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a-b-riddle · 1 year ago

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Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

4K notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 9 months ago

Text

‎‎‎‎‎🎃 HoshiFighting Halloween Season

‎— Kinktober 2024 !

✨ Hey everyone, I'm excited to announce that I'll be participating in Kinktober 2024! I'll be focusing on writing only for Seventeen, and the content will be strictly 18+! Some of the contents were selected directly from my inbox! Welcome to Kinktober 2024!

WARNINGS: Some of the content in this Kinktober 2024 will feature fetish elements. If you're sensitive to explicit content or have any concerns about specific topics, please exercise caution and discretion before proceeding.

👻 PART ONE

‎— Day 1; Seungcheol ᯓ★ High Heels Fetish

‎— Day 2; Jeonghan ᯓ★ Virginity Loss

‎— Day 3; Joshua ᯓ★ Collar

‎— Day 4; Junhui ᯓ★ Role Reversal

‎— Day 5; Hoshi ᯓ★ Guided Masturbation

‎— Day 6; Wonwoo ᯓ★ Ghost Face

‎— Day 7; Woozi ᯓ★ Accidental Stimulation

🎃 PART TWO

‎— Day 9; Mingyu ᯓ★ Gun Play

‎— Day 8; Minghao ᯓ★ Candle Play

‎— Day 10; Seokmin ᯓ★ Window Sex

‎— Day 11; Seungkwan ᯓ★ Student/Professor Roleplay

‎— Day 13; Chan ᯓ★ Lap Dance

‎— Day 12: Vernon ᯓ★ Dominatrix

‎— Day 14; Seungcheol ᯓ★ Mutual Masturbation

🔮 PART THREE

‎— Day 15; Jeonghan ᯓ★ 69

‎— Day 16; Joshua ᯓ★ Fake Saint

‎— Day 17; Junhui ᯓ★ Sensitive Reader

— Day‎ 18; Hoshi ᯓ★ Wet Dream

— Day 19; Wonwoo ᯓ★ Brother's Best Friend

‎— Day 20; Woozi ᯓ★ Tutor + Spanking

‎— Day 21; Minghao ᯓ★ Telepathic Sex

🧸 PART FOUR

‎— Day 22; Mingyu ᯓ★ Stripper!Mingyu x Stripper!Reader

‎— Day 23; Seokmin ᯓ★ Under the Desk

‎— Day 24; Seungkwan ᯓ★ Aphrodisiac

‎— Day 25; Vernon ᯓ★ Slight Food Play

‎— Day 26; Chan ᯓ★ Exhibitionism

‎— Day 27; Seungcheol ᯓ★ Dildo Riding

‎— Day 28; Jeonghan ᯓ★ Anonymous Sex

🍷PART FIVE

‎— Day 29; Joshua ᯓ★ Succubus

‎— Day 30; Junhui ᯓ★ Balcony Sex

‎— Day 31; Hoshi ᯓ★ Halloween Party + Playboy Bunny Costume

✨ BONUS

— Tutor!Woozi (part 2)

— Telepathic Sex with Minghao (part 2)

2K notes · View notes

marauder-misprint · 7 months ago

Text

Checked box

Sirius Black x Potter!reader

13k words

cw: fluff, little bit of snogging, pinning, hurt/comfort (I guess?)

“Black is snogging Eloise Garner in the corridor,” Mary says as she sits down for breakfast at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

“Bit early for a snog, isn’t it?” you ask, not looking up from your paper.

“I’d say so,” she responds, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Isn’t that like the third girl this week?” Lily asks.

“Feels like he’s trying to at least snog every girl in our year and then some,” Marlene answers.

The group is silent for a moment as Mary, Marlene and Lily all stare at you.

“Well? Is he?” Lily asks.

“How would I know?”

“Because he is quite literally in your lap every evening?” Marlene replies. “Honestly, if we didn’t know you, we’d say you two were dating. Or at least you’d’ve been the first one he snogged.”

You make a face at that assumption. “My brother’s best friend, believe it or not, does not confide all of his life’s mission to me.”

“You’re probably one of them,” Mary giggles.

“Except I’m basically his sister!”

“Siblings don’t act like that around each other,” Lily says with a smile.

“James!” you call to your brother who is a few seats down from the group. “Does Sirius like me romantically?”

He looks up from his Quidditch book, eyes wide.

“What? What did he do to you?”

He slams his book down and quickly walks down the table toward the girls. He crouches next to you so he wasn’t towering over you.

“What did Padfoot do?”

You laugh at your brother. “Nothing, James. But these three,” you gesture to the girls around you, “think I’m on his to-be-snogged list. I’m not, am I?” Your words were teasing, already knowing that you weren't.

“I’ll damn ensure that you’re not,” he growls, shaking his head.

“But there is a list?” Marlene pipes up. Her eyes glitter with intrigue.

“Not a list, per se… But he does seem to have trouble keeping to one girl for long.”

“And there you have it, folks! No real list and even if there was, I’m not on it.” You turn to look at James who doesn’t seem to be moving from where he crouches behind your shoulder. “Thanks James. You can, uh, go sit down now.”

“Oooh! Speak of the devil!” Mary chirps, looking toward the Great Hall door where Sirius was entering alone.

“Morning, pumpkin,” Sirius says, ruffling your hair. “Girls.”

James had waited until Sirius made it to the girls. The boys went down to their usual spots down the table. Once sat, James bursts into hurried whispers that lead to numerous glances being sent in the girls’ direction.

“How come I can’t call you pumpkin?” Lily pouts. Of all the pet names, pumpkin was your least favorite.

You roll your eyes before answering. “He’ll be reprimanded later for that. Don’t you worry, dearest Lily.”

“Reprimanded in your sex dungeon?” Marlene gasps, a hand over her heart.

You smack her with your paper from across the table. “Don’t you start a rumor like that!”

“I could totally see you having one though!” Marlene insists.

“What is your dominatrix name?” Lily asks, gently bumping into your shoulder.

“You are all too horny this morning. I’ll see you in class.”

You quickly gather your things, take one last sip of coffee and leave the hall. The day seems to go on as usual for you. You sat with the girls in most of your classes. You’re glad the conversation of Sirius’ list had been left at breakfast. There are minor differences in the boys during classes. They appeared to have shuffled their seating arrangements, but it doesn’t affect you until History of Magic. You usually sit next to Sirius. Instead, you were sat next to Peter while Sirius sat on the other side of James. Peter wasn’t your favorite of James’ friends but you could tolerate him.

There was definitely something different about Sirius in the common room after dinner. You usually hung out with her brother and his friends in the evenings. This would often lead to you sitting with Sirius on the couch, one of you draped over the other. Depending on who was sitting and who was lounging, you would play with each other’s hair or do homework or take a brief nap. You liked when Sirius would read you the assigned chapter because you otherwise wouldn’t read it. This evening, however, Sirius sat in an armchair nowhere near you. You frown as you watch him sit down and proceed to avoid your gaze.

The altered seating arrangement and not sitting with you on the couch continues for the next few days. By Friday evening, it is driving you crazy. You need to know what is going on. You wait until most people have gone to bed before deciding to confront him. Sirius was usually one of the last people up so you knew that waiting it out would be okay.

“Black, come ‘ere,” you say.

He looks over at you with a confused look on his face. He had been watching the fire, lost in his own thoughts. When he doesn’t move, you pat the couch cushion next to you. Reluctantly, he gets up and move to sit next to you.

“What’s up, pumpkin?”

“What’s up with you?” you ask, your brows furrowed. “Feels like you’ve been on the other side of the Earth this week.”

He shrugs, looking back towards the fire. “Just following directions.”

“Whose directions?”

“Prongs.”

“And, pray tell, what did that idiot tell you to do?”

“To stay away from you?” he replies, obvious confusion in his voice.

You pinch the bridge of your nose in mild frustration. “When was this?”

“Uh, earlier this week at breakfast. Made it seem like it was partly at your request?”

You shake your head. “Leave it to James to mess something up. No. He said he would make sure I didn’t end up as another checked box on your list. That would be all him.”

“Another checked box? What list is this?” Sirius asks with a slight chuckle as he looks at you.

“The list of every girl in our year and then some,” you giggle, slightly relieved that it seems like he doesn’t have such a list. “You know, your apparent mission to kiss every one. And maybe get some.”

He quickly turns back to the fire, hoping to hide the brief look of embarrassment that crosses his face. You see it anyway and feel your face flush slightly.

“There’s no list. And you certainly wouldn’t be a box on it if it were.”

“Ouch, Black,” you say with semi-fake hurt. “Cut me deep.”

“Please, I would be neutered if I kissed you.”

You laugh. Your laugh is enough to draw Sirius’ gaze away from the fire again. He loves seeing you smile that widely and knowing it was something he said to get you to.

“Why were you talking about that imaginary list anyways?”

“Mary saw you snogging Eloise and apparently thought I would know if this list existed,” you say with a soft chuckle.

“And James was a part of this conversation?” he asks in disbelief.

“Well, I called him over when the girls didn’t believe that we aren’t romantically involved, let alone never kissed.”

Sirius shakes his head with a small smile playing on his lips. “And that leads to James declaring that I need to be at least a meter away from you at all times?”

“I asked him two questions. Do you like me romantically and was I on your to-be-snogged list?” You pause. “You know, he never actually answered the first one.”

“That would be because he doesn’t know,” Sirius says, turning his head almost 90 degrees to crack his neck. “You know how much he hates being wrong… So he’s not going to give an answer if he doesn’t know if it’s right.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I don’t discuss everything with Prongs. Although, he never has asked how I feel about you.”

You chuckle and nudge Sirius with your shoulder. “You don’t have to pretend like you might have feelings for me. It’s… fine that you don’t.” The words taste bitter in your mouth, but you try to sound genuine. You would be lying if you said you never imagined things developing between the two of you.

“Why do you assume I don’t?” Sirius asks, cocking his head as he looks at you intently.

“Why would you be snogging anything that moves in a skirt if you liked me and you’ve never made a move for me?”

“I thought we agreed that Prongs would have me neutered if I kissed you?” He takes a breath. “And maybe knowing that I could very well lose my best friend if I went after the girl I actually like is the reason I go from girl to girl. None of them make me feel like she does.”

“Wait, what?”

“There’s just more than one reason why you can’t be a checked box on this list,” Sirius says, standing up. “Goodnight, pumpkin.”

He places a gentle kiss on top of your head before heading up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories. You stare after him dumbfounded. Has Sirius just essentially told you that he did like you and then leave?

Despite knowing that he was well out of earshot, you still say, “That’s not my name.”

None of the students remaining in the common room pay you any attention as you sit on the couch alone, talking to yourself now. You slump into the cushions and take over Sirius’ habit of staring into the fire. You understand why he does it. The way that the flames dance and flicker and radiate heat is calming.

You are distracted all weekend by what Sirius had said. You bury yourself in homework and use it as an excuse to avoid the Quidditch game. It’s Slytherin against Hufflepuff so your absence isn't insulting to James. Despite being tucked away in a distraction-free corner of the library, you make little progress on your homework. Your mind kept wandering back to Sirius and what he had said. You had worked hard to bury all of your feelings for him years ago, assuming it would never happen due to his close friendship with James. Your feelings continued to remain buried as he got closer with you and never hinted that he might like you more than a friend.

In your dorm, you ignore the comments from Lily and Mary that for someone who spent all weekend in the library, you made such little progress on your assignments, or that they were done extremely poorly.

On Monday, you really do try to pay attention in class, but it is futile. Even after a weekend of him on your mind, your thoughts keep drifting back to Sirius, who is in most of your classes. Even worse, you come to realize that you have no one to talk to about it so you can only let your mind spin as it had for the past two days. You think you disguise your distraction fairly well in classes until Remus grabs your hand in Potions before you can tip an ingredient into your cauldron.

“Are you trying to blow up the classroom?” he hisses at you.

You blink at him and then look at what you had been about to pour into your brew. He is right. If you had dumped it in, your cauldron would have blown up and severely damaged those around you. You give Remus a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Remus… Been a bit distracted lately.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You give him a look. “Is it obvious?”

“You didn’t bother to apologize or clean up your spilled inkwell in Transfiguration,” he says with a soft smile. “If Lily hadn’t quickly cleaned it up for you, McGonagall would’ve given you detention.”

“Huh… I’ll have to thank her later…”

“What’s got you so distracted?”

“Nothing too important,” you lie.

“If I’m almost blown up over it, it must be important.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal. I just don’t have anyone to talk to about it so it’s… festering.”

Remus turns back to his own potion.

“Must be quite the topic if you have no one to talk to about it.”

You scrunch your face as you add the correct ingredient to your potion, causing it to turn a pleasant blue color.

“What does that mean?”

“You have plenty of people who care for you. And if none of us are good enough, you could probably have your pick of first years who would love to listen to your problems.”

You chew at the dead skin of your bottom lip, looking at Remus and knowing he was right.

“Don’t be mad but sometimes I forget that you are also my friend, not just James’. And that you are the most understanding person on this planet.”

He chuckles softly, not trying to draw attention to himself. “Understandable. But what is it that you feel you have no one to talk to about?”

“It’s too public in here,” you say, looking around the room. “It’s something I can’t talk to the girls about because they will all tease me endlessly if I do. And I can’t talk about it with James because we don’t really discuss that kind of stuff often and he overreacts.”

“And Sirius?”

You purse your lips.

“Oh,” Remus says, suddenly understanding. “Let’s discuss this after class when I’m certain I’ll be in less danger of blowing up.”

Once your potions are turned in to Professor Slughorn, you and Remus leave the classroom together. Lily, Mary and James give you questionable stares as you disappear around the corner. Neither of you say a word until you are more secluded in the grounds of Hogwarts. You walk down towards the Black Lake. Anyone trying to eavesdrop would have a harder time hearing you over the sound of waves.

“What did Sirius do?” Remus asks, sitting down and resting his back against a tree.

Mimicking his actions, you answer, “It’s what he said when I confronted him for avoiding me all last week.”

“Wasn’t that at your request?”

“No. James is a liar.”

“Okay?”

“Long story short, Mary, Marlene and Lily…” you start to say before putting your head in your hands and groaning. “Screw that. Does Sirius like me?”

“He lets you touch his hair. Of course he likes you.”

You lift your head to look at Remus. “Does he like me as more than a friend?”

“What did he say to you?”

“I asked first.”

“I can only speak if I know what he told you.”

You sigh heavily and turn your gaze to the lake.

“Something like he’d lose James if he kissed the girl he actually likes and that’s why he’s been kissing every girl who looks his way. And then that there’s more than one reason why I can’t be another checked box on the list of girls he’s kissed.”

Remus puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, darling…”

“Remus, does he like me?”

“I believe he does.”

You whip your head towards him. “What do you mean, you believe?”

“He’s not known for pouring his heart out. You know that. He’s private with his more personal feelings,” Remus says, choosing his words carefully. “But I have eyes and ears. The way he looks at you, especially when James isn’t looking. The way he acts around you. The way he talks to you, and about you. … And he calls you pumpkin.”

You don’t say anything. You were taking it all in, although you don’t quite understand why him using that pet name held significance. You just want Remus to keep talking.

“You know about his home life,” he continues.

You nod.

“I don’t think I could say all the ways it makes him the way he is. We’ve only heard snippets of it. I think there’s a lot he has walled off. And he has a found family in us. In James specifically. So he’s going to tread lightly around anything that could harm that.”

You bite the inside of your lip. You know you have been let inside some of Sirius’ walls. There were the miscellaneous late nights filled with more vulnerable conversations over the past two years. A particularly horrendous nightmare had brought Sirius to the common room to sit by the dying fire, and you had already been sitting there. You had been unable to sleep with your own anxieties. You snuggled into each other on the couch and talked until Sirius felt okay to go back to sleep.

Even with that memory in your head, the thing you say is, “So James’ irrationality is why Sirius hasn’t made a move on me?”

“Part of it… but that’s not what you’re taking away from this conversation. There’s more than Prongs in this equation.”

You sigh and rest your chin on your hands. The sun was beginning to set and it reflects beautifully on the lake’s shimmering surface.

“You’re also in the equation,” Remus reminds you. “Do you like him as more than a friend?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Remus John Lupin, I’ve been in love with him since second year.”

The moment you say that, it hits you like a brick wall. The buried emotions all bubble up and you lean back into the tree forcefully. Your head hits the trunk with a soft thud and you groan at the sudden pain. You know that you thought Sirius was cute from the moment you met him but it did take time and a little bit of maturing for you to decide that you liked him in that way. And because he is your brother’s best friend, you kept quiet about it, even to your female friends. Despite playing it off, you were bothered when you heard about him snogging another girl in the corridor. You were bothered when you heard girls giggle about how handsome he was and how they hoped he would give them attention or take them to Hogsmeade. You relish in the fact that out of every one of his friends, he chose to sit next to you in the common room night after night. And you treasured every time he let you see that vulnerable side of him that he kept so well hidden behind his bright smile and boisterous laugh and devil-may-care attitude.

“If that’s true, why haven’t you made a move?”

You laugh again, nudging Remus’s shoulder.

“I thought you were the smart one of the group. He’s James’ best friend. His best friend who has never once shown an inkling of romantic interest in me. Why would I risk that level of embarrassment with someone who is obviously going to be in my life as long as I stay close with James?”

“Do you ever think that maybe he thought the same thing?”

“Rems, I…”

“Love, listen. I can’t tell you what to do. I can’t tell you for certain that he likes you. But I suggest you talk to him. Probably when James isn’t around. And if it comes to it, screw what James thinks. He just cares for you and doesn’t want to see you hurt. You are twins after all.”

You sit in silence for a minute. The crashing waves of the lake fill the air as the sun disappears over the horizon.

“Rems, thanks for this. But we did miss dinner,” you finally say.

You stand up and hold out a hand to Remus. He takes it with a smile. He grunts as he stands up, like the old man the boys often compare him to.

“You act like we don’t know where the kitchens are…”

After a quick stop by the kitchens for sandwiches, you enter the common room together. You are greeted by multiple versions of “There you are!” and “I told you they’d be together, I saw them leave Potions together!” It seems as if your disappearance had captured the attention of every sixth year Gryffindor.

“You missed dinner!” James chides.

“We grabbed sandwiches,” you say, holding up your almost finished grilled cheese.

“What were you doing?” His eyes narrow at Remus.

“Talking?” Remus answers, moving past James to sit by in a chair by the fire.

You, however, feel frozen with James in front of you and the eyes of many Gryffindors on you.

“Talking kept you from food?” Marlene asks in disbelief. “Must’ve been some conversation.”

“I’d say it was enlightening,” you say.

“Did he teach you Lumos?” Peter asks from the couch.

“Ha,” Remus says dryly.

“Are you okay?” James asks you in a hushed tone as the non-sixth year Gryffindors slowly turn back to their own conversations.

“Yes? I just needed to talk to Rem about something private.”

“Something private?” he asks, trying to get more information out of you. “With Moony? Come on, what is going on?”

“Nothing is going on. God forbid a girl talks to her male friends.”

“If nothing is going on, then tell me what you were talking about.”

“You are not privy to my every conversation,” you snap.

“I am a bit when it’s with one of my best mates.”

“Your best mates are also some of my best mates, James. Learn to share.”

Your voices were increasing in volume.

“Do I need to talk to him too?” James asks, placing a hand on your shoulder which you immediately shrug off.

“No! And I never asked you to talk to Sirius!”

Sirius looks from Remus to you to James at the mention of his name.

“You asked if you were…”

“I asked for information. That’s all. And you have the audacity to tell him to stay away from me?”

“I’m protecting you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” you spit. “And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be from your friends.” You look over at the boys and then back at James. “If anyone needs protecting from the people you call your best mates, then you need to reevaluate the kind of company you keep.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Let me get hurt.”

You give James one last nasty look before finally being able to move your feet. You disappear into the girls’ dorms. As you walk away, you can feel eyes watching your every move. Apparently if you argue with your brother loudly, the common room is forced to give you all of their attention. Once out of sight, James collapses on the couch, refusing to look at anyone. Lily, Marlene and Mary watch James sit down and then follow you up the stairs. Lily hesitates a moment before knocking on the door to your shared dorm.

“Lovie?” she called softly as she opened the door a crack. “Potter!”

The door creaks loudly as it opens wider. You had changed out of your uniform and into muggle clothes. You are sitting on your bed, lacing up your heavy boots with a small bag next to you.

“Going somewhere?” Marlene asks. She is the first of the girls to enter the room.

“I need to clear my head.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” Lily asks, trying to keep her voice calm and gentle.

“Heard about some poachers gathering in the forest. And if I can’t find them, I’ll find some trolls or dugbogs or something.”

“And you plan on going alone?”

You shoot the girls a warning look. “Yes. Evans, if you threaten detention, make it for Thursday.”

Lily doesn’t say anything.

“What did you and Lupin talk about?” Mary inquires, not quite seeing that you aren’t in the mood to talk about that yet.

“Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter.”

You, having finished lacing your boots, grab you bag and storm out of the dorm. You have to push past Mary who is still standing in the doorway. Your heavy footsteps silence the common room before you finish descending the stairs. Eyes follow you as you leave the common room. Once out of the portrait, the common room roars to life again.

“So… what the fuck?” Peter asks, looking at his friends.

“She’s pissed off,” Remus says coolly. “And I’d say for decent reason.”

James gives him an annoyed look.

“That time of the month, is it?”

“Peter, no!” Remus chastises. “She’s just figuring stuff out.”

“Care to share with the class?” James asks.

“I’d prefer to not spend the next two weeks in the hospital wing so I’ll let her tell you when she’s ready.”

“So we’re going to let her go off like that?” Sirius asks, speaking up for the first time since you and Remus came back.

“Yes,” Remus and James say at the same time.

“Like she said, she doesn’t need protection,” Remus says, sending a wary glance to James.

---

Remus was mildly surprised that when he woke up, Sirius wasn’t in his bed. He was, however, less surprised when he found Sirius slumped on the couch in the common room. Remus approached him, ready to wake him up, only to find that Sirius was awake. His hair was slightly frizzy and dark bags formed under his eyes. He was still in his disheveled uniform from the day before, having never gone up to their dorm after dinner.

“Pads?” he says gently. “Were you up all night?”

Sirius looks away from the fire groggily.

“Huh?” He processes what Remus had asked him. He sits up, his back loudly cracking as he does so. “Yeah. Someone had to wait for Potter to get back.”

“And you didn’t come up when she did?”

Sirius shakes his head before running a hand through his curls.

“She didn’t, Moons. She didn’t come back.”

Remus’ eyes go wide.

“No, surely she came back. You must’ve drifted asleep at some point.”

“She didn’t. I was awake the whole time.”

Remus sits next to his friend, placing a hand on his knee. “Maybe she got back recently and just went straight to breakfast? How ‘bout we go get some, yeah?”

“Let me change,” Sirius mutteres, giving Remus a tired look.

He doesn’t move for a minute. His brain feels too fuzzy and wired at the same time. Convincing his legs to support his weight as he eventually stands up is more of a task than he anticipates. He is quick in getting ready for the day in their dorm. He doesn’t understand how James is still asleep, or how he had slept at all when you weren’t in the castle for all they knew. Sirius ties his hair back and looks at his reflection with his fresh uniform on. Despite his attempts to make himself look presentable, not having slept at all and being filled with worry makes him look exhausted, which is how he felt. He just doesn’t want to show it. He sighs and returns to Remus.

Sirius watches the Great Hall door as he slowly eats some breakfast. He drinks some coffee that Remus pushed towards him, saying something along the lines of needing caffeine if he was planning on making it through the day. When the girls sit down, they confirm that you hadn't been in their dorm that morning and your bed looked unslept in. Sirius groans. The girls exchange curious looks.

Palpable concern and worry finally reaches the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors when they are all sat in Charms and you still weren't there.

“You’re certain that she didn’t come back and just made her bed when she got up?” James asks Marlene.

“Positive. All of her school things were still there. The bed hadn’t been touched.”

“And since when does she make her bed?” Lily asks.

Halfway through class, you enter the room. All eyes turn to look at you. You have multiple bandages over your body, looking freshly applied. You hand Professor Flitwick a note and take your spot next to Mary. You don’t say anything to all the Gryffindors staring at you. You just open your book to the same page as Mary and turn to look at the professor, hoping he’d continue his lesson where he left off.

“Where have you been?” Mary whispers, not looking at you.

“Forest. And then hospital wing,” you reply nonchalantly.

“Did you sleep?”

“No. I’ll be fine,” you assert. “Now shush.”

After Charms ends, the Gryffindors surround you so you can’t slip away to your next class. You avoid making eye contact with any of them as you gather your things and attempt to push through them.

“Going into the forest at night is one thing,” Lily chides. “Not coming back until halfway through the first lesson of the day is another.”

“Okay, mum,” you say shortly, still trying to push through the group.

“Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” James asks.

You glare at him. “Certainly not to you.”

“You look like you barely came back in one piece!” he exclaims. “I’m shocked Pomfrey let you leave the hospital wing.”

A wicked glint shines in your eyes. “Oh, she didn’t. I just left.”

“Potter!” Mary gasps.

“Macdonald!” you mimic with an eye roll. “If you lot don’t get out of my way, I’ll be late for Ancient Runes and I’m already on thin ice with Raltmole.”

You finally push through the group and leave them in the Charms classroom. They exchange frustrated looks before following you out. They split up for their respective classes, Remus and Lily following you towards the Ancient Runes classroom.

“Did you find the poachers you were looking for?” Lily asks tentatively once they sit on either side of you.

You nod. “And then some. The hippogriffs they had weren’t happy to be freed.”

“Did you bow to them?” Remus asks.

“No? Was I supposed to?”

“Yes!” Remus breathes.

You hum and spin your quill in your fingers. “Now I know for next time.”

Professor Raltmole gathers the class’ attention and begins her lecture. Remus takes a ratty piece of parchment from his bookbag and scrawls a short note on it before sliding it across the desk toward you.

Padfoot waited up for you

You quickly read it, write a response and slide it back.

Is that why he looks like living death?

He didn’t sleep because you were gone

You crumple the paper when you get it back from Remus. You shove it in your pocket, away from Lily’s view.

“I’ll talk to him later,” you hiss to Remus.

An angry Madam Pomfrey yells at you in front of most of the castle at lunch for sneaking out of the hospital wing when you were clearly still in need of tending to. An excuse of not wanting to miss more class seemed to ward her off, but you feel the nurse’s frustrated gaze on you for the rest of the meal. Mary and Marlene ask you about the poachers you dueled as you walked to your next class. You recount a watered down version of the previous night’s events for them. You make sure that your injuries still make sense but their severity less. The girls are simply impressed and less concerned for their friend.

You are happy when the second half of the day is more concentrated on schoolwork rather than what you had gotten up to last night. You didn’t want to keep reliving being outnumbered by the poachers and just barely getting out without being too injured. The fear in the hippogriffs’ eyes haunted you. It reminds you that what you did was right, but they had still attacked you after you unlocked their cages. Sitting at dinner, you gently touch the bandage on her face and wince.

“If it hurts, you probably shouldn’t touch it,” Lily says. “Or go see Pomfrey again. I’m sure she’d love to patch you up more.”

“Going back is admitting defeat,” you say definitively.

You wouldn’t go back, not even when your bandages need to be replaced. You know that the boys have plenty of bandages in their dorm and you could use some of those. You worried that Pomfrey would handcuff you to a cot and place a charm on it so you couldn’t escape. You were determined to not be held captive to the nurse.

You fold gravy into your mashed potatoes until they turn a gross shade of pale brown. Your whole body had started to ache during the last lesson of the day. The pain is stronger than your hunger and all you want to do now is sleep. However, you weren’t dumb. Your friends would have cursed you into next week, or at least taken you to Madam Pomfrey, if you hadn’t shown up to dinner. You sigh as the plates in the middle of the table clear and replenish with desserts. Nothing looks appetizing. You force yourself to swallow some of the potatoes so you could claim that you did have some dinner. After a few bites, you resume swirling the soft mush around your plate.

“Darling, you done?” Marlene asks, standing up across from you.

You look up, noticing that a fair amount of students had already left the Great Hall.

“I guess so,” you say.

You walk back to the Gryffindor Tower in silence. Marlene seems to read your body language, which says you aren’t in the mood to talk anymore. Your face has a hardened look to it with your arms crossed over your chest. After giving the password, Marlene makes sure to hold open the portrait for you so it doesn't close on you.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t smile a little when you saw Sirius sitting on the couch with no one else. Marlene heads for the girls’ stairs, half expecting you to follow her up. Instead, you make a beeline for the couch and lay down, your head resting in Sirius’ lap.

“Hey Black,” you say, looking up at him.

“Aren’t you exhausted?” he asks, looking down at you. “I think you got as much sleep as I did last night.”

“So Remus says,” you reply.

Sirius twirls some of your hair around his finger, something he had done hundreds of times before. Only this time, you see it as something more tender, all thanks to what Remus had said the day prior. It sent off butterflies in your stomach.

“Must’ve been some conversation you two had yesterday,” Sirius mumbles. “What else would keep you out so late?”

You scoff. “James being a prat. But it was some conversation. I think I needed to hear it.”

Sirius’ expression softens.

“What did you need to hear?”

“It was… a reality check.”

You pause, studying the look on his face. You are vaguely aware of the other people in the common room, but the way Sirius is looking at you could’ve convinced you that you were the only one in the entire castle with those grey eyes. Without saying anything to each other, you feel as if the only things you can hear are your breathing and the muted crackling of the fire not far from you. You reach up and tuck a curl behind his ear, revealing his multiple piercings that he’d gotten over the years. You notice his breathing hitch as your hand gently grazes his face. You smile at him.

“So between the reality check and Mr. Bitchiness himself, I needed to clear my head.”

Sirius shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

“I think you should find a way to clear your head that doesn’t involve barely coming back in one piece, Potter.”

“I thought you called me pumpkin.”

“I thought you hated being called that.”

“I do, but I let you get away with it.” You gently poke the tip of his nose playfully. Your gaze briefly flicks to his lips before returning to his eyes. “You’re… special.”

“That doesn’t look like a meter,” James’ voice calls, bringing you back into the noise of the common room.

You can see your brother standing over the two of you behind the couch. His face isn’t quite murderous, but it was getting there.

“She’s exhausted and in pain and you come swooping in?” James accuses Sirius. “I thought I told you to give her space.”

You sit up and glare at James, the tenderness of the moment with Sirius evaporated.

“Excuse you,” you say, a disgusted snarl creeping up on your face. “He did no such swooping. And you can’t tell people to stay away from me.”

“I’m your brother! It’s my job to keep people away from you,” he says, giving his friend a sour look. “Especially when I think they have immoral intentions.”

“Have you considered that I’m the one who came to him and not the other way around?”

“Why would you?”

You blink. “Because he’s my friend?”

“He’s my friend,” James says.

You can’t stop yourself. You slap James across the face. You feel your own face burning and tears beginning to brim in your eyes.

“I see you didn’t learn anything from last night, you git,” you spit at him.

You stand up, leaving Sirius alone on the couch. He watches in silence as you turn to leave the common room. You slam the portrait behind you, earning a scolding from the Fat Lady about respect. The common room remains silent as Sirius looks up at James.

“Prongs, I swear, she came to me,” he says. “I was sitting here and she came to me. She walked in with Marlene long after we came back from dinner.”

“Whatever, Pads. Just keep your distance from her, like you said you would.”

Sirius lets his lips form a thin line as he looks away from James and back to the fire. Technically, he had never said he would keep away from you. James had just insisted on it. James sighs heavily, glancing at the portrait hole. He is glad that you didn’t go upstairs to change and grab whatever you would need to go out again, but you leaving in such a fury wasn’t ideal either. He turns and goes back up to their dorm. When Remus sees how upset James is, he immediately goes to check in on Sirius, letting Peter work on calming James down.

Remus sits on the other side of the couch. Sirius is radiating an energy that said he needed a little bit of space around him.

“Padfoot,” Remus says, speaking tentatively. “What just happened? Why is Prongs in a huff again?”

“He’s accusing me of trying to defile her when she’s not in her right mind.”

Remus isn’t a fan that Sirius didn’t look at him when he talked. He didn’t want his friend to stay up all night staring into the fire again.

“Where is she?”

Sirius shrugs. “Slapped Prongs and left.”

Remus raised his eyebrows and leaned toward Sirius.

“She slapped him?” he asks, trying to hold in some laughter. “Honestly, someone needed to and it’s good it came from her. He’ll forgive her.”

“Do you think he’d forgive me?” Sirius asks, his voice barely audible and eyes still not leaving the flickering flames.

“Forgive you for what?” Remus asks cautiously. “Did you… defile her?”

Sirius scoffs. “No, Merlin… But… fuck. Nevermind.”

Remus scoots to the middle cushion of the couch. He places a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius looks away from the fire. His cheeks are dusted with a faint blush.

“Padfoot, be honest with me. How do you feel about her?”

Remus’ voice is soft. It has a sense of pleading to it, as if begging Sirius to admit something he doesn’t want to, as if begging him to be more vulnerable in the middle of the common room than he has ever been before. Sirius just shakes his head with a frown.

“That doesn’t matter.”

With a harsh sigh, Remus tries again. “Prongs doesn’t matter right now. How do you, Padfoot, Sirius Orion Black, feel about her?”

“Like she is the most precious thing.” He closes his eyes and turns his face toward the fire again. “But Prongs does matter. So how I feel doesn’t. I need his friendship more than I need a relationship.”

Remus gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Imagine if everything went right though… You and Prongs could legally be brothers.”

Sirius coughs in surprise at his words. Of course, he had thought about it from time to time. James was his brother in practically all ways except literally. You, being alluring as you were, were something different. You weren't a sister to him. What he feels for you isn’t what he would feel for a sister and it is certainly more than anything he has felt for any other girl.

“Think about it, Pads, yeah?” Remus suggests, giving his shoulder another squeeze. “You think Wormtail has calmed Prongs down enough for it to be safe to go back up there?”

Remus glances toward the stairs. Then he looks back at Sirius, who has opened his eyes but stares absently at the hearth.

“You said she left the common room? You don’t think she’ll be gone all night again, do you?” Remus questions, his voice having more concern than before.

“She’ll be back… Although it might be better if I’m not down here when she returns…”

---

You spend the rest of the week avoiding James. You put as many people in between you as possible when you have to be near him. If he tries to talk to you, you either ignore him or speak to him through someone else. It pisses him off. You also take to avoiding the common room, being that he was often there. For once, you find yourself being furious that Remus and Sirius were James’ friends first and yours second.

Marlene sits down in the library at the same table as you, Mary and Lily. You are working on various assignments, books littering the tables. Marlene clears a small section for her to get out her own work. She shoots a wary look toward you.

“Black’s back on his bullshit,” she says, watching you for a reaction that you don’t give her.

You keep your eyes on your Ancient Runes assignment.

“Who’s he snogging now?” Lily asks. She knows someone has to buy into the bait.

“Charity Burbage.”

“Didn’t realize she was his type…” Mary mutters. “Isn’t she a few years younger?”

“Fourth year, but she’s… mature if you know what I mean,” Marlene answers, giving her own breasts a squeeze.

“Alright, we get your point,” Lily says, cutting her off. “Remember that we’re here to do homework, right?”

You just scoff and keep working. Hearing that Sirius was off snogging a busty fourth year rubbed you the wrong way. You keep thinking back to what Sirius had said and what Remus had told you about him. You think about how Sirius had been the one waiting up for you to come back that night you got into the fight with James. You don’t want to imagine Sirius sucking face with a younger girl, but the image keeps appearing in your mind. It makes your blood boil.

“Potter, you good?” Mary whispers from across the table.

You look up at Mary and then back down at your paper. There were various splotches of ink where you had been holding your quill and lightly tapping it. You sighed in annoyance.

“Guess Raltmole is getting subpar work again,” you groan.

You look over at the assignment sheet again and force a smile. At least you were on the last question. Once you answer it, you could make an excuse to leave. You hurriedly finish and begin putting your stuff away.

“I’ll see you lot later.”

“Going back to the common room?” Lily asks, not looking up from her own assignment.

“Yeah,” you lie. You had no intention of going back to Gryffindor Tower and risk running into James.

You make your way up to the astronomy tower. As you climb the stairs, hot tears sting in your eyes and begin to fall. You have never been so glad to find the tower completely empty. You sit down near the edge of the platform. The cold air feels nice as you feel like you are overheating. Your mind is spinning with thoughts of Sirius. You hate that you had admitted to Remus that you had been harboring feelings for Sirius for years and everything you had buried so deep inside of you had been brought back to the surface. You hate that your friends feel the need to bring up whoever they saw Sirius kissing.

As you look over the horizon, lost in your thoughts, you hear a string of swears from the stairs. You don’t look to see who it was. It isn’t a Gryffindor and that’s all that really matters to you at this moment. When the boy reaches the top of the stairs, he immediately spots you at the edge of the platform. He swears again, having hoped the tower would be empty, but then he notices you shuddering and hears your sniffles.

“Is this where everyone goes when they’re upset?” Barty Crouch Jr. asks, taking a step towards you, unsure of how you felt about having company. He had wanted to be alone so maybe you did too.

You turn your head to look at him. Your face is flushed and eyes red. Tears streak your face. Barty decides that you look too pitiful to leave alone. He sits down next to you, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the platform and leaning backwards.

“Misery loves company, doesn’t it?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you.

You smiled softly, although it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Depends on the company you keep.”

“Well, I came up here to be alone.” He kicks his legs in the open air. “But you’re not a Slytherin so I’ll give you a chance.”

“And you’re not a Gryffindor so I won’t ask you to leave.”

He chuckles and gives you a half smile. “Lions and snakes can be too much from time to time.”

“You can say that again. … What’d they do to you?”

“Evan… He’s hiding something from me and it’s not good. He needs to let me in, but it’s hard to convince him when everyone, Black, Snape, Avery, Wilkes, tells me to drop it. God forbid I try to be involved in my boyfriend’s life…” Barty sighs. “Everyone ganged up on me, even Pandora.”

“Didn’t know you and Evan… Rosier?”

“Yeah, Rosier. We don’t make it a habit to snog in the corridors like the other Black.”

You grimace. The other Black was your issue.

“What?”

“The other Black…”

Barty’s eyes widen. “You and him? I thought I heard he was…”

“We’re not,” you cut him off. “Which is why I’m up here.”

“I need a distraction from Ev… What’s up with that little blood traitor?”

You glare at Barty. “I’m not going to talk to you if you’re going to be like that.”

“Sorry, habit. What’s the other Black up to?”

You shake your head and adjust so your legs hang over the edge too. You sniffle again and blink away tears that threaten to stream down your face again.

“How am I supposed to know if he likes me if I keep hearing that he’s going into a broom closet with a new girl every other day?”

“You like him?” Barty asks. “Of course you do. Just about every girl has a fantasy about him.”

You scoff. “Every girl… Yeah. That’s part of the problem. He all but told me that I’m the reason he’s snogging every girl in our year. And yours. And then some.”

“You’re the reason?”

“Something like James would kill him if he touched me so he touches everyone else.” You roll your eyes and lean forward into the metal railing. “And then Remus goes off and says he’s fairly certain that Sirius really does like me in the way I like him. And James constantly acting like I need protection from his friends. And every time I think I’ve collected myself and reburied my feelings for Black, Marlene and Mary come around and talk about who they saw him with.” You shake your head. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid.”

“Your stupid problem is better than thinking about mine. I know Ev will be cooled off when I get back and we’ll be fine. Your problem is… more.”

“Do the Slytherins think Sirius has some checklist of every girl he needs to snog before graduation?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Not that I know of, but I’m around Reg a lot and we don’t talk about his brother in front of him unless we have a death wish.” He pauses. “Poor wording because some of us do… We don’t talk about him.”

“Hmm… It’s definitely a topic among Gryffindors. Obviously.”

“He’d never be able to finish it.”

You give him a confused look as you sniffle again.

“You and that redhead. The one your brother and Snape are obsessed with.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, Lily would never kiss Sirius. Even for a dare. She’d rather do just about anything else.”

“And I call that a success!” Barty says with a smile. “Got the crying girl to laugh.”

“That you did…”

“May regret asking this, but what set you off? Why are you here now? Sounds like you’re just eternally pining.”

“Marlene said she saw Black snogging Burbage.”

“She’s younger than me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah.” You sigh and feel tears fall again.

Your mind keeps telling you it was stupid to be jealous over a silly fourth year, but it was unfair. Barty notices you starting to cry again.

“Come here,” he says as he puts his arm around you.

While he and Evan would fight, he hoped they would never make each cry like this. The girl he had only ever seen as a force to be reckoned with was reduced to a puddle of emotions. You rest your head on Barty’s shoulder. It gives you a little bit of comfort to be hurting with someone else.

---

“She’s where with who?” James yells in their dorm.

When the girls had returned from the library and asked if you were in their room, they were met with confused stares from the boys. They hadn’t seen you since dinner and they had been in the common room all evening. While the girls shared looks of minor confusion, the boys shared looks of worry. The boys had immediately gone up to their dorm and opened the map. Each scanned a different section, looking for your name.

“She’s in the astronomy tower with Junior,” Peter repeats.

“Is she trying to get herself killed?”

“You seem far more concerned about her being with Junior than you did with her going off to fight poachers,” Sirius mutters, going to sit on his bed.

James turns to glare at him.

“What does that mean?”

“Just questioning what, or who, you think counts as dangerous.”

“You damn well know that Junior is dangerous,” James growls.

“Oh, I do know that, Prongs. But I’m not. I’m not a threat to her.”

“We aren’t talking about this right now, Padfoot. She is actually in danger right now!”

“Should we be concerned that their names aren’t moving?” Peter asks, still looking at the map. “Neither one has even shifted so they aren’t walking around or nothing.”

The two boys look over at Peter, anger fading from their faces and being replaced with fear and concern.

“That’s it. I’m going to get her,” James announces, moving for the door before Remus stops him.

“Like hell you are,” he says firmly. “In case you’re more dense than I think you are, you’re not her favorite person right now. I don’t think it’s wise that you go.”

“Then who’s going to go? Can’t really ask Lily to go fetch her without explaining the map.”

“Padfoot, you go see if she’s okay,” Remus decides. “Just… don’t overreact to whatever you’re walking into.”

Sirius doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips out of the door behind Remus, shooting James a gloating face. Once the door is closed, Remus lets James go.

“Tell me how Padfoot is going to handle that situation better than I would,” James demands.

“First off, you would walk in and blast Junior off the tower. Don’t act like you wouldn’t. And like I said, she is still angry with you. You going would only make things worse between you two,” Remus starts to explain. “Second, it would’ve been best if I went, but then I’d be leaving you and Padfoot alone and I didn’t feel like returning to a blood bath.”

James frowns, although he could see the logic behind Remus’ actions. He doesn’t need to ask why they didn’t send Peter; he didn’t have what it might take to get you away from Barty if it came to that.

Sirius’ stomach churns when he sees Barty’s arm around you. You appear to be willingly leaning into his side. You are sitting at the edge of the platform, legs hanging over the edge and resting against the bars. Keeping quiet as he lingers in the doorway, he can hear you having a whispered conversation. You were sniffling. After a few minutes of watching them and feeling sick, Sirius makes his presence known.

“Hey, pumpkin,” he says softly, causing both of them to jump at the sound of his voice. “Everyone’s looking for you.”

Barty glares at Sirius. They had never gotten along, especially with Barty being one of Regulus’ closer friends.

“Piss off, Black. We’re having a conversation,” he spits, still holding onto you although it was a looser grip.

You had turned your body and propped one of your legs up on the platform. You wipe your nose and sniffle. Now that you were looking at Sirius, he could see that your eyes were red and puffy from crying.

“Everyone can piss off, actually,” you say, voice shaky. “They can handle a night without me.”

You let your leg fall back over the edge as you turn back to looking over the horizon. Barty follows suit. Sirius walks closer to you and sits down only a short distance away, resting his back against a pillar.

“Well, I’m not going back without you. So, carry on. I’ll walk you back when you’re ready.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, not that Sirius saw either.

“Black, I would’ve thought by now you’d be able to tell when you aren’t wanted,” Barty says, venom dripping from his words. “Get out of here before I make you.”

“Last I checked, she was more my friend than yours,” Sirius replies.

“Guess you haven’t checked recently.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at Barty as his arm pulls her waist closer to his.

“Guess fate is being extra cruel tonight,” Barty mutters to you and you nod in agreement. “I’m going to be fine, but are you?”

“Eventually, I assume,” you say. “I just feel defeated, and that doesn’t help.”

“What did I do?” Sirius asks, knowing that he was what you were referring to.

You and Barty look over at him.

“The fact that you have to ask…” you sigh with a sniffle.

“Do you want me to go?” Barty asks.

“Yes,” Sirius answers.

“I wasn’t asking you, Black,” Barty snarls. “Potter? I’m not leaving you with him unless you ask me to.”

Sirius gapes at Barty. The Slytherin seemed genuinely concerned to leave you alone with Sirius, someone you had been alone with many times before. He doesn’t understand why people weren’t trusting him to be around one of his friends. He didn’t think he had done anything to earn that.

“Stay,” you say.

The one word hits Sirius hard. He feels like he is going to throw up. In what world would you be asking Barty Crouch Jr. to stay?

“What the hell, love?” Sirius asks.

You shoot him a hurt look. “Burbage? Really?”

He groans and runs a hand through his hair.

“Is that what this is about? I thought we talked about this.”

You let out a cold and empty laugh. “We talked about this? No. You were just incredibly cryptic about some feelings you may or may not have as you let James run your life.”

“So you get with Crouch?”

You and Barty look at each other and make faces of disgust before slightly pushing away from each other, as if suddenly becoming aware of how close they actually were.

“We… no. Absolutely not,” you stutter.

“I don’t… I’m taken,” Barty says.

“He is,” you confirm with a nod.

You scoot back from the ledge, still sitting much closer to Barty than you were to Sirius. Barty does the opposite, leaning further over the railing and slumping like a rag doll. Sirius looks from one to the other.

“Then what is this?”

“One upset person comforting another?” Barty offers.

“And you’re upset?” Sirius challenges, not quite believing him.

“You don’t seem upset nor are you comforting Potter. So that would leave me being the other upset person. Yes.”

“Whatever. Darling, can we go?”

“No?”

“Hey, come on.”

“No.”

Barty gives you a wary look. Then he stands up, moving slowly toward the door.

“I’m going… to go. You two… need to talk.”

“Barty, no,” you plead. Your eyes looked ready to cry again. “Please, stay.”

“No, bye bye Barty,” Sirius says, standing up.

Sirius claps Barty on the shoulder, walks him to the doorway and makes sure he leaves. Then he walks over to you and holds out his hand.

“Come on, darling. Let’s go.”

You don’t take his hand. You spin where you sit to face away from him. Whenever he moved to be in front of you, you’d spin again. You know you are acting like a stubborn child, but you feel that you’ve earned that. He allows you to act like this for a few minutes before he gest tired of it.

“Pumpkin, come on. If you don’t come with me, I’ll have to go back and James will come get you.”

You make a disgruntled face and finally take Sirius’ hand.

“What did Junior mean by we need to talk?” Sirius asks as you walk toward the stairs.

“The Marauders need to get their shit together,” you say, not looking back at him and starting to descend the stairs.

Sirius follows you, picking up his speed to stay just one step behind you.

“So it’s not just me?”

You stop abruptly. Sirius bumps into you and you have to grab onto the railing to stop yourself from falling.

“Prongs needs to keep himself in check. He needs to stay in his lane. Moony needs to stop getting a girl’s hopes up. You need to go after that one girl you like and stick to her. I’m tired of hearing about a new girl’s tongue down your throat every day.” You pause. You had brought their friend group’s name into it so you had to name everyone. “Wormtail… uh, needs to be less of an idiot. Get him a real sense of humor or something.”

“And you told Junior all of that?”

“Yes.”

You walk the rest of the way back to Gryffindor Tower in silence. Sirius isn’t sure what to say that would make you feel better so he settles on silence. You still sniffled a few times, but they were getting less frequent. You seem to be more furious now than sad, which was something of a win. When you enter the common room, you both keep walking to your individual dorms. You go straight to bed, closing the curtains around so that no one will bother you. Sirius is met with James, Remus and Peter anxiously waiting.

“Took you damn long enough,” James says as soon as Sirius walks through the doors. “What did that bastard do to her?”

“Gee, no Thanks Padfoot, thanks for getting my sister back safe and sound?” Sirius mocks. His mind is still stuck on what you had said to him about all of them. He sighs. “If what they both said is true, they simply talked. She was crying; he comforted her.”

“What was she crying about?” Peter asks.

Sirius makes eye contact with Remus. It seems like Remus knew immediately what she was crying about, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to say it in front of James.

“Coudn’t get it out of her,” he lies.

---

You follow the girls around Hogsmeade on Saturday. You don’t really care where the group goes and you are able to mostly drown out their conversations. Your brain is empty. It is easier for it to be empty than to think about everything that made you cry the previous night.

Mary, Lily, Marlene and her girlfriend, Dorcas, carry their own conversations and manage to stick together as a group all day. They don’t seem to notice that you are in your head. They just make sure that you are still tagging along, not left behind anywhere.

“It’s good to get out of the castle for a good, safe time,” Mary had told you this morning when she insisted that you come instead of rotting in bed all day as you had planned to.

The group is heading back into Hogsmeade Square from Dogwood and Deathcap when they run into the Marauders in the cemetery. No one questions why they were messing around the tombs. With them, it is better to just accept it and move on with your day. The boys insist that they all go to the Three Broomsticks and end their day with as many butterbeers as they could drink. You, being determined to not talk to any of the boys, pinch the bridge of your nose as the girls enthusiastically agree. Lily hangs back as the boys lead the way to the pub.

“We could probably sneak back to the castle,” Lily mutters to you as you follow the group at a short distance.

“So you’re delusional,” you reply. “James will most certainly notice you’re gone.”

“They would notice you’re gone too… Don’t think I haven’t taken note of how quiet you’ve been.”

“I didn’t want to come here in the first place,” you hiss.

Lily reaches out to grab your hand and interlocked your fingers. “Well, we can suffer through butterbeers together. And then rot in our beds tomorrow.”

“Lily Evans doesn’t rot,” you snort.

You allow the girl to pull you into the Three Broomsticks after your friends. They somehow managed to push two tables together to accommodate their large group, which is an impressive feat given how busy the pub always was when students visited the village in troves. It doesn’t take long for Madam Rosmerta to get foaming mugs of butterbeer in front of everyone. The group sat divided by gender at the table. You made sure to sit on the same side of the table as James so if you accidentally looked down the table, you had a near impossible chance of making eye contact with him. It helped that he was at the complete opposite end of the table. Although Lily had said you would be suffering through butterbeers together, she is quickly engulfed into an animated conversation with Dorcas, Remus and Peter. Mary and Marlene were listening intently, but didn’t offer much to the conversation. James and Sirius appeared to be in their own world at their end of the table. You were content ignoring everyone’s conversations.

You slowly sip on your drink, looking around the pub. A handful of Slytherins are sitting at a table in the corner. You somehow manage to catch Barty’s eye and you share a small smile. Next to him sat the blond Evan Rosier and he was throwing back drinks and laughing loudly. You could see what Barty saw in him. There was a certain lightness to him.

“Mind if I sit here?” a voice asks, bringing your attention to a boy standing at the end of the table with a chair in hand.

“What?”

You recognize him from classes. Davey Something, Ravenclaw. You never really paid him any attention.

“Can I sit here? All my friends went back to the castle already.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Davey, right?” you ask, pulling your mug closer to you.

He sits kitty corner to you, despite there being empty space across from you. You assume that he didn’t know that no one was sitting there.

“That’s my name,” he replies with a smile.

He glances down the table to the rest of the Gryffindors and Dorcas. None of them seem to notice or care that someone new has joined their table.

“Anything interesting going on in Gryffindor Tower lately?” Davey asks, returning his gaze to you. “Most interesting thing to happen in Ravenclaw is a fourth year beat a seventh year in Wizards’ Chess.”

You chuckle and take a sip of your butterbeer.

“Oh, there is always something happening in our tower,” you say. “I slapped James. Argued with him in front of the entire common room. Sirius pulled an all-nighter for no reason. He’s also been snogging anything that moves in a skirt.”

Davey’s smile dips slightly. “Been snogging you?”

“No,” you say with an eye roll, before chuckling as you continue. “James banned him from being within a meter of me for that very reason.”

“That what you argued with him about?”

“Part of it. He’s been acting like I can’t handle myself. Like I had a simple chat with Remus and James threw a fit.”

“He got pissy because you were hanging out with his mates?”

“Yes! That’s also why he got slapped. Those were two different days…” You pause as you glance down the table. “And from what I can tell, he’s still on his bullshit.”

“Definitely is bullshit,” Davey agrees. His brilliant blue eyes looked deep into your eyes. “I think the whole castle knows how capable you are at handling yourself.”

“Do I really have a reputation of more than being the female Potter?” you ask, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, darling, you do.”

“Tell me about it.”

You take a drink of your butterbeer, draining it. Rosmerta is quick to bring around another one and one for Davey as well. You hadn’t noticed that he didn’t have a mug in front of him previously.

“If you didn’t have Sirius or James as your perpetual dueling partners, you’d have trouble finding one in Defense class. You’re.. too good. It’s almost scary.”

You smile widely with a faint blush on your cheeks. You knew you were good at dueling. That’s why you went off to fight poachers when you knew where they were and didn’t bother buying potion ingredients that could be gathered if you ventured a little further than teachers normally approved. You had also been told by many teachers that you were exceptional at dueling, but hearing from a decently cute boy did something to your ego.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re amazing in every subject. We don’t have many together anymore. But when we were younger, I remember seeing you taunt James whenever you got a better grade than he did… which was pretty often.”

“What’s the point of having a twin if you can’t be better than him,” you laugh.

“Are you better than him at quidditch?”

You groan at that question. “No…”

“Darn. I was hoping you could make the Gryffindor team better.”

You lightly hit Davey’s shoulder playfully.

“Gryffindor is a damn good team!”

“Your seeker is trash!”

You take a second to think about who your seeker is.

“Isn’t he a second year? Cut the kid some slack!”

Davey laughs. “But if he’s the best that tried out? I’m doubting the captain’s skills.”

“Too bad that isn’t a James diss. For some reason he wasn’t made captain this year, but he was last year. Quidditch politics baffle me.”

“I’d try to explain them, but I think they differ by house.”

“You’re not on Ravenclaw’s team?”

“I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have friends who are.”

“James likes to make it his entire personality so I’ve become fairly good at tuning it all out. There are better things to focus on.”

“Yeah? What captures your pretty little brain?”

“During the summer and over breaks, I’m a top-tier chef and baker. I honestly don’t know what my parents eat while we’re at school because I literally make every meal when I’m home.”

“You cook? Isn’t that what house elves are for?”

“Not everyone has, or needs, an elf,” you say firmly. “But, like, cooking is good for distracting my brain. Although I could be better in Potions…”

“You’re in N.E.W.T. level Potions. I’m sure you’re fine,” Davey assures you, placing his hand over yours on the table. “What else do you do besides dueling, cooking and looking beautiful?”

You feel yourself blush more.

“Merlin, this sounds nerdy, but I really do love learning about obscure magic. Haven’t gotten my hands on any good books yet this year because they are usually deep in the Restricted Section and Pince has been watching it like a hawk.”

“Obscure magic? Very Ravenclaw of you.”

You were trying to not look at his hand that was still on yours. His gaze is fixed intently on you. You have all of his attention.

“I plan on either being an Auror or an Unspeakable after school so a deep understanding of magic is important.”

“Look at you. Big ambitions.”

You look down at your empty mugs. You aren’t entirely sure when either of you had finished your drinks but apparently you had. You cast a quick glance down the table as well. You don’t know why you are relieved that no one was paying attention to you, all completely engulfed in one large conversation now.

“Want to get out of here?” you ask, looking back to Davey.

He smiles widely at your suggestion. He stands up and pulls out your chair to help you up.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he whispers into your ear. “Lead the way.”

You take Davey’s hand and you head for the door. You make sure to bump into James’ chair.

“Oops,” you say with a giggle before pulling Davey out of the pub into the autumn evening.

James and Sirius watch you leave with equal looks of distaste.

“Where’s she going?” Sirius asks.

“Better yet, who the fuck is she with?” James follows up.

The rest of the table turns to look but the door has already closed behind you. Despite wanting to follow them, Sirius and James return their attention to the group’s discussion about whether the foul smelling liquid from Gobbstones would cover up the smell of Amortentia. They hadn’t discussed the potion in class yet, but they had heard of the powerful love potion.

You and Davey walk around Hogsmeade, weaving in between buildings. There’s easy conversation between you, nothing too deep or heavy. You can tell by the way he looks at you and lets his touch linger that he’s looking for something more, but conversation feels so platonic. It feels like two acquaintances getting to know each other, which is what it was. You can’t deny that Davey’s attractive, but there’s no draw to him besides a little bit of attention and maybe some revenge aimed at Sirius and James. You find yourself in the garden outside of the village, walking up to the platform that overlooks the Black Lake. The distant glow of Hogsmeade lights it up just right so it feels far more romantic. As you lean over the ledge, you wonder if Sirius’ method of snogging someone else helps you get over them. Looking at Davey, or his lip if you’re being precise, you debate giving it a shot.

Then there’s a burst of noise that makes both of you jump and look over your shoulders. You can barely see the Three Broomsticks and the herd of people leaving it. It isn’t hard to tell that they are arguing. You can pick out James, Sirius, Lily and Dorcas’ voices. Both of you stare for a moment before looking back at each other.

“What do you think happened after we left?” he asks.

You shrug. “Not sure.”

“Don’t be rash!” Lily yells.

“I’m going to kill him!”

“James! Slow down!” Dorcas yells.

“When I find them, I’m going to kill him!”

“And I’m helping!” Sirius adds.

“Like hell you are,” James resorts.

“There!” Marlene exclaims, her voice sounding more cheerful than the others.

You turn to look at Davey nervously when you notice that Marlene is pointing in your direction and the group begins running. James and Sirius shrug off Lily and Dorcas’ grips on them as they tried to hold the boys back. The two are in a full on sprint with the rest of the group jogging behind them. It appeared that they came to the conclusion that none of them could outrun them.

“Gudgeon, step away from her,” James snarls once he reaches the platform.

Davey raises his eyebrows at your brother. “Why?”

“Because he bloody told you to, you git,” Sirius adds, heaving from running.

“But why?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn to fully face them. “He came out here with me.”

“And you’re coming back with us,” James says. “Been a long day, time to go home.”

You hum and look at Davey.

“I think I want to stay out a little longer.”

Davey smiles widely at you and then looks back at James and Sirius. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side.

“You boys heard ‘er. She wants to stay.”

“James,” Lily warns as the rest of the group approaches.

She noticed before you that he had started to reach for his wand. James looks at Lily.

“Lils, you must-” he starts to say, but then Sirius is ripping Davey’s arm off of you and picking you up to throw you over his shoulder.

Your yelp of surprise is what cut off James’ excuse to Lily.

“SIRIUS BLACK, YOU PUT ME DOWN!” you holler, trying to remove yourself from his grip.

“Ready to go?” he simply asks the rest of the group.

“Yeah, I’m good,” James answers, much more calm than he had been moments before.

Davey watches as Sirius carries you in the direction of the castle, followed by James and the rest of the group. Peter and Remus bring up the rear, shooting him glares for having gone near you. While the girls didn’t seem to approve of how Sirius and James had gone about getting you away from Davey or why they had, they do seem to support getting you back to the castle.

“Sirius, are you going to put me down?” you ask, sounding defeated.

“No.”

“Why’d you leave the group?” Dorcas asks, moving into your line of sight.

“Too loud and hot,” you lie. You weren’t about to say that you were looking for a pretty distraction from the irritation your brother and boy carrying you caused you.

“Just talk to us next time, yeah? We’ll leave,” James says. “Afterall, you know the buddy system.”

“I had a buddy,” you correct him. “Davey is a just fine buddy.”

“A buddy who just wants to get into your pants,” Marlene sings.

“Huh?”

“He’s just looking for a quick shag, darling,” Mary clarifies.

“Which is why we came to your rescue!” Sirius says.

“Rescue or ambush?” you grumble. “Maybe I wanted a quick shag too.”

The rest of the walk back to Hogwarts is quiet. Your ribs have grown sore from being slung over Sirius’ shoulder and your head feels light. At one point, you close your eyes and just listen to the crunching of leaves underfoot.

“Alright, down you go, pumpkin,” Sirius says as you arrive at the entrance to Hogwarts’ grounds. “Figure you can walk from here.”

He puts you down gently and all you can do is glare at him. You walk slowly into the grounds and the group takes that as a sign that all is well.

“Marls, come on. I got something for you in the dungeons,” Dorcas says, grabbing Marlene’s hand and pulling her toward the castle.

The rest of the group follows suit, picking up their pace to get inside the warmth of the castle. You, however, keep your slow pace. You certainly aren’t in the mood to be sitting with them around the fire in the common room after you were literally hauled back. Sirius is the only one who lingers with you.

“You alright?” he asks quietly, bumping shoulders with you.

You sigh and look up at him. Damn those grey eyes and how warm they make you feel.

“Just tired of James acting like he controls my life.”

Sirius nods and takes a deep breath.

“Come with me,” he says and holds out his hand for you to take.

You hesitate. Your mind is screaming both to take it and to slap it away. How dare he offer his hand to you after being the one to carry you back? But, also, he was offering it to you, giving you the choice to take it. So you do. You take his hand and let him lead you down some stairs to a secluded area near the greenhouses. Light shimmers through their windows, giving the small clearing a subtle glow.

“I think James would back off you a bit if I stopped listening to him about some things,” Sirius mutters, standing in front of you. A gentle hand tucks some of your hair behind your ear and lingers there for a moment.

He’s looking at you like he did that day on the couch, like you were the only one who existed in all of Hogwarts, in all of the world. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to understand what he was saying. All of your focus was on the hand that softly held your cheek. He takes a step toward you and before you can process anything, his lips are brushing up against yours. It’s soft and gentle and momentary.

“I think I can tolerate him more if you do that again,” you mumble.

And he does. The second is still soft and gentle, but it lasts longer. It only deepens slightly when he places his other hand on your waist. Sirius is holding you with a featherlight touch like he doesn’t want to break you, but his hand never leaves your cheek. Inside, despite what you just said, he fears that if he lets go, you will disappear and leave him.

“You could never be a checked box. Because you’re everything,” Sirius whispers.

“Then stop with your stupid list, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"Good, because I think I like this a little too much."

#sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #marauders fic #marauders #sirius black #marauder-misprint

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marvelobsessed134 · 2 months ago

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Amber Waves

Parings: Dominatrix/Mistress!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, Wanda is called Mistress, reader is called pet, vibrator, punishment, orgasm, bondage, spanking, written in my notes app as usual.

Synopsis: Your best friend thinks you should let off some steam…at a dominatrix session.

Why Kate Bishop thought it was a good idea to get you a session with a Mistress? You surely don’t know but here you were, in front of a regular suburban house that you knew was anything but regular inside. Kate had insisted it was fun and arousing. But then again, Kate is way more sexually liberated than you are.

You took a deep breath as you stood at the door. You could turn around make a run for it, but that’d be a waste of your best friend’s money. So, you nervously knocked on the door, waiting. You heard heels clacking on the inside as they made their way up to the front door before it opened to reveal an older red headed woman. She was beautiful. Like, goddess level beautiful.

You were starstruck for a moment before clearing your throat, “Um, Mistress Wanda?” The older woman smiled and enjoyed your slight nervousness, “Yes, dear that is me. Why don’t you come inside?” She steps aside and lets you enter the house.

It looked pretty normal so far, but as she lead you deeper into it, the BDSM toys and furniture were more and more prevalent. Mistress Wanda sat you down at a small glass table as she sat across from you.

“Okay, so I’m assuming this is your first session?”

“Yes. My friend did this for me.”

“Oh, a very good friend. What’s your name?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” she repeated, clicking her tongue, “what a pretty name. Okay, so, what are you looking to experience today?”

“Umm…I don’t know to be honest. I don’t know much about this whole…thing,” you waved your arms up motioning around the room.

“That’s perfectly fine, dear. Let’s start with a simple question. Are you more dominant or submissive?” You honestly didn’t know what that meant and she knew it. So, she decided to test it herself. Purposely dropping her pen on the floor saying, “Would you be a dear and get that for me?” You did as she said without thinking. And when you handed it back to her she purred, “Good girl.” Which made your cheeks red and panties damp which caused you to rub your thighs together. Mistress Wanda smirked, “I think I know the answer. Sit back down.”

Of course, you obeyed her. She slid a piece of paper across the table towards you, “Is there anything on here that you don’t want to participate in?”

The list had many different kinks listed, collaring, knife play, medical play, mdlg, pet play, degradation, impact play…so many things.

“Um, no extreme punishments…like spanking is fine but not too hard and…no knife play please for god’s sake…” you continued to list off the activities you were not interested in. Wanda nodded, carefully taking your every word into consideration.

“That’s perfectly fine with me, dear. Any nicknames you prefer to be called?”

“Um, not that I know of I guess I’m fine with anything.” Her green eyes darkened, “You’re making this very fun for me, pet. Now, let’s discuss a safe word. You use this word whenever you want the scene to stop, okay?”

You nodded.

The two of you agreed “Scarlet” would be the safe word. The redhead stood up and held her hand out to you, “Come on, pet.” You took her hand and followed her to a room that was essentially a large walk-in closet with tons of lingerie, collars, leashes, gags, heels even. “You can pick out what you want to wear during our scene okay? I’ll give you 5 minutes.” She closed the door.

5 minutes?! How were you supposed to find out what to wear in 5 minutes? You quickly scoured the room and decided to go basic with a black lace set and a black pleather collar with some black pumps. You changed into the attire and stared at yourself in the mirror. You hardly recognized yourself, the seductive fabric clinging to your body.

You were so entranced by your own reflection you didn’t notice Mistress Wanda until she creeped up behind you, moving your hair away from your neck, “Those are yours to keep, pet. Do you like them?”

“Yes, I do Wan-“ she slapped your thigh lightly, a correction, “How do you address me?”

You gulped, “S-sorry, Mistress.”

“Good girl. Come along, Mistress has some toys for you to play with.” You followed her to the playroom which was originally a second living room but she obviously converted it into her own BDSM dungeon. You noticed a plethora of objects. A Saint Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, a rack full of whips and paddles, a sex swing, a drawer full of blindfolds, and a large luxurious bed.

“What would you like to play with first?” She husked into your ear.

“I- uh- I don’t know…”

“Aww, my pet is a little nervous for her first time. That’s okay, Mistress will decide for you. Hmm…” she surveyed the room before saying, “let’s play a game, shall we? Go lay down on the bed.” Her voice was soft but commanding, leaving no room for arguments. Not that you necessarily wanted to argue with her. Though you were curious what would happen if you’d argued with her. However, you obediently climbed onto the bed and rested your back against the silk, red, sheets. Mistress Wanda opened a couple drawers before walking towards you. She looked absolutely stunning in the tight black dress, her long red hair flowing down her back, a few pieces resting in front of her shoulders.

“Arms.” She said, and you lifted your arms, letting her handcuff you to the bed. “Spread your legs, pet.” Obeying her orders came so naturally, it almost scared you.

The older woman held up a Hitatchi wand. Your eyes widened slightly, and your pussy dropped in arousal. “I want to see how long you can hold your orgasm. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you cum. But do not cum before I tell you to. Understand?”

“Yes mistress.”

“Good girl.” She sat beside you on her knees and turned the toy on. She let it hover over your clothed clit before letting it make contact. You jolted at the sudden sensation, whimpering.

“Aww, sweet little pet. Is this too much for you?” You nodded and she upped the speed. It was both pleasurable and overwhelming, you screwed your eyes shut.

“Ah,ah, look at me.” Mistress Wanda lightly slapped your cheek causing you to immediately open your eyes. The torture went on for far too long, and you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Don’t cum yet.” The older woman’s voice was stern. But you couldn’t help it, the sights, sounds, feelings, all became too much as you came inside of your panties. You’d hope she didn’t notice, but she definitely did. Turning off the vibrator, she tossed it aside looking at you with a stern expression.

“Did you cum without permission, pet?” Your stupid ass shook your head.

“Really? If I inspect you, you won’t be soaked in cum?”

You sighed and decided to give up, “S-sorry Mistress…I lied…” god, this was so embarrassing and so arousing at the same time.

“Mm, what was that?” She asked unable to hide her amusement at your stuttering.

“I- I lied.” You responded, swallowing nothing since your mouth has gone dry.

“Tsk, tsk, naughty girl. Come on,” she unbound you from the bed before gripping your arm, pulling you towards the spanking bench. She forcefully bent you over, tying your arms to the piece of furniture.

“Ten spanks and you will count all of them. Mess up and I will start all over again. Understand?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Good girl.” She grabbed a wooden paddle and pulled your panties down to your ankles before smacking it against your flesh. “O-one…” you counted out loud.

Another.

“Two…”

And another…

“Three…”

After seven more spanks, your ass felt like it was on fire. The redhead smoothed her hand over your tender flesh before unbuckling your arms from the bench. “Such a good girl taking your punishment so well. Come on, you must be hungry.”

That wouldn’t be the last time you had a session with Mistress Wanda.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #top Wanda #dom wanda #dom!wanda #sub!reader #marvel smut #marvel x reader #marvel

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frownyalfred · 1 year ago

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I’ve seen lots of “Batman is Bruce Wayne’s secret lover” and “Bruce Wayne is Batman’s benefactor” but consider the following unexplored potential relationships:

Batman is Thomas Wayne’s illegitimate child (and therefore Bruce’s half brother)

Bruce is Batman’s LinkedIn Mentor

Batman is Bruce’s dominatrix

They killed someone in a boating accident back in 1997 and are sworn to keep that secret together until they die

Batman is an evil Bruce clone created by Lex Luthor who went rogue

they don’t know each other but Batman keeps saving Bruce because he thinks he knows him from somewhere, maybe

Batman is trying to collect on a ransom for Bruce but you have to rescue him ten times on the punch card

Batman is Jim Gordon and he only rescues Bruce so he can yell at him for letting his ward sleep with his daughter

Batman is a hired actor Bruce employs for PTSD exposure therapy

Etc etc

All I’m saying is, the Gotham tabloids should be getting way more creative and outlandish with their theories. “Oh, they’re sleeping together!” is so lame. Readers need intrigue.

(the batkids write this list and submit it to the local tabloids with little success)

#bruce wayne #batman #dc #crack #tabloids need to get more creative #that’s all I’m saying

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uhohdad · 11 months ago

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Hey there, it’s Dad. I like to write about you and König. This 18+ blog contains dark content, please read warnings carefully and take care. About ☆ - Top Post

𖤓 LONGFORM KÖNIG FICS 𖤓

The Girl Who Conquered The Mountain ☆

╰┈➛ Protective!König x Reader | 183k Words

╰┈➛ You and König have been chosen as unwilling participants in a twenty-four person fight to the death.

Meine Perle ☆

╰┈➛ Octo!König x Reader | 25k Words

╰┈➛ “Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.”

His

╰┈➛ Stalker!König x Reader | 15.5k Words

╰┈➛ König has an unhealthy obsession with you.

Experimental

╰┈➛ König x Reader | 22k Words

╰┈➛ König helps you with a new technology you’ve been developing. You see something you’re not supposed to.

𖤓 KÖNIG DRABBLES 𖤓

LOSER KÖNIG

Loser!König and Your Panties ☆

Loser!König Finally Breaks Down ☆

Sharing a Bed with Loser!König ☆

Finding Your Nudes On Loser!König’s Computer ☆

Loser!König Tracks Your Cycle ☆

Beach Day with Loser!König ☆

Dress Shopping with Loser!König ☆

Loser!König Spikes Your Drink

Loser!König and Self Aware Dating Simulator!Reader

Roommate Loser!König ☆

Loser!König and Clingy!Reader

Loser!König Cucked by Ghost

Touch-Starved Loser!König ☆

Loser!König and Bimbo!Reader

Loser!König Comforting Heartbroken Reader

Stargazing with Loser!König

Hot Day with Loser!König

Stalkerish Loser!König

Stalker/Loser König Steals Your Things

DOM/ABUSIVE KÖNIG

Jealous Of Your Sex Toys ☆

Catching Him Getting Off

Stalker!König Leaves You Tokens ☆

König Is Insatiable ☆

Jealous!König Makes A Bet With You

Slasher!König

Dacryphilia With König

Gun Play with König

Knife Play with König

König Admiring Your Ass

König’s Voiceline Inspired Drabbles

“They are no match for me” ☆

“Let’s be honest, it’s better off in my hands” ☆

“Who else is with you?”

“I can make you talk”

“Not bad… I’ve seen better”

König’s Uniform Inspired Drabbles

König’s Gloves

König’s Belt

König’s Boots

König’s Teeth

SUB KÖNIG

Sub!König Visits Dominatrix!Reader for the First Time ☆

Loser!König Finally Breaks Down ☆

König Gets Hard at Gunpoint

Humiliating König with Cum-Eating

König & Pegging

König is as Submissive as a Knight to His Liege

GENTLE KÖNIG

Gentle/Protective!König and Spacey!Reader ☆

Gentle!König Falls in Love Without Realizing it

Gentle!König with Insecure Plus Size Reader

Gentle!König Makes You Feel Better After A Long Day

Surprising Gentle!König with Pregnancy

Stargazing with Gentle Loser!König

Gentle!König Helping Around the House

141 BOYS

John Price Knows About Your Crush ☆

John Price Gives You A Spanking

John Price & CringeFail Reader

Ghost Can’t Decide If You Should Finish

HUNGER GAMES AU KÖNIG

Based on the Protective!König Longform Fic: The Girl Who Conquered The Mountain

All TGWCM Bonus Content

Will update frequently, I have a goal of one drabble a day :)

Requests / asks always welcome ♡

LONGFORM KÖNIG MASTERLIST

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shinigamigloss · 6 months ago

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mission accomplished

✎ Leon's a certified manwhore, really. You know that, but you can be worse than him. So what's the most that can happen in a hotel room with a reputedly flirtatious womanizer like Leon after an onerous mission? ID LEON SUPREMACY.

cw: getting it in a hotel room, cunnilingus, d in p aka mating press yay, creampie, size kink size kink size kink, protection? forgotten. fem! reader, he's just silly therefore beware of the corny lines, biting, MDNI

“You wanna get dinner when this is all over?”

You couldn’t say if it was worth nipping in the bud at that juncture, but this whole little odyssey with Leon definitely started with that very query. It wasn’t a figure of speech – you really had him down on his knees in a random hotel room.

The lavender air of the hotel room, the gunpowder-like whiff, and the notes of Old Spice emanating from the tender curve of Leon’s neck still wreak havoc on your brain after your shared kisses. Your legs buckle, and you’re in sackcloth and ashes, all thanks to wearing those mean machines – your Jimmy Choos. But you feel sexy within his reach, and you adore the vamp of your stilettos – the panorama of him sinking between your legs as he nudges you down onto the edge of the mattress.

“Panties off, pretty.” His singsong cadence is cajoling, of course; you get the gist of it.

“Demanding, are we?” You rebut, pixilated and all mawkish. Lifting your hips only slightly, you hitch up your legs and pull down the panties that have been eclipsing your love-starved pussy for hours.

With a sloppy thud, the only piece separating Leon from your lovely cunt thumps onto the linoleum floor.

“Well, now you know why I said nay to dessert at dinner.”

Such corny, coquettish platitudes only serve to draw a slumberish smile to your lips. You have no idea how men with such beautiful faces can be saddled with a palate full of sophomoric slapstick. But a dick is a dick, and something tells you that Leon won’t leave you empty-handed.

“Fuck...” You tilt your head, tracing a moony arc, and your chin is high; all the while splaying your hands over the fluffy, freshly laundered sheets.

How you got here – and how he’s now lost in the slick heat of your pussy – is a great mystery. (Well, not really. It’s a story about two horny agents renting a hotel room on the condition that they make it safely back from their mission in China) Still, you love the feeling of tender lips pressing against your plush slit.

Leon wouldn’t leave without a taste, even though the foreplay feels superfluous. After all, skipping foreplay is a felony. It’s a rule – no exceptions: a manwhore has to know how to eat his girl out. This is precisely why Leon Kennedy is notorious in D.S.O. and the dominatrix scene – a beloved whore through and through.

So he puts you in his mouth and eats you ‘til his teeth rot.

He loves it when you pull his hair (such a slut!); he even honors you with groans that sizzle your ears in a pleasant way.

Right now, Leon’s priority is to gorge on you and perhaps make you cum more than once during the course of the night.

But what about himself? His pleasure?

Of course, by the time he pulls down the indigo jeans he’s wearing, he will already be drenched in thick globs of precum.

He has a couple of minutes to reflect on that issue, but in those enchanted split seconds, all he does is lap at the dripping amrita from your hole, flowing for his benefit.

“Too fucking sweet.”

His mouth, which has been yapping non-stop since he was assigned to the assignment alongside you, is apparently very well trained at the eating-pussy phenomenon – and he can’t help himself; claws at your thighs, pulling you into his mouth.

You’re half too thunderstruck to even buck your hips closer.

Tongue sugar-coated, even more delish as he drifts on and on over your pussy. No matter how many times he says he’s a typical man for your average overnight, the lies are unfolded, and he gets all the more addicted.

“Leon. I’m–’m fuck.”

You’re so out of it that you’re babbling whatever pops into your head and out of your mouth. Insidious blues lock on you when you push your eyes open, expecting to see that he’s got it – that you’ve grasped the notion of his generosity.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” comes between each of his licks, and you can’t muster the strength to hold your own fucking head.

His mouth heats up a beatific pulsation within you when he rises up to your face and puts his business on your lips. Kissing on a first date (if fucking can be excused as a reason for a first date?) is idiotically discouraged, but this man isn’t going to listen to such absurd dictates when he’s drunk on your essence.

And you’re more than up for it, so you sweetly reciprocate his kisses.

Thwip, thwip.

It grates on your ears, and you know what it is. Leon hastily tugs at his belt, wary of missing a second. Free yet? Ha – it’s not in the cards. His boxer briefs are still in the way for both of you.

“I wish men wore panties too,” you bitch up, purpling your pouting lip.

Leon freezes mid-motion. Is he processing the absurdity of your words, or just too high on scotch and pussy to simply give a reaction?

Or are you already the pot calling the kettle black?

The possibility of the former, however, is an assumption fraught with misconception when you pull down Leon’s boxers – because he’s already in the same boat, but with a hole in it. If the room had been bathed in those bludgeoning fluorescents instead of the hazy dim lights, you’d have seen that his boxers were more profusely soaked than your panties.

Viva the dim lights... or the fact that you don’t even care how wet his dick is.

“What?”

The anticipatory look he gives you can only signal that he would like you to soar onto the bed.

“Legs up, roll over.”

“Nope. Missionary is for sore losers,” you mumble it in a faux, patronizing tone.

You’re a fucking liar.

As nice as it sounds to track his face in missionary and stab your fingernails on his back – despite the fact that you broke two of them in the line of duty – you want to ride him more than anything else.

“Losers, huh?”

Leon effortlessly grabs your wrists and stamps you onto the bed. “Sleep with losers, and you’re as good as a loser. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, yeah?”

Your head, sunken into the pillow, floats slowly on lint clouds. Watching him from below is like setting foot for the first time on an unearthed planet made of exploded blues.

Fuck. You’re so high; he’s turned you into a slam poet.

He hoists each of your calves and hooks your legs over the frame of his shoulders, leaving your pussy bared – and the December cold seeping in makes your insides flutter. If it weren’t for his pelvis pressing against you, you could very well trip on your ass and break a pretty serious bone.

“Keep your legs like this,” he prelects you, very laconic.

You feel so giddy as the raw head of his cock, which he rubs in the palm of his hand, slithers and softens at your entrance as he works himself in with an assiduous thrust.

“Tight as hell,” you hear him croak, but you aren’t quite in the zone enough to pay it any mind. Your bleary eyes are only half-lidded – if at all – not fully opaque, allowing you to catch a glimpse of him over the nebula-like blurs over his visage beneath your batting eyelashes.

“Shit, baby, you can’t even take the fucking tip.” Leon’s whispers are eulogies to the lovely cunt he first got drunk on the tang of and will now drool over for its tightness. He gives a roll of his hips but never the thing you so desperately need – he harrows you so blatantly.

You barely lift your hips, humble and tentative, to meet his impish prodding – but his splayed hand on your ribcage forbids you from venturing further, from fucking yourself on his cock any deeper. The loss of levity on your face, the line of your eyebrows knitted in frustration, is absolutely delicious to behold for a cheeky asshole like Leon.

“Stop trying to fuck yourself and use your words, would you?”

For no apparent reason, his voice haunts you.

“Come on, girl. Get it out.” Leon whispers again, layering all the clouds of discord in your head one by one. Those humiliating clouds poof, pan, flake, and evaporate from your slightly ajar lips in a single cry.

“Leon. Please. Gulp. Please! Fuck me.”

Ouch.

These words will always conjure visions of shooting yourself with your own gun once the alcohol drains from your veins in the morning – especially after these foul entreaties.

This chain of events – in which Leon has pulled a rabbit out of the hat on a night already in his favor – is capped off with your fuck-me-please beggary. (Propaganda even.)

“You got it, beautiful.” He nuzzles you – metaphorically speaking – with a cloying coo, albeit while ardently clenching your hips. The purple shadows that will mark your skin for weeks are right in his wheelhouse.

The normal you would go like, “Oh no, I can’t be such a slut overnight – and for a man? Humor me, bitch.” You’d be taking the mickey out of yourself.

Leon, however, is feeling quite lavish. He’s inside you, and he’s hard – a diamond in the rough.

The kisses you share are sporadic, wet, and perhaps absurdly romantic for such a ’trivial’ night.

In Leon’s mind, the blinking light bulb is a blaring alarm – the realization that something this good is manipulating a distorted reality hits him in the seconds when he’s so close to be hammering away at your cervix – but without violence.

“Fuck.” The kiss breaks abruptly, like a tape rewinding inside both your heads.

“The condoms.” The thought hits Leon square in the head – but what’s the big deal? Your legs are up in the air (bless the yoga gods), just like that scene of the chick in heels getting knocked up by Patrick Bateman. But now, the guy twitching inside you is preaching condom.

“Leon.”

You’re on the last rung, and his lips are a saliva-laden mess, melded with the cherry tinge of your lipstick. You really should’ve dabbed it off or something. Yet he looks stupidly delicious.

He blinks at you, owing it to you to correct his mistake immediately – filling you to the hilt with a lingering, deep-seated thrust.

“Leon!”

Your cry strikes him rapt, and he savors that sinful tightness around him. So needy – he relishes the feel of you squeezing his cock.

You sharply suck in a breath at the touch of his teeth as he bites a bruise into the delicate flesh beneath your throat. He’s drunk on you – drunk on the saccharine moans and whimpers spilling from your lips – and, to be honest, he’s been dreaming about this for a long time.

Men grow wiser as they age, but as Leon got older, he indulged in one-night stands, devoting himself to pretty, pretty women making love to him.

It’s bitter that you’re one of those women, yet you still want him to use you – so badly, so carelessly.

You don’t know how much longer your fuck-drunk head can keep up, but he knows all too well that you’re close. He pulls back slightly, releasing your ankles and reaching between your legs with his gun-wielding hand to work his thumb over the pearl of your clit. You’re so desperate for his affection, and tonight, he feels sufficiently lavish not to deny you this dazzling bliss.

Your moans echo through the hotel room – high-pitched, frantic – the overstimulation very nearly unbearable.

“It’s okay, let yourself go. Cum for me, sweetheart.” Leon’s gruff sighs ebb and flow as he brings you back from the abyss. His pace slows – then, so randomly, he brushes a languid thrust against that spongy spot inside you.

And you listen dully; your eyes nearly roll out of their sockets – but you give him what he wants.

Everything is hectic, wet, extravagant – and that’s exactly why he keeps going. Forehead to forehead, you both wind up panting. Leon still gets an A+ for looking good while he fucks you into this mess of a bed.

Your blurred eyes stay locked on the night-blue shades of his pupils in the darkness.

You both know what that gaze signifies.

Before you can say a word, Leon pulls his cock out of your slick, dripping pussy with the most obscenely wet sound.

Something inside you frantically pleads for him to stay inside you – what a loss.

But Leon takes your hand in his.

He still needs you.

“You’ve got this. Go on. Make me cum.”

Give his cock three – maybe five – sloppy strokes, and he cums on your stomach.

Easy.

You slide your legs down – there’s no way you can hold them up any longer – and he groans when you let go of his softening cock from memory, as if discarding an object no longer of use to you.

Your legs dangle over the edge of the bed, and Leon closes his eyes – if only fleetingly – to soak in the moment, his cheek buried in the crook of your neck.

Too long or too short – you don’t know how much time has stretched by. You’re so wired, your brain feels melted and fucked. Chunks of it oozing out of your ears. It’s almost cozy.

Disgustingly so.

But all good things come to an end.

The night hums like a club beat still thrumming in your bones. You sprawl in the wreckage of silk sheets, watching Leon slip into his jeans.

When he’s done, he turns and flashes you the cheesiest wink in the world. Always shocking you how corny he can be. Just minutes ago, he was fucking you into this very mattress – spread-your-legs kinda shit, fucked-your-brains-out kinda shit.

“Man, this room stinks of sex.” Leon makes a wry face and cups the tip of his nose.

“Get your ass up and take a bath, or I’ll never set foot in here again.”

You can hardly lift a hand to shoo him away. Mentally, you can no longer shield yourself from his crank antics.

“Well, you’re a big girl. You’ll be fine.”

Before closing the suite door, he steals a quick glance at the digits of your phone number, scrawled on the palm of his hand – just to make sure they haven’t faded.

“I’ll give you a weekend wake-up call,” Leon promises and closes the door behind him.

Whump.

Mercifully, the next date is a shoo-in, but it only means enduring another endless evening – seconds stretching into minutes, minutes into hours – drowned in his blathering and off-color in-jokes.

Is it really worth it?

The answer, considering you still can’t bring yourself to get up and clean the drying cum off your stomach, can only be one thing. You might as well call Hunnigan and let her know you won’t be making it to work tomorrow.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil infinite darkness

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judenostopwaitkeepgoing · 7 months ago

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Your Villain Buys You Lingerie! 🌸

18+ MDNI | Suggestive Content | EN-released!Villains x Fem!Reader

CW: suggestive content, some mentions of power imbalances, some villains' descriptions are fluff-adjacent hehe

AN: These are the kinds of lingerie/sexy outfits that I think the villains would buy you! Enjoy! These fictional men are a problem for me! Hehe!

William Rex

Will would take your taste into consideration while also managing to select something that he likes. And he would spare no expense. We’re talking designer pieces here. Definitely in shades of red, black, maroon... dark jewel tones, of course. I’m imagining him at the store—the saleswomen absolutely falling in love with him while he describes the kind of sexy lingerie set he wants to buy for you. Would probably land on something that takes time to remove, like a full corset set. He’d want to enjoy the view for as long as possible!

Harrison Gray

Harry strikes me as a man of simpler tastes. He would pick something cute and comfortable for you, because to him it does not matter what you’re wearing—you are always sexy! But seeing you in the mint-green matching bra and panties that he got you gets him unexpectedly flustered! He’d bury his face in his hand and sigh, “I know I got them for you, but I already want to take them off...” So you get to tease him for once for being such a perv. Win win!

Liam Evans

You know that this certified babygirl knows his way around a lingerie shop okay! He would honestly buy you cute and sexy lingerie all the time. Like you would have soooo many matching lingerie sets from him lol. You could wear a different one every night and not run out for months. He loves to dress you up all cute and sexy! He thinks you look especially good in shades of pink, but he buys you lingerie in every color/style imaginable. And when you put it on he gets flustered, even though he’s seen you in sexy lingerie so many times before. Sorry, he’s obsessed with you!

Elbert Greetia

Okay, talk about sparing no expense. You would have to go to all of the lingerie shops in town to tell them to turn Elbert away at the door next time he comes in because it’s fr starting to be too much lmao. He would of course listen to you if you told him that you don’t need any more lingerie, only handing you one more box. You open it to find gorgeous, handmade pale blue lace garters. “Look on the inseam of them,” he’d tell you. Embroidered on the inside of each garter with pretty blue thread is a message from him. “To my dearest y/n” on one and “a beauty for my eyes alone” on the other.

Alfons Sylvatica

Lol buys you a full black latex/leather dominatrix outfit. You stare at him incredulously and he just smirks at you. “What? You don’t like it?” Try as you might to explain that you don’t hate it, but haven’t worn something like this before, it does not matter! Lol! Alfons will coach you don’t worry! “That’s exactly the idea, y/n,” he’d purr, “seeing someone as innocent and pure as you in such a naughty outfit... the thought alone gets me so excited... see... look, I’m already hard...” Lmao.

Roger Barel

Although he can appreciate a woman’s beauty in pretty much anything, he doesn’t really see the point of lingerie lol. He’s just going to strip you! Why get so fancy? But the idea of you wearing something underneath your clothes all day that he picked out for you does turn him on. Like a secret understanding that you belong to him. He would pick out something simple and elegant, but racier than what you would pick out for yourself so he could enjoy watching you nervously adjust your clothes throughout the day to make sure no one caught a glimpse of what you were wearing underneath...

Victor

Haha, there’s no kind of lingerie out there that Victor wouldn’t want to dress you in! Corsets, teddies, matching bras/panties, G-strings, thigh-high stockings, crotchless panties... You name it, he’s already picked it out for you! You politely decline most of these items, which he of course doesn’t mind (though he’ll pretend to pout). But when he does manage to convince you to wear the cute see-through lilac nighty that he picked out, he can’t take his eyes off you. He’ll whisper compliments in your ear while he runs his fingertips teasingly over the sheer fabric... “Mm, I knew you’d look heavenly in this color.”

Jude Jazza

Buying you gifts has a dual benefit for Jude: he gets to see your reaction and it means you owe him lol. So you better believe that he’s grinning from ear to ear as he watches you unwrap the chastity belt that he bought you. The look on your face is a mixture of disbelief, outrage, and, you hate to say it, anticipation lmao. You know what this means. “The princess was getting so dirty askin’ for naughty gifts and all, so consider this the start of your Good Girl training.” The blood drains from your face and he just grins even more! Get ready! Hahaha!

Ellis Twilight

He would buy you a comfy but sexy black lace bra and panties set, which you love. He’s so delighted that you like the set, so he feels like you won’t mind the second part of the gift: black fuzzy handcuffs that match. He can tell that you get turned on as soon as he shows them to you. “y/n let’s try them out now, okay?” And before you know it you’re in the lingerie he bought you with your hands handcuffed to the bed above your head. “Mm,” he’d say appreciatively, “I want to keep you handcuffed and stripped like this forever, okay?” Buckle up! Lol.

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readerihardlyknowher · 2 months ago

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In Every Universe | Pt. 1

Okay, so this is my first time writing a fanfic since freshman year of high school, I've only written essays since then. Please forgive my writing style if it's not writer-y enough.

Spencer Agnew x Reader Warnings: Suggestive jokes (nothing serious, just general Spencer and co. jokes) WC: 1,580

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4

“Hey everyone! We’re back to find love with another rendition of Love is Blind!” Amanda’s voice announced to the camera. “Today we have some brand-new contestants!” Amanda's lovely voice goes on as she recaps the rules, before she goes on to describe her character in this game, which is a long beloved character of hers, the drunk party girl. You watch as she passes off to Shayne, then Arasha, then Courtney, then you as you finally get to share the character you’ve come up with.

“Hey there, little boys and girls,” you begin in your best rendition of a sexy, deep voice, which of course everyone snickers at, “I’m Lady D., but my… friends just call me Dee. I’m here to step outside of my comfort zone as a full-time dominatrix and find real love.” After you finish your intro, you can’t help but laugh alongside everyone else. It was a ridiculous character, and you know the voice is going to hurt by the end of the episode. Once the laughing subsides it’s time for Spencer’s character introduction. His voice is much deeper and douche-y than it normally is when he speaks.

“Whoa… Sick, um, well, my name is Derry. I’m a world champion Genshin player, and yes, I do live in my mom’s basement. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m here, chicks are already crazy enough irl.” His intro causes everyone at the table to groan, and Amanda to shove him lightly. His iconic laugh breaks through his character as he glances over at you to gauge your reaction. When he sees that you’re smiling, it only makes him smile more.

The game begins as it always does, making connections, bantering, and playing up the characters. As of now, your character, Dee, has the most connections with Spencer’s character and Courtney’s character. The question pops up of what your favorite kind of date is, A. small and intimate, B. big and bold, or C. skip the date, straight to the bedroom. Both you and Spencer are the only ones who place A, so you shoot him some playful bedroom eyes and turn to speak to the camera.

“Now, normally I would choose C, but I’m here to find love, not lust this time. Unless of course, I can find both in one,” You snicker out towards the end before shooting Spencer a wink. His eyes go comically wide and he turns to the camera to speak as well, “Whoa guys, I know chicks dig gamers, but this mommy and I really have chemistry.” Once more in this episode, you all laugh and boo Spencer and his weird, 4chan-y lingo. The game continues on, everyone else talking to and about their connections, but every time you look Spencer’s way, he gasps and makes a dramatic head turn away from you. You smile and shake your head when he does so, confused and loving/hating the energy of his character.

“Derry, I have something to say to you, meet me up front,” your head turns as Arasha/her character says. Spencer stares over at her for a second, looking shocked before standing up and facing away from her in front of the board, right in front of the cameras. You and all the other castmates are in shock and huddled together to watch. They both turn around and look at each other, gasping once they see one another. Arasha walks closer to him and gets down on one knee, looking up at Spencer. “I know you’re kind of an incel, but our connection is deep enough for me to overlook that. Will you marry me, Derry?” There’s a dramatic silence that falls upon the room, everyone clutching each other’s hands, waiting for Spencer/Derry’s response.

“Uh, sorry babe, but methinks there’s another lady more worth my time.” You all gasp loudly at his rejection, Arasha falling to the ground melodramatically, before Spencer’s gaze turns to you. “Dee…” More gasps erupt and you stand from your seat, heart over your chest. Arasha gets up from the floor and you swiftly take her place as he takes your hand in his. His is warm and a little clammy, but you don’t mind, holding tighter as he gets down on his knee, taking the ring Arasha had and now holding it up to you. “Mommy Dee, you had me from ‘I’m’.” You snicker. “Will you be my gamer girl, and we can be double d’s together?”

You have to get over your laughing for a second, the sound of your castmates cheering/shouting fogging your mind for just a moment, but you recover, nodding before you push him down onto both of his knees. “Oh but of course, I can never say no to a good boy.” Even those words coming out of your mouth make you break, shaking your head. You open your eyes to see Spencer doing the same, muttering your name in a humorously disapproving tone, before you help him up to stand. He makes a big deal of sliding the ring onto your finger and you hold it to your lips and kiss it. Of course, he reacts to this by placing his hands over the front of his pants as if to cover a boner, so you smack his arm and he breaks with a laugh.

Moving back behind the table, you move to be next to each other, that way you can lean onto him and shoot each other looks easier than before. As the questions and connections continue, Amanda stands up and looks at Shayne, and they go to the front as she pulls out her ring to him, going on in a monologue about how drunk they could get together. You watch the scene with a hand clutched to your chest, in exaggerated shock and awe. Your other hand, under the table, feels a familiar soft, warm hand brush against you before it holds onto your hand gently. You glance over to Spencer to see his eyes locked onto the two “lovers”, not even looking over at you. Trying to ignore the heat that rushes to your cheeks, you look back to the proposal, knowing that the cameras wouldn’t be able to pick up on the secret hand holding. You hardly even notice the proposal finishing before they’re sitting down at the table and Spencer turns to you and speaks.

“Hey, babe, that was only like, half as hot as ours. I would never let a woman do the proposal,” he says with his dopey smile. You smile back before putting on your character and responding facing the camera.

“I have a lot of fixing to do with this one.” You turn back to Spencer and put on your best commanding voice, trying to hide your smile. “Speak when you are spoken to, boy.”

He gulps loudly, making the table laugh before his eyes dart around and he speaks in a higher voice, “Hhhhhh, yes ma’am.”

You smile and respond with, “That’s mommy to you,” before drawing the next card for the game.

In just a few more turns, it’s time for the weddings. You both got all the possible connections to have a successful wedding. All the cast stands up and moves behind the table to do their weddings. Arasha and Courtney go first, and while they do theirs, you lean closer to Spencer and whisper. “Go with me on this.” You don’t have any time to clarify before they both “kiss” behind a piece of paper. Everyone cheers as they run off, before swiftly turning around to watch the other marriages, the next of which is yours. For some reason, you feel a little nervous, which makes no sense. Looking at Spencer, you know there’s nothing to be nervous about, not with the soft, yet playful smile he gives you as Tommy holds some paper towels on your head as a veil. Spencer takes your hands as you pretend to cry.

“We are gathered here today to unite the marriage between… an incel and a dominatrix. Before anything else, please say your vows,” Tommy reads off his “script”, before turning to the both of you. You decide to speak up first.

“Derry, I’m glad I like you for more than just sex. In every way except for your personality, you’re a… a good boy.” You cringe as you finish your sentence, watching as Spencer’s face does the same before quickly recovering. It’s silent before you remember, “You may speak now.”

“Phew. Okay Lady D., you’re the light of my life, the bulge in my pants, and the dommy to my mommy. I can’t wait to get pegged later tonight.” You cringe once more, disappointed by his disgustingly amused face. Tommy clears his throat and resumes reading.

“You may now kiss however you’d like.” And as the words leave his mouth, you reach out to Spencer and grab his jacket with both hands, pulling him to where his body blocks the camera as your hands both move up and down his neck and back, mimicking making out. Spencer, although initially stunned, quickly reciprocates and places his hands on your arms, moving them about in an appropriate, yet passionate way. All the while, your faces are inches from one another, eyes both shut as you independently make smooching noises as the cast and crew cheer you on. After a few seconds of this, you push him off, wiping your lips with your arm and looking towards the camera.

“Love is blind!”

#spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic

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miguelsslvt · 2 years ago

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ex nerd! scientist! miguel o'hara x slutty! reader

part two here!

word count: 745

TW: smut, nsfw, d/s themes, mentions of pet play.

A/N: THIS IS INSPIRED BY @nymphomatique SO PLS CHECK THEIR ONE OUT!! their drabble rlly inspired me so i thought maybe i could add a little twist;) welcome to the club!

back in your college days, you were.. promiscuous, some would say. well, you were the biggest slut on campus. if your body count didn't say it all, then the rumours sure did.

you took chemistry, maths, physics and biology. you wanted to be a physics scientist, partially because of the thought of there being lots and lots of different universes, but mostly because the pay was brilliant.

miguel o'hara was your 'pet' back in your college days, per-say.

you used him for your homework, and in exchange you would fuck him, give him head, handjobs, you name it. you took miguel's virginity, and every bit of innocence he had left. he was totally smitten by you. i mean, a pretty, popular girl giving him attention no one ever did? sign him up.

miguel was the biggest loser you knew back then. he wasn't the most muscly, and he had those ridiculous black square glasses, and his outfits were shocking. he had a slight lisp due to his late braces, and his hair was far too long and he clearly struggled to maintain it. to keep it blunt, he wasn't cool at all. he was a loser, a simp, and a goody two-shoes. perfect as your little pet.

it wasn't until after graduation did you stop your little encounters. after leaving college, you blocked his number and left campus on the same day. you thought you'd never have to see that nerdy freak again. well, that's what they all say, right?

that was until you finally got a job at ALCHEMAX. you were a 'technological support scientist', which sounded smart but really all you got to do was watch all the better scientists do tests. you didn't mind, it did more then just pay your bills. hell, with the checks you're bringing in you could probably buy a new car in a few months!

you thought things were all sunshine and rainbows, until the thunder walked in. it's funny though, you didn't realise thunder looked like 6'9 tall and 310 pound of pure muscle and attractiveness. his braces were gone, his hair more clean and cut a little shorter, and his glasses just resting on top of his head, but you knew exactly who he was.

'm-miguel o'hara?!' you said, shocked. he turned around swiftly, looking down at you, before his eyes widened. 'y/n l/n?' he said, surprised. you both had become blushing messes. well, his glow up sure came after only 3 years.

'you.. work here?' you asked, absolutely awe-struck. 'i.. do. i am a technological scientist here. you work here too? why haven't i ever seen you around before?' he asked, intriuged. 'i-it's my first day here. you.. matured.' you said, clearly checking him out.

the man smirked. he actually smirked. the man who would whimper, begging to just get off on your shoe, smirked at you like he was in control. 'and you look as gorgeous as 3 years ago.'

your heart stopped. who was this man? this muscular, defined, confident, completely self aware man.. this wasn't miguel. there was no way.

'you..you're very different, miguel.' you said, a blushing mess. he chuckled, putting some latex gloves on. fuck, even his hands were attractive. 'well alot happens to a guy.' he says smoothly, his voice deeper. god this was going to be hard.

♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

that very night, you were spread out on the bed, and you didn't recognise the man above you.

3 years ago, a scrawny desperate nerdy little boy was on his knees, as if you were a goddess. and now, that very man was on top of you, kissing your neck so skilfully, as if he's done this for years. his thrusts had rhythm, as he grinded along your g spot with ease, you let out a gasp and a breathy moan, as he shushed you.

'sh, bonita.. you've changed. where's that dominatrix you were back in college days? why are you so.. obedient?~' he whispered in your ear, as you moaned again.

'i-i think i-it's y-you that changed, m-miguel..' you breathily said in response, as he chuckled. 'oh no, sweetheart, i'm still the same loser that was begging on his knees for you. just now, i've learnt how to please you as well as me.' he said in response, his hands moving down from your breasts to your hips, his cock deep inside you as he grinded his hips as you felt every inch.

god, is this heaven?

♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel smut #miguel spiderverse #smut #across the spiderverse #fem reader #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #2099 #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x fem!reader

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maraudersilver · 2 months ago

Text

DOE EYES (Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Summary: No one ever wins the Games. You survive. And that's what you did at the 66th Hunger Games. Years later, you find yourself on an annual routine of mentoring tributes from your district to send them to slaughter, just as they did with your fellow tributes back in your Games. Decaying would have been the option if Finnick Odair hadn't offered his hand as a shield. However, a certain drunkard from District 12 earns your curiosity after judging him for more than a lustrum.

A/N: Hello! I've been missing for a while, but I promise the new Despise You chapter has been half written by now. However, after reading Sunrise on the Reaping, I've been on a Haymitch brain rot that cannot be stopped until I write a whole fanfic for him where he gets his happy ending. In this account we respect and love Lenore Dove, so she'll be honoured as someone who was the most important person for Haymitch for a huge part of his life. Also, the reader is from District 6 and has a very interesting cultural heritage that you'll be learning as the story moves forward. Haymitch loved his Covey girl, so it's natural for him to fall for someone with such a cultural difference for him to learn from.

Warnings: Age gap! 15 years age gap, Haymitch is 40 and reader 25. In this chapter and until we reach the 74th Hunger Games he's 38 and she's 23. Future smut. Alcoholism (is Haymitch, what were we expecting). Hunger Games in general is a warning. Mentions of sexual abuse (we have Finnick here, girls). Future spoilers for Sunrise on the Reaping. Slow burn.

Wc: 4,3K

Blasting through the cannons of sound came the soundtrack of class difference. Ever since you won the Hunger Games six years before, the music had barely changed. Fashion, however, tended to go worse each time you made it to the Capitol under orders of Snow. Apparently, having victors around was la creme de la creme for everyone who was anyone in the rich men world.

Holding a glass of white wine fetched from the waitresses choreographing around the main hall, you made your way towards the only person at that party that could give you enough serotonin to not jump out the roof at that very moment. His blond, curly hair moved in waves that brought in the attention of harpies ready to stab his neck with their fangs. Never getting tired of consuming everything that he was since he won at the age of fourteen.

“Ladies!” you greeted with a wide, fake smile. The same one you had put on since the moment you were reaped. “How lovely you all look. Is that the new Dires’ dress, Miss Seedpipe? No wonder you seem so radiant!”

The bunch of old, decrepit women filled with anti-aging treatments that did little to conceal their ugliness laughed pleased at your compliment. Your friend, on his part, just grinned his characteristic crooked smile, so loved by everyone in the Capitol due to its mischievous implications.

“Always so sweet, my dear,” said Miss Seedpipe with a hand pressed to her heart. “You look rather dazzling yourself.”

“She definitely does.” Finnick raised his glass as if toasting, to which the women followed him like a herd of sheep without critical thinking. “What do we owe the honour of your presence, hotstuff?”

On any other occasion, you would have rolled your eyes. However, you pulled out your white feather fan and giggled dumbly. If you knew this would be your destiny back in the arena, you would have killed yourself in the bloodbath. “I just needed to steal Finnick from you, ladies.” The nosferatu look-alikes booed in complaint, yet your smile stood steady. “Won’t take long.”

“All yours.” Finnick grinned wider if even possible, offering me his left arm to run away in a slow pace from the bunch of vultures.

Once out of earshot and behind a purple, velvety curtain, Finnick sighed in relief. “Thanks for that. Madam Dominatrix wanted to pull at my pants.”

Although the nickname had been incredibly funny to refer to the woman who’s outfit consisted of a red latex body, the feeling of doom at your friend’s fate prevented you from laughing. Silently, you placed a hand on his bicep, caressing in comfort, to which he just gifted you a sad smile.

“Anyway. What did you want?”

“Nothing, I was bored.”

Finnick looked at you with a deadpan expression, huffing in amusement. “Can’t say I wasn’t, either.”

It had become a habit. On your first big Capitol party, while many of the citizens surrounded you and asked you for a ‘chance’ you weren’t quite sure of what they were referring to, Finnick had come to your rescue. The, at that moment, fifteen-year-old had grabbed your hand sweetly and brought you to an adjacent room where you were safe from the critical and lustful looks of the animals that called themselves humans.

You didn’t know it back then, but Finnick had made it his mission to be the person who freed you of as many uncomfortable situations as he was able to, something he had wished he had when he had first appeared at the Capitol after winning. So, what started as a survival relationship in the feisty claws of the most sadistic people to ever exist on Earth, ended up blossoming into the most platonic, meaningful friendship you had ever had. Finnick became your beacon, your lifeline in the moments of darkness that surrounded you whenever you stepped a foot on Snow’s mansion or in any other important building. And, without knowing it at first, you were Finnick’s excuse to disappear from the claws of any rich member who attended the parties.

So sad people only saw him for his looks, because he was definitely the most gorgeous on the inside.

“Have you seen Johanna?” you asked, looking around as if you would find a secret passage from where she could appear.

“No. Thought she would be with you,” muttered Finnick with furrowed brows.

You shook your head, trapping your lower lip between your teeth. “Maybe she’s not here?”

“Lucky bastard, if that’s the case,” laughed him mirthlessly.

Johanna won the games two years ago. She had been the new rising star among the Capitol, and Finnick and you agreed to save her from the awful fate Finnick had been prey to. Maybe you weren’t as close to her as you were to Finnick, but under all that rough exterior and mean words, Johanna had won your trust, something very difficult to gain after your games.

Commotion exploded outside the curtain. Sharing a confused look, both Finnick and you peeked your head out to see Haymitch Abernathy vomiting the rug in the middle of the living room. Couldn’t say you were surprised. After years of roaming around the Capitol, you had been witness to the famous drunk performances of the District 12 sole victor.

The vultures who had been pestering Finnick not even five minutes ago were gagging and gasping in horror as Haymitch fell down on his own puke. Some Capitol staff rushed towards the passed out man and grabbed him down his armpits, dragging him down the hall to where you could only assume was his room. It didn’t take long for the party to resume. They were also used to Haymitch’s shenanigans at that point.

“Well, that was a hell of a way to flee the party. I have to give it to him,” Finnick said, chuckling once his head was back behind the curtain.

“Not funny. He’ll have an awful hangover tomorrow,” you mumbled. However, the pull of your lips upward conveyed the silent laugh that was rumbling your chest.

“He’s never hungover. Can’t be if you never stop drinking.”

By then, both of you were guffawing and trying to regain some composure and breathing. On the inside, you pitied Haymitch. You didn’t really know what happened to him apart from the trauma of his games. If twenty-four tributes were a nightmare, forty-eight was the epitome of horrors. You couldn’t really blame him for his copying method.

“A dance?” Finnick offered, exaggerating a bow that had you snorting while you took his hand.

“Lead the way, fish boy.”

That was the last time you had sight of the victors until the following Hunger Games. The reaping back at District 6 had given you a thirteen year old boy and a fourteen year old girl. Both of them starved to the point their cleavages were visible and as sharp as knives. Another two kids to bring to the slaughter.

“Do not resist the prep team,” you had advised back at the train, while the kids looked at you with terrified eyes. “It doesn’t matter what they do, keep still and be compliant, okay?”

“Okay,” Ruby, the girl, agreed, while the boy just nodded.

“I’ll be able to see you before the parade. We can agree on a strategy once I see how the stylists have dressed you. Until then, rest and try to calm your nerves.” You stood up from your seat to exit the compartment, but stopped when you passed by the snacks. “Oh! And make sure to eat. Some pounds more are welcome in the arena.”

Andromeda, District 6 escort, and you made your way to the Tribute Centre, installing before sending the kids towards the prep team to be showered, disinfected and, well, prepared. You smiled at them softly, both children shaking like leafs as they left with Andromeda in the elevator.

With nothing else left to do, you had three hours for yourself, so you went down to the Tribute Centre bar, placed there for the Mentors and escorts. If you were lucky, you would be able to spot Finnick and Johanna there.

Soft jazz played at the dimly lit establishment. There was not much music left after the rebellion, but those melodies without lyrics were the ones used for occasions. Much to your detriment, none of your friends were yet there, so you made your way to the bar to ask for a non alcoholic beverage. As much as intoxicating yourself to oblivion was a tempting offer, your job was to protect your new kids as much as you could from where you stood as their mentor, and sobriety is the bare minimum requirement for that. It had been years since a drop of alcohol had soaked your tongue.

Yellowish light trespassed the glass bottles behind the barman, and you felt guilty of enjoying the fake cozy feeling settled at the bottom of your stomach. There weren’t many people yet, and the stools were comfortable. How disgusting to be so lightheaded in a place like that while twenty-four kids were being prepared to be sold to sponsors down in the basement. You thought of your Mentors drinking themselves stupid in the bar while you fought for your life at the arena and your stomach crumbled; you hated your predicament as a perpetrator of bad practices.

Suddenly, there was movement on your right. Lifting your head from where it looked at the counter, you found the sluggy, yet big form of Haymitch Abernathy. His curly hair was unkempt, and although he was wearing a suit, the state of the collars of his white shirt gave the impression of unlaundered. Even if he had just arrived at the bar, the smell of raw liquor reeked from him. The only clean and tidy part of him was his dove coloured vest.

“Your tributes on prep team already?” you asked, looking for a topic of conversation to clear your troubled mind.

Haymitch lifted his head clumsily, almost disoriented. With furrowed brows, he nodded. Great. A man of few words.

“Yeah, mine too.”

He didn’t even hum to acknowledge your pathetic attempt of small talk, already lost on whatever the barman had served him. Shaky hands gave you the impression that he had been drinking for a while already, and your heart constricted at the thought of the poor angels who had to count on him for sponsors. Irresponsible. That’s what Haymitch Abernathy was.

You observed him. Fine lines covered his forehead, increased by the snarl on his face. He definitely looked older than thirty-eight. Yet he conserved some of the youthful beauty you had heard many Capitol citizens talk about.

After an hour of silence and brooding, and with no signs of Finnick and Johanna, you decided to leave the bar. The grey coloured walls of your Tribute Centre floor was definitely better company than the drunkard victor.

“See you around, Haymitch.”

“Hmm.”

At least he had the decency to give some answer. Without paying no mind to him, you left the confines of the bat to the floor designated to your District, Haymitch’s gaze lost in the grey wall in front of him.

There weren’t seats reserved for victors on the parade; part of the job consisted of looking for the best spot to talk to sponsors since that very moment. Cashmere and Gloss were already roaming the wealthiest of them, all sat together at the centre of the bleachers. Finnick and Mags were talking, mostly Finnick, if you were being honest, to the women who had been fanning over him a few weeks ago. Johanna was somewhere on the other side. Beetee and Wiress lost in the crowd. Funny enough, Haymitch had settled on the left side with a hip flask in hand.

That year you had decided to mentor alone, the mental health of your fellow victor too damaged to be of any help. So you made your way to the sponsors who usually paid attention to your words. Every year it was more difficult to earn their trust on bets, District 6 not having a victor since you won. And, truth be told, this year would be more of the same. Those poor teens would probably die during the first few minutes of the Games. But you had to try. For them.

With a fake, sweet smile you approached the Rainwalls, a couple whom you’d had a fairly close relationship with since you started to mentor. “Would you mind if I take a seat?” you asked with the smoothest of tones.

The old pair looked up with annoyed expressions until their eyes settled on you, and their smiles grew so much you wondered if botox could come out of their pores. “Oh, dear! How are you doing, darling? Of course you can sit with us! Come, come.” Miss Rainwall urged you with her hand to take the place right next to her, and you did with a small nod of gratitude.

“It’s been a while, dear. Are you excited for these games?” she asked, her hands moving in cheerful spams. Your stomach churned in disgust, but you continued grinning and nodding enthusiastically.

“Absolutely! Tributes look very interesting this year.” Both she and her husband nodded in agreement. “District 1 strong as ever.”

“Yes, although District 5’s boy has a je ne sais quoi,” Miss Rainwall said, peeling an orange in the meanwhile. “Let’s see what they pull up at the parade. Do you know anything about your kids’ stylists?”

You shook your head. “Not much. I’m as clueless as the rest of you,” you giggled, and both of them followed you. She placed a hand on her husband's bicep, something she did whenever a District person said something funny. As if you weren’t humans at all and she was surprised at how clever you could be. “Can’t wait to see them, though. Witty tributes I have.”

“Really?” There it is, Miss Rainwall took the bait. You nodded with another sweet grin, and she smiled along. “I prefer them to strong tributes. But don’t let the word spread,” she chuckled in whispers, and you passed your fingers over your lips as a zipper.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” The older woman nodded in agreement.

“They last longer. Don’t look for conflict, which is boring, but if I have to bet, I prefer to do so with those who live more.”

It was upsetting, hearing her speaking so lightly and detached from reality about dying kids. How could she say that kids that look for shelter instead of battling to death were boring?

“I’m pretty sure my kids will get far. At the very least one of them.”

You hadn't even thought about it. Didn’t know their strengths or weaknesses, if they were clever or clumsy, or if they managed any weapon at all. But you would get them sponsors even if you had to lie through your teeth.

“Good to know. I’ll take it into account when- Oh, look! It’s starting!”

Miss Rainwall settled her gaze on the District 1 chariot, and the conversation died completely as her attention shifted from District to District, criticizing the styling, deciding who had her benefit based on their clothes. From afar, you saw Haymitch looking down at his shoes, unable to pay any mind to the Coal Miners that ended the line of chariots parading around. Maybe he was embarrassed of his state, or maybe he was so intoxicated his brain could not even process where he was.

You looked back at your kids, dressed in silver and metallic colours representing manufacturing. It wasn’t the best, but definitely not the worst. However, their terrified gazes did nothing to fuel the entertainment of the Capitol citizens, and you knew you would have a hard time finding sponsors.

“You did great!” you lied to your tributes after they arrived at the apartment once the parade ended. “Now just focus on the training days. I’ll help you come up with strategies and Andromeda will also be here for the interview training, alright? Now go shower. We’ll have dinner and then straight to bed.”

Ruby and Tyler nodded, too tired to pronounce a word, and left in a hurry to the safety of their rooms. You sighed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of your nose. Andromeda placed a hand on your back in comfort, but it did nothing.

“They seemed marvelled by the Capitol!” she cheered, and you kept the temptation of choking her guarded.

“Sure,” you huffed, disappearing in your room once more.

The next few days were tiresome. Ruby knew how to manage a knife, but Tyler barely even knew how to differentiate edible from poisonous plants. It ended up with a six for Ruby and a four for Tyler. You kept your tears for the secluded area of your room, wanting nothing more than to tear the Capitol to shreds. Those two kids who had hoped you could help them would more than probably die within the blood bath. The odds weren’t in their favour.

In the interview, the public was awestruck by both of them. So sweet, so young, so clever and spirited even in their terrified states. And you somehow gathered hope enough for them, because if they survived the blood bath, sponsors wasn’t a deluded idea.

“Remember. The moment the gong sounds, flee from there. You don’t have strength enough to fight in the blood bath. Look for high ground and for water. Water is your new friend, understood?”

“What about food?” Ruby asked, tears gathering at the base of her precious brown eyes. You placed your hands softly on her face, cleaning the tear stained path from her cheeks.

“That’s the next step. In the Cornucopia you’ll see bags. They usually have food, water, and some elements of importance for the nature of the arena. Don’t grab them. Don’t look at them. Only go back if you don’t find any fresh water or food. Get as far away from the other tributes as possible, especially because you don’t have any allies.” The elevator was almost reaching its destination, so you turned to both of them, rubbing Tyler’s head. “That doesn’t mean you won’t find allies once the Games start. But always keep your guard up.”

Tyler leaped on you, hugging your torso with an abnormal strength for a boy his age. Terrified, trembling, and wetting your shirt with his own tears. You were able to pull down the sobs that threatened to come out of you.

“Come here, Ruby,” you called the girl, and she complied. A hug of three. The last one you’d share with them.

“Thank you,” Tyler mumbled, pulling away from you and angrily drying his tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Whatever happens, remember I’ll be watching. I’ve been working on sponsors, so I’ll try to send you anything that you need. Stay alive.”

You didn’t have time to hug them one more time, as Peacekeepers grabbed them by their arms towards the train that would send them to the arena. Once they were out of sight, you broke down on your knees, sobbing uncontrollably for you didn’t even know how long. Until someone pulled you on your feet again, placing your head on their shoulder. His smell comforting and familiar.

“They won’t make it,” you sobbed, clenching your fists on his clothes, to which he shushed you and kissed the top of your head.

“You’ve done what was in your hands,” Finnick whispered your name, rocking you from left to right. “Now work hard for sponsors, yeah? C’mon, let’s go to the Headquarters. And clean your face, people won’t do business with you looking like that.”

You nodded against his chest, snorting at his words, and grabbed the arm he offered to walk back up to your floor to change.

Unfortunately, your gut was always right. Your two angels died not far from the Cornucopia, assaulted by the Careers as they tried to flee. At least, it was a quick death. Ruby gor pierced by a spear, and Tyler hit by an arrow. When both cannons sounded, you felt bile rising at your relief. They wouldn't have to suffer in the arena any longer.

Finnick caressed your back, while Johanna, who had sat with you both and Mags, grabbed your hand in a white knuckled grip. No one apart from you four mourned the poor kids who had just cruelly died on the projectors, Capitol citizens too preoccupied cheering for the blood bath. It made you sick with fury, wrath running down your veins instead of blood. Harshly than you intended, you pulled your hand away from Johanna’s and stood up. Both of your friends looked at you with alarm.

“I need to be alone.” Was all you said without waiting for a response before storming out of the viewing hall.

Your ears were buzzing with white noise. Blinded by your own tears and consumed by a sadness difficult to explain to anyone who wasn’t a victor. You heard your name being called a few times, not stopping until a hand grabbed your wrist.

“Dear, I’m so sorry about the kids.” Miss Rainwall said, although the lack of grief on her face was telling enough. “Your predictions didn’t aim well this time, though. Such a pity.”

You wanted to rip her face with your nails, but in a controlled sob, you smiled. “Seems like it.”

“How adorable! Your accent’s back!” Miss Rainwall applauded, calling her friends. “Can you repeat that for them? You have such an… interesting accent we haven’t been able to hear since your games!”

She deserved to be punched. She really deserved it. But you didn’t do it, opting for a more friendly approach. “I would, but I really need to- Need to make arrangements. You know, for their trip back home.”

It took everything in you not to whip in front of them, storming away again until you reached the secluded bar. No one was there, not even the barman. Everyone too occupied watching kids battling to death.

It didn’t matter. You served yourself. Again, nothing alcoholic. You didn’t deserve oblivion. Those kids didn’t deserve to be forgotten at all. And you couldn’t bear the voices that would surely plag your mind and tear your sanity out the balcony.

Hours passed, or so you thought until a clock on the far side of the room marked just ten minutes had gone by, when another figure sat beside you on the counter. Sighing, you mumbled, “Not in the mood, Finnick.”

“Good I’m not Finnick, then,” a slurred voice muttered, gripping a bottle of Nepenthe by its neck and chucking it like a thirsty man.

Haymitch Abernathy was already wasted, sweat covering his hairline. How you had ignored the reeking booze of his breath thinking it was Finnick, you were clueless.

“Don’t look at me like that, Doe Eyes, your tributes are as dead as mine.”

Doe Eyes? But what infuriated you the most was the indifference with which he talked about those kids. Your blood was boiling. “You could show a little sympathy to the very least,” you snarled, taking your eyes off him and looking down at your own beverage.

“Oh, but I do. Early death is the best thing that you could wish upon a tribute.”

You had heard people say Haymitch was sarcastic, always thinking it was a trait to be admired. However, your grieven state processed his words as a direct attack. “You’re heartless.”

“Hmm. Absolutely. My heart was taken from me ages ago.” He shrugged, swigging another mouthful of Nepenthe.

“We’ve all survived the Games, Haymitch. Don’t act as if you’re the only one affected by it.”

“But I’m not the one judging others by their stances, am I?”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, searching for something clever to counter. “It’s not the same.” It wasn’t your day, that was clear enough.

He snorted, rolling the bottle like you would a glass of wine. “Is it not? And what’s the difference then?”

Stumbling over your words, you huffed in indignation, grabbing your glass and drinking to prevent answering. Although Haymitch didn’t relent.

“For someone who prides on empathy, you don’t apply it on others when it doesn’t fit your narrative.”

“Shut up.”

“Stroke a nerve, Doe Eyes?” He chuckled, emptying another quarter of the bottle.

“Don’t call me that!”

Haymitch snorted, bottle forgotten for a moment on the counter. He looked at you with his deep, grey eyes, which matched the colour of the walls. His dove coloured suit also enhanced the dazzling, yet dull light of his gaze. For a moment you stood breathless. Never had you ever seen such a look on somebody. And then, his rough voice brought you back to the present.

“Not one to obey orders, Doe Eyes.”

Scorching was your skin. He was shameless, ill-mannered, rude and a pain in the ass. Left was the unfinished glass on the counter when you walked past him to leave, only to feel his rough hands grabbing your arm softly.

“I’m really sorry about the kiddos,” he mumbled your name, his look now solemn, though fixed on the counter. It surprised you the fast change between prick to somewhat gentle. But you were too angry at him to indulge, so you just nodded.

“I’m sorry about yours, too.”

And with that, you hoped to see nothing about Haymitch Abernathy until the following Hunger Games.

Back in the confines of your room, tears fell down your eyes to your cheeks. There was no more air your lungs could transform into sobs, too strained by the misery of the last few days to continue working. With a small sigh, a whisper left your parted lips. “Goian bego, Ruby and Tyler.”

Translation - Goian bego: rest in peace.

#haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x lenore dove #haymitch x lenore dove #finnick odair #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #katniss and peeta #peeta mellark #johanna mason #thg series #sunrise on the reaping #thg sotr #thg haymitch

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mononijikayu · 6 months ago

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criminal love — nanami kento.

"Look at me, siren." he commands, his tone steady but charged. "I want to see everything." Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, locking onto him with an effort that feels monumental. There’s a glint in his caramel gaze—intense, searching, as if he’s reading more than just the surface of your expression. “Good little siren.” he murmurs, his voice softening but no less dominant. “Don’t run from it. Let me see what it does to you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - detective au;

WARNING/S: afab!, romance, smut, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, nudity, kissing, making out, clit stimulation, rough sex, p to v sex, teasing, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (pretty man, siren, etc), characters speaking in sexual innuendo, possessiveness, betrayal, faking death, crying, drama, violence, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, guilt, angst, depression, mention of extortion, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, nanami ooc, detective! nanami kento, criminal! reader;

WORD COUNT: 20k words.

NOTE: this was roughly based on irene adler and sherlock from bbc sherlock. i ended up rewatching clips of them recently and i ended up wanting to write something about this in my own way and so i hope you enjoy it. ill probably be gone for a long while between these weeks as exam season is coming, so whatever i upload would be automated queued up. i hope you enjoy it anyway!!! i love you all!!! <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 2000;

if you want to, tip! <3

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MUCH WAS TO BE DISCERNED, THAT WAS FOR CERTAIN. Nanami Kento was yet unsure what to feel about this case. But he knew that he’d better just keep his opinions to himself. He was a consulting detective, more than he was a spy.

And he was the first of his kind, well — he created the job. But he found that in his own line of work, he made the rules. And he’s not like a rule breaker — not unless he was bored. Which happens all too often nowadays.

But he made boundaries. And he likes to keep within them. A consulting detective is not meant to be a populist, nor someone who expresses the biases that come with his existence. A consulting detective was a blank canvas, a mask that never tires or tears.

The mind cannot be diluted nor dulled. Not even when it comes to personal intrigue. But as he looked at your personal profile, he couldn’t help but find himself intrigued by you.

He hums, staring at your profile. There wasn’t much to tell in detail. That’s why Yaga came to him in the first place. If they had known more about you, then they would have never come to him. But it was clear to him that you were too beautiful, much like a siren.

But then again, you were a dominatrix. That was how you grabbed your victim’s attention. That’s how you got the prime minister under your thumb and how you blackmailed him.

Still there was something about your eyes. How they were so full of walls he wanted to pierce. He’d never seen them before. Perhaps that adds to the allure he already has with you.

He was enamoured by them in his own way. Your sharp eyes glaring back at him, full of mystery. Like a puzzle. And he wanted to solve everything. He wanted to know you, unravel you for his own desires to escape boredom.

Nanami Kento leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping him as he thumbed through the sparse details of your profile once again. His office was dim, save for the soft golden light spilling from the desk lamp. It cast sharp shadows across his furrowed brow, accentuating the contemplative set of his jaw. The rain outside tapped a steady rhythm against the windowpane, a melody of monotony he had long grown indifferent to.

He tapped a pen absently against the leather-bound notebook on his desk. "A dominatrix, a prolific criminal." he muttered to himself, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Of course. Why else would someone like you have the Prime Minister dancing to your tune?"

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. A lesser man might have judged you outright, but Nanami Kento wasn’t a lesser man. Judgment required bias, and bias was a weakness. Yet even he couldn't deny the intrigue you stirred in him—a siren cloaked in mystery, luring him to uncharted depths.

Picking up your profile again, he scanned the details with a practiced eye. It was deliberately vague. Yaga Masamichi had been careful about that, only providing enough to hook him without tipping the scales. Clever. Kento appreciated cleverness.

“You’re an enigma, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. His gaze lingered on the photograph clipped to the file. Your sharp eyes seemed to pierce through the page, as if daring him to look deeper.

The phone on his desk buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He reached for it, his tone clipped and professional. "Nanami Kento speaking."

Yaga's gruff voice crackled through the line. "Have you made any progress?"

Kento glanced at the profile again, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "Progress? No. But I’m intrigued. That’s more than you can usually say after five minutes of reading these files."

"This isn't a game, Kento. This is a high profile case." Yaga growled. "We need results."

Kento leaned back, the smirk fading into something more inscrutable. "And you’ll have them, eventually. When I get into it. But you brought me in because I don’t rush. I don’t make mistakes. Trust that I’ll deliver, Yaga. But you knew that already, didn’t you?"

A strained silence followed. Kento snickers silently. Yaga knew that he was right. He’s never failed a case before. He was their only shot at figuring this out.

Driving him away with their pondering would irritate him. So, Yaga knew it best. Yaga grumbled his assent on the other side of the line and then hung up. Kento replaced the receiver with a quiet exhale and turned his attention back to your profile.

"Who are you really?" he mused aloud. The rain continued its persistent tapping, as if echoing the question. He traced a finger along the edge of the photograph, his mind already dissecting the puzzle you presented.

This wasn’t just about solving a case anymore. It was about understanding the layers beneath your sharp eyes and enigmatic smirk. You were a challenge, and Nanami Kento never walked away from a challenge.

“Time to meet the siren.” he murmured, closing the file and grabbing his coat.

The game had officially begun.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

HE LIKED GETTING THINGS DONE WELL. So, with meticulous precision, Nanami Kento began preparing. His process was almost ritualistic—a series of carefully honed steps that allowed him to immerse himself in the task at hand.

Research, observation, analysis; each was a brushstroke on the canvas of his understanding. He had done this countless times before, dissecting lives and habits like a surgeon with a scalpel. It was a game he played alone, and one he rarely lost.

It didn’t take him long to find you. You weren’t exactly hiding, after all. You were a bold one, he would admit that. Certainly, others would have tried to find a way to hide from him. But you did not. No, you don’t seem to have liked that.

The apartment you lived in was in the heart of the city. Though modest, it had an air of curated simplicity. A facade, he suspected. There could be some other place you found yourself to be at. It’s impossible to have no back up plan. Still, he’d start here. The moment he identified your specific location, he began to watch.

At first, it was dull. Too dull. Your routines were painfully ordinary: niche little trips to the market, morning coffee on your tiny balcony, polite nods to neighbors as you passed. For all the whispers of scandal surrounding you, you seemed frustratingly… normal.

“Boring.” Nanami muttered under his breath, reclining in his concealed vantage point. He adjusted his tie absentmindedly, a habitual gesture when his patience wore thin. But he wasn’t one to abandon a lead, not even when boredom threatened to set in. Boredom, after all, was often a disguise for something hidden.

And he was right. It didn’t take long before the cracks in the surface began to show.

There were subtle inconsistencies. He picks on them right away, of course. Like the way your routine shifted ever so slightly every few days. The lingering looks you exchanged with strangers on the street, each glance charged with unspoken meaning.

The phone calls you took late at night, your voice low and hushed as you paced your apartment. Much of those were patterned just as much. Of course, you would try to throw him off the course with your other calls. But he was not falling for it.

You were normal, yes—but only just enough to keep the untrained eye from noticing the undertow beneath.

Kento took note of everything, each detail cataloged with precision in his mind. How you lingered in front of a particular bookstore on days when the street was less crowded.

How your posture straightened imperceptibly when you stepped into the dimly lit café on the corner, like you were stepping into character. How your sharp eyes softened, just briefly, when you gazed out over the city skyline from your balcony at night.

"You’re meticulous, little siren." he murmured, watching from afar as you adjusted the hem of your coat before entering a black sedan one evening. "Calculated. And hiding something."

His instincts, honed by years of studying human behavior, told him you were more than the sum of your parts. You weren’t erratic, nor did you display the cold mechanical precision of a methodical planner. You were something else entirely—a paradox wrapped in elegance, wearing your secrets as effortlessly as a designer gown.

As the days turned into weeks, his understanding of you deepened. He noted how you interacted with others, your charm carefully measured, your words like baited hooks. He saw the way people gravitated to you, unaware of the quiet power you wielded over them. It was mesmerizing to watch, even for someone as detached as Nanami.

But then there were the moments that broke the pattern. The fleeting, unguarded seconds when the mask slipped. It was just for a split second and yet, it was glaringly obvious. when your smile faltered, when your gaze lingered on nothing in particular, as if lost in thought. Those moments fascinated him the most.

"You're not what you seem, aren’t you, siren?" Nanami said one evening, speaking to no one but himself as he jotted down another observation in his notebook. "And that’s what makes you dangerous."

He leaned back, letting the pen rest against his lips as he studied his notes. The bitter rain had begun again, a softly patters against the window. Watching you has become more than an assignment. It was a challenge, one he was determined to unravel.

Whatever secrets you held, he would uncover them.

Whatever lies you told, he would see through them.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he would finally find something that would make him feel alive again.

Kento approached your residence with the confidence of a seasoned professional, every step measured, every glance purposeful. The modest, meek exterior belied the reputation you had earned—a mind sharper than most, a presence impossible to ignore. Well, not to him.

For all his precision and preparation, Nanami Kento prided himself on being unshakeable.

That illusion shattered the moment he stepped inside.

The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, rich and intoxicating, blending seamlessly with the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through gauzy curtains. The room was immaculate, deceptively serene, yet every detail felt deliberate, as though the space itself were watching him. And then there was you.

You stood in the center of the room, utterly bare, holding a steaming cup of tea as though this were the most natural thing in the world. The room itself was dimly lit, the amber glow of a single lamp casting elongated shadows that danced along the walls. The steam from your cup curled upward in lazy tendrils, disappearing into the stillness that seemed to envelop everything around you.

For a moment, Nanami Kento froze where he stood, his usually unshakable composure wavering. He had been meticulous, quiet as a shadow as he made his way into your space, every step calculated. He hadn’t anticipated this—hadn’t prepared for the sight of you standing there, unguarded and unapologetic.

“You’re not easily startled, detective.” you said, your voice smooth and unhurried, like the tea you sipped from the delicate porcelain cup. The corners of your lips curled upward, though the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I think I managed to catch you off guard.”

"I... was unaware we had an appointment." he managed, his voice clipped, struggling to keep his gaze fixed on your eyes.

"Unaware? Oh, Detective, you wound me." You stepped forward, the subtle sway of your hips hypnotic, your bare feet making no sound against the polished wood floor. "But I knew you’d come. You’re far too predictable for your own good. Handsome, brilliant, but predictable."

Kento’s brow furrowed imperceptibly. You had noticed him before he had even made himself known, yet here you were, unconcerned and entirely in control. It was a calculated choice, he realized. Everything about you was measured. Everything from your posture, your tone, even your lack of clothing—was deliberate. A statement of power.

He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His gaze remained steady, unflinching, as he addressed you. “You have a peculiar way of entertaining unexpected guests, don’t you?

You chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to ripple through the charged air between you. “And you have a peculiar way of entering someone’s home uninvited. But I suppose we both like to keep things interesting.”

Kento’s caramel eyes flicked briefly to the cup in your hands, the steam still rising. You held it with a casual grace, as though the vulnerability of your current state was irrelevant. He took a measured step closer, his voice as calm and steady as ever.

“I’m not here to entertain. I’m here for answers.”

“And you think breaking into my home is the best way to get them?” you replied, tilting your head slightly. “Interesting method, detective.”

There was no fear in your voice, no tremor of uncertainty. You don’t seem to cower at the thought that he was in front of you. You were not at the least afraid, flaunting yourself bare as the day you were born right in front of him, no. If anything, you seemed amused, as though this was just another game—one you intended to win. As he usually does.

Kento’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t used to this. Being disarmed, even momentarily. You were unlike anyone he had encountered before, and it both intrigued and irritated him. You drank a handful of your tea, not breaking eye contact with him.

“You know why I’m here.” he said, his tone firm. “Let’s not waste time pretending otherwise.”

You raised the cup to your lips, taking a slow sip before responding. “Ah, but time is all we have, isn’t it, mister detective? Besides, I’m curious to see how far you’re willing to go for your answers.”

Kento’s gaze remained fixed on you, his mind racing to piece together your intentions. He had come here prepared to confront a manipulator, a blackmailer, someone who thrived on exploiting the weaknesses of others. Instead, he found himself standing before an enigma. You were a person who seemed to thrive in the liminal space between predator and prey.

“You’re not afraid of me.” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost reflective.

You met his gaze, unblinking. “Should I be?”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an unspoken challenge. Kento felt the weight of it pressing against him, but he refused to yield. He had come here to unravel you, to strip away the layers of mystery and deceit. But in this moment, with the air thick with the scent of tea and tension, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was you who was peeling back his layers instead.

Kento held your gaze, his mind a calculated storm of thoughts. You were testing him, pushing boundaries to see how far he’d go, how much of himself he’d expose in pursuit of whatever he sought from you. It wasn’t fearlessness that radiated from you, no. It was the epitome of control. Complete, unyielding control.

He didn’t like it.

But he couldn’t deny the subtle exhilaration it stirred in him.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you?” he said again, his voice colder this time, a deliberate shift in tone to reassert authority. “And you know I won’t leave without what I need.”

You smirked, lowering your cup and cradling it in both hands. “Oh, I know you won’t leave. Not yet, at least. But I’m not convinced you truly know what it is you’re looking for.”

Kento took another step closer, his hands sliding into the pockets of his coat as he surveyed the room with a careful glance. Minimalist decor. Sparse yet elegant, like an art exhibit curated to hide the truth. Everything was deliberate. Everything was you.

“What I’m looking for,” he said evenly, his gaze snapping back to you. “are answers. About the Prime Minister. About the leverage you hold over him.”

You raised a brow, your smirk deepening into something more indulgent. “Straight to the point. I like that. But tell me, Detective Nanami Kento—what makes you think you can find answers here?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Because you want me to find them. Aren’t you someone as bored as I am, playing the game?”

That gave you pause, though only for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Nanami Kento caught the brief flicker of surprise in your eyes before you masked it with a soft laugh. He found that your laugh was a beautiful one, had it not been one that was dangerous venom, a double entendre.

“Touché, detective.” you said, setting the cup down on a nearby table with deliberate care. “But even if that were true, you’d still have to earn them.”

“Earn them.” Kento repeated, his tone flat. “Is that your way of trying to bargain?”

You stepped closer now, the soft light catching the sharp angles of your face. Barefoot and unguarded, you moved with the confidence of someone who knew they held the upper hand—or at least wanted him to believe they did.

“Call it whatever you like, detective.” you replied, stopping just a breath away from him. “You came here for the truth, and the truth is rarely free. Especially from someone like me.”

Kento didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. He held his ground, studying you with an intensity that bordered on invasive. “And what do you want in return?”

You smiled, but it wasn’t the warm kind. It was calculated, sharp. It was your favorite weapon of choice. “For now? Just your time. Let me see how you operate, how your mind works when it isn’t trapped behind your rules and decorum. Then, maybe, I’ll decide what else you have to offer.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to manipulate him, to pull him into their web. But you were different. You didn’t rely on desperation or brute force; you wielded intrigue like a scalpel, cutting just deep enough to make him curious.

“You think I’ll play your game, hm?” he said finally, his voice low and edged with warning.

You tilted your head, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “I think you already are.”

The silence that followed was electric, the space between you charged with unspoken tension. For a moment, neither of you moved, two opposing forces locked in an invisible standoff.

Then, with a calculated step back, you broke the spell. “Well, my pretty detective, the night is young. Shall we begin?”

Kento’s gaze followed you as you turned and disappeared further into the apartment, your figure melting into the shadows. His instincts screamed at him to leave, to walk away before he found himself ensnared in something he couldn’t control.

But his curiosity wouldn’t let him.

Adjusting his tie, he followed. The game, it seemed, was just beginning.

"Do you always play fair, mister detective?" you asked, your voice laced with mischief. "Or are you tempted to bend the rules for me?"

"I don’t bend the rules." he said flatly, though the slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

"How dull." you teased, stepping closer. "Then I’ll just have to see how far I can push them before you do."

Kento swallowed hard, forcing himself to break eye contact. He scanned the room, trying to redirect his focus. Every detail he observed seemed to mock him—your careful minimalism, the way the soft lighting accentuated the curves you seemed so effortlessly confident in, and the unshaken calm you radiated.

“Come.” You urged him, walking away, expectant for him to follow you.

Kento followed you into the next room, his steps measured, his senses sharp. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The dimly lit space you led him to was more intimate, yet it carried an undeniable weight of purpose.

A single table sat in the center, flanked by two chairs. On the table was a deck of cards, pristine and neatly stacked, and a pair of glasses filled with amber liquid.You gestured toward the empty chair across from you, settling into your own with a grace that felt practiced, deliberate.

“Sit down there, pretty detective.” you said simply, as though commanding a king to take his throne.

He regarded you silently for a moment, weighing the situation, before pulling the chair out and sitting down. His coat shifted slightly as he adjusted, the fabric catching the low light. He didn’t reach for the glass in front of him, nor did he touch the cards.

“Do you always greet your intruders like this?” he asked, his tone dry but probing. “Or am I a special case of favoritism?”

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you studied him. “You’re not just an intruder, detective. You’re a puzzle. And I do enjoy puzzles.”

Kento’s eyes narrowed. “Flattery won’t distract me.”

You laughed softly, the sound melodic and tinged with mischief. “It’s not flattery if it’s true. But if you insist, let’s get to it, shall we?” Your hand moved to the deck of cards, your fingers deftly shuffling them with an ease that spoke of countless hours of practice. “We’re going to play a game.”

Kento’s brow furrowed slightly, though his expression remained otherwise unreadable. “A game.”

“Yes.” You began dealing the cards, your movements precise. “Call it… a test of wits. Each of us will ask a question. The other must answer truthfully—or pass. But passing comes at a cost.”

“And what cost is that?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

You leaned back, the flicker of a smirk gracing your lips. “If you pass, you lose a piece of yourself in this game. A truth you’ll never get back, if you will. And if I pass, well… you lose time. Precious time that you’ll never recover from.”

He exhaled softly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Clever. But you don’t strike me as someone who’s interested in losing anything, especially time.”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “You’re right. I don’t intend to lose.”

Nanami studied you for a moment, his analytical mind dissecting every word, every movement. This was more than a game to you, no. You liked being an actress. And this was a stage, a performance. A calculated way to see how far you could push him.

“Fine.” he said finally, his voice calm and steady. “I’ll play.”

You nodded, almost as if you had expected nothing less. Picking up your cards, you gestured for him to do the same. “Good. I’ll start.”

Your eyes gleamed as you asked your first question. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Kento didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. He considered the question briefly, then responded with a measured tone. “I once let a guilty man walk free. It wasn’t my case, but I could’ve stopped it. I chose not to.”

You arched a brow, intrigued. “Why?”

He tapped a finger lightly on the edge of the table. “Because letting him walk was the only way to catch someone worse.”

“Interesting, detective.” you mused, drawing a card and placing it down. “Your turn.”

Kento’s eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating. “What do you really want from the Prime Minister?”

Your smirk didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something else. There was something deeper in the corner of your eyes. “Power. Intrigue. Freedom from boredom. I think you can already tell, don’t you think? You’ve watched me for a while.” you said simply, your voice like silk. “I like my little games, detective. I don’t like boredom.”

Kento’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. You were the same in that regard, he supposed. You smiled at him as you discarded the card. He continued watching as you played another card.

The game continued, each question like a blade, cutting deeper with every exchange. You asked about his weaknesses, his fears. He asked about your plans, your past. Neither of you passed, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of retreat. The tension between you built with every answer, an unspoken duel fought in shadows and half-truths.

By the time the deck was nearly gone, the air between you was thick with something unspoken. There was a heavy mixture of understanding and challenge, of intrigue and something more dangerous. And slowly, Kento began to feel more intrigue gather like clouds around his head when he looked at you.

You placed the final card down with a quiet laugh. “You’re good at this, detective. Better than most.”

Kento leaned back slightly, his gaze still fixed on you. “And you’re not as untouchable as you think.”

You smiled at that, leaning forward once more. “Perhaps not. But tell me, detective—after all this, do you think you’ve won?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the glass in front of him, finally taking a sip. The burn of the liquid was sharp, grounding. He set the glass back down, meeting your gaze with an intensity that could cut through steel.

“I think the game’s just begun.”

You laughed as you looked at him. “Then you’ll continue to indulge me?”

“I have all the time in the world.”

“Such a reply, detective.” Your lips curled into a sly smile.

“Much more I should be giving to you, siren.”

You laughed back at him. “Tell me, detective. Are you looking for something else, besides my secrets?” you asked, your voice dripping with amusement. You took another step forward, close enough now that he could feel the faint warmth of your presence.

"My resolve." he replied curtly, his gaze darting back to your face.

You laughed again, the sound teasing and far too pleasant. "I wouldn’t bother looking for that. It’s already mine."

Kento’s mouth opened, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but you raised a finger to his lips before he could speak. The gesture was bold, disarming, and far too intimate. His eyes narrows at you, meeting your orbs in an intense match of staring. Tension filled the air.

“I do not like betraying my rules for fun, siren.”

"Hush." you said softly, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is far more entertaining when you let me lead, don’t you think?"

Kento felt his pulse quicken, though he loathed admitting it. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to regroup, but his feet stayed rooted to the floor. You circled him slowly, your movements deliberate and languid, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"You’re tense, aren’t you, detective?" you observed, your voice lilting. "A man like you shouldn’t carry so much weight on his shoulders. Let me help you relax."

"Help." he echoed dryly, trying to inject a sliver of his usual deadpan wit. "Is that what you call this?"

"Call it what you like, pretty man." you replied with a shrug, your bare skin glinting in the warm light. "But let’s not pretend you’re not enjoying it just a little."

Kento clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms in a desperate attempt to ground himself. "You’re stalling again, aren’t you?" he said, his voice low and firm, though he hated how weak the accusation sounded even to his own ears.

"And you’re flustered. I like good, flustered, pretty men, detective." you shot back effortlessly. "But I’ll let you in on a little secret, detective." You leaned in, your breath brushing against his ear. "I don’t have to stall. You’re doing that all on your own."

Kento’s breath hitched. He turned his head slightly to meet your gaze, his brow furrowing as he tried to summon the cold, logical detachment he prided himself on. But your eyes, all bright, teasing, and endlessly confident had drawn him in, scattering his thoughts like leaves in the wind.

"You’re not going to win this little game." he said, though the words felt as much a reassurance to himself as they were a warning to you.

"Win?" You tilted your head, your smile widening. "Oh, darling, I’ve already won. You just haven’t realized it yet."

And there it was—the final, undeniable truth that sank into Nanami Kento like a blade. This wasn’t a confrontation he could reason his way out of. You weren’t just a distraction; you were a storm, unrelenting and impossible to ignore. Still, Kento wasn’t one to give up easily. He squared his shoulders, taking a small step back to create space between you.

"You can play your games, siren." he said evenly, his resolve hardening. "But I will leave with what I came for."

Your grin turned wicked, your hands resting on your hips as you regarded him with mock pity. "Oh, detective. If you want it that badly, you’re going to have to earn it."

The gauntlet had been thrown, but as Nanami stared into your eyes, he couldn’t help but feel that this was a battle where victory. If such a thing even existed might come at a cost he wasn’t prepared to pay.

Kento’s resolve teetered on the edge of collapse. Your challenge hung in the air between you, daring him to act, to push back. For all his usual composure, the magnetic pull of your presence was undeniable. And you knew it. With deliberate slowness, you closed the distance he had just created. Your hand reached out, brushing against his tie, straightening it with a casual intimacy that made his breath hitch.

"Tell me, pretty man." you said softly, your voice a sultry whisper. "Is it always this hard for you to focus... or is it just me?"

Kento’s jaw tightened, his full luscious lips parting as though to deliver a sharp retort, but the words never came. Instead, his eyes locked onto yours, his usual clarity clouded by a storm of conflicting emotions.

"Careful." he warned, his voice low, though the conviction behind it faltered.

"Careful?" you echoed, your smile widening. "Detective, I don’t think you want to be careful."

The moment hung in a delicate balance, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. And then, with a boldness that took even you by surprise, you leaned in. Your lips met his, soft yet insistent, pulling him into the heat of your daring. For a heartbeat, Kento froze, caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the act. But then something shifted.

His hands moved instinctively, one gripping your wrist, the other curling around your waist as though to steady himself. He kissed you back, tentative at first, as though testing the waters, but quickly matching your fervor.

It was a clash of wills, a battle of control as much as passion. You smiled against his lips, sensing the conflict within him, the way his rational mind warred with his undeniable desire. When you finally pulled away, your faces still mere inches apart, you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

"So much for not bending the rules, pretty man." you teased, your voice barely more than a breath. “Intrigue won you over.”

Kento’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his caramel eyes narrowing. "You think this changes anything?" he said, though his voice was rougher now, edged with something he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Not at all. We’re still playing this game, detective." you replied, your tone light, your smile infuriatingly smug. "But it does make things more interesting, don’t you think?"

His gaze burned into yours, but he didn’t let go. "You’re dangerous, little siren." he muttered, his voice both an accusation and a reluctant admission.

"And you’re intrigued about me, pretty man." you countered, your free hand tracing a light, teasing line down the lapel of his trench coat.

For all his strength, for all his discipline, Kento found himself at a crossroads. He could retreat, rebuild his defenses, and focus on the mission. Or he could lean into the chaos you so effortlessly embodied, knowing full well the risks involved.

For the first time in his career, the brilliant consulting detective wasn’t sure which path he would take. Nanami Kento’s breath hitched as his grip tightened, his movements becoming more deliberate, almost desperate.

“It’s for the game.” he muttered again, his voice low, almost as if trying to convince himself.

But the way your fingers dug into his shoulders, the soft sound that escaped your lips—those weren’t part of the plan. He could feel the way your body yielded to him, how every subtle shift and reaction drew him in further.

His mind wavered, the discipline he prided himself on fraying at the edges. This wasn’t just duty anymore. The mission was the furthest thing from his thoughts as he surrendered to the feeling of your warmth, your trust, and the undeniable connection that bound the two of you.

“Kento, that’s your name isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice trembling yet steady enough to pull him back into the present.

The way his name sounded on your lips... it unraveled him completely. For a moment, he forgot everything else. He wasn’t sure anymore what this case was even about and what was left to desire—but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when he was enjoying himself too much.

“K-Ken!” The word comes out strangled out of your mouth.

If anything, it was barely a whisper as his relentless rhythm forces your body to react in ways you can’t control. Each deep, forceful thrust hits with perfect precision, and your head spins, eyes crossing from the intensity of it all. He doesn’t care about the soft gasps escaping you or the way your nails dig into his skin; he’s on a mission.

But you’re not the same. The slick warmth building inside of you, the way your body feels stretched and filled by him. It’s all so much more than the physical. He’s not just moving through you. He’s pulling something from deep inside. Every thrust makes your spine arch involuntarily, and your chest heaves as your breath hitches with each stroke.

He’s searching. Not for your pleasure. He likes to think that he’s past that. He knows exactly what you need, but there’s one sound he’s after. That sweet little squeal, the one you only make when he’s pushing you just right, when the world disappears and all that matters is the way he makes you feel. It’s a sound so raw, so fragile, that it breaks his composure every time.

Kento’s grip on you tightens, a firm hand on your hip anchoring you in place as he drives into you with precise force. The pace is relentless, unwavering, and you can feel his determination, his need to hear it again. The pressure building inside you, so close now, your body humming with anticipation, a coil wound impossibly tight.

“Say my name, little siren.” he commands, his voice a low growl, dark with intent.

You can’t. You can barely think, much less speak. But you can’t hold it back. The sound breaks free—a high-pitched squeal that fills the space between you, a fragile, involuntary release that shatters whatever control you had left.

“There it is, little siren.” he murmurs, his voice triumphant, but there’s no slowing now.

He digs in deeper, faster, with a relentless focus that makes it clear he’s hunting something. He was hunting for something intangible yet vital. That sound, the one he coaxes from you with every calculated movement, seems to fuel him.

It's primal, magnetic, as though the entire universe has narrowed down to this single exchange, to the rhythm of his pursuit and your response.

You’re trapped in the tension, every nerve in your body taut like a wire about to snap. The pleasure is sharp and consuming, pulling you under in waves that crash against the edges of your sanity.

Your breaths come in shallow, broken gasps, each one a fight to steady yourself against the relentless onslaught. But there’s no escape; the sensations are everywhere, an unrelenting tide that drowns out thought and reason.

Your mind is a haze, a tangled mess of fragmented impulses and fleeting clarity. You try to anchor yourself, to regain control, but the overwhelming rush of feeling renders you powerless. Every time you think you’ve caught your breath, he changes his rhythm, his touch, pulling a new sound from your lips, a new surge of heat that floods through you.

It’s maddening, the way he anticipates your every reaction, how he seems to know your body better than you do. The tension builds higher, tighter, like a crescendo that has no end, no resolution, just an endless climb. Your fingers clutch at anything within reach, a desperate attempt to ground yourself. But even that slips away in the face of the intensity.

You can’t think, can’t process. You can only feel. And in this moment, it’s as though feeling is all that matters, all that exists. It’s overwhelming, consuming, leaving no room for anything else. Just the tension, the pleasure, and the sound he’s chasing like it’s the answer to every question he’s ever had.

The next wave of pleasure crashes over you, almost too much to bear, and your body responds in kind. Everything was shaking, trembling, in pleasure because of him. The only thing left to do is submit completely to him. So he can win the game.

And yet, he isn’t finished. Not yet. Because now that he’s found it, he’s going to make you give it to him again.

The tension between you is palpable, every sound, every movement heightened by the closeness. His voice, low and rough, breaks through the haze, cutting through the cacophony of sensations that have overtaken your mind.

"Look at me, siren." he commands, his tone steady but charged. "I want to see everything."

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, locking onto him with an effort that feels monumental. There’s a glint in his caramel gaze—intense, searching, as if he’s reading more than just the surface of your expression.

“Good little siren.” he murmurs, his voice softening but no less dominant. “Don’t run from it. Let me see what it does to you.”

You try to speak, to form words, but they dissolve on your tongue, lost in the whirlwind of sensations. A small, breathless sound escapes instead, and his expression shifts ever so slightly, that satisfaction, mixed with something deeper, more primal.

“That’s it, yes.” he says, almost whispering, as though coaxing a secret from you. “Don’t hold back.”

You manage a broken, defiant whisper in response, your voice trembling but resolute. “You think you’re in control.”

His lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Oh, I don’t think. I know.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air between you. You grip his arm, nails digging into his skin, as if to remind him that you’re still present, still capable of holding your ground even if it’s slipping beneath you.

“And you?” he pressed, his voice low, intimate. “Do you know what you’re feeling? Or are you too far gone?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t tell if it’s frustration or surrender that flickers in your chest. His words are a mirror, reflecting the battle waging inside you. It felt so good, it swallowed you whole. And you couldn’t even describe it. Everything about the rising pleasure as he thrusted in and out of you was a clash of will and vulnerability, of defiance and need.

You needed more of him.

You needed him deeper.

You needed him closer.

“I—” you start, but the word fractures, lost in another wave of sensation.

He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Say it, siren.” he urges, his voice a quiet demand. “Say what you want.”

You hesitate, the words tangled in your throat. And in that hesitation, he holds you captive, his gaze unwavering, waiting for the answer he already knows is there. He bites your shoulder as he thrust hard, earning a loud cry of pleasure from you. He hummed against your flesh, satisfied at the reaction you gave him.

The silence between you hums with tension, the air charged and electric. His eyes remain locked on yours, dark and smoldering, the kind of gaze that seems to peel back every layer, leaving you exposed in a way that feels both terrifying and intoxicating. He doesn’t move, doesn’t touch, but his presence presses against you like a storm just waiting to break.

Your lips part, trembling as you try to form words, but they falter, caught in the haze of his nearness. Tears permeating from your eyes at the pleasure that he makes you feel. He slows his movements, earning a cry from you as he tries to coax those words out of you.

“I…” you whisper, voice low, breath catching as if the mere act of speaking might shatter whatever fragile thread is holding you together. “I don’t know.”

The admission hangs between you, raw and unfiltered, cutting through the charged atmosphere. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips, but there’s nothing cruel about it. Instead, it feels like a quiet triumph, as if he’s been waiting for this moment, this unraveling of your defenses.

“Good.” he murmurs, his voice like a dark caress, low and intimate. “ At least some honesty suits you.”

A shiver courses through you, his words sinking deeper than you’d like to admit. His head tilts slightly, the faintest motion, but it draws your attention to the curve of his jaw, the way the soft glow of the room highlights his features.

His breath, warm and steady, ghosts over your skin as he leans closer, the space between you shrinking to something nearly unbearable. Sweat glistens against the two of you, juices of your body echoing from flesh to flesh as he occupied you whole.

“I hate you.” you manage, your voice trembling but defiant, though even as the words leave your lips, they feel hollow. “You’re making me beg.”

His smirk deepens, and he raises a hand, slow and deliberate, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheek. The touch is featherlight, enough to send a ripple of sensation through you, your breath hitching in response. He presses a kiss against your lips, earning a grunt from you.

“No.” he says softly, his tone velvet-smooth, a promise wrapped in certainty. “You don’t hate me. You hate this.” His fingers trace down, following the curve of your jaw, his touch impossibly gentle yet electric. “What I make you feel.”

Your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, your body betraying you even as your mind screams for control. His touch lingers, deliberate and unhurried, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

You don’t pull away; you can’t. You’re caught, pinned not by force but by something far more potent—his ability to see through you, to unravel you piece by piece.

“I don’t—” you start, but the words crumble as his thumb grazes your lower lip, silencing you effortlessly. The contact sends a jolt straight through you, your lips parting instinctively under his touch.

“Don’t lie, siren. ” he whispers, his voice dipping lower, wrapping around you like silk. “Not to me. Not to yourself.”

The challenge in his tone, in his touch, is impossible to ignore. Your pulse pounds in your ears, heat pooling in places you wish it wouldn’t, your body betraying every last shred of resistance you’re clinging to. His gaze never wavers, molten and heavy, pulling you deeper into the storm of him.

“I hate you.” you whisper again, but this time the words are soft, breathless, a futile attempt to hold on to a crumbling facade.

He leans in closer, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breath mingling with yours in the charged space between you. “Say it again.” he murmurs, his voice a dangerous, sensual tease. “Convince me.”

Your mind spins, the tension between you unbearable, intoxicating. He waits, unyielding, his proximity burning into you like fire, daring you to say something, anything. But in this moment, words feel impossible, eclipsed by the raw pull of his presence and the electric current thrumming in the space between you.

“I hate you, oh—” you whispered again, before moaning and finding no words left as his fingers thrust against your clit in circular motions. You can feel him grind against you in a slow fashion, matching the echo of his fingers.

You cry as everything in you starts to surrender before it defies. Your voice faltered just slightly, the vulnerability creeping through your chest, but you held on to it, stubborn in the way that only you could be.

His laugh was soft, almost a whisper itself, the sound vibrating against your skin like a quiet tremor. It was dark, low, and knowing, as though he found your words more amusing than anything else. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, the slight brush of his lips as he spoke, each word carrying a challenge.

“We’ll see about that, siren.” he murmured, his voice rich with intention, sending a shiver down your spine. The promise in his tone was undeniable, and it sank deep inside you, where the pulse of your desire had only been growing stronger.

With slow, deliberate movements, he continued to press forward, his rhythm steady, but unrelenting. His body aligned with yours in a perfect, consuming dance. Every shift, every movement sends waves of sensation crashing over you.

His pace was measured, as much as there was that playfulness in the way he plays with your clit. But there was a quiet power behind it—an awareness of how easily he could unravel you, how each thrust deepened the tension that coiled between you.

The connection between you was electric, an undeniable force that seemed to press against the very air you breathed. Your mind struggled to keep up, lost in the clash of sensations that flooded every inch of you. Each movement made you dizzy, a mix of pleasure and frustration, but you were unable to pull away, unable to break free from the pull of him.

You tried to hold on, to maintain that stubborn edge, to convince yourself that your resistance could hold. But with every push, every breathless moment that passed, the lines between hatred and desire blurred.

It wasn’t just him moving inside of you—it was the way he knew exactly how to push you, how to pull the tension taut, drawing out something from you that you could barely name.

He shifted slightly, leaning closer, his chest brushing against your back. The sound of his breath, shallow now, mixed with the quickening rhythm of his movements. His hands slid across your skin, every touch searing, every caress a reminder of how deeply entwined you had become in this moment.

You couldn’t focus on the words anymore, couldn’t even remember what you had said. The intensity was too overwhelming, his presence too consuming. All you could do was feel, your body caught in the pull of him, trapped in the ebb and flow of sensation that made everything else disappear.

He whispered again, his lips brushing your ear as he moved, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I know what you feel. Don’t pretend it’s anything but this.”

His words broke through the haze, pulling you back to reality, but only for a moment. The desire was stronger now, an undeniable current that swept through you, making it impossible to think beyond the next wave, the next surge of pleasure. There was no room for resistance, not anymore.

And in that moment, you were no longer sure if you hated him or needed him.

You just wanted him to make you feel this good.

You wanted him to make you feel whole.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

IN THE MORNING, IT’S NOT WHAT HE EXPECTED. He woke up early, as he usually did, the quiet of the morning wrapping around him like a cocoon. The room was still heavy with the scent of the night, the lingering warmth of your body where you lay sprawled across the sheets, naked and content in sleep.

It was a scene that could’ve been serene, intimate, a moment of peace—but last night shouldn’t have happened. It wasn’t part of the plan, and he knew that. Yet, as he sat up, his eyes lingering on the curves of your body beneath the soft, rumpled sheets, he knew that it had.

But there were no regrets. No hesitation. He had a purpose, and he had no choice but to play your game, to dive into the depths of it, as dangerous as it might be. Every move he made had to be calculated, every action precise. If he wanted to win, truly win, he had to risk it all. He had to let himself slip into the very thing that might unravel him, if only to see how far he could go.

Last night was a game, nothing more. But in the dark corners of his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had meant more to you than you let on. He saw it in the way you moved, the way your breath had caught when he’d touched you in the right way, the slight tremor in your fingers when you’d whispered to him. But that wasn’t something he could afford to dwell on—not yet.

He stood, feeling the plush fabric of the night robe you had given him last night slide over his skin. It was a reminder, a lingering token of the intimacy between you two that he had to put aside. He couldn't afford distractions. Not now. Not when the stakes were so high.

His eyes flickered to the space where you slept. For a moment, he almost lingered, but he couldn’t. He knew the risks. He had to move. The urgency gnawed at him as he stepped away from the bed, the silence of the room pressing in on him like a thick fog.

He didn’t need to think twice about where you’d hidden the phone. He already knew. You weren’t subtle, and he was too good at reading people—especially when it came to you. Your body doesn’t lie. Your movements, the way you’d touched that phone last night, the exact spot where you’d set it down without thinking.

All spoke to him in a language he knew better than his own. He made his way to the desk, his fingers brushing over the surface, feeling the faint indentation left by your hand when you’d placed the phone there. He smiled to himself, a brief, knowing smirk, before he slid the drawer open.

There it was.

The phone, sleek and cold, resting where you’d left it. He picked it up with a certain reverence, his fingers brushing the screen, already knowing the passcode, already aware of what lay beneath the surface.

The secrets, the blackmailing material, the coded messages that could bring the world to its knees. He’d seen enough to know just how much power you wielded, how dangerous you could be when it suited you.

But he wasn’t worried. Not yet.

He pressed his fingers to the phone, feeling the slight warmth still radiating from where you had held it last night. The touch was almost intimate in its own way, like the faintest reminder of your presence, but he pushed that aside.

There was no room for sentimentality in this. He had to keep his focus. His eyes scanned the screen as the lock clicked open under his touch, revealing everything you thought you had carefully hidden.

You were easy to read in that regard. Your body, your habits, the way you’d hidden everything. All your secrets were all written in the lines of your movements. You couldn’t help but let slip your patterns, and that, he had learned long ago, was your greatest weakness.

With the phone in his hand, he knew he was one step closer. Just one step. But there were many more ahead, and the game wasn’t over yet. He’d made his move. All he has to do is figure out the password.

He has a few guesses in mind, if he was being honest.

It’s why he was careful to measure everything about you last night.

Choices were good for a detective playing a game.

But as he was starting to get into his mind, he could hear the thumping. His face darted in annoyance. They’re already here to disturb his case. He moved aside as he heard the footsteps.

Just like that, the special forces stormed in like a thunderclap, their tactical gear and weapons clashing violently with the otherwise serene atmosphere of your home. The once peaceful, intimate space was now flooded with tension, the air thick with danger.

Kento could feel his body tense at the sound of muffled voices, his mind quickly shifting gears. The case was no longer about you, about the stolen moment between the two of you—it was all about the objective now.

A quiet anger simmered beneath his calm exterior, but he pushed it down. His instincts took over as his analytical mind snapped back into focus. He had to get this right. He had no choice. He had to make this quick.

“Numbers... proportions…” he muttered to himself, his fingers itching for the puzzle’s answer.

He looked at the phone, his hand moving automatically to input the code. His caramel gold eyes never left the paper as he punched the numbers into the safe’s sleek digital keypad of the phone. He hums to himself, trying to get various options right.

"Bust, waist, hips..." he muttered, piecing it together at last. He had known it all along, hadn't he? Should’ve guessed earlier. But now there was no mistaking it—the passcode was your measurements.

Just as he got to the size of your waist, everything had just clicked. The phone had opened and the screen opened with all the files welcoming him with open arms. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself.

Another case closed, another win for him, he supposed. The special forces were moving in quickly, eagerly. But just as they approached, something shifted in the room. Before anyone could take a step closer, you smiled as you appeared before him.

“Now, you don’t think I wouldn’t have a little fun of my own, don’t you?”

It was as if the world slowed. Your body blurred with speed and precision, a fluid motion that defied logic. One moment, you were on your bed upstairs asleep; the next, special forces agents were incapacitated, writhing in pain, their weapons scattered across the floor. Nanami Kento was too late to stop you. His own body, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, couldn’t react in time.

And then, as he tried to process what had just happened, your bright clouded eyes locked with his own orbs with a sharp, calculating gaze. Everything about that is filled with something darker. A quiet satisfaction, as though everything had gone exactly as you’d planned.

He stood there, caught in the unexpected chaos, watching you. The mission had shifted once again—now it was about survival, about navigating a trap he hadn’t seen coming. And for once, Nanami Kento soon realized that he wasn’t the one in control.

When Kento came to, the world around him was eerily silent. His head throbbed, the pain searing through his skull like a jagged blade. His hands were bound behind his back, his arms aching as if they’d been in this position for hours.

His vision was blurry, hazy, and it took a moment for his mind to catch up with his body. The room felt wrong, too still, too quiet, as though the calm before a storm. He could feel everything was so out of place. So deeply disturbed. How could he have let this happen?

The memories hit him swiftly, a flash of what had just transpired. He had your phone, he had opened it, the special forces were here to assist him and had stormed in to do their job and then you, in your smiling nude form, walked over to him.

He curses under his breath. That knowing smile. You were good. You were too good. The way you had incapacitated everyone so effortlessly. The look in your excited eyes were so determined as they were unreadable. That had unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Before Nanami Kento could make sense of it all, he found that his vision blurred again, and his body once more succumbed to unconsciousness, drifting away from the present and into the chaos of his mind.

In the dream, the world was different. It wasn’t quite reality, but it felt more vivid, more alive—like a twisted, almost haunting version of it. The colors were sharper, the air heavier, and you were there beside him.

Your presence was undeniable, a force he couldn’t ignore, and your gaze never left his. You were dressed sharply, every inch of you radiating confidence and poise, an aura of unspoken power that seemed to disarm even the most guarded men.

Your bright eyes glinted with mischief, that familiar spark he’d seen in you when you were toying with him in the real world. There was something dangerously playful in the way you watched him, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking and how to throw him off balance.

“This is why you can’t solve it, detective.” you said, your voice smooth, like honey dripping from the tip of your tongue.

There was something unsettling in the calmness of your tone, almost too composed, like you were savoring the moment. It was the kind of voice that could lull a man into a false sense of security, a trick, an illusion—just like the puzzle you had expertly crafted around him.

“I thought you were good.” you added, your words almost teasing, laced with an unmistakable challenge, as though you were daring him to catch up.

Nanami Kento’s brow furrowed. It was a rare sight, him visibly unsettled, caught off guard. The detective in him prided himself on his ability to read people, to dissect a situation with precision, but in that moment, he realized how wrong he had been.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected you to be a part of the puzzle. But there you were, standing beside him, offering cryptic insights with a calm that sent a shiver down his spine. You weren’t just playing the game. You were the game. You had manipulated every thread, every clue, just to see how far he would go before he cracked.

“See here.” you said, stepping closer, your presence leaning in like a quiet storm.

You reached forward, your finger tracing a spot on the board in front of him, the motion effortless, deliberate. Your touch was controlled, tracing the edges of something he had missed entirely. His eyes followed, every movement of yours like a magnet pulling him closer to the realization that his assumptions had been all wrong.

“You focused on the suspects, the alibis, the motives, but you never asked yourself why this wasn’t adding up.” you continued, voice almost a whisper, a dagger slipping between his ribs. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

Your finger glided over the surface, slowly but with purpose, pointing out a flaw in his reasoning that he hadn’t even thought to consider. A blind spot, now glaringly obvious. He watched as you dissected his work, the very strategy he had relied on crumbling beneath your hands. He could feel the tightness in his chest, a strange sense of unease creeping in.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong lead, Kento.” Your voice was quiet but damning. “This isn’t about them. It was about who was in the front car seat. You knew it couldn’t have been that. You knew that already, didn’t you? You always have.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The weight of them made his heart skip a beat, and for the first time in this case, his sharp mind had trouble keeping up. That car. Of course, he’d known something was off.

He’d felt it in his gut, the way the pieces didn’t quite fit together. But he had overlooked it. Too focused on the suspects, the alibis, the obvious trails. He had been distracted by the noise.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The pieces finally clicked, and it was all too clear now. Your finger had pointed out a thread he hadn’t seen, the one that connected everything. You weren’t just playing a part in this.

You were the key to the whole puzzle. Your precision, your sharp ability to see things from a different angle, had allowed you to lead him down the path of his own mistakes. His breath caught in his throat as everything aligned. You knew. Even in his dreams, you had always known how to play the game with him.

“That’s why you let this said guilty man walk, didn’t you?” His voice was lower now, a realization dawning on him, both a question and an accusation. “Because you knew the murderer wasn’t him. It was that girl he was protecting. Because you knew she’d give you that hit on the serial killer you were finding, didn’t you?”

You didn’t say anything at first, but your gaze softened, an unreadable look flashing in your eyes. There was something in the way you looked at him, something that didn’t quite match the cold logic of your words.

“You’re catching on, detective.” you said, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips. “The girl was always the key. The one everyone overlooked. But not you. Not anymore.”

His mind raced, scrambling to catch up with the torrent of information flooding in. You had manipulated him so effortlessly, guided him through a maze of false leads, making him chase shadows when the real answer had been in plain sight the entire time. He had been so sure, so convinced that he had it all figured out. But you had been several steps ahead, as always.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time in this entire game, he wasn’t sure if he was the one playing or if he had been the one being played. He blinked, his mind racing as he took in everything you were saying. Your deductions were sharp, methodical.

Together, you moved through the case, your minds combining in a beautiful, almost perfect dance of logic and wit. Every piece seemed to fall into place, the puzzle coming together effortlessly, as if it had been waiting for you to find the answer all along.

His heart raced, but he couldn’t help the sense of awe that filled him. You were good. Too damn good. And he realized, in that moment, that maybe he hadn’t been the one pulling the strings all along. It was you.

You smiled, a knowing, almost secretive smile, as you moved to stand closer to him. The case had been solved, but the triumph felt fleeting, overshadowed by the way your presence seemed to swallow the room, leaving him feeling small, uncertain. He wasn’t sure what to make of it—of you.

As the final pieces clicked into place, you leaned in, stepping close enough for your lips to barely brush his ear. The warmth of your breath sent a shiver down his spine, and his pulse quickened. You were so close now, the space between you almost nonexistent, your presence overwhelming.

“Brainy, that’s what you are, detective. You always have been.” you whispered, your voice low and sultry, just the right amount of tease in it. “Definitely the new sexy.”

Your words reverberated in his mind, burning into his thoughts. You had always known how to push his buttons, how to get under his skin, but in that moment, it was different. There was something dangerous in the way you said it, something that left him feeling both drawn to you and utterly helpless.

He pulled away just slightly, but your gaze followed him, never breaking. The mischievous glint in your eyes remained, and Nanami couldn’t shake the feeling that you were playing a game far beyond him, the one he hadn’t even realized he was a part of.

"Why do you do this?" Kento murmured, unable to hold back the frustration. "You throw me off balance, make everything feel like a damn puzzle."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your expression unreadable, but the smile on your lips never faltered. “Because, detective.” you said, tilting your head slightly, “I like games. And you play with me too well.”

He stared at you, his heart beating a little faster than it should have been. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed. He lets himself be washed by the sight of you, the siren you were. The siren that’s playing a criminal for fun. He lets his lips echo into a line.

"You always think you’re ahead, don’t you?" you continued, your voice laced with amusement, though there was a challenge in your eyes. "Well, maybe you should start thinking of me as the puzzle, Nanami Kento. Because I’m the one who’s always going to be one step ahead of you."

He couldn’t argue with that. You had always been one step ahead, even when he thought he was in control. But something inside him, some part of him, didn’t want to accept it. He wasn’t going to let you get the better of him forever.

As the dream began to fade, the room around them blurring and distorting, he found himself reaching for you, his hand grasping at the air in an attempt to hold on to the only thing that had ever truly unraveled him.

But you were gone. You already were. And this round was over. That’s just how it was. As he took a breath, he could feel everything was disappearing into the dream’s chaos, leaving him grasping at nothing but the lingering memory of your voice and the faintest scent of your perfume.

Nanami Kento woke with a start, groaning as the harsh light of reality pierced through his senses. His head was pounding, and the ropes around his wrists dug into his skin. The room was silent, the aftermath of the dream still clinging to him like a fog. The evidence was gone. You were gone.

Except for the lingering hint of your perfume, faint but undeniable.

He cursed under his breath, his jaw tightening in frustration. He had been so close. He had let himself be distracted, fooled by your words, your presence. He couldn’t afford that mistake again.

Next time, he thought, his mind sharpening as he refocused. Next time, you wouldn’t outsmart him.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

HE DIDN’T KNOW WHERE YOU HAD GONE. But he had quite a few guesses, knowing you. But life moved on as it always has. And still continued solving cases left and right, as he always has. In the months that followed, Nanami Kento found himself caught in an unexpected dance with you, one he didn’t know how to step away from.

You had added a phone number on his phone.

Six months after he met you, you messaged him.

And ever since then, you kept texting him.

Your flirtations, while playful, always left a subtle bite, a lingering edge to them. Your messages were never too forward, never outright invasive, but there was always something that felt like a slow burn. You knew how to pull him in, how to keep him wondering, questioning, and even when he tried to distance himself, the pull of your words, your subtle, calculated charm, kept him coming back for more.

Your Siren:

“Detective, you’ve been quiet lately. Too busy solving everyone else’s problems? Or is it that you can’t stop thinking about me?” 😏

Pretty Man:

“I don’t have time for distractions at this moment.”

Your Siren:

“Hmm, I’m not a distraction. Just a little... temptation. Don’t worry, I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to.” 😈

Pretty Man:

“I’m not in the habit of asking for things like that.”

Your Siren:

“Oh, but maybe you should be. You might find it interesting... just a thought. How long do you think you can avoid temptation, Kento?”

Pretty Man:

“Too busy to play games.”

Your Siren:

“You sure? Because every time you text me, I can’t help but think you’re already playing. But don’t worry... I won’t push. Yet.” 😏

Pretty Man:

“You always do this. You don’t know when to stop.”

Your Siren:

“You’re right, I don’t. But I can’t help it when someone’s so... irresistible. I’ll let you figure it out. But just so you know, I don’t mind being patient. We both know you’re not as immune as you think.”

Pretty Man:

“You don’t know me as well as you think.”

Your Siren:

“Oh, Kento. I know exactly what you want. And trust me, I know exactly how to give it to you. But only if you’re ready for it.” 😏

Pretty Man:

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

Your Siren:

“Of course, you’re not. But I think you might be interested in me. And I don’t mean the usual way. I’m more than just... a pretty face. You’ll see soon enough.”

Pretty Man:

“As I said, I don’t have time for games at this moment.”

Your Siren:

“The problem with you, Kento, is that you think everything is a game. But maybe... just maybe... the game is already over. You’re already playing, and I’m always one move ahead.”

Pretty Man:

“I’m not falling for this.”

Your Siren:

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just showing you how easily you can fall when you least expect it. You’ll see.” 😈

He’d wake up to your texts, your quiet, seductive words that danced between lighthearted banter and something darker, something dangerous that made his pulse race and his heart beat faster. It was a game, he knew, but it was a game he couldn’t seem to quit.

Sometimes, he caught himself getting lost in those conversations, allowing his mind to wander to places he knew it shouldn’t. He never let himself acknowledge it fully, but deep down, he recognized that you were getting under his skin. You were more than just a case, more than a temptation. You were becoming a shadow in his life.

As Christmas drew closer, a sense of foreboding settled over him, thickening the air around him. It wasn’t just the weight of the holidays or the cases he hadn’t solved; it was you.

The last few months had made him feel like he was constantly walking a tightrope, one step away from falling off, and every text from you only deepened that sense. He tried to focus on his work, tried to keep his mind clear, but you were always there, lingering like an unanswered question.

Then, one evening, a package arrived. The familiar weight of it told him who it was from before he even opened it. He didn’t need to look at the return address—he already knew. Inside, wrapped in simple brown paper, was a phone.

A camera phone, scratched and worn, with the screen cracked and a faded sticker on the back. Your phone. The woman whose disappearance had left a hole in his chest, whose death had been the catalyst for so many of his sleepless nights. The case had never sat right with him, and now, months later, this phone was reappearing in his life like some twisted ghost.

His fingers were cold as he held the phone, his breath catching in his throat. The smell of her perfume, faint but still distinct, clung to the device. The note that came with it was simple, almost too simple, but it sent a chill down his spine nonetheless:

“You wanted answers. I think it’s time you got some.”

The words haunted him. His grip tightened on the phone as his mind began to race. He had tried to bury the case, tried to move on, but now this thing you had sent, this link to the past, dragged him back into the abyss.

The guilt he had buried deep down resurfaced, mixing with a sense of dread. This wasn’t just a message about the woman who was dead—it was a message to him, about him, as if he were being pulled back into the game he’d been trying to escape.

A few days later, the news hit him like a blow to the stomach: a body had been found. The victim was a woman, her body discarded, lifeless and cold. The description matched you—you, his siren.

The one whose death had never been fully explained, never truly understood. His mind raced, every instinct screaming at him that this was connected. It had to be. He should have expected it, but when the truth came crashing down, it was still a blow.

He couldn’t look away from the image of your own body, your face frozen in an expression of pain, the familiar features twisted by the brutal finality of death. The realization was slow to settle in, but it sank like a stone in his chest.

You had orchestrated this. You had sent him the phone. You were always the one pulling the strings. This was more than just a case to you. It was personal. It was a twisted game, and Nanami Kento was just another piece on your board.

Days turned into weeks, and Nanami found himself sinking deeper into a well of depression. The guilt, the despair. He couldn’t escape it. He had failed. Failed to protect you, failed to see the signs, failed to connect the dots in time.

The person whose life he couldn’t save now haunted him, and the worst part was that it wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about you. You had been playing him all along, and now he was left to clean up the mess, surrounded by the broken pieces of a case that he could never close.

Each night, he would come home, exhausted from the mental and emotional toll, only to stare at the phone you had sent him. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. Something about it kept him tethered to the reality he didn’t want to face.

It was a constant reminder of his failure—and of you. The scent of your perfume clung to it like a poison. The knowledge that you were still out there, still watching him, was a constant weight pressing on his chest over and over again.

He tried to focus on the case, tried to throw himself into finding answers, but the deeper he dug, the more he realized that this was a trap. It was a trap you had set for him long ago, and he was too far in to find his way out. Every lead he followed seemed to circle back to you. Every piece of evidence pointed back to you.

You were the mastermind, always just out of reach, always one step ahead.

By the time the holidays passed, Nanami Kento had stopped celebrating. There was no joy in the season for him. Only the gnawing emptiness and the crushing weight of his own inadequacies. He knew, deep down, that he would never escape you. You were like a shadow, always following, always watching. Always waiting for the next move.

And as he lay awake at night, the thought that gnawed at him more than any other was this: Next time, would he be able to stop you? Or would he fall for your game again?

But then he received that message.

He felt his eyes widened at that beep.

Did you miss me, pretty man?

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YOU CAME TO HIS APARTMENT THAT DAY. He couldn’t believe it. His mind was racing, his heart hammering in his chest. You were still alive. After everything, after all the assumptions and deductions, after all the pieces that seemed to fit perfectly in their place, here you were.

Full in the flesh, standing before him. The winter air was crisp around you, your breath visible in the cold as you stood there in a coat, a scarf wrapped loosely around your neck, looking as composed as ever.

Nanami Kento took a moment to take you in. His caramel eyes lingered, almost as if he couldn’t quite process the sight. You were here. Alive. Breathing. In the flesh. The siren who had been a ghost, a phantom in his case, who had slipped through his fingers.

The same vicious smile you always wore was still there, tugging at the corners of your lips, as though everything was a game to you. And those eyes—those same cloudy, unreadable eyes. Eyes that seemed to reflect nothing and everything at once.

He felt a pang in his chest, the strange mixture of emotions flooding him all at once. Confusion, anger, horror, surprise. Some of it was easy to name, others not so much. But the most striking of all was the disbelief.

The realization that this was real, that this moment was real. His breath caught as he stared at you, frozen in place for a moment. How did this happen? How did you survive?

"You’re not dead." he finally managed, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. His hands were clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with the need to understand, to make sense of it all. "How?"

You gave him no answer at first, simply letting your gaze hold his, piercing and cold. You were enjoying this, the way he struggled to find the words, the way the detective inside him faltered. Then, as though sensing his confusion, you spoke, your voice smooth and mocking, a trace of amusement threading through your words.

"You missed me, didn’t you?"

The question hung in the air like smoke, curling around him, suffocating him in a way that left him almost breathless. He didn’t know how to respond. His mind was still reeling from the shock, his pulse quickening. You were alive, and yet, everything he had come to understand about this case had been a lie. A carefully constructed illusion designed to deceive him.

"Missed you?" His voice was quieter now, laced with a mixture of disbelief and something darker. His eyes narrowed as he finally took a step forward. "You’ve been playing me from the beginning."

You tilted your head, a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips. "Is that what you think?" you asked, your tone almost playful. "Tell me, pretty man, do you feel used? Confused? Or perhaps... a little betrayed?"

His frown deepened as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "All of the above." he muttered, voice low with frustration.

But despite his words, something else flickered beneath the surface. Curiosity, maybe. A strange pull he couldn’t quite ignore.

"You knew this whole time, didn’t you? You knew I’d be after you. You wanted me to come for you."

You didn’t answer at first, letting the silence stretch between you. Then, with a small sigh, you shrugged as if it was nothing. "You’re the one who followed the breadcrumbs. You’re the one who couldn’t resist. You wanted to solve it. It’s just a part of the game."

"Game?" he repeated, the disbelief turning to something sharper, more biting. "You think this is a game? People have died."

Your smile only deepened, colder now, the amusement never leaving your face. "And yet, here you are, still chasing after me. Yearning even, don’t you think? Still trying to make sense of it all."

His hands clenched tighter, anger flaring. “You’ve made a mess of everything. You’re toying with people’s lives like they don’t matter.”

"Toying?" You raised an eyebrow, amused, almost entertained by his indignation. “No. I’m giving them a choice. And you’re the one who chose to follow. After all, detective, you thrive on puzzles, don’t you?”

He took another step toward you, his voice a low, threatening murmur. “You’ve made your game far too dangerous. You’ve hurt people... innocent people.”

“You’re acting like you care.” you replied with a laugh, as if the idea of him being emotionally invested was laughable. “But we both know you don’t. You’re just trying to win. And you will, Kento. Eventually. But not without paying the price. That’s how this works.”

For a moment, the tension between you two was unbearable. He was so close now, the air thick with the weight of his anger, and yet, there was something else beneath it all. He wanted to understand you.

With how you thought, how you operated. But more than that, something in him craved the challenge you presented, even now, even after all the destruction you’d caused.

"You think you’re above it all, don’t you?" he muttered, his tone laced with both frustration and intrigue. "But you’re just as trapped in this as everyone else."

The smile never left your lips, but your eyes shifted, a flicker of something darker flashing beneath the surface. "Maybe." you said softly, the words drawing his focus closer. "But I’m not the one chasing. You are."

Nanami Kento’s frustration was palpable, his brow furrowing as he stared at you, unable to fathom why you were here, standing in front of him, alive. Alive. His thoughts scrambled, questions tumbling over one another in a chaotic mess.

He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t grasp the full extent of the situation. And yet, here you were, standing in the middle of it all, as calm and composed as ever.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, his voice rough with a mix of disbelief and barely contained anger. “You should be—" He stopped himself, the words hanging in the air as he realized how much had gone wrong. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You let his question linger for a moment, your gaze never leaving his as the air between you thickened with unspoken tension. His eyes, sharp and searching, never wavered, as if waiting for some explanation that would make sense of the madness. But all you did was smile. Calm, almost indifferent.

“I needed a place to hide.” you said softly, your voice smooth, almost too casual for someone who had just reappeared from the dead. “And you’ve been looking for me for so long, pretty man. It seemed like the most obvious choice.”

His eyes narrowed, not sure whether to be more furious or more confused by your nonchalant answer. His breath came in quick, uneven bursts, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as if keeping himself from reaching out and shaking some sense into you.

"Hide? Hide from what? From who? You’ve been playing everyone, manipulating them—manipulating me."

Your gaze flickered with something unreadable, but your lips quivered upwards, amused by his attempt to piece it all together. "You think you understand everything, don't you?" you said, stepping a little closer to him, the space between you closing, your body language daring him to act. "But you're missing the point. You're too caught up in your own game, in your own rules."

His breath hitched as he took a step forward, eyes burning with something darker, something more dangerous than frustration. "Stop playing with me." he warned, his voice low and tense, every word coming out with an edge that made the air feel even heavier. "Tell me what you want, what you're really after."

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you looked up at him, your eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, the tension between you both was almost suffocating. The air was thick with unspoken words, with desire and anger and something else, something neither of you had been willing to acknowledge until now.

Kento couldn’t help but just stand there, staring at you, the weight of the situation sinking in deeper with every passing second. His mind was clouded, his control slipping just a little more with each heartbeat that seemed to thunder in his chest. And then, before he could stop himself, the last thread of restraint snapped.

Without warning, he moved, closing the distance between you in one swift motion. His hands gripped your shoulders possessively, pulling you into him as his lips crushed against yours. It was a kiss of urgency, of frustration, of desire that had been building since the moment you walked back into his life.

For a moment, you didn’t react. But then, slowly, deliberately, you kissed him back. Your lips parted, and the tension that had been coiling between you two unraveled, replaced by the heat of your kiss.

The sensation was electric, a dangerous blend of anger and attraction that you both couldn’t seem to escape. His hands slid to the small of your back, pressing you closer, as if trying to imprint the feeling of you into his very being.

You let yourself go, the sharp edges of your emotions dulling under the intensity of the kiss. It was everything he hadn’t expected and yet everything he had craved in this moment. The game, the puzzle, the questions—they all faded into the background as his kiss consumed you.

His heart was pounding in his chest, every nerve alive with the need for more, but he pulled away just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "You’re not getting away this time." he muttered, his voice low and gravelly.

You smirked, breathless but unfazed, your fingers lightly tracing his jaw as you met his gaze. "I never planned on running." you replied softly, your voice a whisper of something darker, something more dangerous.

The tension between you was palpable now, the air crackling with a dangerous energy that neither of you could deny. You were playing the game, and so was he—but this time, the rules had shifted. And neither of you knew exactly where it would lead.

As the days wore on, the subtle, electrifying tension between Kento and you only deepened. Your presence in his life was no longer something he could dismiss. Even though he tried to maintain his emotional distance, you had an uncanny ability to break through that wall, piece by piece.

Every conversation, every look, and every small gesture you made slowly chipped away at his resolve. You were pulling him in with an invisible force, and despite his best efforts to resist, he could feel himself being tugged along, unable to escape the gravitational pull of you.

The house was quieter now, the days blending into nights where neither of you spoke much about the underlying tension. But you didn’t need words to communicate. The silence between you both was a language all its own, an understanding that neither of you could easily put into words. You didn’t need to talk about your past, about the things that had driven you to seek him out again.

Kento knew that there was a story buried deep inside you, one you were unwilling to share, but it didn’t matter anymore. You had already told him more than enough, through your body language, the quiet moments where your eyes would meet just a little longer than usual. He understood you better than anyone else could, even if he hated it.

One evening, the two of you sat together at the kitchen table, an open bottle of wine between you. It was a routine that had become familiar, a time when the chaos of the outside world could be forgotten, even if just for a moment.

You had been telling him about a case you were working on, but as you spoke, Kento found himself lost in your presence rather than the details of the case. The way you leaned into the table, the way your fingers brushed the rim of your glass, the way your voice carried effortlessly through the room.

Everything about that, all of it held him captive. You had caged him along with you. It was then, in the stillness between your words, that the question came, hanging in the air like a soft whisper. It always was.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?” Your voice was quiet but laced with something unspoken, something that made the words feel heavier than they should have been.

Kento’s heart thudded in his chest, and for a moment, he almost forgot how to breathe. He knew what you were offering wasn’t just a meal. There was something deeper, more intimate in the way you phrased the question.

It was a silent invitation, one that promised more than just food and conversation. He knew that much. It was obvious. It promised the chance to finally break down the last of the barriers that had kept you both apart. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He pursed his lips.

No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how badly his body and mind screamed at him to give in, he knew he couldn’t let himself fall back into this—this pattern, this trap. He had to maintain control, to keep his distance.

But even as the words left his lips, as he said, “I can’t” something inside him felt like it was unraveling. The regret and the longing in your eyes, the way your smile faltered just for a moment, told him that you understood exactly what he meant. It hurt, but it was the right thing to do. Or so he told himself.

You didn’t say anything at first. You simply looked at him, the silence stretching between you like an ocean. And then, as if all of your plans had finally come to fruition, you stood up from the table and walked around it, your heels clicking softly on the floor.

The distance between you both evaporated the moment you moved closer, your presence suddenly all-encompassing. Without a word, you leaned in, your lips barely grazing his ear as your breath sent a shiver down his spine.

“You don’t have to say it with words, Kento.” you whispered. “I think you already know what I want.”

And in that moment, every single ounce of resistance he had left shattered. It wasn’t that he had stopped caring about the boundaries he had put in place. It wasn’t that he was suddenly willing to throw away everything he had tried to protect.

It was simply that the pull of you was too strong, too irresistible. The magnetic force between you both was something that no amount of willpower could suppress. He was already too far gone.

Before he could think or process what was happening, your lips were on his, soft and urgent, demanding nothing and everything all at once. His hands, seemingly of their own accord, reached up to pull you closer, to feel the warmth of your body against his.

The kiss deepened, slow at first but quickly turning desperate, as if both of you had been holding back for too long. The taste of you, the feel of your skin against his, was intoxicating, overwhelming.

It was more than just desire. It was the culmination of everything that had been building up between you both, an undeniable need that neither of you could control.

The night unfolded like a haze of touch, soft whispers, and heated moments that blurred into each other. The world outside ceased to exist as the two of you lost yourselves in each other, in the raw, untamed connection that had always simmered between you.

Nanami Kento couldn’t remember when things had gone from tentative, unsure steps to something more frantic, more desperate, but he didn’t care. He was past caring. In the quiet aftermath, as you lay beside him, your body pressed against his, Kento’s mind raced.

He couldn’t pretend that this didn’t change things. It had already changed everything. The walls he had so carefully built had crumbled in a matter of hours, and now he was left standing at the edge, unsure of how to move forward.

As you slept beside him, your head resting on his chest, he realized the truth that he had been trying so hard to deny: You were no longer just a temptation, a passing distraction. You were something else entirely—a force that had entered his life and shaken everything to its core.

And for all his attempts to hold back, to keep his distance, he knew, deep down, that he would never be able to escape you. The lines between right and wrong, between desire and control, had blurred beyond recognition, and now, there was only one thing he knew for certain: he was caught in your web, and there was no going back.

As the quiet settled over the room, Kento couldn’t shake the feeling of your presence beside him. It was as though every inch of him had been pulled toward you, and now that you were so close, the pull had only deepened.

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. The vulnerability of the moment was overwhelming, and he didn’t know how to handle it. You stirred beside him, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest.

There was a quiet contentment in the way you touched him, as if you knew exactly how to make him feel both at ease and disoriented at the same time. Finally, you broke the silence with a soft, teasing whisper, your voice low and laced with something that made his pulse quicken.

“You know, Kento, I never took you for someone who’d be so... unpredictable.”

Kento turned his head to look at you, your face still partially hidden by the dim light of the room, but he could see the playful glint in your eyes. Despite the heaviness of the situation, despite everything that had just transpired, there was still a challenge in your tone—like you were daring him to acknowledge what had just happened between you.

“I never expected you to be so persistent.” he replied, his voice hushed but tinged with the weight of the words.

You smiled, a faint, knowing smile that seemed to reach the corners of your eyes. “Persistence has its rewards, don’t you think?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let his eyes linger on you, taking in the details of your face—how you looked so much like the woman who had always been just out of reach, yet now was lying next to him as though you belonged there.

The closeness was intoxicating, and for a moment, Nanami Kento allowed himself to let go of the inner tension that had been gnawing at him.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” he muttered, almost to himself. His hand moved to gently push a lock of your hair behind your ear, a movement that seemed strangely intimate. “I’m not... someone you should be relying on for this kind of thing.”

You turned toward him, propping your head up with one hand, the other resting on his chest. Your gaze was steady, unwavering, and you leaned in slightly, as if closing the space between you would help you understand him better.

“You’re wrong.” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet confidence. “I know exactly who you are, Kento. You’ve been so careful, so stoic, but underneath that... I see you. And I know this isn’t just a passing thing for you. You wouldn’t let it be. Not with me.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to say something in response, something to deny the truth of your words, but for some reason, the honesty in your gaze made him pause. It was almost like you had peeled back a layer of himself that he had buried for so long, and now there was no turning back.

“Do you think you’re the first person to think they can outsmart me?” Nanami asked, his voice surprisingly gentle, almost like he was talking to himself. “You’ve always been good at what you do. Too good.”

“Is that a compliment, or are you just being modest?” you teased, but your voice was softer now, as if the playful note was fading into something more serious.

“It’s the truth.” he said, his voice steady but filled with a new kind of weight. “I can’t pretend that I’m immune to you, that I can just walk away from all this.”

You shifted slightly, your body inching closer to his, as though the tension in the air had become too much for both of you to ignore. Your lips parted, your gaze never leaving his. A glint of something beyond the icy clouds he was enamoured about.

“You don’t have to walk away, Kento.” you whispered, a trace of vulnerability beneath your usual boldness. “But if you’re not willing to stay, then don’t bother pretending. I won’t waste my time.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, heavier than it had ever been before. Your hand rested against his own, smiling at him so tenderly.

“I’m not pretending.” he finally said, his voice quiet but resolute. “I know what I want. The question is... do you know what you want?”

For a moment, it seemed like the world outside the room had disappeared entirely. You were both in this space, suspended in time, just the two of you, your emotions intertwined in a way neither of you had fully prepared for.

“I know exactly what I want.” you replied softly, your fingers brushing his jawline. “But the real question, Kento, is whether you’re ready to let go of what you’re holding onto. You may be in control... but for how long?”

The challenge in your voice sent a shiver down his spine, and Kento couldn’t help but lean in just a fraction closer, as though the very air between you had become too thick to ignore. The magnetism of the moment was too strong, and even though he knew the risks, knew the consequences, he didn’t pull back.

“I’m not sure if I can let go.” he admitted, his voice low. His caramel eyes searched yours, looking for something—anything—to make sense of the chaos swirling inside him. “But maybe... just maybe... I’m starting to understand why I don’t want to.”

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you closed the small gap between you and kissed him, a soft, slow kiss that held all the promises neither of you dared to speak aloud. It was a kiss that conveyed everything, a silent agreement that neither of you had the strength to pull away from.

And as the night stretched on, the boundaries between right and wrong, between need and guilt, blurred once again. Neither of you said what was truly on your minds, but in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

The understanding was enough. The desire was enough. And maybe, just maybe, this—this strange, inevitable connection was more than either of you could ever have imagined. Even though he didn’t know how long this was going to last.

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YET HE KNEW THAT YOU WERE COMPETITIVE TOO. You didn’t want to lose the game. It was more than just a challenge to you—it was a test of your control, your power over the situation. You’d played the game so carefully, weaving each step, each move, into a perfect symphony of manipulation.

But that night, before you disappeared from his apartment, Kento had seen it in your eyes. That brief, fleeting moment where the façade cracked, where the sharp edges of your confidence gave way to something far more vulnerable, something he would never fully understand.

The room was thick with tension, charged with an intensity that neither of you had been able to escape. You were face to face with him now, and the walls of your meticulously crafted world were closing in. The situation had shifted in ways you hadn’t planned for, and every move you had made, every carefully laid out strategy, was beginning to unravel.

You’d been the one pulling the strings, the one who had orchestrated everything with precision. But now, Nanami Kento stood before you, a force that had disrupted the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain.

His sharp mind, his piercing gaze, and his unyielding persistence had become the thorn in your side, one you hadn’t expected. The game was still on, but the stakes were higher than ever. For a moment, you let your mind drift back to the past few days.

How you’d thought you had him under control, how you’d been so sure of yourself. You had always been in control of the game. Whether it was your charm, your intellect, or the secrets you so expertly guarded, you had always held the upper hand.

But with Nanami Kento, there was something different. Everything about him was an anomaly. His presence was like a force of nature, one that couldn’t be ignored, one that made you question everything.

“This is what you’ve been working towards?” Yaga Masamichi's voice was cold, filled with disbelief.

He had been observing from a distance, waiting for the right moment to intervene, but now it was clear that the game had reached its climax. You stood across from them, eyes sharp, calculating. You could feel Kento’s eyes burning holes into you.

"I’m not interested in your so-called justice, iceman." you spat, turning your focus back to Kento. "You both are just pawns in a much bigger plan. This—" you motioned vaguely around you. "—all of this is a distraction. A test. And you were so easy to manipulate, detective."

Kento stood still, the air thick with resolve. The betrayal in your voice stung, but he wasn’t letting it sway him. “You’re the one who’s been playing a game, siren.” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. "And the one who's been pretending. Pretending like you didn’t have a stake in all this."

You scoffed. "Please. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need you. I’m using you, just like I’ve used everyone else. You were always just a tool."

But there was something in your eyes, there was a flicker, an imperceptible shift. Something that betrayed your words. Kento, ever observant, didn’t miss it. He took a step forward, his brow furrowed, voice cutting through the air.

“You’re lying.”

You froze.

His eyes narrowed, taking in the subtle signs you thought you had hidden so well. "Your elevated pulse. You can't fool me. You're interested in me. All this... it’s a game to you, but you’re not fooling anyone.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. How could he have figured it out so easily? You had worked so hard to keep up the façade, to maintain the power, but in that moment, Nanami Kento had seen right through you. He always has, the moment you both met.

“You really thought you had me, didn’t you?” Kento continued, his voice low and steady, almost teasing. “You thought I wouldn’t notice. But I can see right through you. The truth is, you’ve always been a lot more invested than you let on."

“How can you be so confident?”

The room felt smaller, the silence deafening as Nanami Kento moved closer, his expression unreadable. You were beginning to panic inside, but you refused to let it show. Your eyes tensed as he got to you. You watched as he wraps the fingers of his right hand around her left wrist, then leans forward and brings his mouth close to her right ear.

“Because I took your pulse.”

Almost suddenly, you could feel yourself going through your memories. You found yourself at that moment, where you were kneeling in front of him and smiling at him. Your hand on top of him. You hadn’t noticed it then. You were too busy looking at him.

It was then he, keeping eye contact, turning his hand over and resting his fingertips on the underside of your wrist. The beating of your heart echoes against the fabric of his flesh. He pursed his lips in a flat line.

You frowned, betrayal finally evident in your eyes as you gathered yourself to the present once more. You could feel his grip on your wrist tightens. You try to open your mouth but nothing comes out of your lips.

“They’re elevated.” He continues to whisper to you. “Your pupils dilated, just like back then.”

“I imagine people think that love seems like a mystery to me, that it’s of lesser value to my fondness of the game, of logic.Like you want it to be.” He tells you, brushing your hair and tucking it against your ear. “But it’s chemistry,a s simple as breathing. It’s just as destructive, don’t you think?”

Kento turns away and walks a few paces from you. You couldn’t help but try and follow behind him. But you stopped as he turned around and faced you once again. You purse your lips in a flat line. He smiles at you as he takes the phone.

“You know, you tried to convince me that this is all a game, that you were bored and this was you having fun. You played all those games over and over, tempting me and you couldn’t help it could you?”

He starts pressing the buttons on the phone. You could feel the air get punched out of your lungs. You wanted him to stop, but he didn't. He looks up to you, trying to see your panic and tension.

“You knew I would try and use your body as much as you would use mine. You allowed me to take your measurements, everything. But this phone, everything about this is intimate. This is your heart.”

Without breaking his gaze into your bright emotional eyes, Kento pushes his finger and punches in the first of the five letter code. Then it clicked. You closed your eyes, tears pouring out your eyes. You could feel your heart beating loudly.

“And if you wanted to win the game.” He whispers to you, smiling. “You should never let it rule your head.”

You stared at him, trying to stay calm but the panic is beginning to show behind your eyes, tears pouring down your cheeks. You had lost to him. He smiles at you in a triumph as your breathing becomes heavier.

“You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for.” he tells you as he stares at the phone. “But after all that time, being obsessed about me. You just couldn’t resist it, couldn’t you?”

“Stop. Please.”

“I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage.” He continues as you try to seize his hand, gazing intensely at him. “Thank you for the final proof.”

He shows Yaga the phone.

It was his name, K-E-N-T-O.

You felt the tears pour again.

“Everything I said: it’s not real.” You whispered back at him, lying through your teeth. “I was just playing the game.”

“I know.” He whispered to you, his eyes echoing fondness. “And this is just losing it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be able to guess it so quickly, but of course, he was always ahead of the game. He knew what you had been hiding all along. With a sharp click, the phone unlocked. Kento glanced at the screen briefly before turning his gaze back to you.

Your stomach turned. The room seemed to tilt around you. For the first time in your life, you were the one caught in the web. You had underestimated him. The man who had been nothing more than a distraction was now the one holding the key to your entire operation.

Before you could react, Yaga moved swiftly to grab the phone from Kento’s hands, but you were already one step ahead. Your instinct for survival kicked in. You didn’t have time to make sense of it all. You needed to leave. Now.

With a sudden movement, you grabbed your coat, the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you turned to the door. Kento’s gaze followed you, but he didn’t try to stop you. You looked into his eyes. He knew that you wouldn’t last six months.

“Not so fast.” you heard him say, his tone sharp. “You won’t get away that easily.”

But you were already slipping out of the room, the sound of your heels echoing down the hallway as you fled. Behind you, you could hear Kento and Yaga discussing the aftermath, but it didn’t matter anymore.

Your plan was unraveling, but you were no longer in the mood to play by their rules. In the blink of an eye, you were gone, disappearing into the shadows of the city, knowing that the game had shifted—and you would need to find a new way to stay in control.

As you hurried through the corridor, your mind raced. The realization that Nanami Kento had figured out your carefully constructed ruse was a blow to your confidence, but you couldn’t afford to dwell on it. You had come too far, planned too meticulously, to let it all collapse now.

Still, the fact that he had guessed the password, his name, cut deep, deeper than you'd expected. You had thought your feelings were buried beneath the cold, calculated façade you’d built, but now, standing on the brink of losing everything, they resurfaced in full force.

Nanami Kento—the man who had been a mere pawn in your plan had somehow become the center of it. His presence, his ability to break through your defenses, it all felt like a betrayal, even though you were the one who had been playing the game. You didn’t have time to question what had gone wrong; you had to act fast.

As you made your way down the stairs, the voices of Yaga and Kento grew fainter, their words drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You knew you had to disappear before they caught up, but something inside you resisted, a strange mix of anger and... longing. You couldn’t let it show, not now, not when everything was slipping through your fingers.

Your fingers gripped the handle of the door to the street, but just as you were about to escape, a voice called out.

“You think you can just run?” Kento’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine. He had followed you.

You whirled around to face him, your eyes narrowing in defiance, your body tense with adrenaline. Kento stood a few feet behind you, the doorframe casting shadows across his features. He looked at you with a mixture of frustration and something else, something more complex than anger, maybe even understanding.

“Do you really think this is the end, Kento?” you sneered, trying to mask the uncertainty building inside.

You had never shown this side of yourself to him before, this vulnerable, off-balance side that was beginning to crack under the weight of your own feelings. You couldn’t afford to let him see it, though. Not now.

“You always have an answer, don’t you?” he said quietly, his gaze steady as it locked with yours. “Always one step ahead, but this time, I’m the one who figured you out. I know what you're really after.”

You clenched your jaw. You could feel the heat of your emotions bubbling to the surface, but you held them back. “You don’t know anything, Kento.” you said, your voice was hard, but the crack in it betrayed you.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His presence was like an anchor, heavy and undeniable, making it impossible for you to ignore the magnetic pull between you. For a moment, the anger you had been holding onto faded, replaced by something much more dangerous. You could feel it in your chest. A thudding, tight sensation that wasn’t entirely from fear.

“I know you.” Nanami said, his voice low. “I know how you work. How you manipulate, how you play people to get what you want.” He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I also know something else. I know that you... care.”

You blinked, startled. "You're wrong." you hissed, your heart racing as you tried to shove the feelings back into the recesses of your mind where they had been hiding.

But he wasn’t finished. "No.”he said, his tone firm. "I’m right. You’re not as cold as you think you are. You’ve been hiding behind your plan, using it as a shield, but it’s not fooling me anymore."

You wanted to lash out, to deny it, to prove him wrong. But his words hung in the air, making it harder and harder to push them away. He was right, in a way. You had always told yourself that you were in control, that you could manipulate the situation, use it to your advantage. But now, standing there with him, with the evidence of your vulnerability laid bare, you weren’t so sure.

"Don’t make this harder than it already is." he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to keep running, but if you do, you’ll only be fooling yourself.”

You could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, the truth of them sinking in like a heavy stone. You were out of options. You didn’t have an answer. The truth of it hit you hard, and before you could stop yourself, you were already fleeing.

Your heart pounding, the camera phone slipping from your hand as you disappeared into the night. You didn’t know if you were running from Nanami Kento or from yourself. But one thing was certain: the game was far from over.

“Run now, siren.” He whispers in your ear. “I’ll let you have the head start.”

He had won this time, and you lost.

You always will, when it comes to him.

You loved him, after all.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THINGS HAVE GONE AND PASSED AGAIN. The air was heavy with the kind of silence that could only follow about something like this. Yaga Masamichi. sat at his desk, the faint hum of the office lights above the only sound as he held the letter in his hands. Kento can only look at him, trying to keep a poker face.

He had received the news just moments ago. The news that people were expecting. News that even Kento knew would happen. But after you had lost the game, you were more vulnerable than ever before. And there was nothing that was to be done about it. That was just how it was in this world.

You, the enigmatic figure who had stirred the threads of chaos and manipulation in their lives, had been executed by enemy spies. He heard it was at least merciful, one clean cut. And now he has to tell Nanami Kento. And that would close the case.

"Yaga, you called me here too early for this.”

“I know, I know. But it has to be said in person.” Yaga said, his voice steady but grim. “It’s about the dominatrix.”

Kento looked at him for a moment.

He sighed as he straightened his position.

“What happened?” Kento’s voice had softened, as if preparing for the inevitable.

“They’ve been executed.” Yaga said, each word feeling like a final nail in the coffin of everything they had all been through with you. “Some of their enemies... They caught them. They’re gone.”

There was another long silence. Nanami Kento didn’t speak immediately. He sighed, and slowly took out a cigarette from his pocket. Soon, he pulls out a lighter. The soft click of a lighter igniting the moment filled the void.

“Thank you for informing me.” Kento replied, his voice low, emotionless.

“Listen, I just—” Yaga started, sensing the complicated nature of their relationship, but Nanami cut him off.

“I’ll handle it.” he said, his tone final.

And with that, Nanami Kento stood up.

The smell of nicotine echoed through.

And then, he left as quietly as he entered.

Nanami Kento arrived back at his apartment, the cigarette already gone. He sighed as he sat in the quiet of his apartment, the heavy weight of the news pressing against him. His apartment, usually a place of calm and routine, felt eerily empty now.

The hum of the outside world fading into a distant, unimportant murmur. He walked to the corner where his violin sat. He had left it a while ago, having been summoned. There was a new piece he had to enjoy. A new refuge from the chaos of his life.

Sitting down, Kento lifted the violin, the bow in his hand as though it were second nature. He placed it against the strings and began to play—a soft, mournful tune that echoed through the empty space of his home.

The melody wasn’t one he had planned to play. It was a reflection of the tumult he felt inside. There was an unspoken grief, a lingering ache that he couldn’t quite place. It was almost as if he were trying to play the sorrow out of his chest, to make sense of the confusion swirling in his mind.

But his mind kept circling back to you. The way you had manipulated him, pulled him into your web, but also the way you had challenged him, pushed him to think in ways he never had before. He couldn't deny the complexity of his feelings for you. The mix of resentment and a strange, reluctant respect for the person you were.

You had been his puzzle, one that never quite made sense, and now, with your loss, that piece of his life was forever unfinished. You were the game that he enjoyed the most, the game that had excited him the most. The game he loved.

As he played, his fingers faltered slightly over the strings, the tension building in his chest as he remembered the last time he had seen you. The way your eyes had locked, full of unspoken words. The way you had almost reached for him, only for everything to crumble apart in the chaos of the mission.

The music began to swell as he poured his emotions into each note, but something else caught his attention. The glint of the camera phone in his breast pocket. The phone that had been the key to everything.

The phone that he had kept close, far closer than he had ever intended. It wasn’t just a tool, a piece of evidence. It was a reminder of you, a tether that still held him in your orbit, even in your absence.

He paused his playing, reaching up to gently pull the phone from his pocket. His fingers brushed over the smooth surface, feeling the weight of it like a secret too heavy to carry. The camera phone wasn’t just part of the plan you had devised.

It was a part of you. And in that moment, Nanami realized that he hadn’t just kept it because it was useful; he kept it because it was a connection to something deeper. You were gone, but the phone, the lingering traces of you, remained.

Nanami Kento sighed, placing the phone on the table before him as he continued to play, the melody soft and contemplative now. It was clear that, despite the distance between them, despite all the lies and manipulation, there had been something real there. A part of him, something he couldn’t quite articulate, had been drawn to you.

He didn’t understand it completely, but one thing was undeniable: you had left your mark on him, and in the quiet solitude of his apartment, Nanami Kento allowed himself to admit it. He would keep the camera phone close. Near his heart.

But then he smiles.

His mind goes to months ago.

The air was thick with the sounds of an angry voice drifting over the low hum of a military vehicle. The camera shakes, blurring the scene in the darkness, until it finally stabilizes, the picture clearing as reality begins to take form.

You’re kneeling on the cold, unforgiving earth, the bright floodlights from the vehicle casting long shadows across your body. Clad in your death robes, you appear almost serene, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding you.

With one hand, you type slowly and deliberately on your phone, ignoring the shouts, the movement, the urgency of it all. Your fingers glide over the screen, eyes fixed on the message you’ve been preparing for hours.

Goodbye pretty man.

Your heart beats steadily as you press send. It’s the final touch. Your final act. To your right, a man holds a rifle with one hand, his other hand outstretched, demanding your phone. His voice is rough, laced with frustration as he calls for you to hand it over.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t move. You’re not done. His voice sharpens with each demand, but you remain composed, fingers pressing the keys with a calm that unnerves him. Give me the phone! Now! he roars, but your gaze stays fixed on the screen.

Not yet. Not until you finish.

He steps closer, anger flashing across his face, rifle raised again, his grip tightening. But you don’t look up. You don’t react. You type with precision, your thumb moving over the screen with careful intent, as if time no longer holds any meaning.

The world around you may be closing in, but you’re lost in the finality of your message.

It feels almost too simple, and yet, it’s everything.

Then the atmosphere shifts.

A sudden tension cracks through the air, and the voices behind you falter, confusion rippling through the men as a figure steps forward from the shadows. You hear his voice before you see him, calm, unyielding.

“Stand down.”

Nanami Kento.

The man holding the rifle hesitates, looking between you and the newcomer. Kento’s presence is a force. It was silent, authoritative. His voice has the weight of a command, and it leaves no room for argument. The rifle lowers, and the soldier steps back, unwilling to face the quiet fury Kento brings with him.

Kento doesn’t spare a glance at the man. His attention is on you. His steps are measured, purposeful, as he approaches. He kneels beside you, and for a moment, the chaos around you blurs into silence.

His hand brushes your shoulder gently, a wordless comfort in the midst of everything. He doesn’t ask why you’re here, doesn’t ask why you’ve sent the message. Instead, he simply looks at the phone, glancing down at the words you’ve typed.

“Goodbye pretty man...” he reads softly, his voice a mixture of concern and something else—something unreadable.

You finally glance up at him, your expression a mask of calm, but your eyes flicker with something more. A slight smile, cold but there, pulls at the corners of your lips. You take a moment to breathe, taking in the presence of him.

“I didn’t think I’d make it out this time.”

His gaze softens, just for a second, before he stands, pulling you to your feet effortlessly. His fingers are warm against yours as he closes the phone, taking it from your hand. His grip is firm, sure, as he pulls you into his orbit, away from the danger, away from the violence.

Without a word, Kento turns his back to the men as he walks away. You’re with him now, an unspoken agreement passing between you. His presence is unwavering, the tension around you fading with each step. He leads you through the chaos, his voice cutting through the din with quiet authority, silencing any protest from the soldiers around you.

“You’re coming with me. Now.”

His words are simple, but there’s no room for defiance. You follow, not because you have to, but because for the first time in months, you feel something that’s been missing. An anchor, a safety in his steady presence. You couldn’t help but smile.

You don’t need to say anything more. He’s here.

You’re not alone anymore.

The game has changed.

And Nanami Kento is the one who changed it.

“My vixen of a siren, where could you be now?”

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