#but at the moment all its doing is making me more frustrated

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: explicit sexual content, cowgirl, vaginal sex, light bondage, power dynamics, teasing/edging, sweating Kento out because that's what I love most, established relationship, MDNI!

WC: ~5.9K

Summary: What happens when you playfully suggest a new dynamic in the bedroom? Utter torment for Nanami, of course. What else is new?

a/n: The writer's block has been absolutely atrocious, but I was able to break free of its clutches with this. Is it Sheriff Nanami? No. But it is smut that's been sitting in my mind so long that it gave me a fever. So...here ya go lol.

Ao3 | JJK Masterlist | Divider: @cafekitsune @strangergraphics | Part Two | network tag: @pixelcafe-network

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The silk of his favorite tie is familiar to him—the way it slides through his fingers each morning when he gets ready for work, the weight of it loose around his neck as he shaves, the pop of black against gold in his reflection when he secures it beneath his collar. But it’s never quite felt like this—wrapped snugly around his wrists, rumpled and stretching with every pull of his hands, growing damp with sweat from his wrists as he watches you ride him within an inch of his life.

Nanami hisses, dark blonde eyebrows pitched deep in concentration as he gazes up at you. His usually immaculate hair is a mess, flaxen strands plastered to his forehead with sweat that trails down his neck like a lover’s caress, slipping beneath his shoulder blades to soak into the sheets of your shared bed.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grits out. He means to sound indignant, frustrated in light of what he’s gotten himself into, but his body tells a different story. His hips itch to cant upward, fingers clench like a madman for purchase into your skin, jaw clicking as he grinds his teeth against mounting pleasure.

You snort as if the very thought of conceding is laughable. The consistent jump of your hips stops, the action shooting a flare of want up his stomach. Your fingers flex on his chest, pressing further as you lift your hips up and up, exposing more of his wet cock to the cool air until just the tip remains encased in your heat. He yanks at the restraints before he can stop himself, a silent plea that makes you smile.

“Are you sure?” you tease, rotating your hips, and the feel of it makes his eyes cross. “If you’re not comfortable, Ken, we can stop.”

The thought of stopping makes his cock throb traitorously, even as his body feels flayed open, every nerve ending exposed and singing. He did agree to this, after all. 

It was meant as a joke. Just a random comment you made three mornings ago while fixing his tie like any other day. Like always, Nanami used those precious moments before departing for work to drink you in—his own private ritual of worship. The gentle sweep of your eyelashes as you focused on his Windsor knot, the way the morning light caught the rich undertones of your melanin-kissed skin, that unconscious purse of your lips that made him want to be late every morning. 

“You ever thought about letting me tie you up?”

The question struck him like a match against kindling. Nanami is not really the adventurous one in the bedroom—that’s your domain, and he follows willingly where you lead. But the thought of being at your mercy, of letting go of his ingrained control to watch you take whatever you want from him, had his ears ringing. It was something about the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes, the subtle dip of one side of your cheek as you bit down on it, the want radiating from you like heat from a flame…

When it comes to you, he will try anything once. 

A joke that became an agreement. An agreement turned into tonight—you in that devastating dress over dinner, his fingers leveling enough strength not to shatter the wine glass he drank frivolously from as he watched you toy with your necklace, knowing what was to come. An agreement turned into a frantic mess of hands undoing zippers and buttons, of smoothing along the soft planes of your inner thighs before his mouth feasted on the pearl in the center, of you giggling like a wanton feign as you wrapped his wrists and notched them to the bed frame. 

Just a joke. Just an agreement. Now, here he rests, on his back, on fire, and subtly regretting his choices because he’s a selfish man who wants all of you all the time. And Nanami, like the fool he is when it comes to you, truly thought he could bear it. 

“Focus, Ken.”

An absolute fool.

“I’m not uncomfortable. But you’re hardly playing fair.”

You never do. How could you? You’re divinity made flesh, mischief molded from clay—a goddess who delights in reducing him to prayers and pleas. He loves you, desperately so, and has long since accepted that his soul will forever chase the wonderful chaos you bring to his carefully ordered world. 

“What could you possibly mean?” you’re coquettish in your question, biting the corner of your lip in that way that makes his spine straighten. His eyes linger on that lip, remembering how it feels beneath his thumb, against his tongue, between his teeth.

“Darling—”

He doesn’t get far. Before the rest of his words can leave his mouth, you’re dropping back down onto him, enveloping his cock in a blistering heat so intense it borders on religious experience. Every nerve ending ignites at once, pleasure searing through him like a brand.

“No talking.”

And isn’t that funny? Because any words Nanami has disintegrated into a powdery mist seconds ago. So, of course, Nanami has no choice but to bite the inside of his cheek until he can taste coppery tang, pulling at his restraints for the nth time of the night and wishing in this very moment to be oblivious to the sounds of your wanton moans that echo in the air.

Nanami’s groan starts deep in his chest, reverberating through him like a growing monsoon as you lean forward, trailing your nose along his throat. Your scent—Shea butter and feminine heat—fills his lungs like incense, a temptation he can’t answer, a shrine he cannot appreciate despite every cell in his body screaming to touch.

“You agreed.”

“To the restraints, not torture.” He can hear the hitch in your breath, that light choke as you try to hold back a laugh. Your hips give another sensual twirl, and Nanami can hear the clench of his teeth. “I want—I need to touch you.”

“Come now, Kento,” you coo in his ear, sliding your tongue along his lobe before you bite down into the cartilage. He grunts, flinching back even as his cock twitches inside of you. “You married me remember? Surely you know my ways.”

“My love—” You twirl your hips again and again and again. Each swivel is representative of a slow churn of his rapidly loosening arousal. 

Nanami has always been spellbound by your beauty. From the moment his eyes open in the morning to the moment they close at night, you are all he knows. The curve of your smile makes his heart beat faster, the music of your laugh fills his stomach with butterflies. Without intention, you undo him.

Even now, bouncing on his cock like the vixen you are, you are ethereal. Your box braids sway with each movement, catching the artificial light as they brush across your shoulders that gleam with exertion. Sweat has transformed your baby hairs into delicate curls against your temples and hairline, giving you an almost feral beauty that makes his mouth run dry. 

That’s what makes it all the more painful for him. The way sweat slides down your brown skin, the pebble of perspiration along the curve of your stomach, the hypnotic sway of your breasts as you take what you want, it all beckons to him. His mouth waters like a starving man at a feast he’s forbidden to partake in. The base of his spine coils with an inexplicable pressure that blooms along his back. The tips of his fingers tingle from the loss of blood from the restraints and with the desire to touch you.

It’s not fair. 

It’s frustrating. Agonizing to the very depth of his soul how badly he wants to reach for you. He’s strong enough to snap these damn restraints—he could easily do it. The image floods his mind unbidden—how easy it would be to snap these ties, to flip you on your back and fuck you so hard you’re crying his name. He can almost feel it—the sharp sting of your nails (freshly done, he notices even in his delirium) scraping down his back as he drives into you without mercy, the way you’d arch beneath him, how your defiance would melt into pleas. His muscles coil with the phantom sensation, his ears echoing the ghost of your cries he could draw from you.

But you wanted this. You’ve asked for a slither of control he freely gives, and he refuses to see a shred of disappointment on your face because he was impatient. 

So he waits. Even though his skin is burning from the inside out. Even though his heart is beating so fast, it feels like his chest might cave in. He waits. His cock feels so tight that he’s almost feverish with worry if he can hold on much longer. The feel of your essence coating his thighs and balls, the sound of your moans, the sight of the column of your throat when you throw your head back.

It’s truly not fair.

“My love, please,” he can’t help but beg. He’s never against begging. Not when it comes to you. Not when it comes to unraveling the knot you easily twist inside of him. Already, he’s backtracking. He reaches up just a little, hoping you’ll grant him some part of you—the smell of your skin along his nose, the taste of your sweat on his tongue, anything.

“No.”

You leave no room for argument, pressing against his chest to force him back into submission. Frustration flares like a demon in his chest, curdling and dying instantly against the want that oozes from him. 

“Come on, Kento,” you chide, moaning breathlessly as you double your efforts. “Don’t you want to give me what I want?”

Of course, he does. But in moments like this, Nanami wishes he were a weaker man because you’re too wet, too hot, too soft, and tight around him. The silk-soft clutch of your body is turning his mind to static.

Just the thought of how you feel around him threatens to shatter his composure. Pleasure pools molten in his lower abdomen, every muscle tight as a bowstring as he fights his body’s betrayal. He hisses through bared teeth, digs his fingers into the silk encased around his wrists, and yanks until the bed frame groans. His control is quickly failing him, your moans a siren’s song in his head urging surrender. His body responds without question—feet seeking purchase on the mattress, thighs tensing as instinct fights restraint. It will only take a second for him to plant his feet and drive up into you until you’re seeing stars.

But you’re faster. You lean forward to slide your hands behind his neck, delicate fingers weaving through the sweaty strands of his hair before you pull tight, angling his head back so his neck is bared to you in willful submission. The sharp difference between your soft touch and the display of dominance makes his eyes roll back, swimming in the viscera of his brain as a broken sound escapes him, his resistance melting away. His heels slide back onto the bed, forgotten.

Your soft lips press at the juncture of his neck, your braids falling around you both like a curtain, the ends tickling his chest. The scent of your coconut hair oil mingles with the Shea from your skin, making his head spin. The feel of your smirk on his neck—victorious—makes his cock throb, a tight rubber band behind his belly button fraying on the edges, warning him that his time is running out. 

You move agonizingly slow with each roll of your hips, sending electricity up his spine, searing his skin everywhere you touch and aching where you don’t. His skin feels too tight, like his bones don’t fit, and the discomfort is as satisfying as it is jarring. He yanks, sweat beading at his temples, sliding down his neck, making everything feel slick and hot and maddening.

When you sit up, you trail your hands down the rigid lines of his straining muscles, admiring the jutting veins and sinew. You hum in appreciation, pupils blown black as you take him in. The small of Nanami’s back arches in just so, preening under your rapturous gaze because he hopes he’s doing well. Even like this—bound and helpless beneath you—his desire to be good wars with his desperation to touch. The praise in your eyes soothes even as it burns.

Look how still he stays for you. Look how good he’s being. 

Nanami’s thighs tremble with the effort not to thrust, not to take, not to claim. Each second stretches like the most painful torture as his mind fractures into desperation—just one thrust, one press of his tongue to your skin, one moment of control. Please. Please. The word burns behind his teeth, unspoken and curdling but screaming like a banshee in his blood. 

“Getting frustrated, Ken?” Your voice is honey-sweet poison, made breathier by your movements. He won’t rise to your taunts; he lacks the strength for it. So he basks in the attention you lavish with your eyes, your silent praise like invisible hands along his skin. Just as quickly, he closes his eyes tight. If he looks a moment longer, this night will have an unfortunate end for you both.

“Look at me.”

Your demand cuts through the haze of his desire, sharp and unyielding. He’s too slow to respond to you, and all too quickly, he feels your fingers dig slightly into his jaw, forcing his surrender as his eyes flutter open. His restlessness must show because there’s that wicked glint in your eyes, and you thrive on his misery, rewarding him with a kiss so quick and gentle that he’s chasing after your lips for more. You press your hands firmly to his chest, a clear command to be still. With no friction, it’s just blistering heat, his cock pulsing, a whimper dying in the back of his throat.

You shift, and Nanami’s ears register a faint click that he catches with his eyes. Your heels, oh, those clear heels, glimmer up at him as you plant your feet on the soft sheets. Delicate clear straps wrap around your ankles like ribbons on a gift he’s held all night and still not allowed to unwrap, the nude leather making your brown skin glow in the dim lamplight. 

The moment you put them on earlier in the evening, they haunted him—from the restaurant to the ride home, the way they made your legs look endless in that dress when you crossed them in the passenger seat. Now, they dig into the sheets on either side of his hips as you use them for leverage, the crystal clear stilettos catching the light like ice. The sheer difference of something so elegant being used in such a primal way makes his breath catch—much like yourself, refined on the outside but capable of reducing him to nothing but baseless need.

“Watch me,” you command. As if Nanami could look away if he tried. Damn you. “Watch how well I ride you while you can’t touch.”

He loathes how the new angle makes his vision swim at the edges, hates even more how each movement strips away another layer of his composure. Every bounce drives him deeper into insanity, making him strain harder against the ties that keep him from you.

“You poor thing,” you coo, the false sympathy in your voice making his upper lip curl, a growl simmering in the back of his throat. “You want to touch so badly, don’t you?”

God. He wants, he wants. He wants with an intensity that frightens him.

You’re a taunting vision above him, and he eyes the champagne-colored dress that’s now bunched carelessly at your waist. It was the perfect compliment for you, silken and caressing your body during dinner while he swallowed his bubbling desire with every generous gulp of red wine. A halter top dress fastened behind your neck that was quickly undone when you pushed him on the bed, your breasts spilling from their lustrous confines.

The hem is rumpled, kissing the tops of your curvy thighs and falling open with your new position so he can see everything between your legs. Dimpled skin that rises up and down, beckoning that he grip your hips and trace your curves with his tongue. 

The wet sound of skin on skin drowns out even his thundering heartbeat, and he can’t decide which is worse—watching you take your pleasure or being forced to listen to how perfectly you use his body for your own needs. That controls splinters, cracks, disintegrates, and flutters like ash in the wind. 

He’s never wished more in this moment for you to tire out, for your stamina to be next to nothing. But no. You knew exactly what you were doing when you fastened his tie three days ago. 

“You ever thought about letting me tie you up?”

Nanami, in his stupidity and endless love for you, saw what he wanted in your eyes. What he mistook for aimless curiosity, was actually calculated, unadulterated mischief. 

Of course, he would agree.

That’s why you punctuated your victory with this dress. That’s why you got your hair done yesterday. That’s why you wore these new heels and lathered your body in the Shea butter lotion he loves so much.

A level of strategy so calculated that Gojo Satoru himself would be envious of its perfection.

God, he loves you. Even as he silently begs whatever entity will listen to him to be free of this prison you’ve created, he loves you beyond reason.

“Poor Kento,” you purr, your words cracking through his spiraling thoughts like a whip. You lean back on one hand, the arch of your back pushes your breasts forward, and his mouth waters at the sight. Every cell in his body strains toward you, pressing beneath the surface of his skin and coagulating into a congealed mass.

But it’s the sight of you spreading your legs wider, of giving him a view of all of you, of your other hand sliding down your stomach that truly threatens to break him. Your fingers find your clit, and the wet sound of you touching yourself while he’s buried deep inside makes his vision blur. Those should be his fingers bringing you pleasure, his touch pushing you toward release. Instead, he can only watch, desperate and aching, as you chase your own pleasure.

“Look how wet I am,” you breathe, and his hips buck involuntarily at your words. He doesn’t even bother to feel shame at the glare you shoot his way for disobeying. “Don’t you wish these were your fingers? Making me feel good?”

“Don’t be cruel.” The ties might actually snap from how hard he’s pulling now, watching your fingers work in tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, your cunt squeezing him like a vice. You’re getting close—he can tell from the way your thighs start to tremble, the way your breath shakes.

Your laugh in response sends searing heat down his spine—musical and breathless and utterly wicked, even though it makes his blood boil. The sound mingles with the wet noises of your fingers working between your legs, the sight and sound of you nearly driving him mad.

“I need—” he chokes on the words as you clench around him in reprimand, his tongue thick in his mouth. “I need to cum. Please.”

“No.” Your voice is firm despite your breathlessness, your fingers never stopping their circles against your clit. “Not until I’m done with you. Can you hold on? Can you be good for me, Ken?”

Good.

A word so simple to a weaker man, but absolute devastation to him. His cock throbs to the increased tempo of his pulse, the festering heat of pleasure pulls behind his belly button, the base of his spine coiling like a snake backed into a corner. His wrists burn from the careful strain of being at your mercy and not breaking free. He’s fighting, but he’s trying—fuck help him, he’s trying to be good for you. 

You purposefully clench around him, tight and hot and perfect, watching his face contort in pain. “Stop,” he growls, the sound raw and anguished in his throat.

Your answering giggle is like a knife to his chest, delighted by his desperation. “Make me,” you challenge, knowing full well he can’t. You do it again, squeezing around him as your fingers work faster. “What’s wrong, Ken? Too much?”

His growl turns into something close to a whimper as you torment him with another deliberate clench. And another, and another, and another. The ties creak ominously, his whole body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“You’re cruel,” he pants, but the accusation only makes you smile wider, your movements growing more erratic as you get closer to your peak.

Every bounce of your breasts, every flutter of your lashes, every rapturous moan—it’s all burning into his memory like an iron on his skin. His hands ache for the soft crease where your thighs meet, where your thick curves swell so perfectly beneath his thirsty gaze. The sheen of sweat between your breasts calls to his tongue, taunting him with memories of your salty taste. Everything within reach, yet forbidden.

Nanami licks his lips, his tongue catching the subtle tang of your fading arousal from earlier in the evening when his face was buried between your thighs. Saliva pools in his mouth with the phantom taste of you. His breath catches in the dry crevices of his throat, gargling on a guttural whimper as he catalogs you in your utter devastation.

The crystal clear heels, purchased on that rainy Saturday when you’d lingered at the store window with wanting eyes. The champagne silk dress now bunched carelessly at your waist, chosen by him because he loved how the fabric made you shiver when you ran your fingers against it at the store last week. Those delicate black lace panties, pushed to one side of your pussy and soaked through, that he’d selected with trembling fingers weeks ago, imagining the many times you’d left them on while he fucked you into the mattress.

The gold chain at your throat catches the light with each bounce of your body, dancing across your collarbones like encapsulated sunshine. He remembers fastening it there for the first time on your anniversary, his lips following the metal’s path. Your body is decorated in diamonds like stars—the studs in your ears, the tennis bracelet on your wrist, the anklet that glints at him from his restraints. But it’s the wedding ring that truly breaks him—that symbol of his eternal devotion joining two other fingers that now press against your clit as you climb higher.

His marks cover you like a map of worship—the jewelry he chose, the silk he bought, the lingerie he selected. Every adornment screams his claim, but his hands remain tied, denied by the very exquisite canvas he’s painted with such adoration.

He sees the faint vestiges of the finish line, that light at the end of the tunnel when your hips stutter in movement and your breathless pants fall into a surprised moan that makes you stop. Your head falls back again, exposing the delicious column of your throat. His gums itch, inner cheeks sweating with saliva with the primal urge to dig his teeth into your soft skin. Your body is normally decorated with little marks from him—bruises from his fingers on your hips and thighs, hickeys on the curve of your breasts, cum dripping from your cunt. But tonight, you’re a blemish-free beauty in appearance, devilish in motivation. 

“Untie me,” Nanami whispers, not bothering to coat the begging lilt in his tone. “Untie me, and I’ll give you everything you want, love.”

Your head rolls to the side with serpentine grace until your dangerous gaze meets his. You’re glaring without any heat, narrowing your eyes in that playful manner that is always preceded by making Nanami’s life blissfully miserable.

You lift your hips slowly, slowly, slowly, and his eyes fall on the inches of his thick cock that become more exposed to the elements. He takes the abundance of your slick coating him, the thin gossamer bands that lengthen from your joined bodies and snap as the distance grows, the subtle flutter of your walls that suffocate him. Then, without warning—you drop. The sudden rush of wet heat around him shoots electricity up his spine and along his molars that he grinds into dust. He moans harshly, deep, and tortured, shaking from his mouth like a staccato as he tilts his head into the pillow beneath him.

“So good,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him, the words falling from your lips like a prayer. “So good for me, Ken. Always so good.”

The praise pierces something raw inside him. His cock throbs with each word, his fingers cramping white-knuckled around the ties as his body screams louder for release. Your movements grow erratic—hips stuttering and the careful teasing you brandished like a sword dissolving into pure need as your fingers frantically rub against your clit. He cranes his head forward just in time to watch you fall onto your knees, planting one hand on his shin while the other chases your orgasm with single-minded determination.

“Such a good boy,” you gasp, and the words feel like salvation against his skin and damnation all at once. “So good, so perfect, letting me take what I need—staying so still for me—such a good boy—”

He’s never heard those words from your lips before, never heard this particular praise, never heard you whisper in such a way that it sounds like you’re in disbelief by his submission. Something fundamental splinters inside him. The veneer that he’s precariously kept around himself all night fractures with each bounce of your hips. Every muscle in his body pulls taut as he watches you, your breathless chant of “good boy” pushing him dangerously close to his limit. 

Your pleasure crests like a tsunami. The bed protests beneath you both, a symphony of creaking wood and flesh on flesh as your hips slam down on him. Your voice rises, tight and pinched fuckfuckfuck's spilling from your lips like a mantra.

Even though he can practically taste his orgasm, his vision tunnels, focusing only on you. He takes in the violent brush of your box braids against your shoulders, the bunching of your stomach, the pebble of tears that gather at the corners of your eyes like the diamonds on your body. Your cunt grips him tighter, so impossibly tight, a velvet vice that threatens to rip his soul from his body.

And then you shatter. Your head snaps back; your jaw drops in shocked ecstasy as his name tears from your throat like a revelation. The sight of you coming undone above him, because of him, despite his restraints, worms itself into his memory. Your walls pulse around him, your fingers rapidly rubbing your clit to draw out your orgasm, milking his cock with an intensity that nearly destroys him. But he waits, trembling on the knife’s edge of his own release until you draw in one shaking breath. 

Then he snaps.

With a sharp crack, the ties give way, snapping from the bed posts but still dangling from his wrists. In one fluid motion, he sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, gathering you in his arms with barely concealed strength. One hand tangles into the braids at the nape of your neck while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“You’ve had your fun, love. Now let me have mine,” he growls against your ear, pulling your lobe into his mouth and using the leverage of your body and feet planted on the ground to drive up into your oversensitive and still fluttering heat. 

The feeling of finally, finally being able to touch you after being denied so long makes his head spin. The feel of you along his fingertips is enough to make him spill inside of you prematurely. Instead, he pistons his hips upwards, sliding his tongue along the skin of your neck as his pants dry his saliva on your skin. He’s earned this—earned every whimper, every clench of your pussy, every broken sound you make. Now it’s his to swallow and take as he chases the burning in his lower back.

You’re completely undone from your orgasm, arms draped loosely around his neck, and barely able to hold yourself up as the painful pleasure of over-sensitivity wracks your body. The sound of you in his ear, the press of your cheek on his skin, and the wet feel of what has to be drool on his shoulder, only drives him faster.

Every thrust up makes you whimper, all exposed nerves, and helpless to do anything but take what he gives. The hand on your hip guides you down to meet each drive of his cock, the movement desperate and precise. Control—something he’s prided himself on his entire life—is slipping through his fingers like water with each pulse of your walls around him.

“Perfect,” he pants against your ear, feeling you shudder at his voice, at how it breaks with need. “So perfect for me. Taking me so well even after—” Words fail him, dissolving into a heady groan as pleasure hot like ecstasy builds in his core, a tide rising higher and higher with each thrust. The sight of you so thoroughly claimed, slurred renditions of yes, yes, please, Ken, please sliding into his ear only drives him faster.

“Always teasing me,” he growls, digging his fingers into your hip and punctuating his words with a particularly deep thrust that makes you whine. “You love—you loved it, didn’t you? Making me wait—making me watch?”

Your only response is another broken moan, your body pliant and trembling in his arms, your cunt hot and thrashing around him. He groans softly, kissing your neck once before he digs his teeth into your skin. You yelp from the feeling, clenching around him so tightly that he feels his orgasm creep like a shadow at the edges of his consciousness.

“I’ll have to get you back for this.”

His threat is undermined by the pure devotion in his voice, the way his hand gentles in your hair even as his hips maintain their relentless pace. 

As quickly as his ferocity comes, it fades. He has no more strength to whisper grievances in your ear, no more energy to enjoy your body before he walks to the finish line.

No. Now, he sprints.

That rubber band behind his belly button begins to fray, a thin sliver being held together. The pressure at the base of his spine balloons, pressing against his nerves to make them pulse in time with his thundering heartbeat. His world narrows to only sensation—the wet heat of you, the silk of your skin, the wet smack of his balls against your throbbing pussy, the pounding of his heart against his ribs. He can feel it at the base of his cock, tingling and tight, begging to be let loose and fill you up.

Right there, right there, so close he can taste it on his tongue. His teeth dig deeper into your neck, anchoring himself to you as if he might float away in the thick fog of pleasure. The bed screams, and the broken ties—now a symbol of his freedom—dance along his forearms. But just as he teeters on the precipice, just as he’s about to topple over the edge, you find your strength again. His fierce, untamable love presses fingers into his back, and your lips brush his ear with deliberate wickedness.

“Be a good boy,” you whisper, voice hoarse but triumphant, “and cum for me. Fill me up, baby.”

He’s learned nothing from your devious ways. Those words—though repeated through the night—strike like lightning to his core. Gone is his rhythm. Gone is his control. Nanami’s jaw slackens, a desperate sound caught in his throat as his hips stutter and fail. 

His orgasm punches him in the gut, a moan belting from his throat and mixing with sounds he didn’t know he could make. He crushes you against him as he finally breaks, vision whiting out at the edges, hips snapping erratically as he chases every last spark of pleasure you offer him.

Your name falls like reverent worship from his lips, deep moans sliding along your skin like honey as you hold him through it. He’s lightheaded from you—your breathing on his shoulder, the press of your skin against him, the feel of his cum and your slick sliding between his ass. He relaxes his hold on your hip, smoothing his touch over the crescents in your skin and massaging the muscle, feral need giving way to worshiping love.

Seconds pass, then minutes. His mind slowly pieces itself together, orienting himself to reality as pleasure oozes over his skin like molten lava.

His breath is still evening out when he feels you shaking against him. You’re giggling freely, and he can smell the mischief that leaks from your pores. You’re proud of yourself; like all times when you can make him blush and trip over his words, this is no exception. He pulls back to level you with a look that’s meant to be stern, but your laughter only grows, bright and unrepentant as you card your hands through his loose and sweaty hair. 

He takes the time to admire you, his beautiful wife. Your skin glows in the aftermath of your lovemaking, the subtle sheen of sweat on your neck and breasts beckoning his gaze. The curling baby hairs kiss the tops of your ears, the glint in your eyes shining with endless love. You kiss him softly, giggling against his lips before pulling away to litter kisses down his neck.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask sweetly, a smile evident in your voice as you trail your love along his collarbone.

His hand strokes up your spine, humming softly. “Never. Though you will pay for this, love.” The threat holds no real heat— how could it, when you’re curled against him so perfectly, when your laughter makes his heart feel so full in his chest that he aches?

“Is that so?” you purr, disbelieving but fully prepared for the punishment if and whenever it arises. “I don’t think you have it in you.”

He won’t rise to your taunts. No, Nanami will get you back, and the next time those tears gather in your eyes, it will be because he’s dangled you over the precipice for so long that you won’t remember your name.

But that’s plans for another day.

For now, he’s content to pinch your side in playful reproach and relish in the harmonious giggle you give him. Before he can react, you’re pressing him back into the mattress, claiming his lips in a deep kiss that tastes of the wine that you both had at dinner. He melts into it despite himself, arousal stoking to life as his cock, still nestled in your warmth, twitches inside of you, his hands sliding up your back as he forgives you without words.

Thanks for reading!!

[thekitsandthekats]

i don't see the point of season two being to set up season three. i genuinely think that the writing is good and the choices made in this season add to the overall story while also being something that can stand on it's own.

season two, to me, is about three things: the collective, consequences and human nature. outside of red light green light, every game we've seen has been a team game. every game is designed for multiple people to win. the voting is a group effort. people have to come together to vote to stay or leave. it forces everyone to be involved and encourages them to think of the person next to them. this is where the focus of the collective comes in. when spend so much time with the games and the team's playing because the season is about their grouped success. its also an incredible tool to use to show the split in emotion. how people who were cheering to play one more game in hopes that more people die, turned around and hoped for their success. and to speak metaphorically, its about the power of the people fighting against a system. the great evil system of capitalism.

the voting system and the illusion of choice fall into the idea of human nature. inho talked about this in the limo before taking gihun to the games. he said that the players chose this, that they will always choose this. they will always chose to play the game because it is human nature to gamble, to be selfish. the season is about looking at the nature of humanity and what people will do when you put them in an impossible situation. gihun thinks they would chose to save themselves and everyone, inho thinks they will chose to serve themselves and forget everyone. this is why inho joined the games. to prove a point to gihun that look this is humanity, this is how they are and how they always will be, selfish.

then this brings me to gihun and his revenge trip . one of his biggest character traits is that he is always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, to trust that their intentions are pure. and as we've seen that is almost never the case. twice now he's been fooled by someone wearing a 001 number, and it doesn't dawn on him because he naturally looks for the good in people. on top of this, gihun believes he's doing the right thing. by trying to stop the games for good, he believes that people’s lives will be better, that they will no longer be under the thumb of capitalism and greed, that they will be free. but he is also out for retribution. not only does he want to stop the games, he wants revenge, he wants those in charge to pay. to do this he needs everyone. he needs the collective, and he needs to trust in their nature to be one of wanting to do the right thing. again, to get metaphorical, to take down a system like capitalism, to fight against the rich to live to exploit the poor, then the poor need to band together and rise up. or at least that is what gihun thinks.

that's why we focus so much on the ensemble of characters in the story, all of whom are different, endearing, frustrating, and so on, and yet we care. we care about all of them getting out, we care about their collective survival because the season has pulled all of us in to care. we're a part of the revolution because we as the audience have been roped into gihun plans too!!

that's why i think consequences are a big idea too. we know that the consequences of squid game are the deaths of thousands of people. we know that inho thinks this is a small and necessary sacrifice to make. we know that gihun disagrees. until he doesn't. inho asks him before the rebellion if he's willing to sacrifice the few for the many and gihun says yes. he contradicts his own ideals in the moment and so inho must show him the consequences of that. this is to speak to the consequences of trying to fight against oppression, almost to say that no the system will always win. it will tighten its security, crush you under its booy and always come out on top.

i think 011's story is really the only part that explicitly feels like a set up for season three, or like a sleeper agent kind of thing, where she'll pop up exactly when she's needed.

with inho and the boat crew, i actually really love what they did there because the whole story line was a waste of time. you're supposed to feel like it was a waste of time because it literally is. the captain is wasting their time sailing them in circles, never coming to the island. they go around and around and so the plot itself goes around and around, and by the end, even the reveal of the captain reads as flat and expected, and i love that. i think it's really interesting story telling, and granted i might be reading into it but that is the beauty of media and interpretation. i like to think that the writer did that on purpose so we feel exactly what the boat crew are feeling, that all of this is a waste of time.

i also understand that the season isn't flawless, that there might be some things that could've been done better but i honestly believe that season two of squid game is just brilliant.

twitter is actually so frustrating because i think people are deliberately misunderstanding what squid game is and what it's supposed to be doing. of course the pacing, the tone and everything about season two isn't going to be the same as season one. because things are different now. gihun is suffering from incredible trauma, junho was shot by his brother and is desperate to find him, it's been three years since gihun's games, of course things are different! it's not going to just be games and death, it needs to be a story, a JOURNEY, like we need things to develop, grow and be different! like is that difficult to understand?

nothing about season two is boring because all of it is deliberate. yes, all that stuff in the first two eps before the games is deliberate! the attention given to the voting system is important and deliberate! junho and his suspicious captain and his band of military men on the boat is important and deliberate! because as we've seen with season one, the writing is incredible and i don't see that changing for this season and the final season. if you just wanted dramatic games, death and all that then idk go watch season one again. or maybe ask yourself why you wanted just deaths and games and all that because its giving vips, its giving a refusal to understand the bright, glaring metaphor

[arixella]

Unspoken Words

╰┈➤ pairing: Shanks x female! reader

a/n: send request if you have any <3

summary: After a long and unexpected reunion with Shanks, the two of you share a quiet, intimate moment on the deck of the Red-Haired Pirates' ship, where Shanks finally confesses that, despite all the years and distance, he’s never stopped loving you.

wc: 900

contains: fluff, tiny angst

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as the sea lapped gently against the hull of the Red-Haired Pirates' ship. The sounds of the crew bustled in the background, but up on the deck, away from the ruckus, the air felt still, like the world had paused just for you two.

You hadn't expected to be here—on this ship, with him.

It had been years. Years of wondering, waiting, and hoping that one day you’d see him again. Shanks. The man who had left without a word, disappearing into the vast world, only to reappear like a distant memory brought to life. You had kept the promise you'd made to yourself: to move on. Life had taken you down its own winding roads, yet deep down, a part of you had always carried him with you.

Now, you stood beside him once more. Your heart ached with emotions you couldn’t quite sort out. His fiery red hair caught the light of the fading sun, and that trademark grin played across his lips, but there was something in his eyes—something softer—that made you wonder just how much time had really passed.

"You’re quieter than I remember," Shanks chuckled, turning his gaze toward you.

You blinked, breaking from your thoughts. "I guess I’m still processing this whole... reunion."

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, but there was a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath. "I didn't expect you to be speechless. Was I that bad of a captain to make you nervous?"

The teasing tone didn’t reach his eyes, though. His grin faltered for a brief second, and you noticed the subtle way his fingers tightened around the railing. He’d always worn that easygoing facade, but the longer you looked at him, the more it became clear—there was something on his mind. Something he hadn't told you all these years.

You took a small step closer, letting the warm evening breeze sweep through your hair. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Shanks laughed softly, a sound you had missed so much. "I know," he admitted. "But... it’s been so long, I wasn’t sure where to start."

You gave him a small, wry smile, your gaze steady on him. "Start with the most important part," you said quietly. "Why did you leave without a word? We didn’t even get a proper goodbye."

His expression shifted, and for a moment, he was silent. He turned his gaze to the horizon, the fiery orange sun reflecting in his eyes. “I wanted to come back. God, I wanted to. But... I didn’t think it was right. I thought you’d be better off without me, that I’d just get in the way of your future."

You were silent, processing his words. “So you left because you thought it was for the best?” you asked, your voice a mix of frustration and sadness.

Shanks nodded, his shoulders tense. "I’ve always been a man who lives in the moment. But I’ve never been good at thinking ahead. Back then, I couldn’t offer you anything solid. I didn’t want to drag you along with my reckless lifestyle... And I hated the idea of you waiting for me, wasting your life on someone who couldn’t promise you anything."

The weight of his words hung between you, but as you watched him—this man who had always been larger than life, full of energy and joy—you saw something that you hadn’t expected: regret.

"I spent all these years thinking about you," he continued, his voice softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "Wondering if you hated me, or if you had moved on with someone else. I tried to convince myself that it was better this way. But it’s been... hard. Every damn day, harder than the last."

Your heart clenched as you took a step forward, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "Shanks, you don't have to apologize. You did what you thought was best... but I wish you’d known I would've waited for you."

He turned to face you then, his gaze locking onto yours. The playful spark was gone, replaced by an intensity that made your breath hitch. "I didn’t know," he murmured, his voice low. "But I do now."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the sea and the faint creak of the ship’s wooden planks. Shanks shifted, closing the distance between you, and before you knew it, his hand gently cupped your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of warmth through your chest.

“You’ve always been a part of me, Y/N,” Shanks whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Even when I was a thousand miles away, I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you.”

The words hung in the air, as if they were both a confession and a release. A truth he’d kept hidden for far too long. You stared at him, your heart racing, and a bittersweet smile curled on your lips.

"I don’t know what to say," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

"You don’t have to say anything," he replied, his grin returning but this time it held a tenderness that hadn’t been there before. "I just wanted you to know... I never stopped loving you."

Your heart swelled, and without another thought, you leaned in, closing the gap between you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours, like a long-awaited reunion, and for a moment, the world melted away. The past, the years of separation, the pain—it all faded into the background as you kissed him, letting the emotions that had been hidden for so long wash over you both.

When you pulled back, breathless and with your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “I missed you, Shanks.”

He grinned, his eyes still soft but filled with that familiar spark. "I’m not going anywhere this time."

And for the first time in years, you believed him.

The sun dipped below the horizon, but the warmth between you both remained—quiet, unspoken, and enough to carry you both through whatever the future held.

♡♡♡

[itsnesss]

could you do sub!jun ho. like his usual composure just absolutely crumbles and he's just desperate

𝐯𝐮𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request. junho, emotionally vulnerable, seeks guidance and surrender in front of you

warnings | emotional vulnerability, mild language, themes of internal struggle and surrender

word count | 1.05 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You find yourself in front of him, the tension in the air palpable, while Junho keeps his gaze fixed on you. It’s hard to read his expressions, but there’s something in his posture, the stiffness of his body, that gives you an idea of what he feels. Though he is usually the type to control the situation, today he doesn’t seem like that. In fact, he seems... vulnerable.

"What do you want from me?" Junho asks, his voice somewhat broken, as if he fears the answer.

Your presence intimidates him, even if he doesn’t openly show it. He tries to keep his composure, but something in his gaze betrays the agitation that’s consuming him from the inside. He can’t help but show his desperation, as if he’s waiting for you to say what he already fears.

"I want you to listen to me," you reply, your voice firm but gentle. There’s nothing aggressive in your words, but the way you say them makes him feel as if he’s about to crumble.

He breathes deeply, trying to maintain his control, but his eyes can’t help but follow you as you take another step closer. His body tightens, and you realize his patience is at its limit. He’s not like the other men you’ve known, the ones who fight to show their power. Junho doesn’t want to fight, nor prove anything. He just wants... something he doesn’t know how to ask for.

"I can’t keep doing this," he mutters, almost in a whisper, and you notice his hands shaking slightly. The officer, always so confident, now seems like a man on the verge of losing everything.

You step closer, just close enough for him to feel your warmth, but you don’t touch him yet. It’s as if the space between you and him is charged with static electricity, waiting to explode.

"What can’t you keep doing, Junho?" you ask, your tone gentler now. Whatever is going on in his mind, you want him to share it.

He bites his lip, his eyes can’t hold yours for long. He’s struggling with something, something he hasn’t wanted to face. But finally, his gaze meets yours, and for a brief moment, you see the fear in him, the fear of being vulnerable, of being who he really is beneath all that facade of security.

"I can’t keep pretending to be who... who I have to be," he says, and there’s a surrender in his voice, a whisper of anguish that had been hidden behind his usual composure. The Junho you see now isn’t the same one who always watched you from a distance with a cold, calculating demeanor. This is a Junho who’s letting himself be swept away by something he doesn’t understand.

You lean in slightly, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You just look at him, letting the silence between you speak more than any words could.

"Then, who are you, Junho?" you ask softly, letting the question sink into the air.

The answer doesn’t come immediately. He closes his eyes, as if the question has struck him right in the center of his being. Then, after a long sigh, he finally speaks.

"I’m... I’m someone who needs to let go of all of this," he says, his voice broken by frustration and vulnerability. You can see how the mask he’s been wearing for so long begins to crumble right before you.

"And what are you going to do with that?" you ask, feeling a strange mixture of compassion and power as you watch him confront his own demons.

"I don’t know," he replies, and the sadness in his tone cuts deep. "I don’t know what to do, but... I want to stop fighting. I want... I want you to tell me what to do."

Those words hit you in an unexpected way. Though you’ve seen him strong and determined before, here, in front of you, he’s completely exposed, emotionally vulnerable. It’s as if he’s waiting for your direction, waiting for you to guide him. And that changes everything.

"You don’t have to fight, Junho," you say, and for the first time, a trace of calm washes over his face.

"But I need you to tell me," he insists, almost pleading, as if he can’t bear the uncertainty any longer.

You look at him intently, and in that moment, you know that words don’t matter as much anymore. What truly matters is what the two of you can give to each other in this moment of shared vulnerability.

"Let yourself go," you whisper, and the way you say it is all he needs to finally give in.

He doesn’t respond with words. Just a deep sigh escapes his lips before he closes his eyes and lets his facade fall apart completely. It’s a Junho who no longer fears showing himself for what he truly is. And you, in that moment, understand what he’s been seeking: someone who sees him without judgment, someone who expects nothing more from him than his truth.

The silence between you fills with a new understanding. "I’m here," you say, and it’s all he needs to hear.

[purgemarchlockdown]

I'm not really someone who enjoys participating in discourse. I find that the environment is too volatile and prone to ad-hominem to really work as any kind of reasoned debate. People look for the things that confirm their perspective and get mad when they don't. I do that. It's not really constructive and as such I don't really like writing anything about it.

Plus I enjoy writing things about what I care about, and what I find interesting. For obvious reasons, why would I put my energy into something that I find boring or makes me upset?

I'm saying all of this to state that I have a distinct frustration of the current discussion going around with Amane. Now, I'm biased. Amane is my favorite character. I have an inclination towards defending her. One could argue that should discount me from the discussions but then I think we'd have to discount everyone from it since Everyone Is Biased!

You can't have a discussion if you don't have an opinion, and attacks on someone's character based on what you Think their argument will be like is not constructive! Actually it's usually the opposite. Let's all be reasonable here, and not descend into baseless insults based on what we want our opponent to be like for the sake of our ego.

After all:

The fine line between "Hate" and "OK"Shouldn't you look beyond your EGO, before it all ends? After knowing all, I wonder Can you really say INNOCENT?

Let's establish my argument.

I find the reaction towards Amane Momose after the deaths of Haruka Sakurai, Mahiru Shiina, and Shidou Kirisaki to be disproportionate, and the mentalities and biases at play to be distressing.

I also find that the logic underlying the argument to be faulty and unconvincing most of the time. And this whole discourse to be a distraction from more important and interesting discussions to be had about this whole series!

For one, I don't think the argument of whether Amane should have been guilty or innocent in trial 2 to be relevant for trial 3 and its voting. As due to the fact trial 3 is going to be the Last Trial, any argument for or against the safety of the prison (a major factor in this discourse) is rendered Irrelevant by the fact they won't be in the prison after this.

This is their final verdict and their final fates will be decided here. The most relevant points of discussion for a trial 3 vote is their crime and their current mentality within the prison. As a result the vote that came to pass in Trial 2 is irrelevant to the Trial 3 voting situation.

This is why I think it's a distraction to argue about whether if people were right or not to do so in Trial 2. Now it's genuinely sad that these characters are dead but ultimately we have to live with that. I find it frustrating that people are harping on this so much as if it proves something about Amane's Character (moral or otherwise) that everyone else missed.

One can argue that Amane has shown how destructive her worldview in this moment (thus also connecting it back to the trial 3 voting and it's relevance,) and while I have my own qualms about immediately assuming Amane is at fault for this (we will get to this later) and I, again, find the argument surrounding if she should have been voted guilty or innocent a distraction. I do think it's important to acknowledge that.

One, all these people committing murder was already a showcase that their worldview's could be destructive. You can argue that they're on their best behavior, or that their crime was a circumstantial thing. But then we'd have to ask the same questions regarding Amane's circumstance before the murder she (presumably) committed against Shidou and the one she committed against her mom.

Shidou did not just die because she hated medicine. Shidou was someone who repeatedly made her feel small and talked down to her.

Amane: I warned you. I can no longer turn a blind eye to this wickedness taking place right in front of us. You’re bringing ruin unto yourself. Do you understand? Shidou: No, I don’t understand. It’s my job as an adult to teach you that throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to make everything go your way. If it’s a test of endurance you want, I’m happy to oblige, Amane.

People might think that this reaction is unreasonable, but the point is not if she's right or not for feeling this way, but that she Did feel that way. And I would like to posit that the stressful conditions Amane was under exasperated the problem, thus pushing her more towards killing Shidou.

And either way, my point is that she's not inherently destructive she just holds the ability to cause destruction when under the right circumstances...like everyone else.

Arguing that she's more destructive because she's "too far gone" misses things like how Muu's worldview hasn't been examined all too much even with the trial 2 guilty, or how Shidou's worldview wasn't examined all too much and he's implied to have killed:

A lot of people.

One can say that they only did these things due to the circumstances surrounding them but that just goes back to my first point. Arguing that Amane is uniquely more dangerous, despite the fact that like everyone else her murder has a specific circumstance surrounding it feels like a double standard.

Two, characters like Kotoko have arguably more destructive worldviews, and while there Was Discourse surrounding how people should have voted her in trial 1, it is not nearly as debated as Amane's is. Which again feels like a double standard.

And ultimately, even if we ignore the double standards at play here and how this is stuff we have Known Since the Beginning, we still have no clue of Amane's Mentality Now, we don't know how she seems in Trial 3 at all.

We can't immediately assume she's dealing with all of this well just cause we Assume that she's the reason behind the events, for one she was close to Mahiru.

T2Q8: If you had to make one of the prisoners part of your family, who would you choose? A: Shiina Mahiru. Her innate goodness might have brought the two of us closer, maybe.

And this situation is really close to something sensitive to Amane. The death of the cat.

As a result we cannot use this to adequately determine her current mental state, my original criticism still stands. The relevance this has to a Trial 3 vote is pretty...lacking. As a result we can't say this discourse exists so that we can determine what should be done in trial 3. This firmly exists as an argument of who was right and who was wrong in Trial 2.

One can call it petty (I have) or a distraction (I just did) but since I'm writing a post on it I am participating in that distraction. We can now travel to the second part of this post. Which is a dissection of the arguments for Trial 2 now that people have died.

Now, obviously people should be allowed to have opinions and have passionate feelings about those opinions. However I think the reasoning behind opinions, me or yours, should be questioned. It's good for a nuanced debate for opinions to be questioned, and for the other party to listen.

I for one have seen a lot of questioning about T2 Innocent Amane now. Some of it being blatant ad-hominem mind you, but lets take a charitable look at the discussion. Do I have a good counterargument against common arguments I've seen about this? Well, sort of, for one I would like to question the assumption that if Amane did kill Shidou that she should hold all the blame for Mahiru's death, first of all.

If we are working under the assumption that Amane killed Shidou and that means she killed Mahiru. Then can't we also say Kotoko killed Mahiru? She's the one who beat her up in the first place after all. And if we're going to say that then putting the full weight of responsibility of the deaths on Amane feels unfair. She's not the one who beat her up after all.

Additionally, if we're really tracing the threads of consequences back to the source then really shouldn't we be the ones taking responsibility due to how we created a Trial one?

Arguing on these grounds inevitably leads to questions about the Audience's own moral integrity if followed to the logical conclusion. If we believe Amane should be punished for this and that the earlier act of voting innocent in Trial 2 is incorrect because we let her "do something bad" then shouldn't that apply to the Audience? To Kotoko? To Shidou for clearly not doing as much as he could to help considering that Mahiru was in his care for Twenty Nine Months? To Kazui for not doing anything to protect anyone even though he Said he would?

I think it's reasonable to say that if any of us put the full weight of blame on any of the other people I mentioned this would be contested. But I'm not saying they should have the full weight of the blame put on them. I'm pointing out a double standard here.

That Amane is treated as if she did all the work killing both Shidou AND Mahiru, assuming that she did kill Shidou and that lead to Mahiru's death. That she's being given a harsher treatment here regrading the consequences of her choices, despite the fact everyone else made their choices and they had consequences. Again, including the one who actually beat up Mahiru in the first place.

And before anyone brings up Kotoko is guilty and that means she's being treated harshly. That's not my point. I'm not saying Kotoko isn't being treated harshly. I'm saying Amane is being treated too harshly Despite the fact that other people and factors we're at play and Despite the fact we already Guilty Voted the one who arguably should have the most blame be put on her for the situation at hand.

Second thing, we...don't know if Amane killed Shidou?

I know that she's Said she's going to do it multiple times over, but this is a series known for pulling tricks on the Audience and giving red herrings to distract from more hidden things at play. Again I have already said that Mahiru has been injured for at least 29 months. That is not a normal time of recovery for the injuries she has received. That is more than 2 years. Even with Potential Milgram Time Weirdness considered it's still an unnaturally long time to be injured and Getting Worse despite being treated by a doctor.

Additionally, with Haruka's death we know with some certainty that the restraints on the guilty prisoners aren't as restrictive as we thought. And we have a certain prisoner here who has been very vocal about wanting to hurt people. Not to mention if Shidou is doing malpractice again then a lot of people probably want him dead.

However, my point here is not that "other people could have done the murder" cause ultimately that feels a bit weak as an argument, if you trust in Amane doing her murder then saying "it's possible that it wasn't her" isn't really convincing.

I wrote all of that to ask a question, why are we assuming Amane killed Shidou? That seems like something I've already answered, she said she would.

However, other characters, have been pretty blatant about what they were going to do and that was Ignored. For one, people didn't think Haruka was going to commit suicide, and even if he did the guilty restraints would protect him (despite the fact we knew from Amane's T2 VD that the restraints aren't as restrictive as we thought, an argument used FOR the idea that Amane should be guilty.)

A second example would also actually be Kotoko. Kotoko, was not exactly secretive about her intentions of beating up the people who Us, The Audience deemed as guilty. She was very clear actually about what teaming up with her meant. And yet we accepted it and then got mad at her when she did that.

When it came to Haruka that was due to infantalization and a belief it could have been prevented through other means, when it came to Kotoko that's cause her words aligned with most people's beliefs in the abstract that we were willing to ignore the warning signs regarding her.

So why then, when it comes to Amane, we take her words completely at face value? What about this situation has changed that make it so we Can't ignore what she says? Can't twist it to mean something else? Can't say "Oh its possible that" and have it be convincing.

We can't say it's because people's lives are on the line, we've already shown that with Haruka and Kotoko that's not enough, and again, we can't say it's because she was clear in her intentions. So what gives?

Now, what I'm about to say might be considered an ad-hominem to some. However, I think criticizing a mentality held by a group and direct attack against one person is different actually. If you've gotten this far and think I'm attacking you, no I'm not.

(You can say I'm straw-manning though if you want. I am holding an imaginary debate here.)

However, I think the reason why Amane is being treated, frankly, unfairly, is pretty simple.

She's a child that spoke out against someone who was older than her. Who's been Very Vocal about how much disdain she holds for Milgram as a prison system. Who in Trial 1 we voted guilty because the consensus was that we needed to "teach her to be better." Now, I'm not saying anyone here is an abusive parent or doomed to become one. If that's what you're thinking.

I am however saying, in our society, we have ingrained hierarchies when it comes to children and adults. Children are below the adults. They have to follow the rules set by adults. When they disobey they are punished by the adults.

This is brought up by Es themself to claim power over Amane.

Es: No matter what you do, no matter how grown-up you behave – you’re a child. That’s an unchangeable truth. Amane: You’re a child, too! Es: Wrong. I’m fifteen, so I’m an adult in Puerto Rico and Haiti. You’re twelve, so you’re a child no matter the country.

This is right after Amane attacks Es. A physical question of their authority over her. Es' response is to Claim that as her Superior she has to Listen To Them and Follow What They Say. That despite everything she is a Child while They Are Not.

I have said double standard so much in this post you're probably sick of me saying it. However, this is why I keep on saying it.

And it's not like Amane is the only victim of it! I already brought up that we ignored Haruka's voice due to infantalization! It just manifested differently here because the way to spite Haruka in Trial 2 was to Ignore What He Said. However the way to spite Amane in Trial 2 is to Accept what she says and Vote Her Guilty Based On it.

This is the crux of my problem. This is not just about what is good for the prison. This is about spitting a child who disobeyed against a perceived authority. I don't think this ideology should go unchallenged. Especially when the subject of it is an abuse victim. Like Haruka was.

Jackalope says it himself in the Trial 2 Report:

Whatever the circumstances may be, she is the one that has to bear the blame. That’s just how it is. Both in and out of MILGRAM, isn’t that right?

Now, look, if you're someone who genuinely voted Amane Guilty in Trial 2 because you understood that to be the best choice and are now upset that what you expected to happen did happen. That's fine.

However, I believe, the reason why we are still debating about this past the point it should be over. The reason why people still care despite me already illustrating that it doesn't really matter for Trial 3. Is because of this. It's because people are upset a child spoke up against them.

And I just find that to be unacceptable to leave unquestioned. Because people will say Anything to deflect from being questioned about this. That it's not that serious. That it doesn't really matter. That people are overreacting over some silly show.

But, you can look through my blog. I just made a few posts about this before I wrote this, most of them un-rebloggable to make sure No One saw them outside of who followed me. I've been writing this in an exceedingly formal tone partially out of fear of being harassed for this.

I'm not the one who brought this argument up again. I'm Responding to people who brought it up again.

Maybe it's just me but...doesn't that contradict that statement? And even so, Milgram is written To be taken seriously. And people Have taken the previous discussions seriously.

Why is it suddenly wrong when this one is taken seriously?

I think the people reading this are smart enough to figure out why.

[tkdb-hell]

Yuri #44

#44 - Tentative kisses given in the dark.

Kisses Prompt List • Kisses Masterlist

(I do my best to write the reader as gender neutral unless otherwise specified - if you send me an ask and prefer masc or fem, please let me know)

♡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡

The Mortkranken lab was unusually quiet, the steady hum of machines muted under the weight of the surrounding darkness. A power outage had left the facility without its usual harsh, clinical glow, and now only faint emergency lights illuminated the room in a dim, bluish haze.

You leaned against one of the lab tables, watching Yuri Isami pace back and forth. His expression was tense, clearly annoyed by the unexpected interruption. “Of all the times for the power to fail…” he muttered.

“You can’t control everything, you know,” you said, your voice gentle, trying to ease his frustration.

He sighed, stopping mid-step and glancing your way. “I know that. I just don’t like being idle.” His teal eyes flickered with a hint of vulnerability, something rarely seen beneath his usual arrogance.

“You don’t always have to be doing something important.” You moved closer, the soft soles of your shoes barely making a sound on the tile floor. “Sometimes it’s okay to just… be.”

Yuri didn’t respond right away, his gaze locking on yours in the dim light. The tension in the air shifted, becoming something quieter, softer, almost hesitant. You could see it in the way his fingers fidgeted with the cuff of his lab coat, a nervous energy that was rare for someone so confident in his element.

“You’re unusually quiet,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper now.

“I don’t—” He hesitated, clearly not used to moments like these. His usual sharp words seemed to falter, caught in his throat as the darkness around you seemed to close in, drawing you both closer together. “I’m… thinking.”

You stepped closer until there was barely any space between you. The dim light made it hard to see every detail of his face, but you could feel his warmth, his quiet breath mingling with yours.

“About?” you asked softly.

Yuri’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned forward, hesitantly, as if testing some unspoken boundary. His hand rose to your shoulder, resting there lightly, almost unsure. You didn’t move, waiting, allowing him to take that final step.

And then, finally, he did.

The kiss was tentative, soft and uncertain. Yuri kissed you like he was afraid to get it wrong, his lips brushing yours with a gentleness that left you breathless. You tilted your head slightly, leaning into him, silently encouraging him. His hand tightened just a little on your shoulder, his other hand coming to rest at your waist.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours in the dim light, as if trying to gauge your reaction. You smiled faintly, reaching up to brush a strand of teal hair from his forehead.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you whispered, your tone playful but filled with warmth.

Yuri flushed, his usual composure slipping as he tried to regain control of the situation. “I—I suppose it was… acceptable.”

You laughed quietly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another kiss, this one deeper, more certain. His initial hesitation melted away as he relaxed into you, his lips moving with more confidence, as though he’d finally decided to let go of his usual overthinking.

When you broke apart again, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing slightly unsteady. “You’re distracting,” he murmured, though there was no real annoyance in his voice.

“In a good way?” you asked, grinning.

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he kissed you again, this time with more intent, more surety, and in that quiet darkness, it was all the answer you needed.

[melancholy-of-nadia]

heart on the window #3 (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: With secrets now revealed in the open, you and Seokjin cross a boundary you two never thought would happen ever before. After this night, you are now trying to figure out how to move forward in this new development in your friendship with him. However this leads to you having more questions about him, his secret lifestyle, and past relationships/hookups. Then, one casually suggestive joke by this man reawakens your competitive nature and rivalry with this man. note: apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out since i've been really busy with my new job. this chapter was 15k words long, and the editing of this was ROUGH. I had come to the conclusion to split it up in half, also so it wouldn't be overwhelming on yall. i tried to avoid this as I wanted this fic to be 5 chapters long, but I couldn't help but want to flesh out the interactions reader has with Seokjin so it became longer than I thought. warnings: mild language, roommate! seokjin, camboy! seokjin deserves its own warning because the vibes are different!, f*ngering, mast*rbation, voyeurism, org*sm, protected s*x, doggy style, s*x toys, fluffy moments, emotional vulnerability, dirty talk, implied adult content streaming (camming), pet names, brat! reader, brat tamer! seokjin drop date: January 20th, 2024, 11:00am pst word count: 8.5k crossposted on ao3 here <- chapter 2 | chapter 4 -> - -

"Then help me, already."

Those words hang in the air, charged and heavy. Jin's eyes widen, his breath hitching.

The flush on his cheeks deepens, spreading down to his neck, and he shifts slightly, as though trying to adjust something—something that's undeniably hardening beneath his loose pajama bottoms.

"O-Okay, fine! I’ll help you," he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "But I need you to do something for me first."

You blink at him, heat rushing to your face. "What is it?" you ask cautiously, already dreading whatever is going to come out of his mouth.

He hesitates for only a moment before blurting out, "Play with yourself."

Your jaw drops. "What?"

"You heard me," he says, his voice lower now, more serious. "Use the toy you got there and make yourself come and show it all to me."

Your mind is spinning. "The toy?! S-Seokjin, you’re not being reasonable right now!" you protest, your voice filled with shock and frustration. Teasing you like this feels like the cruelest kind of torture, especially after the spiral of emotions you’ve been through tonight. And for some reason, it feels more embarrassing to use the toy in front of him than your own fingers.

But there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, eyes hooded and lips slightly parted, that sends a thrill through you despite your indignation. This is the Seokjin you know—playful, maddening, and completely impossible.

Someone truly deserving of the title of “childhood rival”.

He leans closer, his voice dipping into that sultry tone you’ve only ever heard on his streams. "You want my help, right? Then show me how badly you need me. I want to see you lose yourself completely. Can you do that for me?"

You swallow hard, your pulse thundering in your ears. You know he’s testing you, pushing you to your limit, and somehow, you can’t bring yourself to back down.

Your breath catches as Seokjin's words settle over you, heavy and weighted with meaning. The challenge in his tone ignites something in you—a mix of defiance and anticipation.

“Fine. But i’ll use my fingers,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You shift back against the pillows, your heart hammering in your chest. Your hands feel like lead as you tug your shirt up over your stomach, exposing bare skin to the cool air. The fabric gathers just below your breasts, leaving you vulnerable under his gaze.

Seokjin sits at the edge of the bed, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that makes your pulse race. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Yet, his hands rest tensely on his thighs, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants.

“You’re really making me do this,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re the one who asked for help,” he replies smoothly, his voice like velvet. “I’m just... motivating you.”

Your fingers move hesitantly at first, brushing the waistband of your shorts before slipping beneath. The heat between your legs is unmistakable, your arousal heightened by his stare. A quiet gasp escapes your lips as your fingers graze over your slick folds.

Seokjin shifts, leaning back just enough for his hand to graze over his own growing arousal. His movements are subtle, but you catch the way his palm presses against himself, his lips twitching at the corner.

"Don’t stop," he murmurs, his voice rougher now. "I want to see everything."

You shudder, your other hand moving up to tug your shirt higher, finally exposing your breasts to the air. Your fingers pinch gently at a nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. The combined sensations of your hands working in tandem leave you trembling, your soft moans filling the room.

Your hand falters slightly, and he notices immediately.

“You’re hesitating,” he says, his tone light but teasing. “Do you need me to guide you, Princess?”

Princess?!

You look at him sharply, your pride flaring. “I don’t need your saving yet.”

He smirks, leaning back slightly. “Oh? Then prove it.”

That’s all the encouragement you need. You close your eyes, shutting out the sight of him, and focus entirely on the building pressure within you with the goal of coming undone. Your movements become more confident and more deliberate. 

His gaze doesn’t leave you, his eyes tracing every movement, every shift of your body. His hand grips himself through his pants now, a soft exhale slipping past his lips. 

Your fingers dip lower, pressing more firmly against your aching core. A whimper escapes you as you circle your clit, your hips bucking into the motion. The pressure builds quickly, spurred on by his intense scrutiny and the quiet groan he lets out as he palms himself.

"That’s it," he says hoarsely, his voice thick with desire. "Don’t hold back. Let me hear how good it feels."

His words spur you on, your movements growing bolder, more deliberate. 

“A-Ah..!”

The pleasure surges, consuming you, until you’re trembling, your release crashing over you with a cry that leaves you gasping.

Three minutes is all it took.

Is it embarrassing it took that short to orgasm? Well, it has been a while since you’ve done this…

For a moment, the room is silent, save for the sound of your heavy breathing. Your body relaxes, sinking into the mattress, and you’re acutely aware of the way Seokjin’s chest heaves, the way his hand still rests over the bulge in his pants, with a slightly darker spot now appearing. His eyes meet yours, filled with admiration and unspoken desire.

You glance at Seokjin, still sitting at the edge of the bed, his dark eyes unwavering as they drink you in.

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken—just watches. Lost in thought. His gaze is molten, his chest rising and falling in measured rhythm. For a fleeting moment, you think he might say something playful, something to break the tension.

You’re about to say something, your voice shaky and uncertain. “S-So what are you—”

Before the words can fully escape, Jin’s gaze flickers briefly to your laptop screen. His eyes widen, and without a word, he gets up suddenly, leaving the room in a hurry. The abruptness of his departure sends a wave of confusion and frustration washing over you.

“H-Hey!” you call after him, your voice tinged with disbelief and hurt. “Why are you leaving?”

Once again, the silence that follows feels deafening, each passing second amplifying the sting of rejection. Your chest tightens as your emotions spiral, the vulnerability of the moment leaving you feeling exposed and betrayed. Did you misread everything? Had you gone too far?

Your mind races, heart pounding as you sit frozen in place, but before you can drown in your thoughts, Jin quickly reappears in the doorway. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, his expression now calm yet resolute.

“I’m ending the stream,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet determination.

You blink, your breath catching in your throat. “W-What?”

He steps further into the room, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he speaks, each word deliberate. “I forgot I left the stream on pause, so I’m just ending it completely for tonight. No excuses, no coming back later tonight. Because right now, I want enough time to fuck you.”

Your eyes widen as his words sink in, the intensity of his gaze locking you in place. “Holy shit, Jin…”

His lips curve into a soft, almost shy smile, but his eyes remain dark with promise. “You asked for my help, right?” He leans down slightly, his fingers grazing your cheek as his voice lowers to a sultry whisper. “Then let me give you all my attention.”

Oh.

God, why is your heart going crazy over this? It must be the dopamine rush from orgasm or something making you feel this way. Don’t get distracted and waver so easily, Y/N!

“Okay,” You respond shyly as Jin scurries back to his room on the other side of the apartment.

He nearly trips over his own feet as he rushes to his room and towards his desk. His heart is pounding, and not just from the physical effort. The guilt gnaws at him as he pulls up the live stream, his audience still active and buzzing in the chat. The mic clicks on, and he leans into it, his voice soft but apologetic.

“Hey, everyone,” he begins, his usual confident tone replaced with something more subdued. “I’m so sorry to cut this short, but I have important matters to attend to. I really appreciate you all being here tonight, and I promise I’ll make it up to you in the next stream. Thanks for understanding. Take care, okay?”

The disappointment in the chat is instant, messages flooding in:

“Wait, already?!”“Is everything okay, BigTunaMan??”“Hope you’re okay! Take care!”

Jin ends the stream with a quick, guilty glance at the messages still scrolling. He’ll make it up to them later, he decides, but right now, there’s only one thing on his mind.

He bolts back to your room pushing the door open with a soft urgency. You’re now sitting where he left you, still flushed and disheveled, your expression a mixture of confusion and trepidation.

“Did you actually end the live...?” you begin, but the words trail off as he shuts the door behind him and leans against it, chest heaving.

“Yeah, I ended it,” he says simply, his lips quirking into a sheepish smile. “They’re probably going to riot in the comments of the channel, but it’s fine. I told them I had ‘matters to attend to.’”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “Matters to attend to? That’s your excuse?”

Jin shrugs, pushing off the door and crossing the room toward you. “What else was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, everyone, gotta go take care of my horny roommate who’s been watching my streams and needs some help to reach an orgasm’?”

Your cheeks burn, and you groan, burying your face in your hands. “Please don’t remind me how embarrassing this situation is!”

His laughter is soft and warm as he sinks onto the edge of the bed beside you. “It’s not embarrassing,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Okay, well, maybe a little embarrassing. But only because you’re making it a big deal.”

You peek at him from between your fingers, catching the playful glint in his eyes. “Says the guy who just abandoned his fans mid-stream.”

“Abandoned is a strong word,” he counters, grinning. “I prefer ‘temporarily postponed for the sake of something—or someone—way more important.’”

Again, there it goes. Your heart skipping a beat at the way his gaze softens and the words that come out, the teasing fading into something gentler.

“You’re really just going to leave them hanging for me?” you ask, your voice tinged with incredulity, though the vulnerability in your tone betrays you.

Jin chuckles softly, his fingers brushing yours as he sits closer. “If it means making sure you’re getting your sexual health needs met, I’d even do it again in a heartbeat.”

You stare at him, caught between disbelief and the warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumble, though there’s no bite to your words.

“And you’re deflecting,” he counters smoothly, his grin softening into something more earnest. “Seriously, are you going to let me help, or do I need to sweet-talk you some more?”

Your breath catches at the way he’s looking at you, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. “Help doing what, exactly?” you murmur, your voice quieter now. You know what you want, but damn, it’s hard to say this to this man you’ve known since both of you were kids.

His lips curl into a slow, lopsided smile. “With whatever you need,” he says, his voice dipping into a tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “But you’ll have to tell me where to start.”

The charged silence that follows is nearly suffocating, your mind spinning with everything unsaid. When you finally meet his eyes, the sincerity you find there is enough to make the last of your hesitation crumble.

You groan, now avoiding his intense gaze as your eyes dart around the room. If you look at him for too long, you’re sure you’ll lose control and jump him right here and now.

Taking a shaky breath, you lift your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool air, and then shimmy out of your shorts and panties, kicking them to the floor. You spread your legs slightly, the pale glow of moonlight streaming through the blinds casting soft shadows over your skin.

“Two options!” you say, your voice trembling but steady enough to convey your intent. You gesture first to your chest, then lower, where his attention seems naturally drawn. “Here or… here. You pick what you’re in the mood for.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, a wave of disbelief crashes over you. How the hell are you being this bold? You were never this bold with Mingi. Where is your shame? Your self-control? Your sanity?

Gone. Completely out the window. 

Potentially down the drain.

Like your life right now.

Jin’s jaw tightens, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. His eyes flicker between your chest and the apex of your thighs, lingering longer than you expect. “You’re full of surprises tonight,” he murmurs, his voice rough, tinged with amusement, and maybe even hunger.

He takes a step closer, his movements unhurried but deliberate, and the air grows heavier with anticipation. His fingers twitch at his sides, as though he’s restraining himself.

“Here’s the thing,” he says, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “I’m in the mood for both.”

Your breath catches as he kneels on the bed, his hands resting on either side of your thighs, caging you in. His gaze burns into yours, dark and smoldering, before he leans in closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“But if you’re going to let me pick,” he continues, his lips ghosting over your skin, “I think I’ll start…here.”

His hands glide up your sides, thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts, as his lips finally find their mark on the curve of your neck. The sensation is electric, a soft moan slipping past your lips as his mouth works its way lower, his tongue tracing patterns over your collarbone.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” he teases, his voice low, vibrating against your skin.

The words stir something in you, and your hands instinctively reach for him, tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. “Just shut up and keep going,” you manage to whisper, your voice shaky but resolute.

Jin chuckles, the sound vibrating against your chest as he presses a kiss to the swell of your breast. “You’re going to regret saying that,” he murmurs, his tone playful yet dripping with promise, before he takes you exactly where you want to go.

Jin’s lips hover above your breast, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. His eyes flick up to yours, holding your gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity. The intensity in his expression makes your heart race, and your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths.

“You’re trembling already,” he murmurs, his voice deep and velvety, washing over you like a caress. “Is this what you’ve been thinking about? All those nights when you couldn’t look me in the eye?”

“Jin…” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it’s enough to spur him on.

He smirks faintly, his lips brushing the curve of your breast before his tongue flicks out to tease your nipple. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching slightly off the bed. His hand cups your other breast, his thumb circling the sensitive peak with painstaking precision.

“Have you ever been treated gently like this before?” he asks, his voice a murmur against your skin. His words are a mix of curiosity and something more, something deeper that sends heat coursing through your veins.

“No…” you admit, your voice hesitant to speak. It’s true—this kind of tenderness, this deliberate worship of your body, is something you’ve never experienced.

His expression softens, though the fire in his eyes remains. “Good,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “Then let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.”

He shifts slightly, bringing his other hand to cradle your breast as his plush soft lips close around your nipple. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, drawing sensations from you that make your toes curl. His free hand trails down your side, his touch featherlight, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

You can’t suppress the soft whimper that escapes your lips, and his gaze flicks up to meet yours again, his eyes dark and filled with satisfaction. He sucks lightly, his teeth grazing ever so gently, and the combination of sensations makes your head spin.

“F-Fuck,” you manage to gasp, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets beneath you.

His lips leave your skin momentarily, and he smirks, his voice a husky whisper. “You’re so sensitive…so responsive. It’s beautiful.”

He moves to your other breast, lavishing the same attention, his hand kneading gently while his mouth works its magic. Each movement feels intentional, as if he’s savoring every reaction he draws from you.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve ending alight with sensation. The slow, deliberate way he’s touching you leaves you breathless, and you find yourself sinking deeper into the mattress, utterly at his mercy.

"You’re doing so good," he murmurs against your skin, his voice barely audible but filled with conviction. "Just like a princess."

Your cheeks burn at the pet name, and you stammer, "I-I'm no princess!"

Jin pulls back slightly, his lips curling into a teasing smile, his breath warm against your chest. "Well, you’re about to get fully treated like one."

Before you can even process his words, his hands slide down your sides, gripping your thighs firmly. He spreads them wider, his gaze locked on your center with an intensity that makes your heart pound.

"Huh? A-Ah—"

Your words dissolve into a gasp as Jin lowers himself, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before moving closer to your core. The warmth of his breath against you makes you shudder, anticipation building with every passing second.

And then he dives in, his tongue tracing deliberate, languid strokes that make your back arch and a cry escape your lips.

"Jin!" you gasp, your hands flying to grip the sheets as your body reacts to the overwhelming sensation. “W-Wait…”

He hums in response, the vibration sending sparks through your already sensitive nerves. His hands grip your thighs tighter, holding you in place as his tongue works against you with precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused, teasing flicks.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and filled with satisfaction.

You can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a reply. All you can do is surrender to the waves of pleasure coursing through you, your body trembling under his touch. His movements are deliberate, almost reverent, as if he’s worshipping every inch of you.

"Jin, I’m going to—" You choke on your words as he sucks gently, his tongue circling your most sensitive spot. The heat pooling low in your belly tightens, and your hands instinctively reach for him, threading through his hair.

"That's it," he whispers against you, his voice laced with encouragement. "Let go for me, princess. Show me how good I make you feel."

The nickname, once teasing, now feels like a brand, sending you hurtling toward the edge. Your body tightens, and with one final, deliberate stroke of his tongue, you cry out, shattering beneath him.

Jin doesn’t stop immediately, guiding you through the waves of your release, his touch gentle yet insistent. When you finally come down, your body limp and trembling, he presses one last kiss to your thigh before looking up at you.

His lips glisten, his expression a mix of pride and tenderness as he climbs back up to meet your gaze. "See?" he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Told you I’d treat you like a princess."

"You’re so evil! How the fuck are you so good at this?!" you gasp breathlessly, your chest rising and falling with every rapid inhale. "Is it the streams you do? Research? Experience? Are you addicted to porn?"

Jin smirks, brushing his hair back casually. "Research and some experience," he replies smoothly, leaning closer until his lips are near your ear, "but ask questions later. For now, I'll give you the final course."

Your breath hitches as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pajama bottoms, pushing them down in one fluid motion. Your eyes widen as you finally see him—his big cock, fully hard and even more impressive than you’d imagined from his streams.

"Holy—" The words slip out before you can stop them, your mouth falling open in a mix of shock and awe.

Jin chuckles, a low, deep sound that reverberates through the room. "Is it bigger than you thought?" he teases, his voice dripping with confidence.

You swallow hard, the heat rushing to your cheeks. Despite the overwhelming sight in front of you, you manage to respond stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest like you’re unaffected. "I-It’s not that big, but–," you say, though the slight quiver in your voice betrays you.

"Oh, really?" he interrupts, raising a brow, his grin widening. He leans in closer, the tip brushing lightly against your thigh, and you feel the heat radiating from him. "Guess I’ll just have to show you exactly how wrong you are."

Jin’s words hang in the air, thick with some unspoken promise. Before you can say anything, the sound of foil tearing fills the quiet room as he opens a condom he brought from his room early. His eyes are all on you, indulging in your presence.

His intensity is magnetic, and you’re completely captivated as he rolls the condom down over his length, every motion precise and deliberate.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”

You nod, heart hammering in your chest as he moves closer, his warm hands finding your thighs and guiding them apart gently. The weight of his gaze on you is intoxicating, his thumbs stroking soft circles against your skin as he positions himself at your entrance.

"Relax for me," Jin whispers, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw before trailing down to your neck. The tenderness in his voice melts your tension, and you exhale shakily as he presses forward.

The stretch is startling at first, your body adjusting to his size as he sinks into you slowly, inch by inch. Your hands instinctively clutch at his biceps, your nails digging into his skin as he fills you completely.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your temple. His voice is filled with awe, like he’s savoring every moment. “Just like that, princess. So perfect.”

You shiver at his words, the nickname making your breath hitch. The sensation is overwhelming but quickly gives way to pleasure as Jin begins to move. His hips roll with a steady rhythm, his body pressed flush against yours.

“Jin,” you gasp, your hands gripping his arms tightly. “It feels… incredible.”

He smiles, his lips curving into a mix of pride and affection. Leaning down, he captures your lips in a kiss that’s deep and consuming, his hips never faltering. Each thrust is deliberate, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, leaving you breathless.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he breathes against your lips, his hands sliding down to cradle your waist, angling you slightly to deepen his strokes. “Taking me so well.”

You arch into him, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his as his pace quickens. The tension in your core tightens with every thrust, the heat between you building to an almost unbearable level.

Suddenly, he pulls back, his movements careful as he withdraws from within you. “Turn over for me,” Jin says, his voice rough with desire.

You hesitate moving,  as you’re comfortable where you are. But you move anyways, your body trembling with anticipation as you roll onto your stomach, then push yourself up onto your hands and knees. The cool air brushes your skin as you glance back at him nervously.

“Like this?” you ask softly, your voice trembling.

“Exactly like that,” he replies, his large hands trailing over the curve of your hips. He grips them firmly, steadying you as he lines himself up again. “You’re breathtaking.”

The first thrust steals your breath, the angle deeper than before, making your fingers claw at the sheets. Jin groans behind you, his voice husky and raw as he sets a steady pace.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, his hands sliding up your sides before one presses between your shoulder blades, encouraging you to arch your back further. “So tight, so perfect. My perfect princess.”

His words send a jolt through you, a mix of pleasure and emotion. You let out a cry, your body responding to every precise movement. Jin’s grip on your hips tightens as his pace increases, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

“Jin, I’m so close,” you manage to gasp, your voice shaking as the tension coils tightly in your core.

“Let go for me,” he commands, his voice deep and velvety, full of conviction. “I’ve got you, princess. Let me feel it.”

His words are your undoing. You cry out, your body shuddering as your release washes over you in waves. The pleasure is blinding, leaving you trembling as you collapse onto the mattress, your legs weak and your breathing uneven.

Jin follows moments later, his grip on your hips firm as he thrusts into you one final time, groaning as his own climax overtakes him. He pulls out carefully, disposing of the condom before lying down beside you.

Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His lips press soft kisses to your forehead, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet room. “You really are a princess,” he murmurs, his tone warm and affectionate. “And you do deserve to be treated like one.”

A forehead kiss and pillow talk?! Woah, woah, woah.

Is this some kind of post-nut clarity affecting him? 

You’re caught off guard by it completely. It feels a little too intimate. Too personal. Well, maybe you can’t say much because he literally just fucked you missionary and doggy style.

But you’ve never seen Jin be this affectionate before—it’s a bit jarring. 

Maybe he’s like this in his past relationships? Or situationships? Well you don’t know much or anything about that. You haven’t seen him since you were like 10 or 11.

You don’t know if you like this or not, but you’re scared to find out. He's a professional sweet-talker by now, thanks to camming and appealing to his audience, so maybe this is just part of his act while helping you. You try to brush it off and play along. Be the princess to his Mario or whatever.

You lean into his warmth despite your swirling doubts. The exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster of the night begins to take hold, and your eyes grow heavy. Just as you’re on the verge of slipping into sleep, a thought nags at you.

“Why did you come into my room in the first place?” you mumble groggily.

Jin’s chest rumbles with a soft laugh. “Oh, right. It was to fix a Mario figure I have…”

Your brow furrows as a vague memory stirs. You recall seeing it on his desk in passing, that same little Super Mario figurine you had gifted him during Secret Santa in elementary school.

Back then, you’d been disappointed when you drew his name out of the hat. He was always difficult to please, never straightforward about his feelings. Even when he opened the gift, his silly and stubborn demeanor left you unsure if he liked it at all.

But now, knowing that he’s kept it all this time—and was worried enough about it breaking to interrupt his stream—it strikes a chord in you. It’s endearing, even sweet.

A small smile tugs at your lips, and before sleep fully claims you, you whisper, “You’re such a dork, Jin.”

He chuckles softly, adjusting the blanket around you with gentle care. “Yeah, but just know I’m the best dork you’ll ever meet,” he replies, his voice filled with warmth. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he adds, “So, was I able to help you?”

You peek up at him through tired eyes, the corner of your lips quirking up despite yourself. “I guess you were able to do the job,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

The sunlight filters softly through your blinds, stirring you from a surprisingly deep sleep. You stretch languidly, letting out a small yawn as your mind catches up to the events of the previous night. Your hand instinctively reaches out to the other side of the bed, but all you’re met with is empty sheets.

You sit up, confused, until a rich, buttery aroma wafts into your room. Pancakes?

Curiosity tugs you from the warmth of your blankets, and you pad out of your room toward the kitchen. The sight awaiting you stops you in your tracks: Jin, dressed in a loose white t-shirt and blue plaid pajama bottoms, flipping pancakes in a pan with an almost childlike enthusiasm.

“Good morning!” he greets you brightly, turning his head to flash you an impossibly wide smile. The sight of him so animated and cheerful is almost jarring compared to his usual composed, teasing demeanor.

You blink, trying to reconcile this sunny disposition with the Jin you know. “Uh… good morning?” you reply cautiously, stepping further into the kitchen.

Jin places a perfectly golden pancake onto a growing stack, humming a tune under his breath. “I figured after intruding on you last night, I owed you a proper breakfast,” he says casually, though the playful glint in his eye betrays him.

“Oh, why, thank you…” You cross your arms, leaning against the counter as you watch him work. “You’re surprisingly in a good mood though,” you remark, your tone more curious than accusatory. “What’s with the pep in your step?”

He shrugs, pouring more batter into the pan. “Can’t a guy just be happy?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You? Happy first thing in the morning? That’s new.”

Jin chuckles, setting the spatula down for a moment to turn and face you fully. “What can I say? Last night was… enlightening to say the least,” he says, his voice dipping ever so slightly. “Plus, I like taking care of people I care about.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you shift your weight, pretending to focus on the stack of pancakes. But instead of letting the moment pass, a question burns on your tongue, one you’ve been dying to ask since last night.

“Is it fine if I ask you a question?” you venture, glancing up at him hesitantly.

Jin doesn’t miss a beat, flipping the last pancake with practiced ease. “Go for it.”

You take a breath, crossing your arms as if to brace yourself. “How did you... start doing this camboy thing?”

His hands still for a moment, and he sets the spatula down carefully before turning to face you. “You really want to know?”

“Well, yeah!” you reply quickly, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, I would have never expected you to do and be into this kind of thing... let alone be good at, you know, sex.” The last words come out as an embarrassed mumble, and you immediately wish you could take them back.

Jin’s ears turn a deep shade of red, his confident demeanor faltering slightly. “You think I’m good at sex?” he teases, though his voice cracks just a little, betraying his flustered state.

You groan, covering your face with both hands. “That’s not the point! Answer the question, Seokjin.”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and genuine, and it helps ease some of your own tension. “Alright, alright,” he says, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “It started as a joke, actually. Do you remember Yoongi Min? He was another Korean kid from the class next door in grade school.”

The name doesn’t really ring a bell, but you do recall a face of a boy who has cat-like features and would talk to him occasionally, being silly and all. “I honestly don’t remember.”

“Well, even after I moved away, I managed to stay friends with him and we ended up going to the same college.”

“I see,” you murmur.

“And a few months back, I invited him over and we got drunk. He knows about my gaming streams, but he told me, ‘You know the groans you make while playing rage bait games sound like moans? People would pay a lot of money for that. You should do porn.’”

“That’s insane!?” you exclaim, your eyes wide in disbelief.

Jin chuckles at your reaction. “Yeah, it’s crazy. But somehow, he convinced me to start doing camboy streams. I thought it’d be funny, so I did. But then... people started watching. Like, a lot of people.”

You lower your hands slightly, peeking at him as he talks. “So, it just... snowballed from there?”

He nods, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Pretty much. At first, it was all a joke, but then I realized there was a real market for... well, more intimate stuff. I did my research, figured out what people liked, and I guess I just got good at it.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “Did it ever feel weird? Or wrong?”

Jin’s expression softens, and he shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, I don’t do anything I’m not comfortable with and my face is hidden. It’s given me a lot of confidence too, honestly. Knowing people like what I put out there? It’s kind of empowering.”

You chew on your bottom lip, processing his words. “I guess that makes sense,” you say quietly. “I just... it’s still so surreal, knowing you of all people do this.”

He smirks, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Life’s full of surprises, princess. Besides, you can’t say you didn’t enjoy the results of my ‘research.’”

Your face burns, and you swat his hand away. “Don’t push your luck, Seokjin.”

He laughs, returning to the stove to plate the pancakes. “Fair enough. Now sit down before your breakfast gets cold.”

You and Jin sit across from each other at the small dining table, the smell of freshly made pancakes still lingering in the air. You’re halfway through your second one, drizzling extra syrup onto the fluffy stack as Jin sips his coffee. His cheerful demeanor this morning is infectious, and you find yourself smiling more than you’d expected. The conversation drifts to other trivial topics—memories from high school, your shared disdain for the overly competitive campus trivia nights, and even a brief debate over the best Mario Kart track. It’s light, easy, and comfortable, and for a moment, you almost forget the weight of everything that happened between you two last night.

Jin leans back against the counter, finishing the last of his coffee before setting the mug in the sink. “Anyway, I should head out. I’m meeting Yoongi at the cafe to get some work done.”

You nod, masking the flicker of disappointment that he’s leaving. “Oh, right. You said he works at a music label?”

“Yeah, he’s a producer there. He’s been helping me figure out some... creative stuff on the side,” Jin says vaguely, grabbing his bag. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“Very funny,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as he heads toward the door. “Tell this Yoongi I said hi, even if I don’t remember him.”

Jin smirks. “Will do, princess.” With that, he’s gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The afternoon stretches before you, and you attempt to focus on applying for jobs, but your mind betrays you. Every time you start to type out a cover letter or tweak your resume, your memories wander back to last night.

The way Jin’s hands felt, the way he touched you like you were something precious—it’s impossible to shake. You keep replaying it in your head, trying to lock the details into your memory as if freezing the moment will keep it from fading.

It was the best sex you’ve ever had, and you can’t deny it. Mingi, your ex, couldn’t hold a candle to whatever magical touch Jin seems to possess. And yet, doubt nags at you.

This was a one-time thing, you tell yourself, even as a pang of longing blooms in your chest. He probably only did it out of pity—he saw how lonely you were, how desperate. There’s no way it meant anything to him. Not when he does this as part of his side job.

The thought twists uncomfortably in your stomach. Jin’s side gig as a camboy, while surprising, also raises questions you can’t ignore. Does he...ever do this with other people? You've seen posts on Twitter from OnlyFans creators teasing "special guests" in their content. Is Jin the type to collaborate?

Your curiosity itches at you, relentless and demanding. You open your laptop and navigate to the site he uses. His page is easy enough to find again, but as you scroll, your questions only multiply. There are videos locked behind a subscription paywall, tantalizing thumbnails blurred just enough to leave you guessing.

You hesitate, biting your lip. Spending money you don’t have to satisfy your curiosity feels reckless, but the mystery gnaws at you. Does he do this with others? Was last night just practice for his real work?

But you can’t bring yourself to click. Not yet, at least. With a frustrated sigh, you slam your laptop shut and bury your face in your hands.

Why do you even care? Last night was just a one night type of thing. You don’t see yourself with Seokjin anyways.

And yet…

Overthinking is what got in the way of your last relationship until it all came crashing down.

Early in the evening, Jin returns from his outing and sees you folding your laundry in the living room. The smell of Korean soybean paste soup fills the room, making his expression soften when he notices your prepared meal.

“You made dinner?” he asks, surprised.

He sets his bag down by the couch and moves to join you.

You shrug, trying to act casual as you fold another shirt. “Thought it’d be a nice way to say thanks. You know...for everything.” 

You don’t know how to make many Korean foods, but this one is one you learned how to make from Yunjin in college. 

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Well, thanks. It smells amazing.”

You glance at him as he ladles a bowl of soup, taking a seat and diving in eagerly. “How was your meet-up with Yoongi?”

“Not bad,” he says between bites. “I told him that you found out my secret.”

You freeze, your eyes widening. “Y-You what?”

“N-Not how I found you flicking your bean and how we had sex!” he adds hastily, waving his spoon.

Your shoulders slump in relief, but something about his nonchalant tone makes your cheeks burn all over again.

Still, this feels like the perfect opening for what’s been nagging at your thoughts all afternoon. You clear your throat, hesitating only briefly before asking, “Wait, Jin, there’s something I’m curious about.”

“Go for it.”

You hesitate, your hands pausing mid-fold. “Since you do solo cam work...I was wondering if you’ve ever done collaborations with other people before. Like, working with camgirls, by any chance?”

Jin raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Why? Are you curious to know about my sex life?”

“H-Hey! It’s not that at all!” you stammer, quickly looking away. “It’s just...” How do you say this without sounding weird—or jealous? You fumble for words, finally settling on, “You’re so good at what you do, so I was wondering...where you got your experience from.”

A flicker of something crosses Jin’s face—amusement, maybe, or pride. He sets his spoon down, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Well, I actually was dating someone a few months before I started my gaming streaming.”

“You were?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone softening. “I met her at my first job, working at an entertainment agency. We dated for a few years, but we ended it mutually. It wasn’t anything dramatic—just... one of those things, you know?”

You nod slowly, absorbing this new information. “So...did she teach you some of this stuff?”

He chuckles, a low, warm sound. “Some of it. But a lot of what I know now came after we broke up. Research, self-practice...some trial and error. I guess it just stuck.”

Your cheeks flush, your mind inadvertently wandering back to last night. You still can’t quite wrap your head around how someone can be that good. “I see.”

Jin’s gaze lingers on you for a moment before he speaks up again, clearly sensing your lingering curiosity.

“So, your answer to the question about you doing collaborations with camgirls is...?” you press, your voice tinged with both curiosity and hesitation.

He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “I haven’t.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” he says with a casual shrug. “I mean, I’m a pretty confident guy, and I think I’m handsome, but doing collabs with random or established camgirls or OnlyFans girls makes me nervous.”

You blink at his admission, letting out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It almost feels like a sigh of relief. Wait—why are you relieved?

Jin notices, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Why did you ask? Did you want to appear in a collab with me on Chaturbate?”

“Huh?” Your face heats up instantly. 

Woah, woah, woah. Wait, where is this coming from?!

“You’re not a camgirl by any means,” he continues, his tone softer now. “But after last night, it got me...thinking.” His voice dips into something shyer, almost uncertain, as he rubs the back of his neck.

Your stomach flips at his words, though you can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or something else entirely. “Thinking about what?” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jin hesitates, clearly bracing himself. “Thinking about how good we were together. And...maybe how it’d feel to do that again. With you.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re both silent. In his head, he’s already convinced you’re going to shut this out and call him a pervert, but you don’t.

“So you want to have sex…or do acts in front of the camera… for your BigTunaMan channel and your fans?” you ask, your voice slower, more deliberate, letting the question hang heavily in the air.

If you were any other girl, you’d probably be storming out of the room right now, completely scandalized. But instead, there’s a strange buzz low in your stomach, a heat you don’t entirely want to admit. Why are you into this?

Your heart pounds in your chest as you search Jin’s face for his reaction. He’s caught off guard, sure, but there’s a flicker in his expression—something unsure, something vulnerable, but undeniably intrigued.

The thought rolls over in your mind: What if you did this? What if you let yourself step into his world? There’s an allure to it, a kind of rebellious excitement. The risk, the intimacy, the sheer wildness of the idea—it pulls at you, even if you don’t fully understand why. And then there’s Jin. If this is an excuse to relive last night’s intensity, to feel his touch again, to share that connection—hell, maybe you’d risk more than you should.

The words leave your mouth before you can second-guess them. “Do I get paid?”

“Huh?!” Jin’s voice cracks, his shock palpable as he straightens, staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

You tilt your head, feigning nonchalance, even as your pulse thunders in your ears. “If I help you with your little channel,” you say slowly, almost teasingly, “will you pay me? I mean, it’d be an easy job in the meantime until I find an actual one and it’ll provide some money for me. And as long as I’m not showing my face, there’s no real risk, right?”

His face flushes deep red, and he stammers, “H-Hold on! I wasn’t actually serious about it, I was just—” He pauses, his hands gesturing aimlessly as if trying to find the right words. “Why are you agreeing to this so quickly?!”

You shrug, leaning back against the chair  with a smirk you’re barely holding back. “I mean, for starters, it sounds kinda fun.”

“Fun?!” he repeats, incredulous.

“Yeah,” you say simply, watching the color climb his neck. “I’ll get paid—maybe—still waiting for you to confirm that,�� you add, arching a brow. “And…I’ll also finally forget about my loser ex-boyfriend.”

His jaw drops slightly, and he stares at you like you’ve just flipped his world upside down. You don’t miss the way his eyes narrow briefly, processing your words. Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of something darker, hungrier.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice quieter now, but with a sharp edge of disbelief.

You hold his gaze, trying not to let the tension unravel you. “Depends,” you say softly, almost a challenge. “Are you?”

The silence between you crackles with electricity. You swear you can hear your heartbeat in the quiet. Jin’s lips part, and his tongue darts out briefly to wet them, a nervous tell that makes your stomach flip.

“I mean,” he finally starts, his voice almost hesitant, “I was half-joking, but now you’re making this sound real.”

You let out a soft laugh, though your voice trembles slightly. “Well, if it did become real, at least you know I’m down.”

His mouth opens slightly, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start. The vulnerability on his face makes your heart skip a beat. Jin, usually so smooth, so confident, looks completely caught off guard.

“You’re not just doing this to distract yourself from your ex, are you?” he asks after a moment, his voice softer, more serious.

You pause, the weight of his question settling between you. “Maybe a little,” you admit honestly. “But also…because I trust you, Jin.”

His gaze softens further, his brows knitting together like he’s trying to make sense of you.

“And,” you continue, your voice dropping, “if last night was any indication, I know we’d kill it together. I will also not catch feelings for my own rival.”

His breath catches, and you don’t miss the way his fingers curl slightly against his thighs, as if restraining himself.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he sighs finally, his voice low and rough.

You smirk, leaning forward slightly, closing the space between you. “Only when I want to be.”

Jin shakes his head, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping him. 

You feel like you’ve won in this teasing war, until suddenly, his expression changes.

His eyes narrow slightly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s a familiar look, one that pulls at an old, buried memory—one of him standing across from you in the schoolyard, arms crossed, with that same cocky grin plastered on his face. Back then, he was always looking for ways to one-up you, always trying to prove he was better, faster, smarter. Jin loved a challenge, and you were his favorite target.

But now? Now, that grin feels different. It feels heavier, laced with something sharper, something more daring.

“Then let’s do it,” he says, his voice low and filled with conviction.

Your stomach flips, a mix of excitement and nerves tumbling inside you. You search his face, trying to gauge if he’s joking or if he’s actually serious this time. The intensity in his gaze tells you everything you need to know.

“Wait, you’re not messing with me?” you ask, your voice coming out a little smaller than you’d like.

Jin leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, closing the distance between you. His smirk softens into something more genuine, but his eyes—dark and steady—don’t waver. “You think I’d back down from a challenge? Come on, you should know me better than that by now.”

Your breath hitches. The air between you is thick, charged with a tension that feels impossible to ignore.

“You’re really serious about this,” you say softly, more a statement than a question.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he counters smoothly, tilting his head slightly. “You threw it out there, and I’m not one to half-ass things. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

The confidence in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry.

“Okay,” you say, trying to match his energy, though your voice wavers just slightly. “But just so we’re clear—this is strictly business. No funny business.”

You refuse to catch feelings for him, so putting it out there now that this is just a fun sex work type of job with an old friend is the boundary you’re making.

Jin lets out a sharp laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Funny business? Do you even hear yourself?” He grins, his teeth flashing. “You’re the one who just volunteered to do this. If anything, I should be worried about you crossing the line.”

Excuse you?!

“Me?!” you sputter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’re the professional here!”

“Exactly,” he says, his voice dripping with smugness. “Which means I know how to keep it professional. You, on the other hand…” He trails off, his grin widening as your blush deepens. 

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Fine. Whatever. Just tell me when we’re starting so I can be prepared.”

Jin leans forward again, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Tomorrow night,” he says simply.

“Tomorrow night?!”

“What? You said you wanted to do this. No point in waiting.”

You can’t argue with that. He clocked you right there.

Your head spins at the thought, but the look in Jin’s eyes grounds you. This is happening. Whether you’re ready or not, you’ve officially entered his world. Oh, fuck.

-

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a/n: it's been a month since i updated the series with chapter 2... once again, totally apologize for the delay. i really thought i'd have more time, which during christmas time, i kind of did (which is why i wrote ch3 all throughout that time). But once the new year started, my manager had me like a pack mule and completing random heavy loaded tasks, so the process of revising and editing the 15k words i original wrote for the chapter became... impossible. i tend to hate splitting chapters unless things feel to jarring of a transition within one chapter that it would make sense for it to become a whole other chapter. But now considering the many shitty tasks I may get in the near future as well as to not overload you with a load of shit going on in one chapter... it made sense to just split it off. Ch 4 (which is the 2nd half of this chapter) will be release in 2 weeks confirmed! i'll finish doing some edits for that and i'll also start on ch 5. This series will end with chapter 6 for sure! i would like to move on from this fic and get some of my other ones ready and cooked up!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[luvvictoria]

Blood-Stained Bonds

+ pairings. suguru geto x f!reader/satoru gojo x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, cheating, betrayal, dark romance themes, love triangle (more like a square), secrets and lies, eventual smut

+ status.on-going

+ official playlist.by victo

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

+ summary. Haibara’s shocking arrest for drug dealing sends ripples through the group, exposing cracks in their friendships and raising suspicions about Suguru’s involvement. [Name] begins to uncover the extent of Suguru’s lies with the help of Utahime and Satoru. As more truths surface, including Suguru’s cheating with Shoko and his possible ties to Sukuna’s shady dealings, [Name] is forced to confront the painful reality of who Suguru has become.

The news of Haibara’s arrest hit their circle like a bombshell. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing the always-laughing, always-lighthearted Yo Haibara in handcuffs — it was the undercurrent of betrayal that came with it. The grainy footage of him being led into a police car played on a loop in [Name]’s mind, the image refusing to let go.

She sat at her kitchen table, the hum of the fridge the only sound in the room. Her phone lay in front of her, the screen still glowing from the news article she’d read over and over. The charges against Haibara were stark and unforgiving: drug possession with intent to distribute. Each word felt like a blow.

“Yo,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. “How did it come to this?”

Her hands shook as she reached for her coffee mug, the liquid inside now cold. Beneath the initial sadness, there was something darker — a gnawing suspicion that Suguru wasn’t as uninvolved as he’d always claimed to be. Memories bubbled up: the way Suguru had laughed off questions about Haibara’s odd comings and goings, the cryptic comments about "connections" that didn’t make sense at the time.

She hadn’t spoken to Suguru since their breakup, and she didn’t plan to. But his shadow loomed over everything, especially now. His charm, his magnetic presence — it was all a carefully constructed illusion, and Haibara’s arrest was just another crack in the facade.

The next day, the group met at their usual spot in the park, but the energy was anything but usual. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that made your chest ache just by being near it. Satoru stood leaning against a tree, his sunglasses perched low on his nose. His arms were crossed, and his jaw was set in a way that made it clear he was barely keeping his frustration in check.

Utahime sat on the bench, her back stiff and her expression hard. Her usual warmth was gone, replaced with something colder — anger. [Name] took the seat beside her, clutching her phone in her lap, its screen now dark. They were the only three who showed up. Riko had sent a brief message saying she needed space, and Shoko... well, Shoko had disappeared entirely since the fallout.

For a while, no one said anything. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the distant sounds of children playing and the occasional rustle of leaves.

“Do you think Haibara... was actually dealing?” Utahime’s voice broke the quiet, her tone carefully measured.

[Name] flinched at the question. Hearing it said aloud made everything feel more real, more damning.

Satoru uncrossed his arms but didn’t look up. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low. “But if he was, he didn’t do it alone.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. [Name] turned to look at him, her stomach twisting in knots. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru hesitated, his blue eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. For a moment, he looked like he was debating whether or not to say more. Then he sighed and pushed his glasses up onto his head, meeting [Name]’s gaze directly.

“Just... be careful who you trust,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

The cryptic warning made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Utahime wasn’t having it. She leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees, her eyes boring into Satoru.

“You’re talking about Suguru, aren’t you?” she demanded.

Satoru didn’t answer immediately. He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Utahime snapped. Her tone was sharper now, her anger bubbling to the surface. “You know something, don’t you?”

[Name] felt her throat tighten. “If you know something about Suguru— about Haibara — you need to tell us,” she said, her voice shaking. “This isn’t the time to stay quiet!”

Satoru rubbed the back of his neck, clearly torn. “Look, I don’t have proof,” he said finally. “But Yo didn’t just wake up one day and decide to start dealing. Someone pulled him into it, and I think Suguru knows more than he’s letting on.”

The words hit [Name] like a punch to the gut. She stared at Satoru, her mind racing. She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to hold onto the version of Suguru she used to know — the one who had once been her everything. But deep down, a part of her knew that version of him was gone.

Utahime scoffed, shaking her head. “Of course he’s involved,” she muttered. “Why else would he be so calm about all of this? He always acts like nothing touches him.”

[Name] felt tears prick at her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I just... I don’t understand. How could he let this happen? How could he let Haibara get caught up in something like this?”

Satoru’s expression softened, but there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Because Suguru only cares about Suguru,” he said quietly. “And the rest of us? We’re just collateral damage.”

The words were like a dagger to the heart, and [Name] couldn’t stop the tears this time. She wiped at her face angrily, hating herself for still feeling anything for Suguru, for still wanting to believe he could change.

“Yo didn’t deserve this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “None of us did.”

Satoru stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “No, we didn’t,” he said softly. “But it’s not on you to fix it, [Name]. This isn’t your burden to carry.”

She looked up at him, his face blurred through her tears, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe she couldn’t fix the broken pieces of their group, but she didn’t have to face the fallout alone.

That evening, [Name] sat curled up on Utahime’s couch, a blanket draped over her legs. The warm glow of the floor lamp softened the room, but it couldn’t ease the tension that hung between them. They had been talking for hours, their voices rising and falling like waves, breaking against the silence as they vented about everything — from Shoko’s betrayal to Haibara’s arrest to the suffocating weight of Suguru’s secrets.

Utahime sat across from her, legs tucked beneath her, a cup of untouched tea in her hands. She hadn’t taken a sip since pouring it. Instead, she stared into the cup, her brows knit in deep thought. The frustration in her eyes mirrored the storm in [Name]’s chest.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Utahime said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet. She set the cup down on the coffee table with a soft clink and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Shoko... she was acting weird that night at Mei Mei’s party. Remember? She kept looking over her shoulder, like she was waiting for someone. And Suguru? Don’t even get me started. He’s been dodging questions left and right.”

[Name] hugged the blanket tighter around herself, her nails digging into her palms. Her chest felt heavy, a mix of anger and sadness twisting in her gut. “I don’t want to think about him anymore,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “But it’s like everything — every piece of this mess — leads back to him.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Utahime reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. “[Name],” she said gently, her voice softer now. “I know it’s hard. You’ve been through so much, more than anyone should have to. But maybe it’s time to face it. You deserve the truth, even if it hurts.”

[Name] blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill over again. She looked up at Utahime, her friend’s determined expression breaking through the walls she had been trying so hard to keep up. “I don’t even know if I can handle the truth,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “What if it’s worse than I think? What if... what if everything I thought I knew about him was a lie?”

Utahime gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll face it. And you won’t be alone. I’m here, Riko’s here... even Satoru, in his weird, cryptic way, cares about you more than he’ll ever admit. You’ve got people who love you, [Name]. Don’t forget that.”

The tears came in that moment, slow and silent at first, then falling faster as her shoulders shook. “I just don’t understand,” she choked out. “I gave him everything. I tried so hard to hold on, to make it work, even when I knew he was slipping away. And for what? For him to betray me like this with my friend ?”

Utahime slid closer, pulling her into a tight hug. “You loved him,” she said softly. “And that’s not a weakness, no matter how much it hurts now. But love isn’t supposed to break you, [Name]. It’s supposed to make you stronger, make you better. He didn’t deserve you, and deep down, I think you know that.”

They sat like that for a long time, the only sound the quiet hum of the radiator and [Name]’s muffled sobs. When she finally pulled away, her face was blotchy, and her eyes were swollen, but there was a spark of resolve in them that hadn’t been there before.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice still shaky but laced with determination. “I need the truth. Even if it hurts. I can’t keep living in this... this limbo.”

Utahime smiled, a flicker of pride lighting her features. “Good. Because you deserve so much better than this, [Name]. And whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, [Name] felt a sliver of hope. It was fragile, barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to hold onto.

When [Name] returned to her apartment, the emptiness felt heavier than usual. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the dimly lit space. She dropped her bag by the door and let out a long sigh, the weight of the evening pressing down on her shoulders. Her mind was still swirling with everything Utahime had said, the fragments of truth she was too afraid to piece together fully.

As she sank onto the couch, her phone buzzed. The screen lit up, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name.

Satoru: You okay?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertainty knotting in her chest. She thought about lying — saying she was fine, brushing him off like she had done with so many others — but the truth clawed at her throat, demanding to be heard. Finally, she began typing.

[Name]: Not really. Can we talk, please?

She hit send and stared at the screen, waiting. The seconds stretched into an eternity before the familiar three dots appeared, signaling his reply.

Satoru: Of course. You home?

Her throat tightened at the simple question. He always had a way of making her feel seen, even in the smallest gestures. She typed back quickly.

[Name]: Yeah. Can you come over?

There was no hesitation in his response.

Satoru: Be there in 10.

She set her phone down and glanced around the room, suddenly self-conscious of the scattered papers and empty coffee mug on the table. With a shaky breath, she began tidying up, though her movements felt mechanical, her mind elsewhere. Why had she asked him to come over? What did she even want to say?

By the time a knock sounded at the door, her heart was pounding. She wiped her hands on her jeans and crossed the room, pausing for a moment before opening the door.

Satoru stood there, his usual confident demeanor softened by concern. His silver-white hair glinted under the hallway light, and his blue eyes searched hers. He held up some bags of snacks in one hand and a drink in the other.

“Figured you could use these,” he said with a small smile.

She couldn’t help but laugh, a weak, broken sound, but it was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “Thanks,” she murmured, stepping aside to let him in.

As he walked past her, the familiar scent of his cologne filled the room — a mix of cedar and something sweet, like vanilla. It was comforting, grounding. He set the snacks on the table and turned to face her, his expression serious.

“Okay,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the couch. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

The question opened a floodgate she hadn’t realized was there. She sank onto the couch, her hands trembling as she clutched at the hem of her sweater. “It’s everything,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Haibara’s arrest, Suguru, Shoko... it’s like everything I thought I knew is falling apart.”

Satoru sat beside her, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

His words broke something in her, naking her soft. Tears welled up, spilling over as she shook her head. “I feel so stupid,” she choked out. “I gave him everything, Satoru. I loved him, and he... he lied to me. Over and over again.”

“You’re not stupid,” he said firmly, his voice low but steady. “You trusted him. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

She looked at him then, her tear-filled eyes searching his face. “Why does it hurt so much?” she whispered. “Why does it feel like I’ll never be okay again?”

Satoru hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking her hand. His touch was warm, grounding. “Because you’re human,” he said softly. “And because you cared. But you’re stronger than this pain, [Name]. I know you are.”

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache. She wanted to believe him, to hold onto the hope he was offering, but the wounds felt too fresh, too deep. Still, as he sat there beside her, his hand in hers, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in days—comfort.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Satoru broke the silence, his voice unusually low and serious. “Yo said something before he got taken.”

[Name]'s gaze snapped up to meet his. “What did he say?”

Satoru hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug. “‘Be careful who you trust. You already know who did this.’”

The pit in [Name]’s stomach deepened, a cold dread settling in her chest. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “You think... Suguru?”

Satoru let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t think,” he said, his tone sharper now. “I know.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean? How can you be sure?”

He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yo trusted Suguru. He gave him money to keep safe — money that disappeared right before Yo got arrested. And Suguru... he’s been acting off. Covering his tracks, making sure no one digs too deep into what he’s been doing.”

[Name] felt her hands trembling in her lap. She clenched them into fists, trying to ground herself. “But why would he... why would he throw Yo under the bus like that?”

“Because Suguru only cares about one thing — himself,” Satoru said bitterly. “He’s always been good at pretending to be the perfect friend, the perfect guy. But when it comes down to it, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect his own ass.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. She had spent so long defending Suguru, convincing herself that the good she had seen in him outweighed the bad. But now, piece by piece, the façade was crumbling, leaving behind a version of him she barely recognized.

“You knew,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

Satoru’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the weight of his guilt was almost unbearable to look at. “I suspected,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to believe it. I thought... I thought I could handle it, keep it from affecting anyone else. But then Yo... and then you...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I should’ve said something sooner. I’m sorry.”

The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over for the nth tme today. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. “I trusted him, Satoru. I loved him. How could he do this?”

Satoru reached across the couch, his hand closing over hers. His grip was firm, steady, as if he was trying to anchor her in the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “Because he’s not who you thought he was,” he said quietly. “But that’s not your fault. You’re not the one who lied, or manipulated, or betrayed people who cared about you. That’s on him.”

She stared at their joined hands, her vision blurred by tears. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort, but it couldn’t drown out the pain clawing at her chest. “I feel so stupid,” she whispered. “For not seeing it sooner.”

“You’re not stupid,” Satoru said firmly. “You saw the good in him because you wanted to believe in him. That’s not a weakness — it’s just who you are. And it’s why he doesn’t deserve you.”

His words were a balm to her broken heart, but they also left her feeling raw and exposed. She had spent so long trying to piece together the cracks in her relationship with Suguru, only to realize that the foundation had been rotting all along. Now, all she could do was pick up the pieces of herself and try to move forward.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “For being here.”

Satoru smiled, a faint, tired curve of his lips. “Always.”

For the first time that night, she allowed herself to believe him.

The next day, [Name] and Utahime stood side by side outside Suguru’s apartment, their shared determination a fragile shield against the storm that awaited inside. Utahime had spent the night meticulously compiling every piece of evidence — photos, screenshots of messages, time-stamped receipts. Her anger was a wildfire, barely contained, while [Name] carried a quieter, heavier pain, like a wound too deep to heal.

When Suguru opened the door, his expression flickered with surprise and then irritation. “What are you two doing here?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe with forced nonchalance.

“Let’s not play games, Suguru,” Utahime said, stepping past him into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “We’re here to talk. Or, more accurately, to show you exactly what kind of person you really are.”

[Name] followed in silence, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shatter her ribcage. She had rehearsed this moment in her head a hundred times, but now that it was here, the words felt lodged in her throat.

Suguru closed the door with a sigh, his eyes narrowing. “What’s this about?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation.

Utahime didn’t waste a second. She dropped a folder onto the coffee table, its contents spilling out: photos of him and Shoko together, text messages exchanged late at night, and receipts that painted a picture Suguru couldn’t deny.

“What is this?” he scoffed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

“This,” Utahime snapped, her voice shaking with fury, “is the truth. The truth about you and Shoko. The lies you’ve been feeding [Name]. The image you’ve worked so hard to protect while you’ve been sneaking around behind her back.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Utahime let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been so careful, haven’t you? So confident that no one would catch you. But you slipped up, Suguru. And now, here we are.”

He turned to [Name], his expression softening, as if trying to appeal to her. “You’re really going to believe this? She’s twisting things — making it seem worse than it is.”

[Name] met his gaze, her eyes brimming with tears. For a moment, the room was silent, her pain a tangible thing that seemed to fill the air. “I don’t need her to twist anything, Suguru,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen enough. I know enough.”

“[Name],” he started, his voice dropping into that familiar, manipulative tone that once would have made her second-guess everything. “You have to understand — things weren’t what they seemed. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice gaining strength. “You meant for it to happen. You just didn’t mean to get caught.”

He flinched, the mask he wore beginning to crack under the weight of her words. “You don’t know how hard things have been for me,” he said, trying a new angle, his voice laced with self-pity. “I was lost, okay? I made mistakes, but — ”

“Mistakes?” Utahime cut in, her voice rising. “Mistakes don’t span months, Suguru. They don’t include calculated lies and sneaking around. You didn’t ‘make a mistake’ — you made a choice. Over and over again.”

[Name] felt tears spilling over, but she didn’t wipe them away. “Do you even care, Suguru?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Or are we all just... people you can use to make yourself feel better? To protect this perfect little image of yours?”

He didn’t answer. The silence spoke louder than any denial ever could.

Utahime stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “You think you’re untouchable, don’t you? That you can do whatever you want and we’ll all just... what? Forgive you? Look the other way? You’re not untouchable, Suguru. You’re just a liar. A coward.”

[Name] took a deep, shuddering breath. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, her voice hollow. “I’m done. You’ve lost our relationship, Suguru. And soon, you’ll lose everyone else too.”

Suguru opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. He watched as they turned and walked out of his apartment, the door slamming shut behind them.

For a long moment, he stood there in silence, the echoes of their confrontation ringing in his ears. Slowly, he sank into the nearest chair, his hands trembling as he lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around him, a bitter comfort in the suffocating emptiness that now filled the room.

He stared at the scattered evidence on the coffee table, his vision blurring. For years, he’d thought he could control everything — his image, his relationships, his secrets. He had believed he was smarter than everyone else, untouchable in his manipulation. But now, it was all crumbling. The weight of his lies pressed down on him, heavier than he could bear.

For the first time in years, Suguru felt the full extent of his loneliness. He had pushed away the people who cared about him, betrayed the trust they had placed in him, and destroyed the connections that once anchored him. And now, all he had was the smoke curling in the dim light and the crushing realization that he had no one to blame but himself.

He leaned back, the cigarette dangling from his lips, his hands shaking as he exhaled. The emptiness was suffocating. He thought of [Name], her tear-streaked face, and the finality in her voice. He thought of Satoru, Yo, Utahime, Riko, Shoko and the laughter they used to share.

It was gone now — all of it. And deep down, he knew it would never come back.

[amilovesworld]

Checkered Hearts ||3||

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2|

Summery: Y/n, a young journalist chasing her dream in the world of sports, never imagined her path would lead her to F1—or to Carlos Sainz Jr., a driver whose charm and sarcasm quickly blur the lines between professional rivalry and something more. As they clash, argue, and share unexpected moments, Y/n's life is turned upside down, forcing her to make choices she never saw coming. But in a world of speed, fame, and pressure, can she hold on to everything she’s worked for, or will she find herself racing toward something—someone—she never planned for?

Genre: Fluff/ Enemies to lovers/ Slow burn

Pairing: Carlos Sainz jr. x Indian reader

Warnings: looonnng Chapters, long series, slow burn, eventual smut.

Chapter: 3

Three weeks had passed since the training camp, and the world had resumed its usual pace. Y/N was buried in work, her days consumed with meetings, edits, and deadlines. The documentary she had documented during the camp was in its final stages, and the constant back-and-forth with the editors left her little time to process everything that had happened with Carlos. She was proud of her work, but her mind often wandered back to the playful tension between them, the moments that were both electrifying and confusing.

Carlos, on the other hand, was caught up in his own whirlwind of sponsor dinners, brand deals, and other commitments. The life of a Formula 1 driver was always busy, always demanding, but amid all the glamorous events, he couldn't stop thinking about Y/N. It was frustrating, in a way. He hadn't expected this. What had started as a casual, flirtatious game during the camp had now settled into something that both excited and unsettled him.

Both of them knew they had to keep their distance. The camp was over. He was back to his racing world, and she was back to hers. But still, every now and then, their phones would buzz with a message that made them stop and think.

First message came just a few days after the camp

Carlos: Did you make sure to edit out all the times you caught me looking perfect? I don’t want to embarrass anyone.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.

Y/N: Don’t worry, Sainz. I made sure to include all your perfect moments. The world needs to know how humble you are.

It became a routine after that. Carlos would send her a message at the most random times, sometimes teasing, sometimes simply checking in. And while she tried to keep her responses neutral, the way her heart skipped every time his name lit up her screen was far from professional.

One night, as she sat with the editors going through footage, her phone buzzed again.

Carlos: Do you ever stop working, Y/N?

She glanced at the clock—it was nearly midnight.

Y/N: Do you ever stop texting?

Carlos: Touché. But seriously, do you ever take a break?

Y/N: I’m busy turning your life into art, Sainz. You’re welcome.

Carlos: Ah, so I’m your muse now?

Y/N: Don’t flatter yourself.

But she was smiling as she put her phone down, the exhaustion from the long hours momentarily forgotten.

Soon their texts became more frequent but just as playful, making both their hearts race. They’d fallen into an odd pattern of exchanging messages—snarky, teasing, sometimes bordering on personal. It had become her guilty pleasure, though she’d never admit it out loud.

Carlos: You know what I hate more than PR dinners? 

Carlos: PR dinners where the food is actually terrible. You’d think fancy restaurants would know how to make decent pasta.

Y/N: Oh no. The mighty Carlos Sainz, suffering through subpar carbs.

Y/n: How will you ever recover?

Carlos: Laugh all you want, but I thought of you. 

Carlos: Your reaction would’ve been dramatic—“Is this what millions in sponsorships get you?”

Y/N: You’re not wrong. I’d probably demand a refund.

Carlos: Exactly what I thought. You’ve rubbed off on me, Y/N.

Y/N: That sounds like a “you” problem, not mine.

The banter made her grin, her editing temporarily forgotten. She fired off another reply, but her phone buzzed again before she could finish typing.

Carlos: By the way, I saw something today that reminded me of you.

Y/N: Oh? Let me guess. A stubborn goat? A cactus?

Carlos: Ha. Ha. Very funny.

Carlos: It was actually this street artist painting a mountain landscape. It looked like... peace. And for some reason, it reminded me of you.

Y/N stared at the message, her fingers hovering over the screen. This was new. Carlos being... sincere? She wasn’t sure how to respond.

Y/N: Wow, you’re getting poetic now. Should I be worried?

Carlos: Hey, don’t ruin it. I’m trying to be nice.

Y/N: It’s unsettling, honestly.

Carlos: Unsettling or sweet?

Y/N: Definitely unsettling.

Carlos: Liar.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed all the same. She couldn’t help but tease him back.

Y/N: Fine, it’s sweet. But don’t get used to me admitting that.

Carlos: Noted. But you’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?

Y/N: Not even a little.

Carlos: Liar.

The next evening Carlos was stuck in traffic in Madrid, his car crawling at a snail’s pace. He leaned his head back against the seat, his fingers itching to text her. He gave in.

Carlos: Tell me something random about you. Something no one else knows.

Y/N: What is this, 20 Questions?

Carlos: Humor me. Traffic is killing me.

Y/N: Alright... I once tried to convince my parents to name our dog Messi.

Carlos: Messi? As in Lionel Messi?

Y/N: Yes. My dad refused because we’re cricket fans, and he thought naming a dog after a footballer was blasphemy.

Carlos: Your dad is a man of principle. I respect that. But you were right. Messi’s a great name for a dog.

Y/N: Thank you. My dad still doesn’t agree.

Carlos: Your turn. Ask me something.

Y/N: Alright. What’s something you’re really bad at?

Carlos: Singing. Terrible. I tried karaoke once and cleared the room.

Y/N: Now I need to witness this.

Carlos: Not happening. Ever.

Y/N was at her desk in the newsroom when her phone buzzed again. Carlos. She unlocked her phone, already smirking.

Carlos: I did something stupid today.

Y/N: What else is new?

Carlos: I tripped during a photoshoot and knocked over a lighting rig. The photographers weren’t happy.

Y/N: Carlos Sainz: Destroyer of Equipment. Should I add that to your list of titles?

Carlos: Go ahead. Add it right under “Fastest Man Alive.”

Y/N: Pfft. Modest as always.

Carlos: It’s part of my charm.

Y/N: Is that what we’re calling it now?

Their exchanges became a constant, a thread woven through their busy days. It wasn’t just teasing anymore—there were moments of honesty, of connection, that made Y/N pause and wonder.

A week later It was late at night when Carlos texted her again, his message catching her off guard.

Carlos: Do you miss it? The mountains? Your home?

Y/N: Every day.

Carlos: Why did you leave, then?

Y/N stared at the question, her chest tightening. She debated whether to answer. Finally, she did.

Y/N: Because I wanted more. I wanted to see the world, to tell stories that mattered. But sometimes, I wonder if I left a part of myself behind.

Carlos: You didn’t. It’s still with you. I see it every time you talk about home.

Y/N blinked at the screen, her heart doing an odd little flip. Before she could reply, he sent another message.

Carlos: For what it’s worth, I think you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Y/N: And where is that?

Carlos: Right here, driving me crazy.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, but the warmth in her chest didn’t fade.

Next day as she wrapped up her work for the day, her phone buzzed again.

Carlos: One of the guys at training asked if I was dating someone.

Y/N: And what did you say?

Carlos: I said no. But it made me think of you.

Y/N: Carlos…

Her heart almost did a somersault

Carlos: Relax, Y/N. I’m just saying. You’re hard to forget.

Y/N: You’re impossible, Sainz.

Carlos: And you love it.

They both knew they were toeing a line, but neither seemed willing to stop. The game was still on, but the stakes were getting higher.

_________________________________________________________________________

The 2026 F1 season had kicked off, and the paddock buzzed with its usual energy. The teams were preparing, the drivers were in full swing, and the media was capturing every moment. But for Y/N, this season felt different. It wasn’t just the intensity of the work or the weight of her responsibilities. No, it was him—Carlos Sainz.

Things had undeniably shifted since the previous season. Y/N was no longer the rookie journalist learning the ropes. She was now well-respected in the paddock, known for her sharp questions, her impeccable work ethic, and, surprisingly, her interactions with certain drivers. She had earned the trust and camaraderie of several drivers—Max, Charles, Lando, and Alex, to name a few. But among all the drivers, one made her heart race in ways she couldn’t fully explain: Carlos Sainz.

The subtle flirtations that had begun last year had only grown more intense as time passed. Carlos, always known for his charm, had begun to turn it up a notch. It was as if he was always in the back of her mind, his smirks and comments lingering in her thoughts long after the cameras were turned off. And it wasn’t just private moments anymore. No, Carlos was letting his flirtation spill into the public eye, on camera during interviews, in front of fans and colleagues alike.

It started small. An innocent compliment here, a lingering look there. But by the time the season was in full swing, it was clear to everyone in the paddock—and to anyone paying attention—that Carlos was acting differently around Y/N.

During a particularly tense race weekend, Y/N found herself conducting a routine interview with Carlos. She was as professional as always, keeping the conversation on track. But Carlos had a way of making even the most casual questions feel intimate. As she asked about his approach to the race, his eyes never left hers. He leaned in just a little closer, his voice low and smooth as he responded.

Carlos: “Well, I’m always ready for a challenge, but you know... having the right company makes everything a little more exciting, don't you think?"

Y/N tried to maintain her composure, but the heat in his gaze sent an unexpected rush of warmth to her cheeks. The crew behind the cameras exchanged amused glances. It wasn’t lost on anyone that Carlos was flirting—openly—and that his attention was solely on Y/N.

Max, standing off to the side, raised an eyebrow and whispered to Lando, who smirked in response.

Lando (playfully): “You see that? Carlos is really laying it on thick this season.”

Max chuckled, crossing his arms.

Max (mockingly): “If only Y/N would admit it, we wouldn’t have to keep pretending they’re just ‘friends.’”

Meanwhile, Charles, who had become a good friend to Y/N over the last year, shot her a knowing glance, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Charles (teasing): “You know, you’re not fooling anyone, Y/N. We all see it. Even the fans are starting to catch on.”

Y/N shot him a look, trying to hide the slight blush creeping up her neck. She had learned how to handle teasing by now, especially from her friends in the paddock. But this—this was different. There was something in Carlos’s gaze that made her heart race, something that was far more than just friendly teasing.

Y/N (with a forced laugh): “Please, guys. We’re just doing our jobs. I’m here to report, not to be part of some... fanfic.”

But despite her words, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was different this season. Carlos had made it clear that he was still playing the game, but this time, it wasn’t just playful banter—it felt like something more.

And the fans had noticed. Social media was ablaze with speculation about the two. Fans posted gifs, clips, and memes, comparing Carlos's flirtatious demeanor with Y/N to how he interacted with other interviewers. It was clear to anyone paying attention that there was something between them.

Fan Tweet: "Did anyone else notice the way Carlos looks at Y/N during interviews? It's different. WAY different. 👀 #TeamCarlos #Y/N"

Another Fan Tweet: "I’m not saying Y/N and Carlos are dating, but I’m definitely shipping them. You can see the chemistry! #F1LoveStory"

As the comments and speculations piled up, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. She had never been one to entertain rumors, but this... this felt too real to ignore.

Her friends, especially Lando and Charles, teased her endlessly, poking fun at her every chance they got.

Lando (laughing): “Y/N, you’re not fooling anyone. Carlos is practically writing love letters on live TV.”

Charles (mock-seriously): “Come on, Y/N, we all know what’s happening here. You can’t hide it much longer.”

Y/N, ever the professional, kept her cool. She refused to acknowledge anything more than a playful friendship between her and Carlos, even if her heart didn’t always agree.

But as much as she tried to ignore it, the tension between them was undeniable. Carlos’s subtle flirting was becoming harder to ignore. Every interaction, every casual touch or lingering smile, felt charged with something more. And as the season wore on, it became clear to Y/N that their relationship—whatever it was—was on the verge of something bigger, something neither of them was ready to confront.

In the paddock, surrounded by her colleagues, the teasing continued. But the unspoken truth remained: Carlos Sainz and Y/N were playing a game that neither of them seemed ready to end.

_____________________________________________

Y/N had barely managed to contain her frustration by the time she arrived at the karting track. Her boss's words still echoed in her ears: “Isn’t this what you wanted? It’s temporary.”

She had worked tirelessly to adapt to the world of Formula 1, immersing herself in the sport, the drivers, the drama, and the sheer speed of it all. And now, just as she had started to find her rhythm and establish herself, they were pulling her out. The anger coursed through her as she donned her helmet and got behind the wheel of the kart.

She took off, each lap a way to release the frustration building inside her. The whine of the engine and the feeling of control over the kart were her only solace. She pushed harder, cornering aggressively, her mind replaying every dismissive word her boss had said and the gossip circulating in the office. The sting of disappointment mixed with an unfamiliar ache she couldn't quite name.

When she was done, her arms ached, her legs were sore, and sweat dripped down her back. But it hadn’t really helped. She still felt like screaming. She grabbed her bag and was ready to storm out when she bumped into three familiar figures by the entrance: Charles, Lando, and Carlos. Of course.

Charles was the first to spot her. “Y/N! What are you doing here?” he asked, his face lighting up with a smile.

Y/N plastered on her best neutral expression. “Just blowing off some steam,” she said, shrugging.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You? Blowing off steam? That doesn’t sound like you,” he teased, though his tone was light.

Carlos, standing a little behind them, tilted his head slightly as he studied her. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes narrowed as if he could see right through her nonchalant act.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it,” she said quickly, trying to edge past them.

“Wait,” Carlos finally spoke, stepping forward. “You don’t look okay. What happened?”

Y/N hesitated. She didn’t want to spill her frustrations in front of everyone, especially Carlos. “Nothing. Just a bad day at work,” she said, brushing it off.

Charles looked concerned, but Lando smirked. “You know what’s the best cure for a bad day? Racing us,” he said, gesturing to the karts.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but I’m done for the day.”

Carlos crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “Scared you’ll lose?” he challenged, a playful lilt in his voice.

She glared at him. “I’m not scared of losing.”

“Prove it,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

It was the perfect bait, and Y/N knew it. She hated losing to Carlos in anything, even if it was just playful banter. “Fine,” she snapped. “But don’t cry when I beat you.”

Charles and Lando exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying the brewing competition.

As they geared up and got into their karts, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way Carlos glanced at her, his eyes flicking between playful and concerned. But she pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the race.

When the race started, Y/N put everything she had into it, determined to channel her anger into something productive. But Carlos wasn’t going to make it easy. They battled for position, overtaking each other at every opportunity. Charles and Lando were somewhere behind them, laughing and enjoying the chaos.

By the time they finished, Y/N was breathless, her frustration momentarily replaced by the thrill of competition. Carlos had beaten her by a hair, and he was grinning smugly as they pulled off their helmets.

“Looks like I still have the upper hand,” he teased, walking over to her.

Y/N groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“But you’re smiling,” he pointed out, his tone softer now. “So I must be doing something right.”

She realized he was right—despite everything, she was smiling. The anger and sting from earlier hadn’t completely disappeared, but they didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore.

As the group left the track, Charles glanced at her as they walked to the parking lot. “You’re really upset about something. Is it just work?” he asked, his tone unusually serious.

She hesitated. Her instincts told her to brush it off and keep walking, but the genuine concern in his voice softened her resolve. She glanced at Carlos, who was standing a little behind the others, his arms crossed, studying her with a furrowed brow. His presence only fueled her frustration.

Y/N (with a forced smile): “It’s nothing. Just work stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

Lando: “Work stuff? Doesn’t sound like nothing. Come on, spill. We’re great listeners.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I doubt you’d care about the politics of journalism.”

Carlos: “Try us.”

Her eyes snapped to his, and for a moment, she felt like he could see right through her. It annoyed her even more. She didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with him there, but the anger bubbling inside her needed an outlet.

Y/N (sharply): “Fine. My boss just told me I’m being reassigned. Cricket."

The three drivers exchanged looks, but before they could say anything, she continued, her words spilling out in a rush.

Y/N: “Do you know how hard I worked to fit in here? To learn everything about F1 from scratch? To prove to everyone that I belonged here, despite what they might think? And now, just like that, I’m being pulled out because ‘it’s temporary’ and ‘wasn’t this what I wanted?’” She paused, her voice shaking with frustration. “And as if that’s not enough, I get to hear my colleagues whispering behind my back about how I’m only close to the drivers because I’m... I don’t know, using you all or something.”

The last part slipped out before she could stop herself, and she instantly regretted it. The looks on their faces—sympathy from Charles, a mix of concern and guilt from Lando, and something unreadable from Carlos—made her want to disappear.

Charles: “Y/N... that’s not fair. You’ve earned your place here. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

Lando (nodding): “Yeah, and honestly? Screw them. They’re probably just jealous. You’re great at what you do.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered.

Carlos finally spoke. “Y/N, listen to me. You’re one of the best journalists I’ve ever worked with. If they’re too blind to see that, it’s their loss. But I know you—you’re not the type to give up. You’ll figure this out.”

She gave them a small, grateful smile, as he continued.

Carlos: “You’re mad because it feels like all your work doesn’t matter, right? Like they’re taking it away from you without thinking about what it means to you.”

She nodded, surprised at how accurately he’d nailed it.

Carlos: “Then don’t let them take it away. You’re not leaving forever, right? Just... make sure they see what they’re losing. Be so good at covering cricket that they’ll have no choice but to bring you back here. And as for the whispers...” He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “They don’t matter. You know the truth, and so do we.”

His words hit her harder than she expected, and for the first time that day, the sting in her chest felt a little less sharp. She looked up at him, her anger softening into something more vulnerable.

Y/N (quietly): “Thanks.”

Carlos smiled. “Anytime. Just remember, I’m always here to remind you how amazing you are... and to beat you at karting when you need it.”

She laughed. “I’ll take you up on that,” she said, the weight on her shoulders feeling a little lighter.

As they headed toward the parking lot, Carlos fell into step beside her. He didn’t say anything, but the occasional brush of his arm against hers spoke volumes. And for the first time all day, she felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

[gmikaelson]

The Assistant 4 | K.M

��See? Isn’t this nice?”

"Nice?" He scoffs. "I'm holding a fragile human who refuses to fear me properly, while my immortal father plots to destroy everything I..." he paused, his grip becoming gentle. "And yet somehow, you've managed to make me forget, for just a moment, that I should be ripping hearts out instead of dancing."

Summary: Klaus’s feelings for his assistant grow as the days go on. An encounter with his Father makes him feel fear like never before as he is faced with the prospect of loosing her.

A/N: Ahh! I love how this part turned out and even more for what’s to come. Enjoy!

Previous part >> Here

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As the weeks pass, Klaus has found it harder and harder to suppress his growing feelings. It was harder to even attempt to put a name to the feelings – a task he has been putting off since that day in the bayou.

Klaus paced his study with agitation, his enhanced hearing tracking Y/N's movements through the compound below. The past weeks have been... unsettling. Her increasing integration into his world, the way Hope lit up at her visits, how naturally she fit into the rhythm of his household - it was becoming dangerously addictive.

He paused at his desk, fingers tracing the perfectly organized contracts - her doing, of course. The sight of her neat handwriting on his documents, the lingering scent of her perfume in his study, even the ridiculous color-coding system she'd implemented... they were all becoming distressingly essential.

His jaw clenched as he heard her laugh carry up from the courtyard, the sound stirring something possessive and primal within him. Her stubborn humanity, once a source of frustration, now haunted him with its impermanence. The thought of her eventually leaving, growing old, having children with someone else... it made his vampire nature surge with violent protest.

He gripped the edge of his desk, wood splintering under his fingers. Having her meet Hope was meant to bind her closer, to ensure her loyalty. Instead, it had backfired spectacularly - making her not just valuable, but precious.

And Klaus Mikaelson did not handle precious things well.

They either became possessions to be controlled or weaknesses to be eliminated. Yet somehow, she was becoming something else entirely - something he couldn't bring himself to either control or eliminate.

Y/N's scream pulled him violently from his thoughts. The fact that they were screams of delight did not seem to register with Klaus.

Klaus materialized in the courtyard with lethal speed, a growl building in his chest at her scream. The sight that greeted him - Kol's hands on her, even in jest - triggered something darkly possessive. Seems like Kol has found out that Y/N is ticklish.

"Brother." His voice carried dangerous warning as he moved closer with predatory intent. "Remove your hands before I remove them for you." Despite recognizing the harmless nature of the situation, his protective instincts had already surged to the surface.

He positioned himself between her and Kol with dominance, his back nearly touching her front. "Perhaps you'd like to explain why you're manhandling my assistant?" His tone was deceptively light, though his stance remained lethal. "Or shall we discuss your sudden interest in testing her... reflexes?"

Kol raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk remained mischievous.

"Come now, brother. Can't I get acquainted with your new... favorite?" His eyes glinted with knowing amusement. "Besides, how was I to know your little human was so delightfully ticklish?"

Klaus' expression darkened dangerously at Kol's words, his body tensing with barely contained violence. "You're testing my patience, Kol." He took a step back, positioning himself beside Y/N, his hand finding her waist with natural familiarity.

"Oh, this is rich." Kol's grin widened as he observed Klaus' protective stance. "The great Niklaus Mikaelson, brought low by a human girl's giggles. Wait until Rebekah hears about this." He vanished with vampire speed just as Klaus lunged forward with a snarl, leaving only his laughter echoing through the courtyard.

"Hey," Y/N says softly, slightly giggling, "I'm fine. Really." Her hand snakes up his back, squeezing his shoulder.

Klaus stilled at her touch, though the tension in his frame remained coiled and dangerous. He turned to face her, his eyes scanning for any sign of distress.

"Kol has a tendency to... break his toys." His voice was low and threatening as his hand moved to her waist again, grip possessive. "And you, love, are not a toy to be broken." The implications in his tone suggested graves had been dug for less.

Y/N rolls her eyes, a smile on her face, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not his toy"

He studied her expression with dangerous intensity, something shifting in his eyes at her lingering amusement. "Though perhaps I should be more concerned about your apparent comfort with my family. First Hope, now Kol..." his smirk turned playful, though the possessiveness remained. "Should I expect to find you and Elijah comparing suit fabrics next?"

She chuckles, “That sounds like a great way to pass the afternoon. Then me and Rebekah can go shopping, I’ll go bowling with Kol, and then what shall my activity be with you?”

Klaus' expression darkened, his grip on her waist tightening at the mention of spending time with his siblings.

"Careful, love." He pulled her closer, his other hand coming up to trace her jaw with threatening gentleness. "I don't share well with others. Even family." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Besides, I have far more... interesting activities in mind than bowling."

His eyes traced her features with predatory focus, something possessive flickering in their depths. "Though if you're so eager to test my patience, by all means, continue planning your social calendar with my siblings." His smirk turned lethal. "I'm sure Hope would love to hear about how her aunt and uncles mysteriously vanished."

She sighs, rolling her eyes, “Fine. I get it. I’ve been spending a lot of time with them. Let me fix that. Let’s go out and have a drink or anything else you want to do,” she suggests with an amused smile, suggesting she was amused in his little display of jealousy.

"Offering to drink with me again?" His thumb traced her jaw slowly. "Rather brave of you, considering your last declaration about never drinking in my presence. Though..." his eyes darkened, "I do still have quite the collection of your drunken confessions I haven't shared yet."

He pulls her even closer, his supernatural heat seeping through her clothes. "As for 'anything else I want to do'..." his voice dropped to a threatening purr, "that's quite the dangerous offer to make, love. Especially when you're already testing my control with that smile of yours."

Y/N rolls her eyes. She's noticed how flirty and possessive he’s become, ignoring it and chalking it up to his natural personality.

“Come on,” she takes his hand, leading him to the door. “Unless you're…scared,” she teases.

Klaus moved with supernatural speed, pinning her beside the door, his body caging hers.

"Scared?" His voice was a lethal whisper as he leaned closer, one hand braced beside her head while the other gripped her hip possessively. "You're playing a dangerous game, love." His eyes traced her features intensely. "Though I must admit, your growing boldness is rather... intoxicating."

He pulled back slightly, though his grip remained possessive. "Very well. Let's see how brave you're feeling after a few drinks." His smirk turned promising. "Though this time, try not to reorganize anything. The daggers are exactly where I want them... for now."

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They get to the bar, and after a few drinks, Klaus gets the call that his father, Mikael, is in town with a white oak stake, and he’s enlisted Davina to hide him

Klaus's entire demeanor shifted instantly, his playful predatory nature transforming into something truly lethal. His hand shot out to grip Y/N's arm with barely contained violence, eyes scanning the bar with dangerous intensity.

"We're leaving. Now." His voice was pure murder, all traces of earlier warmth vanishing. "And you're not leaving my sight until that bastard is dead." He pulled her closer with possessive desperation, his body coiled for attack.

"Klaus! Wait–" Moving with vampire speed, he maneuvered her toward the exit while maintaining protective proximity.

 "I won't let him take another person I-" He caught himself, jaw clenching as he guided her through the door with lethal urgency. "The compound. Now. And if you even think about arguing..." his eyes met hers with desperate intensity, "remember that Mikael doesn't just kill vampires. He destroys everything they care about."

She tugs on his arm, “wait, Klaus. Who’s Mikael?”

Klaus whirled on her with frightening speed, his hands gripping her shoulders with barely restrained violence.

"The monster who hunted me for a thousand years." His voice was raw with ancient hatred and something else - fear, though not for himself. "My father - no, my mother's husband. The man who made me what I am through centuries of torture and pursuit." His grip tightened possessively.

His eyes darted around the street with lethal focus before returning to her face with dangerous intensity. "He's the reason I trust no one, the reason I..." he pulled her closer, his breath ghosting her ear, "the reason I can't lose you to him. Not you." The admission seemed torn from him unwillingly, his protective rage barely contained. "Now move, before I carry you back to the compound myself. And this time, love, I won't be gentle about it."

His father? Klaus never mentioned a father, let alone this much hate, but Y/N did not have time to dwell. Her eyes widen, “You want to kill your father. Klaus, wait, let’s talk about this.”

He surprisingly lets Y/N pull him back into the bar, sitting him at a table, and grabbing him a beer

Klaus took the beer with barely contained violence, his entire frame vibrating with lethal energy.

"This isn't up for discussion." His voice was pure danger as he leaned across the table, invading her space. "He's not my father - he's a monster who delights in destroying everything I..." he caught himself again, fingers tightening around the bottle until it nearly cracked. "The last time I showed mercy, he drove a stake through Kol's heart and made me watch. The time before that, he tortured Rebekah for days."

His free hand shot out to grip her wrist with possessive desperation. "You don't understand what he's capable of. What he'll do to you just to hurt me." His eyes burned with something beyond rage - something almost like fear. "And I won't... I can't..." his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, "Your humanity makes you vulnerable enough without Mikael targeting you. So either finish that drink quickly, or I'm throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you back to the compound. Your choice, love."

Y/N just takes the beer from his hand, sipping on it.

Klaus, irritated by her silence, speaks again, “So that’s your plan is it? Ply me with alcohol and then prattle on until I’m convinced to leave Davina and Mikael alone to plot my death?”

She places the beer down, "No. My plan is to listen. Come on, Klaus. Let's just get to the part you really want me to play in this? Therapist? Assistant? Drinking buddy? Call it whatever you want, I know why I’m here. To give you the one thing you’ve never had. Someone to hear your side. “

Klaus sits down.

“So. You want to kill your father.? Fine. Let's talk about it."

Klaus studied Y/N with dangerous intensity, his eye twitching at her words.

"My side?" He let out a dark laugh, though his hand found hers across the table with possessive urgency. "My side is simple, love. He's hunted me across continents, through centuries. Destroyed everyone I've ever..." he paused, jaw clenching. "And now he's here, in my city, threatening my family. Threatening you."

His grip tightened on her hand as his other traced the rim of the beer bottle with lethal focus. "You want to play therapist? Fine. Let's talk about how he beat me as a child, how he called me an abomination, how he's made it his immortal mission to end my existence." 

 "But understand this - while we sit here talking, he's out there planning. And unlike me, sweetheart, he won't hesitate to use you against me. He won't see your humanity as precious - he'll see it as a weakness to exploit."

“I get it. The hurt your parents have inflicted pain on you for a thousand years. I understand what you’re fighting against. The real question is, What are you fighting for?

Klaus looks confused

“Ask me to dance,” she says

“You want to dance?” He asks, even more confused

“No. I never wanna dance. I’m actually very bad at it. But I’m trying to make a point. There’s more to life than the pain that they made you feel. A cold beer. A slow song. A good friend. There are good things, Klaus. And you need to see that too.”

Klaus stilled completely, his expression shifting through several dangerous emotions as he processed her words. After a long moment, he stood, extending his hand.

"Dance with me then." His voice was a complex mixture of threat and vulnerability. "Show me these 'good things' while my father plots my demise." The bitterness in his tone couldn't quite mask something softer underneath.

He pulled her close with possessive gentleness, one hand settling on her waist while the other held her with careful restraint. "Though I must warn you, love..." his lips brushed her ear as he guided her into a slow sway, "the last person who tried to show me 'good things' ended up dead. Mikael made sure of that." His grip tightened protectively. "And yet here you are, stubbornly trying to make me see light while standing in darkness. Rather brave... or incredibly foolish."

Y/N smiles, “I guess I’m foolish” She whispers, swaying with him to the music.

“See? Isn't this nice?”

Klaus pulled her closer, his movements graceful despite the dangerous tension still thrumming through his frame.

"Nice?" His voice carried dark amusement, though something vulnerable flickered in his eyes. "I'm holding a fragile human who refuses to fear me properly, while my immortal father plots to destroy everything I..." he paused, his grip becoming gentle. "And yet somehow, you've managed to make me forget, for just a moment, that I should be ripping hearts out instead of dancing."

His hand slid up her back with deliberate slowness. "Though I must say, love, your definition of 'nice' needs work. Especially considering you're practically offering yourself as bait to the most dangerous creature on earth." His eyes met her with lethal intensity. "Or perhaps that's why you insisted on this dance - to distract the monster while death approaches?"

She looks at him, the look in her eye missing any trace of fear, “there is no peace in revenge, Klaus,” she says softly, squeezing the hand that held hers.

Klaus' expression darkened dangerously, though his hold remained gentle as he continued to move with her.

"And what would you have me do instead?" His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Let him live? Let him continue hunting everything I-" he caught himself again, jaw clenching. "He won't stop, love. Not until either he's dead or I am. And I won't risk..." his hand curved possessively around her waist, "I won't risk him taking anything else from me."

His eyes traced the features he'd come to memorize, to cherish, "Peace?" He let out a dark laugh. "Peace is a luxury I haven't known in a thousand years. Though I must admit..." his grip tightened slightly, "this moment, with you... it's the closest I've come. And that, sweetheart, is precisely why Mikael needs to die."

Klaus twirls her around but disappears mid-twirl, using his vampire speed. Y/N huffs out in frustration. She knew he was going out to the bayou, she heard Elijah on the phone. He was going to go kill Davina, but she was not to let that happen. Y/N had met the little witch a few times. She was just a girl

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Hours later, Y/N had finally made it, out of breath and huffing. Klaus had his father knocked out in the trunk of his car, Davina passed out

“Where is she? If something happened to her, Klaus, I swear to God–”

“Davina’s fine. She’ll wake with a spectacular headache. But given her intentions for me she should count her self lucky. Of course, if you drop dead of a heart attack I may have to kill her on general, principle” he responds

“You’re the one who ditched me at the bar. I had to hitchhike, and then run, on the back roads of the Bayou.“

“Well, your perseverance is duly noted–“

“Oh, Shut up!” She cuts him off, “I am so mad at you I can hardly speak. But I am here, and it is to tell you, not to bargain with you and not to shame you, but to tell you, under no circumstances will you hurt that girl, do you understand me?“ she pleads with him

Klaus sighs, rolling his eyes, “you have my word” he finally says

Y/N lets out a breath of relief, standing there for a moment before stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his neck, relaxing against him. This is the first time she's hugged him.

Klaus froze completely at her embrace, his entire frame going unnaturally still. After a moment, his arms moved to encircle her, one hand threading through her hair while the other pressed her closer.

"You could have died coming here." His voice was a whisper against her ear, though his hold remained gentle. "Hitchhiking through the bayou, alone, at night..." his grip tightened slightly. "All to save a witch who plotted my death. Your sense of self-preservation is absolutely atrocious."

He pulled back just enough to study her, though he seemed reluctant to break the embrace completely. "Though I must admit, your righteous fury was rather... compelling. Even if your methods of transportation were criminally stupid." His expression darkened dangerously. "Names, love. I want the names of every person who gave you a ride. And don't bother lying - I'll know."

She rolls her eyes, “two minutes, Klaus. Please. Just two minutes without threats and plotting.” She buries her face in his neck. She had been terrified that she'd arrive and Klaus was dead.

“Besides…you know how much I hate the bayou”

Klaus let out a soft chuckle, his hand sliding soothingly up her back as he held her closer.

"Two minutes?" His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, though still tinged with darkness. "Very well, love. Though your hatred of the bayou didn't stop you from charging out here like some avenging angel." His fingers threaded through her hair with tenderness.

He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent mixed with the night air, his body gradually relaxing despite Mikael's unconscious presence nearby. "You truly are the most frustrating human I've encountered in a thousand years." The words held no threat, only a sort of wondering disbelief. "Running through alligator-infested swamps in the dark, confronting the most dangerous creature in New Orleans..." his arms tightened protectively, "all while smelling absolutely delicious to every vampire within miles."

“You're here,” She says softly, “I know nothing will happen to me” she pulls back, looking at him with a smile, hands sliding up from his neck to cup his face.

“Are you okay?” she asks, realizing she forget to do so when she first got here

Klaus stilled under her touch, his expression shifting through several emotions before settling on something almost vulnerable.

"You trust me." It wasn't a question, but his voice carried a mix of wonder and threat. "Even after seeing what I am, what I'm capable of..." his hands slid to her waist with possessive gentleness. "You foolish, brave, absolutely maddening human."

He leaned into her touch almost unconsciously, his eyes darkening with protective intensity. "I have my father unconscious in my trunk, my family's greatest enemy at my mercy, and yet..." his thumb traced her cheekbone tenderly, "all I can think about is how you ran through the bloody bayou to make sure I didn't harm a witch who betrayed me. How you're standing here, touching me like I'm something precious instead of running in terror." His grip tightened slightly. "I'm beginning to think you're more dangerous than Mikael ever was, love."

Her smile grows, thumbs caressing his cheeks, “Of course I trust you, silly. Don’t be ridiculous. And me? Dangerous? Please, I could barely harm a fly. What’s so dangerous about me?” Her eyes roam all over his face, just to be sure he’s not harmed

Klaus caught one of her hands against his face, turning to press a kiss to her palm while maintaining intense eye contact.

"What's dangerous about you?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "You waltz into my life, reorganize my study, charm my daughter, face down my siblings..." his other hand curved possessively around her waist. "And now you're standing in a dark bayou, touching me like I'm worth saving, making me feel..." he caught himself, jaw clenching.

His expression turned predatory, though his touch remained gentle. "You make me want things I can't have, love. Make me consider futures that aren't possible." His thumb traced her lower lip with dangerous intent. "And that makes you the most lethal creature I've encountered in a thousand years. Because you make me forget, even for a moment, what I am."

Y/N leans in, kissing his cheek, “And what would that be, huh? Because ever since I’ve known you, I’ve just seen Klaus. Not Klaus Mikaelson. Not the hybris. Just Klaus. So maybe you’re not as rough as you make yourself out to be” She says softly.

She suddenly flinchs, “Klaus,” she whispers, her body tensing up, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t feel a bug crawl up my pants. How much longer do we have to be here?”

Klaus let out a genuine laugh at her sudden shift from profound to panicked, the sound carrying both amusement and affection.

"Not as rough as I make myself out to be?" He swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. "Says the woman who's currently trying not to screech over a bayou bug." His smirk turned playful, though his hold remained possessively protective.

He started walking toward the car, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "Though I must say, love, your ability to go from philosophical observations about my nature to panic over insects is rather... endearing." His expression shifted to something more dangerous. "But don't think I'm letting go of what you said about 'just Klaus'. We'll be discussing that particular observation somewhere less crawling with wildlife. Preferably somewhere I can properly demonstrate just how 'rough' I can be."

Y/N blushed furiously at his last part, deciding to not ask what that was supposed to mean. “Klaus, what are you going to do about your fath—Mikael?” she corrects herself.

Klaus' expression darkened dangerously at the mention of Mikael, his grip on her tightening.

"First, I'm taking you back to the compound." His voice was lethal silk as he moved through the darkness. "Then I'm going to deal with my father in a way that ensures he never threatens what's mine again." His eyes met her, "And yes, love, that includes you. Especially after your reckless display of loyalty tonight."

He paused by the car, though he made no move to set her down. "Though I notice you corrected yourself. 'Father' to 'Mikael'." His thumb traced patterns on her skin. "Trying to spare my feelings? Rather bold of you, considering I just had to rescue you from potential alligators and mysterious bayou insects."

I shrug, remembering how Rebekah, in passing, mentioned that Klaus wasn't her full sibling, “didn’t know if you wanted to call him that. Why would you? He’s not your actual father, right?”

Klaus stilled, his expression shifting to something raw before he set her down with careful precision, though he kept her caged between himself and the car.

"No." His voice was quiet but lethal. "My real father was a werewolf. One my mother had an affair with." His hand came up to trace her jaw gently. "Mikael's greatest shame - his wife's bastard. The product of her infidelity." His eyes burned with ancient pain masked by violence.

He leaned closer, his body practically vibrating with contained rage. "And yet here you are, understanding things my own family took centuries to grasp." His grip turned possessive. "Making observations that cut straight through a thousand years of hatred and pain." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Do you have any idea how terrifying that is, love? How dangerous it makes you?"

She tilts her head slightly, “What is? That I understand you? Is that such a bad thing?” she whispers back, “Do you not want to be understood?”

Klaus' hand slid to the back of her neck , "Understanding means vulnerability." His voice was raw beneath its lethal edge.

"In a thousand years, those who claimed to understand me either wanted something or tried to destroy me." His other hand gripped her waist. "And yet here you are, seeing straight through my carefully constructed walls, demanding I spare witches who betray me, running through dangerous swamps to ensure I keep my word..."

He pressed closer, his heat enveloping her. "You see 'just Klaus' when everyone else sees the monster. You touch me without fear, challenge me without ulterior motives." His expression turned vulnerable. "And that makes you infinitely more dangerous than any white oak stake. Because you make me want to be understood. Make me want..." he caught himself, jaw clenching as his thumb traced her pulse point.

Y/N felt her heart beating rapidly in her chest, “Yeah?” she whispers softly, leaning in closer, their noses brushing, “What do you want Klaus?” she says, looking down at his lips.

Klaus growled low in his throat, the sound pure predator, as his hand tightened on her neck with dangerous restraint.

"What I want..." His voice was lethal silk as his lips ghosted across her cheek, barely touching. "What I want would destroy everything you are. Your precious humanity, your dreams of growing old..." His other hand slid up her back possessively. "I want to keep you, corrupt you, make you as immortal and dark as I am."

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze with burning intensity, his control visibly fraying. "But more dangerously, I want..." his thumb traced her lower lip with threatening gentleness. "I want to be the man you see when you look at me. Not the monster, not the hybrid, but 'just Klaus'. And that, love, is the most terrifying desire of all."

Y/N honestly had no idea what to say. For once, she was speechless. She needed time ti think about what he just dropped on her. “Klaus,” she says softly, “Let’s go back to the compound. I’m literally expecting a snake to crawl up my leg next”

Klaus let out a chuckle, "Running away from this conversation, love?" His voice held dangerous amusement as he moved to open the passenger door. "Though I must admit, your ability to shift from intimate moments to wildlife panic is rather..." he paused, watching as she settled into the seat, "convenient."

He leaned in close, caging her against the seat before closing the door. "But don't think I've forgotten what almost happened here. We'll be revisiting that particular moment when we're somewhere less..." his eyes darkened as he glanced at the trunk where Mikael lay unconscious, "occupied. And somewhere with significantly fewer bayou creatures to interrupt us."

Klaus starts driving and as usual, has a hand on her thigh. This time she decided to slide her hand into his, intertwining their fingers and squeezing as she kept looking ahead.

Klaus stilled for a moment, his fingers tightening around hers as he drove through the dark bayou roads.

"Careful, love." His voice was pure silk wrapped in threat. "First you make me dance, then you embrace me, and now..." his thumb traced patterns on her skin. "One might think you're trying to tame the beast."

He glanced at her before returning his eyes to the road, though his grip never loosened. "Though I must say, your timing is impeccable - holding my hand while my murderous father lies unconscious in the trunk." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Almost like you're trying to anchor me to my humanity right when I need to be at my most monstrous.”

“But you’re not a monster” she says, turning her head to him, “you just…have a tendency to do bad things. We all do. That doesn’t make us bad people.” she shrugs.

Klaus let out a dark laugh, his fingers tightening around her with affection.

"'A tendency to do bad things?'" His voice was filled with bewilderment. "That's quite the understatement, love. I've murdered entire villages, tortured countless souls, and turned families against each other for sport. And yet here you sit, holding my hand like I'm some misunderstood hero in one of those novels you keep sneaking into my study."

His expression turned dangerously intense as he glanced at you. "You're either the bravest or the most foolish creature I've encountered in a millennium. Perhaps both." His grip became tender. "Though I must admit, your stubborn insistence on seeing the good in me is becoming..." he paused, jaw clenching, "rather addictive."

“Ah, so you admit that there is good. That’s the first step,” she says, leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes, “if you don’t mind, I’ll just close my eyes for a moment. It’s been…a long day and…I’m tired” she yawn, her voice quieting but her grip on his hand remains firm.

Klaus watched her drift off, his thumb continuing its gentle patterns across your skin.

"Sleep, little human." His voice was a whisper. "Though how you manage to feel safe enough to rest beside the most dangerous creature in New Orleans, while my homicidal father lies mere feet away..." he shook his head with dark wonder. "Your trust in me is either going to get you killed or make me..." he caught himself, jaw clenching as he tightened his grip possessively.

His eyes returned to the road, though he found himself driving more carefully than usual, avoiding bumps that might disturb her rest. "And for the record, love," he murmured, knowing she were already drifting off, "I haven't admitted to anything. Though you're becoming dangerously good at making me want to."

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Arriving at the compound, Klaus reluctantly lets go of her hand. He moved around the car with supernatural speed, opening her door gently

"Come, love." His voice was dark velvet as he lifted her with ease and gentleness. "Let's get you inside before you decide to make any more profound observations about my nature." Despite his words, his arms cradled her protectively against his chest.

He paused at the compound entrance, his expression turning dangerous."Though I should warn you - if you ever pull another stunt like today, running through the bayou alone..." his grip tightened slightly, "I'll have no choice but to lock you in that tower room you're so fond of reorganizing. And this time, sweetheart, no amount of trust in 'just Klaus' will earn you freedom."

Y/N stirred in his arms, nuzzling into him while she remained sleep

Klaus froze momentarily at her unconscious display of trust, his expression shifting through several emotions.

"Utterly maddening creature." His voice was barely a whisper as he carried her through the compound, gentle to avoid disturbing her rest. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you? Making me feel..." he caught himself, jaw clenching as he tightened his hold.

He reached her room yet found himself reluctant to set her down. “The things I've done today alone should have you running in terror." His fingers traced through her hair. "Instead, you're sleeping in my arms, making those little sounds…" his expression darkened with protective possession. "I should wake you. Make you face what you're doing to me. But apparently, even the great Klaus Mikaelson can be rendered powerless by one sleeping human."

Setting her down, Klaus goes back down to get his father’s body from the trunk, to take to the dungeon. When he arrived, to his horror, the trunk was open and empty.

His entire body went rigid with lethal fury, his eyes flashing gold as his hybrid features emerged.

"No..." The word was a dangerous snarl as he scanned the area with intensity, his senses heightened to their maximum. "No, no, NO!" His fist connected with the car, leaving a devastating dent.

His mind raced with violent calculations, but one thought dominated all others - Y/N, sleeping peacefully upstairs, completely vulnerable. "Elijah!" His voice carried deadly urgency as he vamped back into the compound. "ELIJAH!" His body vibrated with barely contained rage and... fear. Not for himself, but for the infuriating human who had wormed her way past his defenses. "Guard her room. He's loose."

Klaus blurred through the compound with lethal speed, every muscle coiled for violence as he checked every shadow, every corner.

"I will paint this city red with anyone who helped him escape." His voice was pure darkness as he pulled out his phone, sending rapid messages to his hybrids while maintaining his defensive position near her room. "I will tear apart every witch, vampire, and wolf until I find him."

His supernatural hearing strained to catch any sound of movement, any hint of his father's presence, while his body practically vibrated with protective rage."If he so much as looks in her direction..." he let the threat hang in the air, his expression promising violence that would make his previous atrocities look merciful.

He heard a scream come from her room. Klaus appeared in the doorway with lethal speed, his entire frame radiating murderous fury as he took in the scene before him.

Mikael had his arm around Y/N’s neck, positioning her in front of him

"Let. Her. Go." Each word dripped with a thousand years of violence, his hybrid features emerging as his eyes blazed gold. "Your quarrel is with me, not her." His hands flexed dangerously at his sides, every muscle coiled for attack.

He maintained eye contact with her, his expression promising violent retribution even as he calculated every possible move. "I must say, 'father', using a human girl as leverage..." his voice carried dangerous mockery despite the rage beneath. "Rather beneath the great vampire hunter, isn't it? Though I suppose desperate times..."

Y/N whimper as his grip on her neck tightens, lifting her slightly off the floor

Klaus took a step forward, his entire being radiating murderous intent.

"Careful now." His voice was deceptively soft, though his eyes promised devastating violence. "You're already dead for touching what's mine. But how painful that death becomes..." his fangs descended as dark veins crawled beneath his eyes, "that depends entirely on how gently you set her down."

He tilted his head with predatory calculation, his body tensed for explosive action. "Though I must say, it's rather poetic. The man who spent a millennium calling me weak, now hiding behind a human girl." His lips curved into a dangerous smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Tell me, does it burn you to know that this 'weak' human shows more courage in her little finger than you've managed in a thousand years of hunting me?"

“This…” Mikael shakes her slightly, “is going to be your downfall, boy.” He spits, “You don’t deserve to feel an ounce of anything other than pain.” Mikael throws her to the floor, her head hitting the edge of the bed. She immediately felt light headed, clutching her head and curling on the floor

Klaus' expression transformed into something truly terrifying, a millennium of rage crystallizing into pure lethal intent.

"Wrong choice." The words were barely audible as he blurred forward with supernatural speed, his hybrid strength unleashed in its full devastating glory."You should have killed me when you had the chance." His voice was death itself as he slammed Mikael against the wall, the impact cracking the centuries-old stone.

Even as he engaged Mikael with lethal precision, his supernatural senses remained acutely aware of her condition, her pain feeding his fury. "For a thousand years, you called me an abomination." His hybrid features emerged fully as he drove his hand into Mikael's chest, fingers wrapping around his heart  "Now let me show you exactly what this abomination can do when you harm what belongs to him."

Klaus twisted his hand inside Mikael's chest, earning a pained grunt from the vampire hunter. The expression on Klaus’s face was pained, showing glimpses of the boy rather than the man.

"You hunted me across continents, threatened my family, drove us from our home." His voice carried a millennium of bottled rage as he leaned closer, golden eyes blazing. "But touching her? That was your final mistake." His other hand gripped Mikael's throat with crushing force.

The compound walls seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his fury as he pulled Mikael forward only to slam him back again. "I want you to know something before you die, 'father'." His lips curved into a lethal smile as he realized his heart. Reaching knit his jacket and  grabbing the white oak stake, fingers wrapping around it tight as he positioned it at his heart, inserting the stake into Mikael’s heart with excruciating slowness. 

"That girl you just threw aside? She sees me as the man you never could. Sees strength where you saw weakness. And her opinion?" He twisted his hand violently. "Means infinitely more than yours ever did."

With one final surge of strength, Klaus plunges the stake into Mikael’s chest, watching with dark satisfaction as his father's body began to burn.

Klaus remained frozen for a moment, his body still vibrating with energy as a thousand years of pain and rage coursed through him.

"It's done." His voice was raw beneath its dangerous edge as he slowly turned toward Y/N, blood dripping from his hands. "A millennium of running, of looking over our shoulders..." He seemed almost lost, like a predator suddenly robbed of its hunt, before his protective instincts kicked in and he blurred to her side.

His hands hovered over her with uncharacteristic uncertainty, afraid to touch her with fingers still coated in his father's blood. "Y/N..." His voice cracked slightly, the tears he hadn't even noticed making tracks through the blood on his face. "I need you to look at me, love. Tell me how badly you're hurt." His expression was a mix of concern and lingering fury, though his usual mask of control was notably absent.

Y/N’s head was pounding, blood oozing from the area she was clutching, coating all over her hand. She sits up, her vision slightly blurry, “Are you okay?” She asks, her other hand reaching to cup his face, wiping the tears on his cheek

Klaus let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl, his hand coming up to cover hers on his cheek with dangerous gentleness.

"You're bleeding on my floor, barely conscious, and you're asking if I'm..." His voice caught as he pulled her closer, his other hand moving to examine her head wound with care. "Of course you are. Stubborn, impossible..." He bit into his wrist offering it to her. "Drink. Now. Before I lose what little sanity I have left."

His thumb traced her cheek with tenderness as his other arm supported her. "A thousand years I've waited to end him, and you..." his voice dropped to a whisper, "you make me feel more vulnerable than he ever did. Making me cry when I should be celebrating." His expression turned possessive. "What have you done to me, little human?"

As Y/N drinks, she feels the pounding and the dizziness immediately fade just as the wound closed up.

She lets go of his wrist, “blech. That’s disgusting, Klaus. Ew”

Klaus let out a startled laugh, the sound rough with lingering emotion as he pulled you closer with possessive relief.

"Only you would survive an encounter with Mikael, witness me kill him, and then complain about the taste of healing blood." His voice held dangerous affection as his fingers traced where her wound had been. "Though I must say, love, your priorities continue to be..." he paused, thumb brushing away a drop of blood from her lip with gentleness, "uniquely maddening."

His other hand cupped her face, forcing her to meet his still-intense gaze. "Now, since you're apparently well enough to critique the flavor of my blood..." his expression turned serious. "Don't you ever, EVER, put yourself between me and danger again. I don't care if it's Mikael himself or a common street thug." His grip tightened. "I can't..." he caught himself, jaw clenching. "I won't watch you get hurt because of me. Are we clear?"

“Not fair,” she pouts, furrowing her brows. “You’re acting like he didn't come to me”

At his glare, she smiles, practically jumping into his arms and wrapping hers around his neck. Klaus stiffened at her embrace before his arms wrapped around her tightly, his face buried in her hair.

“Okay, damn.” she squeezes for a moment before pulling back, looking at him, “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay? Emotionally. I know you’re physically fine. But…how are you?” I say, glancing to Mikael's burning form a few feet away

"A thousand years..." His voice was barely audible, raw with emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. "A thousand years of running, of watching him destroy everything I..." His grip tightened, almost painful before he caught himself. "And here you are, bleeding and frightened, yet still trying to tend to my emotional well-being." He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his expression a volatile mix of vulnerability and intensity.

His hand came up to trace her face, his eyes flickering to Mikael's corpse. "I should feel triumphant. I've finally ended the great vampire hunter, the man who..." his jaw clenched. "Instead, all I can think about is how close he came to taking you from me. How your blood on my floor made me feel more terror than a millennium of his pursuit ever did."

His thumb traced her lower lip. "What have you done to me, little human? Making the great Klaus Mikaelson admit to fear?"

Y/N cups his face, climbing onto his lap as they sat on the floor, “Hey, I’m still here. No use in thinking of what-ifs. I’m here, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.” She hugged him tight and honestly, she was a little thrown off. Did he care that much?

Klaus' arms locked around her with lethal possessiveness, one hand threading through her hair as he inhaled her scent.

"You say that so easily," his voice was dark velvet against her skin, "not going anywhere. As if you haven't witnessed me at my most monstrous." His grip tightened. "Any sane person would be running, yet here you are, trying to comfort the beast."

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression raw with dangerous intensity. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me? How terrifying it is to realize that after a millennium of building walls, of trusting no one..." his thumb traced your cheek with predatory tenderness, "one stubborn, foolish, beautiful human has made me feel more in weeks than I've allowed myself to feel in centuries?" His other hand splayed possessively across her back.

Y/N smiles, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose, “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up”

Klaus froze at the innocent gesture, his expression shifting and settling on something tender.

"You..." He stood in one fluid motion, keeping her secured against him with supernatural strength. "You are either the bravest or most reckless creature I've encountered in a millennium." His voice was silk as he carried her toward the bathroom, deliberately stepping over Mikael's corpse. "Kissing the nose of a blood-covered hybrid who just committed patricide." He shook his head with dark wonder. "Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised - you've been defying all logic since the moment you tried to steal from my study."

His grip tightened as he set her on the bathroom counter, caging her in with his arms. "I should warn you though, love..." his eyes gleamed, "that level of fearless affection toward someone like me... it's rather dangerous. Might give a monster ideas about keeping you forever."

She brings her hands to his face, one hand cupping while the other caresses his face gently, “Agan, you’re not a monster. Not to me. You’re anything but.” she looks at him with a tender expression

Klaus caught her wrist gently, turning his face into her palm as his eyes closed briefly.

"That's precisely what makes you so dangerous, little human." His voice was soft as his other hand cradled her face. "A millennium of being the villain, the monster under everyone's bed... and you look at me like..." he opened his eyes, the intensity in them almost painful. "Like I'm worthy of such tenderness."

His thumb traced her lower lip, his body caging her against the counter as if afraid she might disappear. "Do you know what happens to people who see good in monsters, love?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as he leaned closer. "They either die tragically... or the monster becomes so possessive, so consumed by their light, that they never let them go." His grip tightened slightly. "And I've already decided I won't allow anything to happen to you."

Klaus suddenly pulls back, turning to grab a cloth. Y/N's breath hitches at the sudden loss of contact. She composes herself as he turns back

Klaus returned with a dampened cloth, his movements deliberately measured as he stepped between your legs again.

"Let's get you cleaned up first," his voice was softer than usual as he began gently wiping the dried blood from her temple. "I may be immortal, but even I need a moment to... process." He focused intently on his task, using it as an excuse to gather his scattered emotions.

His free hand rested on her knee, thumb moving in absent circles as he worked. "A thousand years I've waited to end him, to be free of his shadow." His eyes met hers briefly, showing rare vulnerability. "Yet somehow you've made that feel secondary to ensuring you're safe." He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "How do you do that? Make the great Klaus Mikaelson forget about revenge in favor of fussing over a stubborn human?"

She smiles sheepishly, “I don’t know. Maybe annoy him to the point where it would be a shame for him to kill me.” She shrugs, “who else would make him want to pull his hair out?”

Klaus' lips curved into a genuine smile, rare and unguarded as he continued cleaning her face.

"Ah yes, your particular talent for driving me to distraction." His voice held warmth beneath its usual dry tone. "Though I must say, love, reorganizing my study seems rather tame compared to tonight's adventures." He paused, thumb brushing her cheek with unexpected gentleness. "Perhaps I should have let you keep color-coding my grimoires - might have been less stressful than watching you face down Mikael."

Setting aside the cloth, he leaned his forehead against hers with uncharacteristic weariness. "You know, in a thousand years, no one has ever..." he hesitated, struggling with the admission, "no one has ever asked if I was okay after facing him. Everyone always assumed I was either fine or..." he let out a soft laugh, "too much of a monster to care. Leave it to my impossibly stubborn assistant to worry about my feelings while bleeding from a head wound."

She just smiled, “What did you want me to do, Klaus? That was the first thing that popped into my mind after ‘my head hurts like a bitch’” she lets out a soft laugh. Klaus cann’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face, looking at her.

They just simply look at each other for a few moments

“Listen to me,” Y/N says firmly, breaking the silence, “as long as I breathe, you will always have someone to ask about your well-being, to ask about you, to…care” she whispers, looking into his eyes

Klaus' breath caught, his hands coming up to frame her face with startling tenderness.

"You have no idea what you're promising, little human." His voice was rough with emotion as his thumbs traced her cheekbones. "As long as you breathe..." he repeated your words softly. "That's the crux of it, isn't it? The terrifying limitation of your humanity." His eyes searched hers, showing rare vulnerability. "How do you do this? Make me feel such..." he struggled with the word, "joy at your care, while simultaneously filling me with dread at how fleeting it could be?"

He drew back slightly, one hand moving to trace where her wound had been. "For someone who claims to be clever, you're making quite dangerous declarations to an immortal who's already far too invested in keeping you." His voice held a hint of his usual playfulness, though his eyes remained serious.

She rolls her eyes, chuckling, “Keeping me? what am I, a cat?” She reaches over for the cloth, taking it in her hand and wiping the blood from his face. She can feel his eyes on her as she works silently

Klaus remained uncharacteristically still under her ministrations, his usual restless energy settling into something quieter.

“In all my years, I don't think anyone has ever..." he trailed off, catching her hand gently as she finished. "Even my siblings, after our worst battles... we'd heal and move on. No one ever thought to..." He seemed almost mystified by the simple act of care. "You continuously find new ways to undo me with the smallest gestures, love."

His other hand settled on her waist, thumb moving in absent circles. "I should be planning how to announce Mikael's death, consolidating power, dealing with the inevitable political fallout." His lips quirked in a small smile. "Instead, I'm sitting here, letting a beautiful human fuss over the blood that would have vanished on its own and finding myself entirely unwilling to move."

“Then don’t move” she says softly, placing the cloth down, “we can deal with all of that tomorrow. For now,” She places her hands on the sides of his neck, “you should get some rest. It’s been a long day. Yeah?”

Klaus leaned into her touch, his usual sharp edges softening.

"Ever the voice of reason," he murmured, eyes closing briefly. "Though I doubt sleep will come easily tonight." He opened his eyes, studying her face with unusual openness. "Would you..." he paused, seemingly struggling with the request. "Stay? Not for any nefarious purpose, just..." His hands tightened slightly on her waist. "I find myself rather reluctant to let you out of my sight after today's events."

He quickly added, trying to maintain some semblance of his usual control, "Of course, if you'd prefer your own room, I completely understand. I imagine nearly being killed by my father isn't exactly conducive to wanting company."

“Klaus,” She says with a smile, “of course, I’ll stay with you. In fact, I insist. Last time I fell asleep in my own bed, I woke up to a hand around my throat” she jokes before hopping off the counter.

Klaus' expression darkened momentarily at the reminder before softening as he caught her hand.

"Not your finest attempt at humor, love," he said softly, pulling her closer. "Though I suppose I should be grateful you can joke about it at all." He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"Fair warning though - I may have developed a rather inconvenient protective instinct where you're concerned. Don't be surprised if you wake up to find me checking your breathing."

He guided her toward his bedroom, his hand resting protectively at the small of her back. "I should probably mention that I've never actually..." he cleared his throat, showing rare uncertainty, "shared my bed for purely sleeping purposes. A thousand years of paranoia makes one rather... selective about moments of vulnerability."

“Yeah?” she says innocently, “what else have you shared it for?” she asks before snorting, “I’m just joking. Don’t answer that.” she sticks my tongue out in disgust

Klaus let out a genuine laugh, the sound holding real warmth as he shook his head.

"And here I was, about to give you a detailed historical account spanning a millennium," his eyes sparkled with renewed mischief as he pulled back his covers. "Though I must say, that particular expression of disgust is doing wonders for my ego." He moved to his dresser, pulling out a soft henley. "Here, unless you'd prefer to sleep in clothes covered in both our blood."

He turned his back to give her privacy, a surprisingly gentlemanly gesture. "You know, most people would be too terrified to tease the Original Hybrid after the day we've had. Yet here you are, making jokes about my bedroom history and pulling faces like an impudent child." His voice held unmistakable fondness beneath the mock offense. "I'm beginning to think I've completely lost my fearsome reputation where you're concerned."

Klaus can hear the soft rustling of Y/N changing my clothes, “Long gone” she teases, sliding under the covers. “Now get changed too and join me.” She lays her head down on the pillow

Klaus turned, his expression softening at the sight of her in his bed wearing his shirt.

"Demanding little thing, aren't you?" He changed quickly, supernatural speed making it nearly instantaneous. "Though I suppose I should be grateful you're not trying to reorganize my pillows by shade." He slid under the covers with careful movements, as if afraid to disturb her.

He lay on his side facing her, maintaining a respectful distance while still close enough to reach out if needed. "You know," his voice was quiet in the darkness, "I've spent centuries making sure no one would dare command me to do anything. Yet here you are, ordering me to bed like a mother hen, and I find myself..." he paused, a hint of wonder in his tone, "completely willing to comply."

She grins, “yeah? Think I can command you to change the cushions of the courtyard seating area or am I pushing it?”

Klaus' lips twitched with amusement as he propped himself up on one elbow.

"And there it is - your true agenda revealed at last." His free hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "First my study, then my bedroom, and now you're eyeing the courtyard. I should have known you were playing the long game, love." His voice held playful warmth. "Though I must say, plotting interior design changes while in my bed is a rather bold strategy."

He settled back down, his expression growing softer in the dim light. "Tell you what - survive the night without reorganizing my pillows by thread count, and we can discuss the courtyard tomorrow." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But if I wake up to find you've color-coded my closet, there will be consequences."

“Yeah yeah. Threats threats and more threats” she yawns, closing her eyes, “don’t you get tired?” she whispers

Klaus watched her sleepy expression with tender amusement, his usual sharp edges completely softened.

"A thousand years of threatening people, and you've managed to make it sound as tedious as a grocery list," he murmured, shifting slightly closer as her breathing began to even out.

His hand moved to rest lightly on her waist, protective rather than possessive. "Sleep, little human. I'll keep watch." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "And perhaps tomorrow I'll pretend to be properly outraged when you inevitably suggest redecorating the entire compound."

She lets out a soft laugh, “Just don’t yell at me too much when you do. I don’t think I can handle you yelling at me,” she murmurs, eyes still closed.

Klaus' hand tightened briefly on her waist, a flash of guilt crossing his features at the memory of past outbursts.

"No yelling," he promised softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles against the fabric of his shirt. "Though I reserve the right to dramatically roll my eyes when you inevitably suggest pastels again." His voice held gentle teasing, masking deeper emotion. "I do have a reputation to maintain, after all. Can't have the supernatural community thinking I've gone soft just because one stubborn human has me wrapped around her finger."

He watched her peaceful expression in the darkness, speaking more to himself than her. "Besides, I'm finding it rather difficult to summon any real anger towards you these days. Even when you're being impossibly vexing with your organizational schemes."

“I knew you liked the pastels idea” she mumbles

Klaus let out a quiet chuckle, the sound warm and genuine.

"I will deny that accusation until my last breath - which, given my immortality, means you'll never win this argument." His fingers absently played with a strand of her hair. "Though I must admit, your persistence is... endearing. Even if it means I'll spend the next century explaining to everyone why there are powder blue throw pillows in the Original Hybrid's compound." His voice held a mix of resignation and fondness.

He shifted closer, drawn by her sleepy warmth. "Rest now, love. You can continue your mission to soften my aesthetic tomorrow."

“Good night Klaus” she whispers

Klaus keeps his eyes open, just looking at her and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. How could he bring himself to look away?

"Goodnight, little human," he whispered, though he knew she was already drifting off. "I should be plotting revenge, celebrating victory, asserting dominance..." his voice was barely audible. "Instead, I'm lying here, counting your breaths, terrified by how peaceful you look in my bed. How right it feels."

He fought against his instinct to pull you closer, maintaining the small space between you even as every fiber of his being urged him to wrap you in his arms. "You've made quite a mess of me, haven't you?" His confession was silent in the darkness. "The great Klaus Mikaelson, reduced to a sentinel watching over a sleeping human who dares to suggest pastels in his home... and finding himself hopelessly enchanted by every moment of it."

After a few moments, she opens her eyes, smiling when their eyes meet. “You have pretty eyes,” she whispers.

Klaus' breath caught, momentarily stunned by her unexpected awakening and disarming comment.

"And you," he murmured, fighting to maintain composure despite being caught in such an unguarded moment, "have an absolutely terrible habit of catching me off guard with these devastating little observations."

He studied her face in the dim light, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. "You should be sleeping, not making dangerous statements that make me want to..." he trailed off, catching himself. "Well, let's just say your particular brand of sleepy honesty is rather testing my self-control, love."

Y/N looked down at his lips for a moment before closing her eyes back, scooting closer so her head was tucked under his chin, relaxing fully

Klaus froze momentarily at her bold move, his body tensing before slowly relaxing around her.

"Brave little thing," he whispered into her hair, finally allowing himself to wrap an arm properly around her. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" His voice was rough with emotion as he drew her closer, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head.

He pressed his lips gently to the top of her head, inhaling her scent. "Sleep now, sweetheart. I've got you."

His thumb traced soothing circles against her spine, his own breathing synchronizing with her despite not needing to breathe at all.

"Though we will eventually need to discuss your alarming tendency to render me completely defenseless with these innocent little gestures."

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Thank you for reading. Feedback? I’d love to know what your fav part of the series is so far.

taglist: @vavafaure1994 @nicolettesdreamworld @holyredemption @ariesandwolves @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[yoroshiu]

Sora: Self-Esteem, Or Lack Thereof

I legit got struck with many thoughts when I woke up and decided to write an essay instead of going back to sleep. As in, this one's another long one ToT

Making Kingdom Hearts Stuff Until KH4 Comes Out (Day 13)

This is a topic that has been brought up a lot as of late but I found myself wanting to talk about it after reading some comments from some KH videos I was watching.

Specifically in Sora’s sacrifice scene in KH1 and his breakdown scene in KH3, it was interesting to see people say that they had just realized how low his self-esteem actually is, and I thought to myself, it must be interesting for them to look back and see how far back this feeling goes for him. I had my own thoughts as a result.

Sora grew up in Riku’s shadow. In the words of both of them, they agreed on the belief that Riku was the better one between them. It makes sense that Sora from the get-go had already taken blows to his self-confidence.

This is only added onto when it’s revealed that Sora was “just the delivery boy” for Riku, leading to the loss of the keyblade (which, for one, alongside the title of “Hero of the Keyblade” gave him a lot of confidence/assurance) and Donald and Goofy. This is a moment that stuck with him as shown in 358/2 Days is a memory that makes Roxas cry (in the same way seeing the Twilight Town trio made Sora cry). And while this is mostly supplemented by the manga/light novel adaptations mostly, Xion’s frustration in her encounter with Riku is reflective of that moment for Sora (especially in the manga).

In the perspective of the audience, Sora getting the keyblade back is a show of his own will and strength of heart. But in his eyes, since Donald and Goofy came back just a bit before, this is probably where the idea that his strength coming from his friends gets cemented. For him, the keyblade chooses him because he chooses to support others, which we will see rear its head in 3D.

One of the things that kept grabbing my attention when watching people play through 3D is when they get to the part where Sora says “I know the keyblade didn’t choose me, and I don’t care” because that ends up warranting confusion, and they usually say “but he was chosen though?” This is where that perspective thing shows up.

3D spent a notable amount of times mentioning how Sora isn’t the first choice. How the keyblade moved down the list (Riku to Sora), how the Organization moved down the list (Riku to Roxas to Sora). Xigbar even makes an attempt of mentioning such before Sora says the Thing. In Sora’s view, he wasn’t chosen for being special or having some kind of power but he was chosen because, in his eyes, his purpose is to help “those it [the keyblade] did choose.”

Even at his most confident (as he was on that KH2 victory high), he never viewed himself as “chosen” due to being worthy from his own merit.

And it doesn’t help that after 3D strips him of his power, he gets poked and prodded at for losing it. And that constant loss of power is something he’s aware of (“It’s always like this” line in Japanese). Others have mentioned it in other posts before, but Sora’s mistakes and failures weigh more heavily on his mind than the others who see his strength and victories over all else. Sora knows that he doesn’t understand everything and only does what he feels he can do in the situation for others. It’s kinda like everyone else sees him through these rose-tinted glasses (he gets through everything with a smile, he follows his heart /pos) but for him, he’s clawing through and following his heart /neg.

"It's okay, it's always like this."

This is all the buildup leading to his breakdown. It’s very in line with him, and it’s so fascinating seeing people realize that. Sora’s relationship with his self-esteem, alongside his trauma, are much more subtle arcs compared to other characters. It’s very much due to his style of coping being repression and smiling through everything until he can’t take it anymore.

This isn’t even taking into account other moments of his perspective like how he kinda blames himself for Donald and Goofy leaving him in KH1 (he puts it as “they had to leave” or that “they were separated” (in Japanese), never that they left or abandoned him. He usually doesn’t blame his friends if they’ve hurt him before. There’s even the tangentially connected topic of him being dehumanized.

Sora is both very straightforward and complex in his presentation and writing, just as his series is. His relationships with others are actually pretty complicated and are both the reasons for his strengths and his weaknesses (he and Riku alone are a whole doozy, being each others reasons for improvement but also their downfalls). Sora’s mental health is and will continue to be a topic of interest for me as we go into the next saga.

Someone please get him a nice hot cocoa and proper therapy…

[leohunter2020]

" yeah Violet needs to make this official so I can meet the two of ten, the girl sounds so adorable and he sounds like a good fit but I can't tell without knowing him, well actually I can cuz you approve and you read people like children books, you know the one where each page is like so think you and hard, like almost from a cardboard... you know what I mean?" he said trying to explain but had no idea what they were called " the once that have like huge letters and very few words" he then stated trying to explain how good he felt Isaiah was at reading people. " but oh my god, can you imagining Aid a big brother? that's just the cutest thing ever. i want that for him, I think he would be a really good big brother" Leo then added

" no, it really does give me super powers, once its off my mind cant focus on whats important, but those things are clear as a day when I'm out on a call. Once I leave the fire station I feel like... like...." Leo wasn't sure how to explain it. e didn't wanna say broken, or that he was a pace of shit, but he often felt like that. He often felt like a bad husband because of all the setbacks and extra trouble he put on Isaiah, and at times, feeling like such a failure of a husband really pulled him down. He didn't know how to express it, he knew Isaiah didn't see it like that, and those were the days Leo put up his walls an hid in bed all day, lying that he had a terrible headache or that he just didn't feel good. That kind of was true, he felt terrible emotionally. He had voiced this once at therapy, but he had decided never to do that again, it just made him feel even worse about it. The therapist had only kept saying his emotions were valid and that he just needed to find a way to talk to Isaiah about it. That only frustrated him even more with himself. " that's just temporary and then they go home and.... " leo was starting to breathe a bit unevenly, trying not to lose his cool but the water was fighting his eyes "What if I just.... what if our kid needs us and I just freeze? that if he needs us and I can't get out of the bed in the morning? what if I'm out with our kid, and randomly have a panic attack? what if.... what if" leo felt his mind spiraling and he couldn't put his words into sentences, it was all bundling up into a mess. He quickly looked away, he couldn't look at Isaiah when he was like this. Isaiah didn't deserve all this second-guessing. " I'm sorry" he then whispered.

" im not okay with it. I don't want you to have to ask and look for approval every time. Its so frustrating" Leo admitted but he knew Isaiah had enough patience for the both of them and that made everything so much easier. Leo took a deep breath " I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to get so.... frustrated. its not your fault. " you are so loving and caring and respectful and.... all the good things baby. I really do appreciate you, you know that right?" he asked biting his lip. If square one was what they needed, which it was, leo was going to put in so much effort to move up fast. Leo might not like to be in control, but he lived having a voice and be herd, even tho it might not be 100% verbally, Isaiah got his body language so well mapped down.

After saying Isaiah hadnt, Leo douted himself, Isaiah most likely had, Isaiah always complimented him for everything. but in the moment Leo couldn't remember so no was the answer he was rolling with. Isaiah had gotten Leo in the mood right now, he wanted nothing more than his husband. " yeah Zaya, I want you to make love to me please" the young man begged his husband

Leo longed for his husband's touch, his husband's warmth and love. He could never get enough of it. Isaiah made him feel like the most important human alive. He made him feel safe and adored. Leo knew that with Isaiah everything was more than okay, he knew his man would read his signs when Leo couldn't get out the words. His man might not run out of turning buildings with people over his shoulder, but his man saved many lives every single day, Leo being one of them. The police job was far from easy, Leo knew that, he knew the toll it could take on his husband, both physically, mentally and emotionally. But his ban was so strong and leo had promised to always e there for him no matter what he needed, he would do everything he could to support him.

Isaiah had the man breathing unevenly from pleasure as he tried his best keep cool. " how?" Leo didn't feel like his brain was working properly at the moment, his mind kept going to what Isaiah was doing and how amazing it felt. Leo couldn't help but pull ever so slightly on his husband's curls motioning him to come meet his face. the purring had only made him want his husband's love even more. " your patrol car would be so freaking hot, but I am not about to get you in trouble, ever. Thats work, we don't do things there." he said... before his mind drifted to the countless of times they had snuck off at work to have sex. In the shower, in the broom closet... pretty much everywhere they wouldn't get caught... or less likely at least " okay.... never mind, I take that back.... but no not your patrol car" he chuckled a the thought " i´m impatient today, I want you right here, right now" he told him softly. " I want your love baby" he expressed

Feeling his husbands hand on his dick and feeling his body move so their faces met in a soft and sweet kiss got Leo smiling, he really did know all of leos signals. Feeling Isaiahs nose brush against him earned Isaiah an even bigger smile. " oh baby, that wont be a problem, its just you and I in this world, and our moment" he stated, Leo always did get lost in their love making. All his worries washed away.

" oh baby, your not the only one, I need you so bad, I need you all wrapped up in me. "

Isaiah loved that his husband wanted to protect his best friend too. Violet and Leo being close made his heart happy because those two people were the ones that kept him from sinking time and time again. "Reign's got the cutest little girl. She's a little bit younger than Ayd is." Isaiah could remember Reign bringing his daughter to work one time. He'd gave the little girl a cupcake there to make a good impression. Nala seemed appreciative and had smiled so widely back at him.

He could see his husband's mind spiral as he started to think about the future that might happened between him. He seemed to be questioning if was fit for fatherhood which seemed bizarre to Isaiah. Isaiah got to witness first hand how his husband was around Violet's kid when he stopped over for a sleepover here. He was so playful, endearing and creative without even having to think about it all. "Once you take the uniform off you are the exact same person, babe. The uniform doesn't give you superhero powers. That's all on you." Clark Kent was still Superman - even when he wasn't clocked in. Isaiah knew the reasons why his husband was questioning all this. Isaiah and Leo's childhoods were different. He grow up with loving parents and a big brother that he admired and worshiped. Leo, on the other hand, had a dreadful experience. His parents were horrible. The experience that he went through shaped him into the person he was. "What makes you think you aren't? I see you around all our friends kids. I see you making them smile, comforting them, loving them."

Isaiah reached out for his husbands hands as Leo told him that he knew he loved him and wouldn't do anything to hurt him. That was right. He wouldn't dream of rushing Leo into do anything with him. Conversations were important. It was a starting point between them. "I'm okay with picking up from square one again as long as you are. You know I wouldn't do anything without you telling me it's alright." Leo's consent was the most important thing in this relationship. Isaiah knew his husband hadn't always had the option to give it out which is why he always checked and then double checked.

Isaiah furrowed his eyebrows because he should've told his husband just how great he looked from this angle countless times in the past. Those other times were missed opportunities and he wouldn't make the same mistake again. His husband deserved to be complimented. Feeling the other's hips buck up to meet his mouth meant whatever he was doing was working. "You want me to make love to you?"

Sex with Leo had a deeper meaning to Isaiah. He could remember wanting to bring the hot firefighter home with him that first night their paths crossed when he watched him saving somebody else life. Isaiah could remember watching the scene from his patrol car, practically drooling, eyes focused on the man looking like an action hero with fire blazing behind him and another man thrown over his shoulder before placing him down. He looked so strong and brave. Leo didn't always see himself like that but Isaiah did all the time.

He continued going down as his husband to him all hot and heavy. "How'd you want it this time?" That conversation was one of the most important between them and he always asked to make sure he wouldn't accidentally do something that might trigger his husband. His husband's hand clenching between his curls had him purring. Isaiah was big on having his husbands hands guiding him slightly. "Here? Upstairs? In the backseat of my patrol car?"

He let his hand take over from his mouth for a couple of seconds as he leaned up slightly to kiss his husband again. His nose brushed against Leo's showering him with his love and patience and kindness. "I want us to make love and I want you to not be able to stop thinking about it. I want just the thought of it to get you like all like this." His thumb swiped over the other's member as he watched his chest rise and fall.

"I need you."

[callia-evergreen]

god i really want to get back into making cosplay/costume stuff but everything sounds overwhelming i dont even know how to articulate why its just. i havent actually done it very much and its hard

i usually get my mom to help me figure out how to do this stuff but its like. she has a full time job and even less of a clue than i do at making this kind of stuff. (other than sewing which she has mostly just made clothes)

id love to try to figure out how to do this stuff on my own or maybe find some people to actually help or at least to takl about it with or SOMETTHING but theres like. not really a community locally and im betting that even if there were regular meetups id do a horrible job of actually showing up if it wasnt something mandatory like school

i feel like im always overestimating how much i can do and how well i can do it and so even when i make something cool its still sorta frustrating.. and mostly its just so much work and then i get relatively little use out of it too

i dunno i have several projects i still need to finish and many many more that ive never started. lol. but i still feel like maybe it would be cool to try to do something. i feel like i want to make some dragonish type thing like horns or tail or something but i feel like i dont know where to start. maybe horns would be more doable cause tail seems like it would need a whole fuckin thing underneath to stay on, and apparently people just use headbands for horns? ive only ever made small forehead horns but big ones would be cool maybe but they seem difficult to balance and have them stay on

sorry this is probably hard to read but i just need to type this shit out somehwere to actually think about it i guess. screaming into the void or whatever with the small chance that someone might actually see it and maybe be able to offer some advice i dunno.

i know theres templates online for some of this stuff but it would be nice to be able to figure it out myself too. to be able to make stuff in more specific and different shapes and stuff

[starry-bi-sky]

yall ever think Shen Yuan went through like, internet withdrawal after being transmigrated into Shen Qingqiu? Like, he's canonically a NEET shut-in who did nothing but spend his time online, you can't tell me that for the first week or first few weeks of being SQQ he wasn't twitchy.

Like, reaching instinctively to his pockets for a phone that wasn't there, having an obsessive itch in the back of his mind that he should check and see if X or Y novel or webcomic has updated -- only to realize he can't anymore and being irritated by it. Wanting to go and see if there's new posts about this or that, but again realizing that he can't.

When he's bored or uncomfortable or just feels like wanting to escape he tries to go for his phone to distract himself, but oops! Not there anymore, and now he has to find a new and different way to distract himself from his feelings. And going through system notifications, quests, etc only does so much.

And there's that Tetris Effect too. SQQ makes a mistake while writing and instinctively goes to backspace on it except hey-ho that's not a keyboard and now he just dipped his pinkie into a bottle of ink or on a still-drying letter.

With him scrambling to fix his reputation and learn how to be a peak lord, I think his abrupt cold-turkey from all things internet would just be another straw on the camel's back that he promptly Ignores until it goes away on its own after he acclimates to his new surroundings.

[phagodyke]

aouuugh my uterus......

[dcviated]

He actually found it a pretty apt comparison. Wasn't she just as blood thirsty? The young man still feels the sting on his shin. And, well... Zelda could be considered a number of different things, Zachary realized. Perhaps, however, Bombchu would remain most apt. With how energetic she was, it sure seemed to fit. Though, typically people would run from Bombchus.. here he found himself. Time after time.

Following along after her.

The foray served its purpose. Most of his frustration found itself assuaged by the destructive force of the rather formidable alley. Like most people, Zach had never thrown a bombchu before let alone a bomb. So, seeing those devices zip their way around the walls and down the floors was equal parts frightening and incredible.

Zelda had gotten the bulk of the plays, having her allowance as large as it was, but Zach did good for the one round he did play near the end. Though he- just like Zelda, found himself walled by that bizarre little bird and the sliding traps from the grand prize. It took a certain discipline not to spend all of his own savings on the game.

Still. Frustrating that may be. It helped him forget Fulk for the time being. Leaving the establishment his expression was brighter, the wrinkle in his lip one of calculating rather than self-loathing. Green gaze flits over to Zelda, as she recounts the better parts of their endeavor. He finds himself smirking before he replies.

"I mean, I'd like to- but practicing with bombchus isn't exactly practical. Where do you even get your hands on those things? I'd like to know, to be honest.." He huffs, knowing that the royal guard wouldn't have anything along those lines. Swords and shields. Some lances. But bombs? Tch.

Zelda begins to dash away, but before she's out of arm's reach- Zach catches her by the wrist. Where his expression had been pensive, now- at least for that fleeting moment- it was concerned.

"Oy! What'd I say about making my job harder? Don't run off without me. I gotta keep my eye on you, y'know. Especially since it's getting later." He sighs, falling into pace and only releasing her hand once it was matched. And he was confident she wouldn't dash again.

"Listen, I'm.. glad you-" He mulls his words. "-decided not to go back. Don't worry about paying me back for any of this. We can just grab some treats that I can bring back to my sis, and that'll be more than good. I think. And then I'll escort you home."

Finding a shop that offered treats might be difficult this time of day. With everything winding down, there's only a variety foodstuffs store that seems to be available. Dang. Had they really spent that much time in the alley? Not that he regretted it, but... oh well. There'd be tomorrow for the other things, wouldn't there?

And besides. Then he wouldn't have to worry about Zelda.

She puffed out her cheeks indignantly, "I'm not a cuccoo and that's a bad comparison anyway. Cuccoo's are blood thirsty beasts if crossed the wrong way." Zelda just felt a bit dejected as all. Was this really what Zach dealt with from the other knights? She knew he was one of the few commoners among the ranks, but she had never predicted he would face scrutiny for being the knight closest to her. Being Royalty was rough...

Luckily Zack seems intent upon forgetting the encounter and enjoying the game. It left Zelda with much to ponder, but he had been kind enough to escort her out here. She can't just dejectedly go running back with her tail between her legs now.

A nod as she followed him inside. The game was as chaotic as expected. They went for several rounds, and Zelda had a surprising amount of fun once she got really into. Although, she kept getting stuck at the last round where you had to avoid blowing up a rather stalwart cuccoo.

It couldn't be real, right?

Her bad mood was seemingly forgotten by the time they had finished, and they had managed to at least win one small prize. A haphazardly made ceramic charm of a bombchu.

By the time they exited the building the sun was tinged in orange and the liveliness of the market had seemingly dispersed for the day.

"--Oh but when you whirled around and managed to bomb the second wall that one time while avoiding the razor was really cool! You should teach me how to do that sometime!" Zelda exclaimed excitedly as they walked back from the entertainment district.

There's a pause as she stops.

"...Oh we should go buy some snacks and stuff before the shops close for the evening. I did promise to buy you lunch. C'mon." Zelda says, remembering her earlier promise before darting off ahead, assuming Zach would follow behind.