguru, sharp and calculated. In a deft movement of his wrist, Satoru presses the blade of a knife to your neck, watching the subtle change in Suguru's expression at the sight.

"You know... Suguru always gets so defensive over the ones he cares about." Satoru spoke lowly, leaning over the back of your chair to murmur in your ear. "Maybe I should test just how far he'd go to save you."