#rewatching these clips just to feel something

[sabrinasprincess]

i recently rewatched the classic achievement hunter olympics videos and this part of geoff failing to throw the shotput always makes me cry with laughter

[thegirlinprague]

it's always ily and never itrysbwih

[mrpenguinpants]

Omg you're back again hello 👀 how have you been????

Big mood on the "man I wish this author would finish their fic" LOL I've been rereading my own wiring recently and going wtf. Where's the rest of it?

For a limited time only babyyy

But I've been good. Extremely busy but it's okay, the pto is worth it. That's what I keep telling myself at least :) but how are you??? Is anything interesting happening? New developments perhaps 👀

The funny thing is that I've actually been talking with a few mutuals, and they've all told me that they recently went back to re-read their drafts. Maybe it's something in the air or we're all feeling a bit nostalgic? Or because everyone is on break since it's summer.

[dnpbeats]

can i say smth,,,, i feel like the sound effects in the vid yesterday were a little overdone like they're funny if they happen every once in a while but if dan or phil is making a joke/face/whatever and then a noise goes go off every time i feel like for me personally it kinda distracts from d&p's natural funniness 😭😭😭

[moinsbienquekaworu]

How have I been in fandom for - going on 8 years (?) and not gotten into fanvids before?? All the association I could have been making.... All the memories.... All the composition and clever editing....

[mbirnsings-71]

I'm just saying if anyone ever asks me for fic recs you have to be very clear what you want me to recommend because my bookmarks are a mess-

[thefabelmans2022]

there's a certain genre from the early 2000s of reboots of children's media from the 50s-80s that were critically panned but hugely beloved by me and seemingly every other person my age and i'm not sure if it's because we were children at the time and nostalgia is clouding our view or if they were genuinely good and just ahead of their time in a way.

[p1astr81]

nothing special

in which: Franco’s flirting with the journalists almost causes him to lose something dear.

pairing: Franco Colapinto x journalist!fem!reader

warnings: angst, fluff (at the very end), Franco being clueless and stupid, borderline emotional cheating, not proof read (sorry!!), use of y/n

an: sorry this is so late I’ve been sick and it’s also exam week. n e way, ty to everyone who has been patiently waiting ♡︎

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *

Franco was a flirt. It was in his blood. It happened without him even thinking about it. Like an instinct. Everyone was sure that flirting was his fuel, like it was his coffee in the morning.

You always thought his persistent flirting during interviews was quite funny. You would remain professional while he tried every trick in the book to get you to break. It never happened, and it massively intrigued him.

He begun to purposefully flirt with you, and eventually worked up the courage to ask you out.

That was two months ago, and you’d been dating since. You thought your relationship was good, and while it may have been too early to say, you felt secure. Well, up until your conversation with Marie.

Marie, one of your journalist friends, walked along with you through the paddock. “Franco has a serious flirting problem. I thought he would have stopped after I agreed to that date with him but I think if anything, he’s more persistent.” You laughed, but it actually worried you a little. While there wasn’t any threat to your position yet, you felt a looming anxious feeling that your boss would eventually do something about his very public displays.

“Oh that’s just him. He flirts with all of the journalists.” Marie let out a small chuckle. Your face fell, your steps faltered. “What do you mean?” You were hesitant with your inquiries. Her words insinuated a fact you did not want to face. “Well, you didn’t think it was just you, did you? I know you’re dating and all, but before that—and even now—he still flirts with like all the girls.” Marie spoke to you in a tone that suggested the fact was common knowledge. Maybe it was, but you still weren’t aware of it.

You felt totally blind sighted. Betrayal twisted in your gut, swirling the contents of your lunch and threatening to force them back up. “I’ll… I’ll catch up with you later.” You fumbled to excused yourself from the conversation and ran the last few meters to your car.

In the solitude, you didn’t know what to do. Were you to scream? Cry? Curse the air? “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” You chose to be angry, hitting the steering wheel with every word. “How could you be so stupid?” You grip the wheel, your head falling forward to rest your forehead on the top of the faux leather. “Of course this would happen.” You laugh pathetically to yourself. “Of course!” You gasp, tossing yourself back against the seat. Your arms thrown out to the side. “He’s hot. He’s famous now. I’m just a journalist!” You had not realized you started crying until the hot streams steadily flowed down your face. You flipped the visor down to peer at yourself in its mirror. “Why would he want you?” You stare through your own eyes, trying to find an answer to your question, but doubt had already infected every region of your brain and you couldn’t see past it.“Stupid.” You muttered under your breath, and shoved the visor back up.

In silence, you drove yourself back to your hotel. You just wanted to shower the events of the day away, and bury yourself into your notes.

As you were flipping through your notes and rewatching the clips from the prologued media day, your phone began to buzz.

You left him on read. His obliviousness had started to irritate you. It wasn’t fair to you. He couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t have you and still flirt with other women. It was borderline emotional cheating.

He was one floor away. You could confront him in person, but you had no proof. You had no proof. It hit you then that you were believing Maria’s words without an ounce of proof, just a belief on the base of friendship. You opened a new tab on your laptop, quickly searching Franco’s name. You selected the first video of him that came up, a spark of hope in you that Maria had been lying.

However, that spark quickly diffused. Within the first twenty seconds of the interview, Franco was flirting with the journalist. To make matters worse, she was a journalist you were acquainted with, one you knew he had seen you chat with on numerous occasions.

You were just another journalist. You were nothing special to him.

This time, it wasn’t betrayal that overrode your senses. It was anger that ignited a fire in your stomach. Anger at the audacity. Anger at your own stupidity and obliviousness. Anger at this acquaintance.

You shut the laptop in one forceful shove.

———

Friday came quickly after a tireless sleep. You stood in the media pen as the drivers gave you dull answers to your questions about free practice. It didn’t affect you that much, as your eyes kept drifting to find the boy adorned in his deep blue fireproof shirt.

Often times your eyes only absorbed his bored figure, his eyes darting everywhere but the journalist who was wringing him for answers. The other times though, you’d caught him in the act, his body language unmistakable. The kind of body language that could only be accompanied by flirty words and that charming smile—which only ever made an appearance when he was flirting.

Dread burdened you, weighing heavy on your heart. “You okay?” Alexs body was stretched past the barrier, and he asked the question lowly so the mic wouldn’t pick up his voice. You realized you’d left him in silence for more time than what was considered professional.

Alex and you have gotten closer through your relationship with Franco, nearly close enough for you to comfortably call him a friend.

“Yeah, sorry. Spaced out.” You laughed, trying to brush it off, but the sound came out nervous and laden with the dread that caused your heart to ache.

Alex wasn’t stupid. He’d followed your eyes and seen the disappointment that clouded your expression. He refused to comment on it then and there, only bringing it up to Franco in private.

“Did something happen between you and y/n?” Alex questioned his teammate. They stood together in the back of the garage while the team finished up their duties for the day. “No. Why? Did she say something to you? I think she’s avoiding me.” Franco spoke quickly, hoping to squeeze an explanation out of his teammate.

“She didn’t say anything,” Alex started, to which Franco huffed. “But when she was interviewing me, she was completely zoned in on you, but she looked…” Alex tried to find the word to describe your expression. “Upset? Like with the look on her face, my first thought was that the two of you broke up.”

Franco scoured his memories for whatever event would have caused you to act in such a way. To look at him with such an expression. He could only shrug, completely clueless. “I don’t know. But last night she was making excuses not to come over, and this morning when I asked her if she wanted to eat breakfast together, she made more excuses.” Your distance frustrated Franco. Sure, he saw you in the media pen, and in the paddock, but he had to keep things somewhat professional there. He couldn’t be affectionate.

Alex sighed and clapped Franco on the shoulder. “I think you’re gonna just have to corner her, mate.”

———

It was not his intention to be creepy. But by standing outside what was seemingly a random person’s hotel room, he definitely achieved that.

You rounded the corner of the hotel’s hallways. You were rapidly typing something on your phone, unaware of his presence just a few meters away.

To not startle you completely, he softly called your name. Your footsteps ceased, your eyes wide as they stared at him. After a moment, your expression changed from one of shock, to one of distaste. From where you stood, you dug your keycard from your bag. You ignored him, brushing past him to let yourself into the room.

He stopped the door before it closed on him. “Y/n come on. You’ve been avoiding me all day.” Franco pleaded with you. You laughed bitterly. “Yeah, it’s on purpose.” You muttered, tossing your bag onto the bed. “But why, amor? What have I done?” He followed you with his eyes, watching as you stood as far away from him as possible. “You’ve made me look like a fool!” You exclaimed. Your eyes, glaring at him with a terrifying level of ferocity, were covered with a sheen of tears.

Franco’s expression twisted into a look of confusion, which only fueled your fury. “How- I don’t understand?”

“You’ve been flirting with every other journalist! And everyone sees it. Do you realize how humiliating that is for me?” A tear ran hot and slow down your cheek. You didn’t bother wiping it away.

“Flirting with…” Franco sighs, “the only journalist I flirt with is you.” He took a step forward, but didn’t dare to progress any further as your hand shot up to stop him. You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I was really hoping you’d just own up to it.” You tell him quietly, your disappointment palpable. You took your laptop from the back, typing something quickly. “Tell that to the videos.” You tossed the laptop on the bed to face him. He watched his own face on the screen as he flirted with a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend.

Franco never even realized he’d been flirting.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I had no idea.” He confessed. She laughed at his apology. “No idea? Come on, you can think of a better excuse than that.” She shot back harshly. She crossed her arms over her chest, physically closing herself off from him.

“I’m honest!” He pleaded. “It was fully accidental. I would’ve never done that to you on purpose.” He shook his head with fervor, trying to make her understand. “You remember how I was when I flirted with you! I was a mess, fumbling over my words.” He continued, but it did little to convince her.

She shook her head. “Just leave, Franco.” She instructed, her voice quiet but firm.

He froze. His heartbeat slowing to a dull, stagnant rhythm. His body felt heavy, as if someone replaced all of his blood with lead. “Are you— ending this? breaking up with me?” He shook his head, not wanting to believe it himself.

She considered the question for a moment. “No. But I need time.”

“So… a break?” Franco’s voice cracked.

“I don’t know.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Just go, please.”

“Y/n-“

“Franco.”

The firmness in her voice got his body moving again. The last thing he wanted was to upset her, so he did as she requested. Without another word, he exited her hotel room.

———

It had been week. A long, agonizing, painfully lonely, and miserable week.

He missed her texts. The morning and night ones, and all those in between. Including the daily updates about whatever seemingly mundane activity she was conducting.

He missed her voice. Her laugh. Her jokes.

At least he got to see her face, even if it was from across the paddock. Even if it hurt him. It hurt him to see you. His stomach lurched, a crippling pain blooming inside his stomach at the sight of you. On top of that, it felt like someone had a white-knuckle grip on his heart.

It made him come to the scariest of realizations, one he would never admit this early on. Especially not when things between you two felt over.

To make matters worse, you had to interview him.

“Quite a decent Friday for you and the team. Do you think you can continue the momentum into tomorrow?”

It was terrifying to him, the way you looked right through him. Like he was every other driver here. Like he was nothing special to you. He pushed down all of his feelings, forcing himself to be professional for once.

“Uhm,” unwillingly, his voice cracked. He quickly cleared his throat. “Yeah, definitely. I think the car is well suited for the track, so we’ll definitely try and get through to the last of qualifying tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Franco.” He frowned, usually you’d have more than one question for him. At least three at the minimum. But you’d turned around and started conversing with your camera guy. He supposed it made sense, but it still hurt.

———

Somehow, Franco went the whole weekend without cornering you and forcing you to give you guys a label, whether it be broken up or on a break. He needed a definitive name for what was going on. He needed you to define the boundaries.

So he found you in the paddock club, sitting by yourself with a coffee cup in front of you. Silently, he took the empty seat across from you. You looked up, and took a shaky breath at the sight of him. You tried to stand and bolt out of there but he was quick to grab hold of your hand. “Y/n, please. I just need to know what we are now.” He pleaded, his voice so low that you nearly missed his words.

You glanced at your surroundings. “Can we go somewhere more private?” You felt too exposed to have this conversation here. Too many peering eyes. Franco nodded quickly.

He led you to his driver’s room, the thought to lock the door crossing his mind but he didn’t want to freak you out, so he kept the lock undone.

“I don’t know what we are.” You confessed with a deep sigh. “I know, and that’s killing me.” Franco muttered and sat on the physio bed. “I don’t know if I can talk to you, or text you, or call you, or even look in your direction.” He fiddled with his fingers. Like he said, he wasn’t sure if he could look at you.

You leaned against the wall across from him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You hurt me. You humiliated me. You made me feel like I was worthless. Like I was nothing special to you.” The disclosure wasn’t intended to hurt him, or incite pity in him. You just wanted him to understand.

He nodded. “I know. I know. And I’m so sorry for that. It was fully my fault and I can’t change what I did, and I know that. And you’re so so special to me. More than you know.” It was impossible to describe just how much he cared for you without dropping those three little words on you. “If you want to break up, or want a break, I get it. But I- I don’t want that.” He met your eyes. His big brown eyes silently pleaded with you. His puppy look was always impossible to resist.

You pushed off the wall, stepping to stand in front of him. “I don’t want that either.” You told him honestly. His big brown eyes looked up at you and glimmered with hope. “But it might take me a little time for me to trust you again.” A subtle smile outlined Franco’s lips. “So… we’re still…?” He was hesitant with his words, leaving the labels up to you. “Boyfriend—girlfriend?” You suggested. His smile broadened. He gave a subtle nod.

“Yes.” You answered simply.

[ennn]

Hold the fuck up, this isn’t a real trial.

In retrospect a number of things about the episode, especially the coven's characterisation felt off... and now on rewatch I'm pretty certain this isn't a trial of the Road at all – it's the Salem Seven punishing Agatha.

Clues under the cut with some spoilers from future scenes in trailers / promo clips.

Clue #1 – No screen aspect ratio change

As @wolfcracker points out, for the two previous trials the screen ratio changed once they entered the place (going full screen). We didn't get that for this cabin.

Clue #2 – No phase of the moon decoration at the entrance

We've had these obviously built into the previous trial entrances but there's no sign of one for this cabin.

The coven's so panicked getting chased by the locusts they don't notice it running in. The door is made of wooden planks with tiny gaps in between and you don't see a sign of any moon on the other side either.

Notably, in a trailer and promo shot, you see the moon featured prominently again for an upcoming trial, when Agatha and Billy cross a stone bridge structure and approach an entrance (presumably of the tower).

Clue #3 – Each trial has an element, this cabin doesn't

This was something that seemed odd even before this episode, we saw five weird horror movie-trope settings – assumed to be trials – in posters and promotional materials but there are only four identified elements for the Road.

Sure you could have more moon phases (like we do irl) but the Ballad that is central the show only mentions four elements: fire, water, earth, and air.

Our first two trials had strong ties with an element: if you failed you'd be killed by that element or something associated with it i.e. drowning or burning.

Now from the promos, an upcoming trial with the anti-gravity effect going on in a tower fits well with the air element. And the threat of death here is associated with going into the air (spikes in the ceiling).

Notice from the flying forms that this trial does go full-frame like the first two we certainly had (clue #1).

Another upcoming trial we know of (that looks like a morgue or asylum-like place) can be linked with the earth given that we see rocks and earth falling in a shot. Death by crushing earth.

This cabin had no element associated with it at all. The threat of death was by... Agatha siphoning your magic? Or in the case of Agatha, to be tortured forever by her mom?

Clue #4 – The trial area doesn't necessarily keep out the Salem Seven

From the promo shots of presumably the air trial (see above), we clearly see the Salem Seven in the tower attacking them. Why then did Locust and the rest of the Seven leave them alone in the cabin when they were right behind them?

Other sus elements

OK, these are more ambiguous and could be the result of bad writing but here's the other stuff in this "trial" that just seems off

The coven turns really really quickly on Agatha and viciously. And they literally just rode broomsticks where it's mentioned it's "about selflessness" and "we fly together or not at all". I mean yeah the people might lie but they were enough of a team that the magic for the broomsticks worked.

The trial's instruction was to just "punish Agatha"? That's oddly specific and pointed. Previous trials had the entire coven in danger (e.g. everyone had to drink the poison). Between this and the above point it feels like someone is mad at Agatha for killing lots of witches over the years. Some people like the Salem Seven.

The trials so far have tested the witch's ability in the craft (potion-making, protection) and how they work together. How does punishing or sacrificing Agatha align with the Road's test of "Burn and brew with coven true / And glory shall be thine" -- which we were just reminded of last week.

Jen calling and dismissing Billy as a familiar is... more mean-ness that I'd expect. You could make a case for her disliking Agatha, but the amount of venom in this moment towards the boy for trying is surprising considering she was trying to watch out for him not too long ago. Of course, it could be her frustration and fear in that moment boiling over.

Pretty much everything at the end after Billy snapping and going all dark and vengeful.

Ultimately we don't know what the Salem Seven can do. Sure they shriek like Nazgûl but turning into animals isn't the most threatening thing? So, bad writing and copium or is this show being truly tricksy and reality-bending?

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 19: Sex tape

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), spanking, p in v sex, dirty talk, implied pre/no breakout, if I missed anything please let me know!

You looked directly into the camera when Joel pushed into you.

It wasn’t about putting on a show; it was about creating a show with your naturally occurring responses to his actions.

And based on how easy it was for Joel to pull a reaction from you, it would be quite the display when all was said and done.

“Li’l old for that…” He had hesitated when you brought the idea to him. “Bad for business.”

“No press is bad press, Joel,” you waved off his reluctance with a laugh. “And it wouldn’t be—we wouldn’t put it anywhere. It’s just…a nice thing, for us. To look back at all the ways we make each other feel good.”

You’d never do anything to make him uncomfortable, and if he truly put his foot down, said it was a bad idea and that he wasn’t happy with the concept, you would have let the conversation end there and never brought it up again.

But maybe it was the cool summer air, the waning heat and the beer in his hand; maybe it was because he liked the idea of being able to pull up a clip of you moaning for him whenever he liked; maybe it was just because he loved you—in any event, he smirked, rubbing a calloused hand over his face.

“Alright, sweetheart. Convinced me,” he turned to you, holding eye contact as he sipped his beer. “But I get to decide what, uh—the positionin’.”

You had smiled up at him, cheeks warm.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Joel propped the camera up on the dresser so that it filmed everything that happened on the bed.

And it did film everything.

His fingers had explored every inch of your skin, groping and squeezing you in his characteristic, gently merciless way.  

He’d eaten you out for half an hour, pulling whines from you and soaking his face in your slick.

He made sure to pick the camera up when he used his hands, pointing the lens at your cunt when he slid two fingers into your soaked hole before panning up to your face—the way your eyes rolled back when he hit your tender spot was something he wanted to be able to replay as often as he pleased.

When you went down on him, he put the camera on the edge of the bed, making sure the video captured your lips wrapped around his cock as you knelt between his legs, and the way your tits looked when you let your drool dripped down your chin and over the pillowy flesh.

Joel couldn’t believe he had ever had doubts about this. The fact that he would be able to rewatch himself fucking your face could’ve been enough to make him cum down your throat right then and there.

But he held back until he had you on all fours, facing the camera that he had placed so purposefully back on the dresser.

You moaned lowly when he thrust into you, your body still reeling from the way he’d used his mouth and hands.

Joel tugged at your hips, pulling you onto his cock in slow, deep drags. The tip nestled against your cervix, and the dull pain blossomed into something irresistibly sinful.

You let your head drop, arms all but giving out beneath you as you pressed your face into the mattress.

“C’mon, princess—” Joel rumbled behind you, reaching down to tug you up by your hair, “Smile for the camera, sweetheart.”

You let him manipulate your body, bringing your head back up to force your face into the camera. The pace of his hips increased, and you whimpered through a lazy, desperate smile.

“’At’s it. Tell ‘em how much you love gettin’ fucked,” He tightened his grip on your hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling. “Tell the camera how much you love this cock, princess.”

“Fuck,” you breathed, his words going straight to your core and working to emphasize the pressure of his thrusts. “It’s—I love it. I love getting fucked, I love it.”

“I said tell ‘em how much you love this cock,” his hand left your hips for a moment, coming down on your ass with a snap before he regained his grip on your side. “How much you love my cock—go’head and say it.”

“I love your cock, Joel, I fucking love it—feels so fucking good. Stretches me so good, I love your cock.” You were whining, rolling your hips in an attempt to match the way he rocked into you.

He laughed, squeezing your side and plunging his cock in and out of you at a ruthless pace.

“Yeah, you do,” he groaned behind you, “You fuckin’ love this cock, ain’t that right? Do anythin’ for a chance to have me fuck you real good.”

“Y—es,” your whimpers were broken, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock to form coherent sentences.

Joel let go of your hair, and you whined as your face fell forward onto the bed.

“Keep lookin’ at the camera, sweetheart,” he growled out, “Show the camera how pretty you look cummin’ f’me.” With his newly free hand, Joel wrapped his arm around you to knead your clit in quick circles.

You complied with an eager moan, craning your neck to press your cheek into the mattress, eyes gazing up towards the camera lens. Your pupils rolled back, the pressure from his fingers and the stretch of his cock as he continued to pound into you becoming too much for you to handle.

You came with a cry of his name, arching your back as you clenched around his cock.

“Shit—fuck, yeah,” Joel’s hips stuttered when you squeezed around him, so tight it was almost too much for him. “Show me how much you love my cock, princess, fuckin’—Christ, good girl.”

When you’d stopped trembling, your breath returning in small puffs rather than hectic gasps that carried his name, he pulled out of you.

He moved off the bed to grab the camera, and it was then you realized his depraved intentions.

“C’mere, on your knees,” he fisted his cock with his other hand, “Keep your mouth shut.”

With heavy limbs, you tried desperately to scramble to your knees. It was unceremonious, you looked as though you’d forgotten how to move your body, still hazy with lust, but you managed to position yourself on your knees in front of him.

Joel zoomed in on your face as he continued to fist his cock.

“Show me that smile, baby,” he groaned, gritting his teeth as he tried to stave off release for just a moment longer. “Ask nicely for my load.”

“Please, Joel,” you batted your lashes at the camera, adding showmanship to your degeneracy. “Want your cum. Want you to cum on my pretty face, please.”

Joel grunted, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut before spilling onto your face. He looked down at you to see his spend drip down your cheeks in thick trails, taking his cock and rubbing the tip against your stained skin.

You poked your tongue out, licking at whatever fell near your mouth, and Joel groaned at the sight.

“Pretty.” He breathed, giving the camera one last glimpse before he stopped the video. He threw it onto the bed, quickly returning his attention to you.

He put his hands beneath your arms, hauling you up until he could help you tilt yourself back onto the bed.

You laughed softly, reaching up to explore the gluey mess on your face. You swiped your finger through his spend, skin sticking to skin, and pushed it into your mouth.

Joel ogled you, watching as you played with his cum and eagerly lapped it up. He leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your sticky cheek and licking a stripe up your face to collect anything you missed.

“Told you,” you sighed, “Told you it would be fun.”

“Mmh,” he grunted against your jaw. “Never said it wouldn’t be.”  

You hummed in response, letting his tongue trace over your skin.

“Gimme the camera,” he murmured into you, “Watch it with me.”

You reached for the device, placing it onto your stomach where he could grab it.

“Right now?” You asked, intrigued by his impatience and urge to watch the video just as you had stopped filming.

“Right now,” he kissed your temple, grabbing the camera. “Then we’ll make another.”

[gilbertscurls]

Heyyy so i could get this request where reader is triplets bsf since they were young and reader did vid with them on car like who knows reader better and fans notice how Chris looks at her and makes edits of them both and the eventually confess their love and thank youu

hope you like it!! <3

Sparks Fly ➵ Chris Sturniolo

You’d known Chris Sturniolo and his brothers for as long as you could remember. Growing up with triplets meant your life was always a whirlwind of laughter, chaos, and inside jokes that no one else could understand. Chris had always been your person, though. Even when you were kids, he was the one who sat with you during movie nights, who remembered your favorite candy, and who sent you memes late at night just to make you laugh. He was your best friend—the kind of friendship that made everything feel easy.

That is, until recently.

The three of them had started their YouTube channel a couple of years ago, and it blew up faster than anyone had expected. You were always around, whether it was helping them brainstorm video ideas, holding the camera, or appearing in their challenges. You’d been in a bunch of their videos, just another one of the guys. That’s how it had always been: you, Matt, Nick, and Chris. But lately, things had changed. Or maybe it was just you who had changed.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you realized you had feelings for Chris—real feelings, the kind that made your stomach flip whenever he smiled at you, the kind that made your heart race when his hand brushed yours. Maybe it was during one of your late-night conversations when he opened up about his dreams, or maybe it was when he laughed so hard at one of your jokes that he snorted. Either way, your feelings were undeniable now, and it terrified you.

Because this wasn’t just any guy. This was Chris. Your best friend. And if things went wrong, you could lose him.

But then there was that video—the one that had changed everything.

It was one of those classic “Who Knows Me Better?” challenges. Chris was in the backseat of the car, next to Nick, while you sat up front, turning around every now and then when you asked ridiculous questions about yourself. “What’s my favorite snack?” “What movie do I quote the most?” It was silly, fun, like every other video you’d done with them.

But when the video went live, the fans saw something you hadn’t.

Within hours, the comment section exploded.

“Is anyone else noticing the way Chris looks at Y/N? 😍”

“Chris is definitely in love with her, right? Or am I imagining things??”

“The way he smiled when he got the answer right... I’m SCREAMING!”

You scrolled through the comments, heat rising to your cheeks. What were they talking about? You and Chris were just friends. That’s all you’d ever been. But when you rewatched the video, you couldn’t unsee it. The way his eyes lingered on you a little too long, the way his smile softened whenever you spoke. It made your heart ache with a hope you weren’t ready to face.

And then the edits started.

Fans put together clips from all the videos you’d been in with Chris—the little moments you hadn’t noticed before. Him reaching out to help you down from a ledge, the way he would always sit next to you without thinking, how he’d glance at you between takes, like you were the only person in the room. It wasn’t just the fans anymore. Even Matt and Nick started teasing him, dropping hints about how “someone” had a crush.

It was overwhelming. You spent days replaying every interaction, every look, every smile, trying to figure out what it all meant. Did Chris really feel the same way about you? And if he did, what would that mean for your friendship? You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, of ruining what you had. But it was getting harder and harder to ignore the growing tension between you.

One afternoon, you found yourself at their house again, just like always. You and Chris were in his room, lounging on his bed, the afternoon sun spilling in through the curtains. The air felt thick, charged with all the unspoken feelings hanging between you. He was scrolling through his phone when he let out a soft groan.

“Ugh, the fans are relentless,” he muttered, glancing over at you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your heart was already racing.

He turned his phone to show you. It was another edit—this time, it was a montage of every time he had looked at you with that soft, almost dreamy expression. You felt a lump form in your throat as you watched it. It was undeniable now.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “They really love their shipping, huh?”

Chris laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, they do. But… it’s kinda weird, isn’t it? I mean, we’re just friends.”

Your heart dropped. There it was—he had said it. Friends. That’s all you were, all you ever would be. You felt your chest tighten, and you were about to brush it off, make some joke to change the subject, when Chris spoke again, his voice quieter now.

“Unless… I don’t know. Maybe they’re not completely wrong.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “What do you mean?”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his blue eyes filled with uncertainty and something else, something that made your heart pound in your chest.

“I mean… maybe they’re seeing something I’ve been too scared to admit,” he said softly. “I don’t want to mess this up, but… Y/N, I think I’ve been falling for you for a while now. I just didn’t want to ruin what we have.”

Your mind was spinning, trying to process his words. Was this really happening? Did Chris just say he had feelings for you?

“Chris…” you started, your voice barely a whisper. “I—”

“I know it’s a lot,” he interrupted quickly, his cheeks flushed with nerves. “And if you don’t feel the same way, we can just forget I said anything. I don’t want to lose you, Y/N.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, Chris, that’s not it. I… I’ve been trying to hide it too. I’ve been scared because I didn’t want to lose you either. But the truth is… I’ve had feelings for you for a long time.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, the kind that made your heart skip a beat every time.

“Really?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

You nodded, feeling the weight of all your fears finally lift. “Yeah. Really.”

Before you could say anything else, Chris leaned forward, closing the distance between you. His lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss, and it felt like everything you’d ever wanted but had been too afraid to hope for. The kiss was sweet, filled with all the unspoken feelings that had been building between you for so long.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were smiling, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything made sense.

“So,” Chris said, his voice light and teasing, “do you think the fans are gonna freak out when they find out we’re actually together now?”

You laughed, your heart full. “Oh, they’re definitely going to freak out. But I don’t care. I’m just happy we finally figured it out.”

Chris grinned, pulling you into another kiss, and you knew, without a doubt, that this was the start of something incredible.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69

[athforskz]

How To Ruin Designer - Hwang Hyunjin

Masterlist

pairing: idol Versace prince Hyunjin x afab reader

wc: 1.7k

type: requested. Smut with little plot.

warnings: mention of alcohol consumption, fingering (f. rec), unprotected, anal play, foot play, anal penetration (f. rec), squirting. MDNI! I think that’s it?

not proof-read

a/n: This was inspired by when Hyunjin admitted he was drunk at the Versace after party. Rewatching those clips were so much funnier after finding that out 💀

Enjoy lovelies!

There was a feather light tickle on the crown of your head that made your eyes flutter open. It was Hyunjin peacefully sleeping, his chest pressed against your back and his face buried in your hair. The sun made your vision a little blurred as you came to, the memories from last night flooding back. You were still in last night’s dress, it being tight and uncomfortable to sleep in, but you looked stunning according to everyone else at the event. The after party left you and Hyunjin more than a little buzzed which explains being mostly clothed and barely making it to the bed last night. You rubbed the heel of your palms to your eyes as if wiping the remaining sleep from your face.

You went to move, but halted once Hyunjin groaned and pulled you closer. As tempting as it sounds to stay in bed with your beloved all day, you felt an overwhelming need to get out of last night’s dress and shower. If you were uncomfy, you could only imagine how restricted Hyunjin felt in his tight leather pants.

You went to move again then froze instantly, your butt pressed against something hard. Oh, that’s right… he didn’t feel all that restricted because his pants were halfway down his thighs. Your dress was halfway above your butt, and you could feel the tip of his hardened cock peek through the waistband of his boxers. No wonder you felt like your panties were out of place. You both may have been drunk last night but that definitely didn’t stop either of you from getting in a quick session before passing out.

With your cheeks thoroughly blushing, you tried once more to untangle yourself from your boyfriend’s form, “no leaving.” You startled at his gravely morning voice. When did he even wake up? “Hyune, I just want to get out of these clothes. I feel gross.” You immediately felt his hands slip along your back to reach the zipper of the dress, “what are you doing?” you inquired.

“What does it look like? You want it off so we’re getting it off.” He said matter-of-factly. You could practically hear the side-eye in his voice. “Well I wanted to take a shower too,” you murmured while scooting your way off the bed. His hands grabbed either side of your hips and pulled you back so forcefully that your upper back was flush with his toned chest. “I told you, no leaving. We can shower later, my love.” He mumbled with his lips kissing along your exposed back.

You couldn’t help the little moan that escaped once his lips made contact with your exposed skin. Your body was always more sensitive the morning after a night out. Maybe it was because of all the adrenaline previously rushing through your veins? Nevermind that, Hyunjin was making himself busy rubbing his hands down your hips to the front of your thighs, then snaking them up under your hiked dress.

“Jinnie, we can’t.. I’m still sore,” you weakly protested. Thighs snapping closed to shut out his hand, the action making him groan. “C’mon doll, ya know I can make you feel better. Wouldn’t you like that baby? I promise I’ll be gentle.” His voice was like velvet, so deep yet so smooth in the mornings. You’d do anything he says when he talks to you in that voice; well you would do anything for him regardless, but that’s beside the point. “Open up for me… that’s it,” he praised as you barely spread your legs for him to allow access for his slender fingers to reach that sweet cunt of yours.

Hyunjin’s touch was feather light as he ran his fingertips through your slick folds. Some of his cum from last night had leaked out of your entrance allowing his movements to be even more slippery than usual. “Fuck- Hyune,” you gasped once his middle and ring finger breached inside your walls. “Mmh?” He groaned as if asking a silent question while kissing along the curve of your waist, his tongue poking out of his mouth to trace your form. Hyunjin’s fingers repeatedly delved into your fluttering pussy in time with the languid strokes he circled onto your clit with his thumb. “T-too sensitive,” it came out as a whine. “I know baby, I know.” He marked each word with a kiss.

The hand that wasn’t working your core was free to push up your dress even further. The pesky piece of clothing getting in the way of your lover's next goal: your ass. Once exposed, Hyunjin sunk his teeth into the supple flesh causing your back to arch and your legs to kick. You took the opportunity to place the sole of your foot directly on his hard leaky tip. He hissed as he grinded his hardened length into your heel, the friction making his eyes roll back temporarily.

Even during his humping of your foot his hands never stopped their mission in pleasuring your body. He curved his fingers that were in your heat to massage that spongey spot that drove you wild and pushing you closer to the edge, “ah g’na cum p-please~” you bit your lip to keep from screaming. “Yeah? Go on, doll. Cum on my fingers,” Hyunjin pistoned his digits at a steady pace, but what sent you over the edge was the feeling of his warm wet tongue pressing against your tight rim. Your orgasm washed over you thoroughly causing a scream to rip from your throat and juices to gush into his palm.

“So fucking good, love.” He said with his tongue still lapping at your puckered hole, but you didn’t quite hear him because your head was in the clouds and your body seemed to turn into putty in Hyunjin’s hands. You hadn’t even noticed when he stopped and moved your body down so your butt pressed along his solid cock. The humping he did on your foot earlier had caused his boxers to fall further off his hips, now he had full access to you. Hyunjin’s heavy breath mirrored your own as he ran his member through your still gushing pussy. Every few strokes the tip would catch on your entrance causing your breath to hitch. You thought he’d eventually push in to your clenching heat, but he had other ideas.

Once his cock was thoroughly wetted he lined himself up, “babe, no please.. it’s still sore,” you pleaded half-heartedly. Hyunjin let out a snort, “won’t be the only thing that’s sore, baby.” You could hear the smirk in his voice and before you could grasp what he meant, it was too late. The end of his cock breached your other hole, making the both of you moan in unison. It’s not like this was the first time you and Hyunjin had done anal, but it was the first time you had done it with little to no prep. Regardless, you were very accustomed to Hyunjin’s dick and he knew your body would be able to adjust fine; that’s just the kind of trust you had in each other. Plus, you had an established safe word if it was actually too much.

“So damn tight, doll- fuck,” he groaned while sinking ever so slowly into your second entrance. You squealed as his cock filled you so well, anytime he was fully seated inside you your brain and body felt nothing but burning pleasure. Hyunjin was such a romantic that every time you both got intimate with each other the passion would be off the charts. He grabbed your chin, turning you back to connect your lips. Once adjusted to his full length you began circling your hips, Hyunjin swallowed every moan you let out.

Hyunjin lifted your top leg placing it back on his hip then used the same fingers that previously pumped your pussy to rub at your bundle of nerves. He started pulling his pelvis back to pump into your tightness and match your pace. Wet skin smacking echoed throughout the room along with his grunts, the sounds of sloppily making out, and your muffled moans. Each time you’d fully connect he could feel your ass jiggle on his lower abdomen and somehow that’s what drove him feral.

Hyunjin picked up the pace chasing his high while still drawing messy circles on your clit. You pulled away slightly from his mouth, still close enough to breathe each other’s air while whining louder at his assault on your tight hole. “H-hyune, baby slow d-down,” you whimpered. You reached a hand back to lightly push at his lower abdominals to tell him to ease up but really you didn’t want him to slow down. He knew you didn’t because you were so close and he could tell. “But you’re taking me so well. I know you wanna cum, baby. You always cum so hard when I fuck your sweet tight ass.” He stated with a rough smack to your butt then gripped it firmly. His other hand that was circling your clit slapped your wet pussy over and over again making your body ever closer to snapping.

As if on queue your body shivered and white hot pleasure enveloped your senses causing both of your holes to flutter and clench. The spanks to your clit making you squirt. You heard Hyunjin groaning behind you as he released, flooding your ass with his cum. Hyunjin hid his face in your neck to catch his breath before moving. Your body was still shaking with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Both of you are covered in sweat.

A few minutes pass and his cock softens enough to pull out without causing much fuss. Hyunjin looks at where you two were previously connected and takes in the mess you two have made. “I don’t think Versace is going to want these pants back,” he chuckled and you were mortified once you saw that your juices had not only soaked the bed but also the designer pants your boyfriend was half wearing. “Why didn’t you take him off?!” He shrugged, “not my fault I get hypnotized by my incredibly attractive muse.” You facepalmed as your blush gave away your utter embarrassment.

How were you two supposed to explain this? Oops sorry, we got kinda carried away this morning and got cum all over your super expensive designer clothes. Yeah, right.

During your inner turmoil you didn’t notice Hyunjin get out of bed. He was now standing in front of you with his hand outstretched.

“How ‘bout that shower now, hm?”

Taglist: @doitforbangchan @jehhskz

[i-am-shitpost]

I went back and watched the scene where Fearne and Ashton discuss what to do with the shard and there’s some things I want us all to remind ourselves of:

Fearne explicitly says “if I do have any say in it, I think it should go to you. I don’t know if I want it.” And goes on to say that she feels Ashton is meant to hold both pieces.

Ashton says they know that Fearne would miss them if something happened to them (this is NOT in the context of the shard, but the mission overall) and thanks her for it

Then they say “it’s nice to feel love for people. I love having you…here”

When Ashton does float the idea of them taking the shard they say “I need you to promise me that we’re going to find a way to make it happen if we’re going to do it”

When discussing the plan, Ashton continually uses ‘we’, showing that he has always considered this their plan. Together. With equal say. And she can easily say no, Ashton would have accepted that answer. It’s specifically an “IF” question.

Ashton asks Fearne explicitly that if it goes wrong to “Please try and save my life. I’m not lookin’ to die”

This is explicitly not a martyr attempt

Ashton says he trusts Fearne more than they trust the others.

In regards to the plan, they word for word ask “Are you okay with that?”

Fearne responds “Yes I’m okay with that.”

There is no pressuring that goes along with this question whatsoever. Ashton outlines their idea for the plan, and then asks point blank.

He then apologizes for putting this on her.

Ashton also tells her “if it’s not okay it’s not your fault”

Ashton expresses that it’s nice having something to lose again, “So hopefully I won’t fucking lose it…again”

Other moments worth noting:

in the scene in Percy’s laboratory, Ashton says that “[they]’d like to feel safe…for once” when discussing how they’d like it to just be them and Fearne.

After getting kicked in the face and yelled at, Ashton immediately tells Fearne “that’s probably fair” holding no anger or resentment and validating her feelings as much as they could in their current state.

It was not manipulation. Fearne was not coerced. There were no double meanings. Ashton was straightforward as always. It wasn’t a recklessly planned or naive decision, they both felt this was the right call. It was not a martyr attempt either, Ashton did not want to die. But they felt this was the right call for the mission, so they stepped up and put their own neck on the line.

Ashton was being himself in a very stressful and gut-wrenching way, but it was not malicious or twisted. It was just terrifying.

Edit: I have removed a note about a comment made when Ashton kissed Fearne, I had misremembered the timing and delivery and hadn’t seen a clip of that scene circulating to rewatch yet, only the clocktower. Other than that, everything is accurate.

[justlemmeadoreyou]

the hot-for-teacher fantasy (ta!harry x student!y/n)**

summary: when y/n discovers her charming, handsome college teaching assistant harry styles is also a porn star, it awakens intense lust and longing. one day, harry calls her for a private study session. she wonders what he'll teach her, oblivious that harry knows everything.

words: 4k+

warnings: flirting, fluff, smut. p in v sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, kissing, dirty talk, creampie.

***

Y/N tried hard not to stare at her extremely good-looking teaching assistant during her Friday college lecture. But Harry Styles was just so hot, with his messy brown curls, bright green eyes, and perfect smile. His tight polo shirt clung to his muscular chest and shoulders. Y/N had to look away before she started imagining what he looked like without his shirt on.

"Girl, you're drooling again," her friend Liz teased in a whisper, nudging her.

Y/N blushed. "No, I'm not!"

Lately, she couldn't stop thinking dirty thoughts about the charming TA. His deep voice and confidence made it impossible for her to focus. There was something really familiar about Harry too, but she couldn't figure out what.

During the break, Harry passed back their graded essays. Y/N's breath caught when he got to her row.

"Nice work on this one," he rumbled, handing her the papers with a crooked grin and letting his fingers brush hers.

"T-thanks," she stammered, flustered by his touch and scent.

After class, Y/N rushed out, head spinning. Harry was just too much for her self-control sometimes. His flirty vibe and hints of his ripped body under his clothes made her imagination go wild.

Later that night, Y/N was scrolling online when she saw a weird tweet from her friend.

"'Who knew our former classmate had such an unexpected second career?'" she read out loud. "What does that mean?"

Curious, she clicked the link...and her jaw dropped. Short video clips played of a VERY naked Harry, putting on an X-rated show! He slowly stroked himself while staring intensely at the camera.

Y/N watched with wide eyes, feeling heated. So THAT'S why Harry seemed so familiar - he was a porn star!

For the next few weeks, Y/N tried to act normal around Harry in class while secretly reeling over his shocking second job. Every time he handed back papers or leaned across her desk, new fantasies popped into her mind of him in those porn videos.

Flashes of Harry's chiseled body and sexy pouts made Y/N shift in her seat, growing wet. She started touching herself at night while rewatching his videos, wishing his large hands were on her instead of himself.

"Hey, everything okay?" Harry asked after catching Y/N spacing out for the third time that lecture. "You seem...distracted."

Y/N snapped out of her daze, cheeks burning. 

"What? Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just a little out of it today."

Harry's brow furrowed, but he let it go and continued his notes. Y/N scolded herself - she needed to be more careful or he'd suspect something!

The semester continued torturously, with Y/N longing for the sweet yet filthy TA. She devoured every new porn clip, imagining his deep groans were because of her. Harry remained perfectly charming and professional, driving Y/N crazy.

***

One evening, he asked Y/N to stay after for help studying. Her heart pounded as they were finally alone together. Harry was dressed casually in a soft t-shirt that clung to his biceps and tight jeans that left little to the imagination.

"So, what did you need help with?" Y/N asked, trying not to stare at the bulge in his crotch.

"Actually..." Harry shut the classroom door and turned to face her with a smirk. "I know what you've been up to."

Y/N paled. "W-what do you mean?"

In one swift move, Harry crowded her against the wall, hands braced on either side of her head.

"I mean, I know you've seen my...other job," he breathed, leaning so close she could smell his sandalwood cologne.  "Judging by how distracted you've been, you must be a fan.I know what you've been up to," Harry said, his voice low. "In fact, I have proof."

Y/N felt her face flush. What could he possibly know? She racked her brain but came up empty.

Harry reached into his bag and pulled out Y/N's notebook from class. He flipped through the pages until he landed on one with "H ❤️" scribbled in the margins.

"This looks an awful lot like the little doodles I've seen pop up in the chat during my streams," he said with a raised eyebrow.

Y/N's heart pounded. He knew about her watching his porn! She opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cut her off by capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

"Wanted to do this for ages," Harry growled between heated kisses down her neck. "Could feel you eye-fucking me every class."

"Harry..." she gasped as he palmed her breast. This had to be a dream!

Y/N instantly melted against him, whimpering into his mouth. They kissed hungrily, all the pent-up tension finally unleashing.  

"You taste so fucking sweet," he groaned against her racing pulse in that smoky, ruined timbre that immediately flooded her core with fresh arousal. "Been driving me mad, pretty girl. Had to have you."

She had spent countless nights alone getting herself off to the fantasy of Harry - the casual acquaintance turned porn star she had established an embarrassingly strong fixation on. In those frenzied moments of pleasure chasing, her imagination had run wild with what it might feel like to have his large hands on her, to experience his undivided intensity and passion in the flesh.

But nothing could've prepared her for the reality. For this soft, reverent side of him she never could've pictured behind that dirty-mouthed and cocky boldness of his videos. Harry was watching her with those mossy green eyes, hooded but shining, his warm gaze flickering over her flushed face like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Y/N traced her fingertips over the sharp jut of his cheekbones, down the carved column of his throat, savouring the tickle of his rough stubble. She wanted to bottle the rich, woodsy scent of his cologne and sweat, to keep this moment perfectly preserved somehow. This exact pocket in time when Harry was focused solely on her, that made her heart swell and thighs quiver.

When she nodded mutely in response to his question, Harry leaned in to capture her lips in a slow, searing kiss. One large palm cradled the back of her skull, tilting her head for the perfect angle to lick into her mouth with slow and soft sweeps of his tongue. The other hand splayed over her ribs, fingertips trailing up to graze the underside of her breast, each pass lighting tiny sparks across her sensitive skin.

A soft keen parted Y/N's lips when Harry finally palmed her fully, the rough pads of his fingers finding her peaked nipple. His mouth instantly set to work soothing her desperate whimpers with deeper, more heated sweeps of his tongue. He continued paying homage to her breasts with laving kisses until she was writhing and panting.

"So pretty," murmured that devastatingly deep rumble. "So fucking soft and perfect for me, love."

Harry punctuated the dark praise with a sharp nip to the upper swell of one breast, soothing away the faint sting with rich swirls of his talented tongue. Y/N's back arched involuntarily, a strangled moan shuddering from her chest as the flare of pleasure echoed all the way to her clenching core which was already throbbing with need.

She grabbed at Harry's broad shoulders, tugging to seek out more delicious friction. But he seemed determined to drag this out as long as possible - their position putting her at his command as he mapped every inch of her squirming form in unhurried exploration.

His talented mouth continued blazing an open-mouthed path down her sternum, across the quivering plane of her belly, all while his callused palms held her hips in a firm, grounding hold. When his lips finally met the juncture of her parted thighs, Y/N let out a garbled keen, head thrashing against the hard floor.

Harry shushed her gently, nuzzling against her damp curls as his huge hands anchored her bucking hips in place.

"I've got you, sweetheart," he rumbled, hot breath ghosting over her sensitized flesh and dragging a desperate whine from her chest. "Be a good girl and let me take care of my pretty girl, okay?"

Y/N's chest felt fit to burst from the tangled storm of arousal, tenderness, and pure longing that seemingly came out of nowhere at Harry's husked promise to "take care of her properly."

She couldn't find the brainpower to formulate any response beyond a punched-out mewl, utterly spellbound already by the wicked promise in Harry's voice. She lay pliant and trembling as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, fully exposing her to the hot sweep of his piercing stare and the first scorching lap of his tongue against her aching slit.

What followed was a hazy, blissed-out oblivion of sensation as Harry set to work devouring her with so much focus. Focus she had only seen on him when he was in deep, grading papers. There were no more teasing licks or tantalizing nibbles - he dove in with determination, sucking at her slick folds and swirling his tongue in swirls around her throbbing bundle of nerves until Y/N was writhing and sobbing out his name like a prayer.

Her fingers twisted in those sweat-soaked chestnut curls, tugging and desperate for an anchor as the exquisite wash of sensation threatened to unravel her completely. Every breathless whine and whimper was duly rewarded with another purposeful flick of Harry's talented tongue, coaxing her higher and higher.

He lapped at her clit, one digit opening her quivering entrance to his assault. He pushed them in, while she arched her back, giving him a deeper angle. Wet noises erupted from between her legs, his two fingers perfectly anchoring inside, swiping against her sweet spot that had her whimpering like a muse.

He fucked his fingers in and out of her, the thick nerves on his arms seeming to be erupting to life. The same hands that she had imagined about, were now inside her cunt, wet and warm with how wet she was.

His other hand joined the slick heat of his mouth, cupping and kneading her bucking hips with possessive surety, it finally pushed her over the blissful edge. Y/N's whole body convulsed as her climax detonated with blinding intensity, keening gasps punched from her chest again and again on each bottomless wave of pleasure.

Through the whiteout ecstasy, she felt her hips being released. Then, powerful arms were scooping her up against Harry's solid chest, enveloping her entirely as aftershock tremors kept rippling through her frame. Her cries were instantly muffled as he kissed her, her taste lingering in their mouths as she drank him in.

"That's my girl," Harry praised, his voice almost low and aching with want. "So fucking gorgeous falling apart on my tongue like that, sweetheart."

Y/N could only whimper helplessly in response and manoeuvred herself closer to his sweat-slicked torso, shuddering at the raspiness of his voice. Large palms stroked soothingly up and down her back as she slowly came back to earth and rejoined gravity.

One calloused thumb caught a stray tear she hadn't even realised fell, swiping it away with tenderness. The gentle gesture finally focused Y/N's senses enough to really look up at Harry - and what she saw stole the breath from her lungs all over again.

His green eyes were molten and hooded, swirling with naked want but also something more profound. Harry gazed down at her with such adoration and protectiveness that another sob rose in her tight throat, heart spasming almost painfully.

"You're so beautiful," he rasped out. One large palm cradled the back of her skull as his lips found her swollen and panting mouth in a deep, searching kiss. "So fucking strong and brilliant and incredible. I've wanted you for so damn long, Y/N. Please let me..."

Y/N couldn't formulate a coherent reply. So instead she silently nodded, her assent between kissing him back with every ounce of frenetic passion burning through her and took Harry's full weight as he rolled them until she was cradled in his lap.

Their kiss turned searing and desperate as Harry skillfully discarded their remaining clothes. Y/N's strangled whimpers and whines were swallowed by his bruising mouth, her slick heat dragging against the hardness of his erection in tortuously light strokes.

Y/N instinctively sought out more of that maddening friction - rocking her hips up to meet Harry's in a desperate grind as she tangled her legs around his trim waist. The low, reverent rumble of approval he let out at her shamelessness made her entire body bloom with heat.

"So eager for me, aren't you love?" he husked against the swollen bow of her parted lips. Not waiting for a response, he sealed his mouth over hers in a lush, filthy kiss that left them both panting for air.

He teased her exactly to that tantalising edge of overwhelming bliss and sheer frustration until she was squirming and mewling into their heated embrace, nails scrabbling at the broad expanse of his sweat-dampened shoulders. At last, Harry tore away from her lips with a ragged groan, panting heavily as they pressed their foreheads together.

She was too far gone to feel self-conscious. The last threads of her self-restraint had snapped the second Harry palmed both cheeks of her ass in those huge, calloused hands and used his grip to pull her flush against the insistent jut of his straining cock.

"Wanted this for so long," he growled against her swollen lips before venturing down to scathe his stubbled jaw along the ultra-sensitive slope of her neck, leaving a stinging trail of fresh goosebumps in his wake. "Laid awake so many nights thinking about having you in my lap just like this..."

Y/N had no capacity to formulate a reply beyond a choked-off moan, hips canting of their own accord to chase that scorching friction. She wanted to whimper out, to beg him to stop teasing them both with this exquisite torment. But he didn't give her a chance, lush mouth finding her peaked nipple and suckling hard, stealing what little coherence she had left.

"Ah! ...H-Harry, please..." she panted out as sparks of both pleasure and sweetest pain lanced through her. She fisted those decadent chestnut curls tighter until he finally released her with a final teasing graze of teeth over her swollen, rosy bud.

He peered up at her with hooded, molten eyes, his pupils blown wide and inky with naked want. His mouth glistened obscenely in the low light. The sight alone nearly cleaved what little rational thought remained.

"Since you asked so sweetly..." he husked, gifting her one more searingly deep kiss before making a trail of open-mouthed licks and nibbles down the center line of her body once more. "My gorgeous girl deserves whatever she desires.Now look at me, love," he ordered, "Need to see those gorgeous eyes when I finally get to be inside my girl."

My girl.

Y/N's whole body locked up with need at his command. Their gazes crashed together in the space separating them - Harry peering down at her, mouth hanging open in blissful agony.

Holding that heated stare, he finally guided the slick blunt head of his cock to her entrance with one broad palm on her hip. They both exhaled harsh breaths in unison as he sank past that initial tight clutch, Harry's brows creasing with reverence while Y/N's mouth fell open on a choked off moan.

"You feel so good, baby, taking my cock like this," he groaned against her neck. "Wanted this pretty pussy for months."

The crude words somehow only turned Y/N on more. She matched Harry's thrusts, overwhelmed by how amazing he felt.

"You feel that, love?" he rumbled in that rasping timbre that immediately stoked the banked embers of her core back to feverish heat. "How fucking desperate you still are for me, even after falling apart so gorgeously?"

Y/N let out a helpless, pitchy noise of agreement muffled feverishly against the solid weight of his shoulder – nodding frantically as he kept up that slick, sinfully light rutting rhythm. Her entire body felt suspended in limbo, torn between too-much and not-enough with each deliberate slide of his cock spreading her wanting folds apart.

"Christ, you should see yourself right now," Harry practically purred in a haze of lust-drunk awe, swiping the pad of his thumb in a teasing circle around her revived, aching bud. When she arched into the contact with a strangled whimper, he let out a rumbling chuckle that reverberated through both their shuddering frames. "An absolute picture...and all for me."

On his final seismic stroke, the thick crown of his erection caught against Y/N's swollen, aching entrance - teasing her to the brink of shattering all over again. She let out a garbled noise that might have been Harry's name or just an incoherent plea, fingernails scrabbling at his back.

"Look at me," he ordered in a low rasp, drawing her hooded gaze up from where their damp bodies joined. Green eyes glittered with undisguised possession when their stares finally met - searing straight through her.

Holding that smoldering eye contact, Harry pressed forward with one inch at a time until Y/N thought she might combust from the sweet stretch and burn. Every shallow exhale punched from her lungs came out a choked whimper, matched by the fevered grunts rumbling from Harry's chest as he bottomed out, again and again.

Y/N's world had narrowed entirely to the joined point of their bodies, her fluttering internal walls struggling to accommodate the exquisite impalement even as fresh arousal flooded her with boneless surrender. She could only cling helplessly to Harry's sweat-slicked shoulders and lose herself in the intoxicating visuals before her - his arm muscles bunching with the strain, those ruddy, plump lips hanging open on ragged gasps.

"Fuck...f-feel so good, baby," he gritted out, words fracturing apart as his hips gave a minute involuntary roll. "Taking me so bloody well..."

A strangled cry escaped Y/N as that tiniest motion lit up every nerve-ending with bliss. Her heels dug into the small of Harry's back in a frantic bid for leverage, for friction, for anything to alleviate this keen edge between agony and rapture. He seemed to read her desperation, dropping his sweat-slicked brow to hers as he found her lips in a sloppy, uncoordinated clash of teeth and questing tongues.

Then he was pulling back in one sinuous torso-roll, finally giving Y/N what she craved as his initial retreat turned into a soul-shaking thrust that punched the air from her lungs anew. Somewhere in the spiraling vortex of sensation, she registered the harsh slam of his hips meeting her own, the strangled cry of gratification Harry loosed against her slack mouth as he set a steadily mounting cadence.

Any hope of finesse or coordination was swiftly abandoned as their shared need mounted inexorably higher. Y/N could only cling on and ride out the tide of Harry's sharp, bouncing strokes - bordering on too much even as every shuddering nerve ending begged for more, more, more...

Before long, his forehead had dropped to brace against her shuddering sternum, the rigid line of his body trembling with restrained power and exertion as his hips jackhammered with unchecked fervor. The slick, fiery noises of their joining felt loud enough to haunt Y/N's every thought from now until the end of time.

She could feel the heated pant of his breaths gusting across her neglected nipples with each punishing grind of their movements coming brutally unhinged. Every snap of his hips shoved impossibly deeper until she was seeing stars behind her screwed-shut lids, a high-pitched whine escaping with each narrow thrust mounting her up the cliff's edge.

Heat and tension built upon itself in a dizzying spiral, a thousand tingling points of rapture spiraling from Y/N's core until her entire being felt engulfed in the storm. Harry's large hand found her sweat-dampened nape and tangled in her hair, drawing her into a searing, wild kiss that only stoked things higher.

The groan he leaked into her mouth was utterly guttural and wrecked as she matched his hectic rhythm – nails dragging down the broad expanse of his quivering shoulders until her next orgasm suddenly crested with blinding force.

This time, there was no oblivion or sweet black voids of unknowing as Y/N came apart. Instead, she remained tethered to the blazing intensity coursing through every fiber, Harry's name escaping on a cracked litany as her release seemed to go on and on in pulsing waves. He swallowed each choked syllable, hips drilling her through the roaring tide until she arched clean off the desktop entirely.

Harry's broken cry of her name might have been reverent, might have been full of desperate adulation as he finally let go – thick spurts of wet heat joining the mess between their bodies as his tempo turned erratic and punishing. Y/N could only hang on with what little quavering strength remained,  drifting in the bliss of euphoria.

Eventually, the high tides ebbed and they collapsed in a sweaty, ruined heap upon the desk's surface. Both of their chests heaved like they'd run a marathon, senses struggling to reboot as little aftershocks kept shuddering through their temporarily departed forms.

Incrementally, Y/N floated back into her body and surroundings – the achingly pleasant stretch and ticklish trickle of Harry's slowly softening length, the damp cling of their overheated skin, the stark scent of sweat and sex and desperation sated. She cracked heavy lids, momentarily stunned all over again at the debauched vision of the handsome man draped over and still sheathed inside her.

Harry's summer green gaze was already waiting, twin pools of blown pupils shining through a heavy-lidded swath of mussed chestnut curls. Enraptured affection and lust battled for prominence as he stared down at her, sucking in air like a drowned man breaching the surface. When she met his eyes, he opened his mouth only to release a choked exhalation – clearly as adrift in the tide of their passion as she was.

Y/N lifted one shaky hand to paw clumsily at the damp curls framing his face, caressing his flushed cheek in what she hoped came across as reassurance. Her other arm snaked around Harry's shoulders, anchoring him to her as he nuzzled into the gesture with a shuddering sigh.

This time when he found her mouth, the kiss was slow and deep and almost unbearably tender. Their heartbeats gradually realigned as they savored the languid exchange, prolonging the hazy afterglow for as long as possible.

Harry finally pulled back to mouth a reverent path along the curve of her jaw, words rasping low and ardent against the hammer of her pulse.

"You're so incredible, love," he murmured like a hallowed oath. Full of naked adoration and something deeper that made Y/N's newly reawakened heart clench and squeeze impossibly tighter. "Knew you would be...but god, you fucking ruined me just now."

His raspy chuckle carried an undercurrent of disbelief and familiar self-deprecation. Kiss-swollen lips trailed along the sloped curve of her neck and shoulder as he continued pouring out those hushed, awed confessions.

"Don't think I'll ever look at this bloody classroom the same way again...not after feeling you come apart around me so beautifully..."

After, they lay panting on the classroom floor, limbs tangled together. Y/N traced the bird tattoos on Harry's abdomen, unable to believe this had happened.

"If I had known this is what you wanted, I would've bent you over my desk ages ago," Harry laughed, still looking deliciously rumpled and debauched.

Whatever came next, whatever questions arose about the status of their relationship or the unorthodox circumstances that had brought them here, for now Y/N was content to simply bask in the warmth and connection she felt . Her wondering heart could wait until the morning.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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[bkdk-bylerthings]

UPDATED THIS POST GO READ THE END I ADDED MORE I MISSED BEFORE

They gave us SUCH A BIG BYLER HINT in the reel that @/strangerthingstv posted on instagram today popping off with the celebration of stranger things day

Let me explain, I might be reaching with the first part of this but you never know

Credit to @pixidivine for posting about two of the frames which made me go back and rewatch the reel to analyze it more.

First part I want to talk about is Dustin asking Mike and Lucas if they are both seriously this Dense. When he says: “this dense” it lands on Mike and stays on Mike till he is done talking then goes to Lucas making Mike the subject of this.

This could mean Mike being clueless to his own feelings for Will or in season 4 of him being clueless about the lying coming from Will and that that Will likes him.

Second part, where I got the idea from which is shown in the reel RIGHT AFTER THE DENSE COMMENT:

Nancy asking Mike if the way he’s been acting was because of Will then we have Joyce saying “Ring a ding ding” like the sound of bells going off when something is correct. ‼️

They did this on purpose, because with these videos promoting a movie/TV series/anything they take clips of different scenes to put together to make a cohesive sentence so it makes sense to the subject of what the video is talking about, which in this case it’s about ST day and Rewatching ST on ST day…but is it??

That leads to my next part which is this:

There is a double meaning here that most people won’t think about.

Obviously we have the 1st part talking about the special day which is ST day, then we have Mike saying “what’s exciting about this” then Joyce says: “just watch”

Interesting because we already know ST is exciting and a good show, so good point Michael what is exciting about ST day? Hmmm HINTS and NEW N E W INFO—we don’t have to rewatch it to know that it’s an exciting show. What is exciting is what they give us in the reel, Joyce saying “Just watch” is a double meaning the front meaning MEANING to rewatch the show, the hidden meaning is to JUST WATCH THE REEL

Which gives us THE BYLER HINT RIGHT AFTER THAT ‼️ I find it interesting that all the words throughout this reel are about ST and watching it and how exciting it is but the Will comment???? That’s totally out of place!!

The order of these frames so it makes more sense, u can also just watch the video to understand what I’m trying to say:

1 “Is a very special day”

2 “It’s ST day”

3 “what’s exciting about this?”

4 “just watch”

EDIT: (4.5) “Why?”

5 “are you both seriously”

6 “this dense”

7 “I thought it was bc of will”

8 “Ring a ding ding

EDIT bc I totally missed this in the reel too omg— ok here we have a frame of El asking “why” after Joyce says “just watch”

(And maybe an interesting hint to actually go watch the 1st episode bc byler was there all along)

This is even more questioning!! Right after we get Mike’s Questioning!! It makes you want to think again, like didn’t Joyce answer Mike already with a “Just watch” why is El now asking

After “why” is THEN when we gets Dustin’s “are you both seriously this Dense”

Which is LITERALLY asking WHY THE DOUBLE QUESTION, WHY is this reel and what is the reel actually trying to tell us

Then ofc after “this dense” It’s like They give us an answer to all the questions:

“I thought it was Because of Will”

Omg so after two asks, Dustin being fed up with what ur not understanding, we get a answer

“Ring a ding ding” 🤯

OR

GO BACK TO THE FIRST EP, AND WHY??? EL ASKS?? WHY IS DUSTIN FED UP??

THEY GIVE US THE ANSWER WHY TO WATCH IT AGAIN OMG

(Sry guys I’m back tracking on my theory holy shit)

THE ANSWER WAS “I thought it was bc of will”

WHICH IS DIRECTED AT MIKEEEE

“RING A DING DING”

*slams paper on table that reads ‘byler is real’*

[mononijikayu]

criminal love — nanami kento.

"Look at me, siren." he commands, his tone steady but charged. "I want to see everything." Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, locking onto him with an effort that feels monumental. There’s a glint in his caramel gaze—intense, searching, as if he’s reading more than just the surface of your expression. “Good little siren.” he murmurs, his voice softening but no less dominant. “Don’t run from it. Let me see what it does to you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - detective au;

WARNING/S: afab!, romance, smut, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, nudity, kissing, making out, clit stimulation, rough sex, p to v sex, teasing, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (pretty man, siren, etc), characters speaking in sexual innuendo, possessiveness, betrayal, faking death, crying, drama, violence, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, guilt, angst, depression, mention of extortion, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, nanami ooc, detective! nanami kento, criminal! reader;

WORD COUNT: 20k words.

NOTE: this was roughly based on irene adler and sherlock from bbc sherlock. i ended up rewatching clips of them recently and i ended up wanting to write something about this in my own way and so i hope you enjoy it. ill probably be gone for a long while between these weeks as exam season is coming, so whatever i upload would be automated queued up. i hope you enjoy it anyway!!! i love you all!!! <3

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if you want to, tip! <3

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MUCH WAS TO BE DISCERNED, THAT WAS FOR CERTAIN. Nanami Kento was yet unsure what to feel about this case. But he knew that he’d better just keep his opinions to himself. He was a consulting detective, more than he was a spy.

And he was the first of his kind, well — he created the job. But he found that in his own line of work, he made the rules. And he’s not like a rule breaker — not unless he was bored. Which happens all too often nowadays. 

But he made boundaries. And he likes to keep within them. A consulting detective is not meant to be a populist, nor someone who expresses the biases that come with his existence. A consulting detective was a blank canvas, a mask that never tires or tears.

The mind cannot be diluted nor dulled. Not even when it comes to personal intrigue. But as he looked at your personal profile, he couldn’t help but find himself intrigued by you.

He hums, staring at your profile. There wasn’t much to tell in detail. That’s why Yaga came to him in the first place. If they had known more about you, then they would have never come to him. But it was clear to him that you were too beautiful, much like a siren.

But then again, you were a dominatrix. That was how you grabbed your victim’s attention. That’s how you got the prime minister under your thumb and how you blackmailed him. 

Still there was something about your eyes. How they were so full of walls he wanted to pierce. He’d never seen them before. Perhaps that adds to the allure he already has with you.

He was enamoured by them in his own way. Your sharp eyes glaring back at him, full of mystery. Like a puzzle.  And he wanted to solve everything. He wanted to know you, unravel you for his own desires to escape boredom.

Nanami Kento leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping him as he thumbed through the sparse details of your profile once again. His office was dim, save for the soft golden light spilling from the desk lamp. It cast sharp shadows across his furrowed brow, accentuating the contemplative set of his jaw. The rain outside tapped a steady rhythm against the windowpane, a melody of monotony he had long grown indifferent to.

He tapped a pen absently against the leather-bound notebook on his desk. "A dominatrix, a prolific criminal." he muttered to himself, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Of course. Why else would someone like you have the Prime Minister dancing to your tune?"

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. A lesser man might have judged you outright, but Nanami Kento wasn’t a lesser man. Judgment required bias, and bias was a weakness. Yet even he couldn't deny the intrigue you stirred in him—a siren cloaked in mystery, luring him to uncharted depths.

Picking up your profile again, he scanned the details with a practiced eye. It was deliberately vague. Yaga Masamichi had been careful about that, only providing enough to hook him without tipping the scales. Clever. Kento appreciated cleverness.

“You’re an enigma, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. His gaze lingered on the photograph clipped to the file. Your sharp eyes seemed to pierce through the page, as if daring him to look deeper.

The phone on his desk buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He reached for it, his tone clipped and professional. "Nanami Kento speaking."

Yaga's gruff voice crackled through the line. "Have you made any progress?"

Kento glanced at the profile again, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "Progress? No. But I’m intrigued. That’s more than you can usually say after five minutes of reading these files."

"This isn't a game, Kento. This is a high profile case." Yaga growled. "We need results."

Kento leaned back, the smirk fading into something more inscrutable. "And you’ll have them, eventually. When I get into it.  But you brought me in because I don’t rush. I don’t make mistakes. Trust that I’ll deliver, Yaga. But you knew that already, didn’t you?"

A strained silence followed. Kento snickers silently. Yaga knew that he was right. He’s never failed a case before. He was their only shot at figuring this out.

Driving him away with their pondering would irritate him. So, Yaga knew it best. Yaga grumbled his assent on the other side of the line and then hung up. Kento replaced the receiver with a quiet exhale and turned his attention back to your profile.

"Who are you really?" he mused aloud. The rain continued its persistent tapping, as if echoing the question. He traced a finger along the edge of the photograph, his mind already dissecting the puzzle you presented.

This wasn’t just about solving a case anymore. It was about understanding the layers beneath your sharp eyes and enigmatic smirk. You were a challenge, and Nanami Kento never walked away from a challenge.

“Time to meet the siren.” he murmured, closing the file and grabbing his coat. 

The game had officially begun.

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HE LIKED GETTING THINGS DONE WELL. So, with meticulous precision, Nanami Kento began preparing. His process was almost ritualistic—a series of carefully honed steps that allowed him to immerse himself in the task at hand.

Research, observation, analysis; each was a brushstroke on the canvas of his understanding. He had done this countless times before, dissecting lives and habits like a surgeon with a scalpel. It was a game he played alone, and one he rarely lost.

It didn’t take him long to find you. You weren’t exactly hiding, after all. You were a bold one, he would admit that. Certainly, others would have tried to find a way to hide from him. But you did not. No, you don’t seem to have liked that.

The apartment you lived in was in the heart of the city. Though modest, it had an air of curated simplicity. A facade, he suspected. There could be some other place you found yourself to be at. It’s impossible to have no back up plan. Still, he’d start here. The moment he identified your specific location, he began to watch. 

At first, it was dull. Too dull. Your routines were painfully ordinary: niche little trips to the market, morning coffee on your tiny balcony, polite nods to neighbors as you passed. For all the whispers of scandal surrounding you, you seemed frustratingly… normal.

“Boring.” Nanami muttered under his breath, reclining in his concealed vantage point. He adjusted his tie absentmindedly, a habitual gesture when his patience wore thin. But he wasn’t one to abandon a lead, not even when boredom threatened to set in. Boredom, after all, was often a disguise for something hidden.

And he was right. It didn’t take long before the cracks in the surface began to show.

There were subtle inconsistencies. He picks on them right away, of course. Like the way your routine shifted ever so slightly every few days. The lingering looks you exchanged with strangers on the street, each glance charged with unspoken meaning. 

The phone calls you took late at night, your voice low and hushed as you paced your apartment. Much of those were patterned just as much. Of course, you would try to throw him off the course with your other calls. But he was not falling for it.

You were normal, yes—but only just enough to keep the untrained eye from noticing the undertow beneath.

Kento took note of everything, each detail cataloged with precision in his mind. How you lingered in front of a particular bookstore on days when the street was less crowded.

How your posture straightened imperceptibly when you stepped into the dimly lit café on the corner, like you were stepping into character. How your sharp eyes softened, just briefly, when you gazed out over the city skyline from your balcony at night.

"You’re meticulous, little siren." he murmured, watching from afar as you adjusted the hem of your coat before entering a black sedan one evening. "Calculated. And hiding something."

His instincts, honed by years of studying human behavior, told him you were more than the sum of your parts. You weren’t erratic, nor did you display the cold mechanical precision of a methodical planner. You were something else entirely—a paradox wrapped in elegance, wearing your secrets as effortlessly as a designer gown.

As the days turned into weeks, his understanding of you deepened. He noted how you interacted with others, your charm carefully measured, your words like baited hooks. He saw the way people gravitated to you, unaware of the quiet power you wielded over them. It was mesmerizing to watch, even for someone as detached as Nanami.

But then there were the moments that broke the pattern. The fleeting, unguarded seconds when the mask slipped. It was just for a split second and yet, it was glaringly obvious. when your smile faltered, when your gaze lingered on nothing in particular, as if lost in thought. Those moments fascinated him the most.

"You're not what you seem, aren’t you, siren?" Nanami said one evening, speaking to no one but himself as he jotted down another observation in his notebook. "And that’s what makes you dangerous."

He leaned back, letting the pen rest against his lips as he studied his notes. The bitter rain had begun again, a softly patters against the window. Watching you has become more than an assignment. It was a challenge, one he was determined to unravel.

Whatever secrets you held, he would uncover them. 

Whatever lies you told, he would see through them.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he would finally find something that would make him feel alive again.

Kento approached your residence with the confidence of a seasoned professional, every step measured, every glance purposeful. The modest, meek exterior belied the reputation you had earned—a mind sharper than most, a presence impossible to ignore. Well, not to him.

For all his precision and preparation, Nanami Kento prided himself on being unshakeable.

That illusion shattered the moment he stepped inside.

The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, rich and intoxicating, blending seamlessly with the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through gauzy curtains. The room was immaculate, deceptively serene, yet every detail felt deliberate, as though the space itself were watching him. And then there was you.

You stood in the center of the room, utterly bare, holding a steaming cup of tea as though this were the most natural thing in the world. The room itself was dimly lit, the amber glow of a single lamp casting elongated shadows that danced along the walls. The steam from your cup curled upward in lazy tendrils, disappearing into the stillness that seemed to envelop everything around you.

For a moment, Nanami Kento froze where he stood, his usually unshakable composure wavering. He had been meticulous, quiet as a shadow as he made his way into your space, every step calculated. He hadn’t anticipated this—hadn’t prepared for the sight of you standing there, unguarded and unapologetic.

“You’re not easily startled, detective.” you said, your voice smooth and unhurried, like the tea you sipped from the delicate porcelain cup. The corners of your lips curled upward, though the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I think I managed to catch you off guard.”

"I... was unaware we had an appointment." he managed, his voice clipped, struggling to keep his gaze fixed on your eyes.

"Unaware? Oh, Detective, you wound me." You stepped forward, the subtle sway of your hips hypnotic, your bare feet making no sound against the polished wood floor. "But I knew you’d come. You’re far too predictable for your own good. Handsome, brilliant, but predictable."

Kento’s brow furrowed imperceptibly. You had noticed him before he had even made himself known, yet here you were, unconcerned and entirely in control. It was a calculated choice, he realized. Everything about you was measured. Everything from your posture, your tone, even your lack of clothing—was deliberate. A statement of power.

He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His gaze remained steady, unflinching, as he addressed you. “You have a peculiar way of entertaining unexpected guests, don’t you?

You chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to ripple through the charged air between you. “And you have a peculiar way of entering someone’s home uninvited. But I suppose we both like to keep things interesting.”

Kento’s caramel eyes flicked briefly to the cup in your hands, the steam still rising. You held it with a casual grace, as though the vulnerability of your current state was irrelevant. He took a measured step closer, his voice as calm and steady as ever. 

“I’m not here to entertain. I’m here for answers.”

“And you think breaking into my home is the best way to get them?” you replied, tilting your head slightly. “Interesting method, detective.”

There was no fear in your voice, no tremor of uncertainty. You don’t seem to cower at the thought that he was in front of you. You were not at the least afraid, flaunting yourself bare as the day you were born right in front of him, no. If anything, you seemed amused, as though this was just another game—one you intended to win. As he usually does.

Kento’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t used to this. Being disarmed, even momentarily. You were unlike anyone he had encountered before, and it both intrigued and irritated him. You drank a handful of your tea, not breaking eye contact with him.

 “You know why I’m here.” he said, his tone firm. “Let’s not waste time pretending otherwise.”

You raised the cup to your lips, taking a slow sip before responding. “Ah, but time is all we have, isn’t it, mister detective? Besides, I’m curious to see how far you’re willing to go for your answers.”

Kento’s gaze remained fixed on you, his mind racing to piece together your intentions. He had come here prepared to confront a manipulator, a blackmailer, someone who thrived on exploiting the weaknesses of others. Instead, he found himself standing before an enigma. You were a person who seemed to thrive in the liminal space between predator and prey.

“You’re not afraid of me.” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost reflective.

You met his gaze, unblinking. “Should I be?”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an unspoken challenge. Kento felt the weight of it pressing against him, but he refused to yield. He had come here to unravel you, to strip away the layers of mystery and deceit. But in this moment, with the air thick with the scent of tea and tension, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was you who was peeling back his layers instead.

Kento held your gaze, his mind a calculated storm of thoughts. You were testing him, pushing boundaries to see how far he’d go, how much of himself he’d expose in pursuit of whatever he sought from you. It wasn’t fearlessness that radiated from you, no. It was the epitome of control. Complete, unyielding control.

He didn’t like it.

But he couldn’t deny the subtle exhilaration it stirred in him.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you?” he said again, his voice colder this time, a deliberate shift in tone to reassert authority. “And you know I won’t leave without what I need.”

You smirked, lowering your cup and cradling it in both hands. “Oh, I know you won’t leave. Not yet, at least. But I’m not convinced you truly know what it is you’re looking for.”

Kento took another step closer, his hands sliding into the pockets of his coat as he surveyed the room with a careful glance. Minimalist decor. Sparse yet elegant, like an art exhibit curated to hide the truth. Everything was deliberate. Everything was you.

“What I’m looking for,” he said evenly, his gaze snapping back to you. “are answers. About the Prime Minister. About the leverage you hold over him.”

You raised a brow, your smirk deepening into something more indulgent. “Straight to the point. I like that. But tell me, Detective Nanami Kento—what makes you think you can find answers here?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Because you want me to find them. Aren’t you someone as bored as I am, playing the game?”

That gave you pause, though only for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Nanami Kento caught the brief flicker of surprise in your eyes before you masked it with a soft laugh. He found that your laugh was a beautiful one, had it not been one that was dangerous venom, a double entendre.

“Touché, detective.” you said, setting the cup down on a nearby table with deliberate care. “But even if that were true, you’d still have to earn them.”

“Earn them.” Kento repeated, his tone flat. “Is that your way of trying to bargain?”

You stepped closer now, the soft light catching the sharp angles of your face. Barefoot and unguarded, you moved with the confidence of someone who knew they held the upper hand—or at least wanted him to believe they did.

“Call it whatever you like, detective.” you replied, stopping just a breath away from him. “You came here for the truth, and the truth is rarely free. Especially from someone like me.”

Kento didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. He held his ground, studying you with an intensity that bordered on invasive. “And what do you want in return?”

You smiled, but it wasn’t the warm kind. It was calculated, sharp. It was your favorite weapon of choice. “For now? Just your time. Let me see how you operate, how your mind works when it isn’t trapped behind your rules and decorum. Then, maybe, I’ll decide what else you have to offer.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to manipulate him, to pull him into their web. But you were different. You didn’t rely on desperation or brute force; you wielded intrigue like a scalpel, cutting just deep enough to make him curious.

“You think I’ll play your game, hm?” he said finally, his voice low and edged with warning.

You tilted your head, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “I think you already are.”

The silence that followed was electric, the space between you charged with unspoken tension. For a moment, neither of you moved, two opposing forces locked in an invisible standoff.

Then, with a calculated step back, you broke the spell. “Well, my pretty detective, the night is young. Shall we begin?”

Kento’s gaze followed you as you turned and disappeared further into the apartment, your figure melting into the shadows. His instincts screamed at him to leave, to walk away before he found himself ensnared in something he couldn’t control.

But his curiosity wouldn’t let him.

Adjusting his tie, he followed. The game, it seemed, was just beginning.

"Do you always play fair, mister detective?" you asked, your voice laced with mischief. "Or are you tempted to bend the rules for me?"

"I don’t bend the rules." he said flatly, though the slight crack in his voice betrayed him.

"How dull." you teased, stepping closer. "Then I’ll just have to see how far I can push them before you do."

Kento swallowed hard, forcing himself to break eye contact. He scanned the room, trying to redirect his focus. Every detail he observed seemed to mock him—your careful minimalism, the way the soft lighting accentuated the curves you seemed so effortlessly confident in, and the unshaken calm you radiated.

“Come.” You urged him, walking away, expectant for him to follow you.

Kento followed you into the next room, his steps measured, his senses sharp. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The dimly lit space you led him to was more intimate, yet it carried an undeniable weight of purpose. 

A single table sat in the center, flanked by two chairs. On the table was a deck of cards, pristine and neatly stacked, and a pair of glasses filled with amber liquid.You gestured toward the empty chair across from you, settling into your own with a grace that felt practiced, deliberate. 

“Sit down there, pretty detective.” you said simply, as though commanding a king to take his throne.

He regarded you silently for a moment, weighing the situation, before pulling the chair out and sitting down. His coat shifted slightly as he adjusted, the fabric catching the low light. He didn’t reach for the glass in front of him, nor did he touch the cards.

“Do you always greet your intruders like this?” he asked, his tone dry but probing. “Or am I a special case of favoritism?”

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you studied him. “You’re not just an intruder, detective. You’re a puzzle. And I do enjoy puzzles.”

Kento’s eyes narrowed. “Flattery won’t distract me.”

You laughed softly, the sound melodic and tinged with mischief. “It’s not flattery if it’s true. But if you insist, let’s get to it, shall we?” Your hand moved to the deck of cards, your fingers deftly shuffling them with an ease that spoke of countless hours of practice. “We’re going to play a game.”

Kento’s brow furrowed slightly, though his expression remained otherwise unreadable. “A game.”

“Yes.” You began dealing the cards, your movements precise. “Call it… a test of wits. Each of us will ask a question. The other must answer truthfully—or pass. But passing comes at a cost.”

“And what cost is that?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

You leaned back, the flicker of a smirk gracing your lips. “If you pass, you lose a piece of yourself in this game. A truth you’ll never get back, if you will. And if I pass, well… you lose time. Precious time that you’ll never recover from.”

He exhaled softly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Clever. But you don’t strike me as someone who’s interested in losing anything, especially time.”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “You’re right. I don’t intend to lose.”

Nanami studied you for a moment, his analytical mind dissecting every word, every movement. This was more than a game to you, no. You liked being an actress. And this was a stage, a performance. A calculated way to see how far you could push him.

“Fine.” he said finally, his voice calm and steady. “I’ll play.”

You nodded, almost as if you had expected nothing less. Picking up your cards, you gestured for him to do the same. “Good. I’ll start.”

Your eyes gleamed as you asked your first question. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Kento didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. He considered the question briefly, then responded with a measured tone. “I once let a guilty man walk free. It wasn’t my case, but I could’ve stopped it. I chose not to.”

You arched a brow, intrigued. “Why?”

He tapped a finger lightly on the edge of the table. “Because letting him walk was the only way to catch someone worse.”

“Interesting, detective.” you mused, drawing a card and placing it down. “Your turn.”

Kento’s eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating. “What do you really want from the Prime Minister?”

Your smirk didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something else. There was something deeper in the corner of your eyes. “Power. Intrigue. Freedom from boredom. I think you can already tell, don’t you think? You’ve watched me for a while.” you said simply, your voice like silk. “I like my little games, detective. I don’t like boredom.”

Kento’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. You were the same in that regard, he supposed. You smiled at him as you discarded the card. He continued watching as you played another card.

The game continued, each question like a blade, cutting deeper with every exchange. You asked about his weaknesses, his fears. He asked about your plans, your past. Neither of you passed, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of retreat. The tension between you built with every answer, an unspoken duel fought in shadows and half-truths.

By the time the deck was nearly gone, the air between you was thick with something unspoken. There was a heavy mixture of understanding and challenge, of intrigue and something more dangerous. And slowly, Kento began to feel more intrigue gather like clouds around his head when he looked at you.

You placed the final card down with a quiet laugh. “You’re good at this, detective. Better than most.”

Kento leaned back slightly, his gaze still fixed on you. “And you’re not as untouchable as you think.”

You smiled at that, leaning forward once more. “Perhaps not. But tell me, detective—after all this, do you think you’ve won?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the glass in front of him, finally taking a sip. The burn of the liquid was sharp, grounding. He set the glass back down, meeting your gaze with an intensity that could cut through steel.

“I think the game’s just begun.”

You laughed as you looked at him. “Then you’ll continue to indulge me?”

“I have all the time in the world.”

“Such a reply, detective.” Your lips curled into a sly smile.

“Much more I should be giving to you, siren.”

You laughed back at him. “Tell me, detective. Are you looking for something else, besides my secrets?” you asked, your voice dripping with amusement. You took another step forward, close enough now that he could feel the faint warmth of your presence.

"My resolve." he replied curtly, his gaze darting back to your face.

You laughed again, the sound teasing and far too pleasant. "I wouldn’t bother looking for that. It’s already mine."

Kento’s mouth opened, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but you raised a finger to his lips before he could speak. The gesture was bold, disarming, and far too intimate. His eyes narrows at you, meeting your orbs in an intense match of staring. Tension filled the air. 

“I do not like betraying my rules for fun, siren.”

"Hush." you said softly, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is far more entertaining when you let me lead, don’t you think?"

Kento felt his pulse quicken, though he loathed admitting it. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to regroup, but his feet stayed rooted to the floor. You circled him slowly, your movements deliberate and languid, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"You’re tense, aren’t you, detective?" you observed, your voice lilting. "A man like you shouldn’t carry so much weight on his shoulders. Let me help you relax."

"Help." he echoed dryly, trying to inject a sliver of his usual deadpan wit. "Is that what you call this?"

"Call it what you like, pretty man." you replied with a shrug, your bare skin glinting in the warm light. "But let’s not pretend you’re not enjoying it just a little."

Kento clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms in a desperate attempt to ground himself. "You’re stalling again, aren’t you?" he said, his voice low and firm, though he hated how weak the accusation sounded even to his own ears.

"And you’re flustered. I like good, flustered, pretty men, detective." you shot back effortlessly. "But I’ll let you in on a little secret, detective." You leaned in, your breath brushing against his ear. "I don’t have to stall. You’re doing that all on your own."

Kento’s breath hitched. He turned his head slightly to meet your gaze, his brow furrowing as he tried to summon the cold, logical detachment he prided himself on. But your eyes, all bright, teasing, and endlessly confident had drawn him in, scattering his thoughts like leaves in the wind.

"You’re not going to win this little game." he said, though the words felt as much a reassurance to himself as they were a warning to you.

"Win?" You tilted your head, your smile widening. "Oh, darling, I’ve already won. You just haven’t realized it yet."

And there it was—the final, undeniable truth that sank into Nanami Kento like a blade. This wasn’t a confrontation he could reason his way out of. You weren’t just a distraction; you were a storm, unrelenting and impossible to ignore. Still, Kento wasn’t one to give up easily. He squared his shoulders, taking a small step back to create space between you. 

"You can play your games, siren." he said evenly, his resolve hardening. "But I will leave with what I came for."

Your grin turned wicked, your hands resting on your hips as you regarded him with mock pity. "Oh, detective. If you want it that badly, you’re going to have to earn it."

The gauntlet had been thrown, but as Nanami stared into your eyes, he couldn’t help but feel that this was a battle where victory. If such a thing even existed might come at a cost he wasn’t prepared to pay.

Kento’s resolve teetered on the edge of collapse. Your challenge hung in the air between you, daring him to act, to push back. For all his usual composure, the magnetic pull of your presence was undeniable. And you knew it. With deliberate slowness, you closed the distance he had just created. Your hand reached out, brushing against his tie, straightening it with a casual intimacy that made his breath hitch.

"Tell me, pretty man." you said softly, your voice a sultry whisper. "Is it always this hard for you to focus... or is it just me?"

Kento’s jaw tightened, his full luscious lips parting as though to deliver a sharp retort, but the words never came. Instead, his eyes locked onto yours, his usual clarity clouded by a storm of conflicting emotions.

"Careful." he warned, his voice low, though the conviction behind it faltered.

"Careful?" you echoed, your smile widening. "Detective, I don’t think you want to be careful."

The moment hung in a delicate balance, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. And then, with a boldness that took even you by surprise, you leaned in. Your lips met his, soft yet insistent, pulling him into the heat of your daring. For a heartbeat, Kento froze, caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the act. But then something shifted.

His hands moved instinctively, one gripping your wrist, the other curling around your waist as though to steady himself. He kissed you back, tentative at first, as though testing the waters, but quickly matching your fervor.

It was a clash of wills, a battle of control as much as passion. You smiled against his lips, sensing the conflict within him, the way his rational mind warred with his undeniable desire. When you finally pulled away, your faces still mere inches apart, you couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

"So much for not bending the rules, pretty man." you teased, your voice barely more than a breath. “Intrigue won you over.”

Kento’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his caramel eyes narrowing. "You think this changes anything?" he said, though his voice was rougher now, edged with something he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Not at all. We’re still playing this game, detective." you replied, your tone light, your smile infuriatingly smug. "But it does make things more interesting, don’t you think?"

His gaze burned into yours, but he didn’t let go. "You’re dangerous, little siren." he muttered, his voice both an accusation and a reluctant admission.

"And you’re intrigued about me, pretty man." you countered, your free hand tracing a light, teasing line down the lapel of his trench coat.

For all his strength, for all his discipline, Kento found himself at a crossroads. He could retreat, rebuild his defenses, and focus on the mission. Or he could lean into the chaos you so effortlessly embodied, knowing full well the risks involved.

For the first time in his career, the brilliant consulting detective wasn’t sure which path he would take. Nanami Kento’s breath hitched as his grip tightened, his movements becoming more deliberate, almost desperate.

“It’s for the game.” he muttered again, his voice low, almost as if trying to convince himself.

But the way your fingers dug into his shoulders, the soft sound that escaped your lips—those weren’t part of the plan. He could feel the way your body yielded to him, how every subtle shift and reaction drew him in further.

His mind wavered, the discipline he prided himself on fraying at the edges. This wasn’t just duty anymore. The mission was the furthest thing from his thoughts as he surrendered to the feeling of your warmth, your trust, and the undeniable connection that bound the two of you.

“Kento, that’s your name isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice trembling yet steady enough to pull him back into the present. 

The way his name sounded on your lips... it unraveled him completely. For a moment, he forgot everything else. He wasn’t sure anymore what this case was even about and what was left to desire—but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when he was enjoying himself too much.

“K-Ken!” The word comes out strangled out of your mouth.

If anything, it was barely a whisper as his relentless rhythm forces your body to react in ways you can’t control. Each deep, forceful thrust hits with perfect precision, and your head spins, eyes crossing from the intensity of it all. He doesn’t care about the soft gasps escaping you or the way your nails dig into his skin; he’s on a mission.

But you’re not the same. The slick warmth building inside of you, the way your body feels stretched and filled by him. It’s all so much more than the physical. He’s not just moving through you. He’s pulling something from deep inside. Every thrust makes your spine arch involuntarily, and your chest heaves as your breath hitches with each stroke.

He’s searching. Not for your pleasure. He likes to think that he’s past that. He knows exactly what you need, but there’s one sound he’s after. That sweet little squeal, the one you only make when he’s pushing you just right, when the world disappears and all that matters is the way he makes you feel. It’s a sound so raw, so fragile, that it breaks his composure every time.

Kento’s grip on you tightens, a firm hand on your hip anchoring you in place as he drives into you with precise force. The pace is relentless, unwavering, and you can feel his determination, his need to hear it again. The pressure building inside you, so close now, your body humming with anticipation, a coil wound impossibly tight.

“Say my name, little siren.” he commands, his voice a low growl, dark with intent.

You can’t. You can barely think, much less speak. But you can’t hold it back. The sound breaks free—a high-pitched squeal that fills the space between you, a fragile, involuntary release that shatters whatever control you had left.

“There it is, little siren.” he murmurs, his voice triumphant, but there’s no slowing now. 

He digs in deeper, faster, with a relentless focus that makes it clear he’s hunting something. He was hunting for something intangible yet vital. That sound, the one he coaxes from you with every calculated movement, seems to fuel him.

It's primal, magnetic, as though the entire universe has narrowed down to this single exchange, to the rhythm of his pursuit and your response.

You’re trapped in the tension, every nerve in your body taut like a wire about to snap. The pleasure is sharp and consuming, pulling you under in waves that crash against the edges of your sanity.

Your breaths come in shallow, broken gasps, each one a fight to steady yourself against the relentless onslaught. But there’s no escape; the sensations are everywhere, an unrelenting tide that drowns out thought and reason.

Your mind is a haze, a tangled mess of fragmented impulses and fleeting clarity. You try to anchor yourself, to regain control, but the overwhelming rush of feeling renders you powerless. Every time you think you’ve caught your breath, he changes his rhythm, his touch, pulling a new sound from your lips, a new surge of heat that floods through you.

It’s maddening, the way he anticipates your every reaction, how he seems to know your body better than you do. The tension builds higher, tighter, like a crescendo that has no end, no resolution, just an endless climb. Your fingers clutch at anything within reach, a desperate attempt to ground yourself. But even that slips away in the face of the intensity.

You can’t think, can’t process. You can only feel. And in this moment, it’s as though feeling is all that matters, all that exists. It’s overwhelming, consuming, leaving no room for anything else. Just the tension, the pleasure, and the sound he’s chasing like it’s the answer to every question he’s ever had.

The next wave of pleasure crashes over you, almost too much to bear, and your body responds in kind. Everything was shaking, trembling, in pleasure because of him. The only thing left to do is submit completely to him. So he can win the game.

And yet, he isn’t finished. Not yet. Because now that he’s found it, he’s going to make you give it to him again.

The tension between you is palpable, every sound, every movement heightened by the closeness. His voice, low and rough, breaks through the haze, cutting through the cacophony of sensations that have overtaken your mind.

"Look at me, siren." he commands, his tone steady but charged. "I want to see everything."

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, locking onto him with an effort that feels monumental. There’s a glint in his caramel gaze—intense, searching, as if he’s reading more than just the surface of your expression.

“Good little siren.” he murmurs, his voice softening but no less dominant. “Don’t run from it. Let me see what it does to you.”

You try to speak, to form words, but they dissolve on your tongue, lost in the whirlwind of sensations. A small, breathless sound escapes instead, and his expression shifts ever so slightly, that satisfaction, mixed with something deeper, more primal.

“That’s it, yes.” he says, almost whispering, as though coaxing a secret from you. “Don’t hold back.”

You manage a broken, defiant whisper in response, your voice trembling but resolute. “You think you’re in control.”

His lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Oh, I don’t think. I know.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air between you. You grip his arm, nails digging into his skin, as if to remind him that you’re still present, still capable of holding your ground even if it’s slipping beneath you.

“And you?” he pressed, his voice low, intimate. “Do you know what you’re feeling? Or are you too far gone?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t tell if it’s frustration or surrender that flickers in your chest. His words are a mirror, reflecting the battle waging inside you. It felt so good, it swallowed you whole. And you couldn’t even describe it. Everything about the rising pleasure as he thrusted in and out of you was a clash of will and vulnerability, of defiance and need.

You needed more of him.

You needed him deeper.

You needed him closer.

“I—” you start, but the word fractures, lost in another wave of sensation.

He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Say it, siren.” he urges, his voice a quiet demand. “Say what you want.”

You hesitate, the words tangled in your throat. And in that hesitation, he holds you captive, his gaze unwavering, waiting for the answer he already knows is there. He bites your shoulder as he thrust hard, earning a loud cry of pleasure from you. He hummed against your flesh, satisfied at the reaction you gave him.

The silence between you hums with tension, the air charged and electric. His eyes remain locked on yours, dark and smoldering, the kind of gaze that seems to peel back every layer, leaving you exposed in a way that feels both terrifying and intoxicating. He doesn’t move, doesn’t touch, but his presence presses against you like a storm just waiting to break.

Your lips part, trembling as you try to form words, but they falter, caught in the haze of his nearness. Tears permeating from your eyes at the pleasure that he makes you feel. He slows his movements, earning a cry from you as he tries to coax those words out of you.

 “I…” you whisper, voice low, breath catching as if the mere act of speaking might shatter whatever fragile thread is holding you together. “I don’t know.”

The admission hangs between you, raw and unfiltered, cutting through the charged atmosphere. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips, but there’s nothing cruel about it. Instead, it feels like a quiet triumph, as if he’s been waiting for this moment, this unraveling of your defenses.

“Good.” he murmurs, his voice like a dark caress, low and intimate. “ At least some honesty suits you.”

A shiver courses through you, his words sinking deeper than you’d like to admit. His head tilts slightly, the faintest motion, but it draws your attention to the curve of his jaw, the way the soft glow of the room highlights his features. 

His breath, warm and steady, ghosts over your skin as he leans closer, the space between you shrinking to something nearly unbearable. Sweat glistens against the two of you, juices of your body echoing from flesh to flesh as he occupied you whole.

“I hate you.” you manage, your voice trembling but defiant, though even as the words leave your lips, they feel hollow. “You’re making me beg.”

His smirk deepens, and he raises a hand, slow and deliberate, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheek. The touch is featherlight, enough to send a ripple of sensation through you, your breath hitching in response. He presses a kiss against your lips, earning a grunt from you.

“No.” he says softly, his tone velvet-smooth, a promise wrapped in certainty. “You don’t hate me. You hate this.” His fingers trace down, following the curve of your jaw, his touch impossibly gentle yet electric. “What I make you feel.”

Your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, your body betraying you even as your mind screams for control. His touch lingers, deliberate and unhurried, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

You don’t pull away; you can’t. You’re caught, pinned not by force but by something far more potent—his ability to see through you, to unravel you piece by piece.

“I don’t—” you start, but the words crumble as his thumb grazes your lower lip, silencing you effortlessly. The contact sends a jolt straight through you, your lips parting instinctively under his touch.

“Don’t lie, siren. ” he whispers, his voice dipping lower, wrapping around you like silk. “Not to me. Not to yourself.”

The challenge in his tone, in his touch, is impossible to ignore. Your pulse pounds in your ears, heat pooling in places you wish it wouldn’t, your body betraying every last shred of resistance you’re clinging to. His gaze never wavers, molten and heavy, pulling you deeper into the storm of him.

“I hate you.” you whisper again, but this time the words are soft, breathless, a futile attempt to hold on to a crumbling facade.

He leans in closer, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breath mingling with yours in the charged space between you. “Say it again.” he murmurs, his voice a dangerous, sensual tease. “Convince me.”

Your mind spins, the tension between you unbearable, intoxicating. He waits, unyielding, his proximity burning into you like fire, daring you to say something, anything. But in this moment, words feel impossible, eclipsed by the raw pull of his presence and the electric current thrumming in the space between you.

“I hate you, oh—” you whispered again, before moaning and finding no words left as his fingers thrust against your clit in circular motions. You can feel him grind against you in a slow fashion, matching the echo of his fingers. 

You cry as everything in you starts to surrender before it defies. Your voice faltered just slightly, the vulnerability creeping through your chest, but you held on to it, stubborn in the way that only you could be.

His laugh was soft, almost a whisper itself, the sound vibrating against your skin like a quiet tremor. It was dark, low, and knowing, as though he found your words more amusing than anything else. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, the slight brush of his lips as he spoke, each word carrying a challenge.

“We’ll see about that, siren.” he murmured, his voice rich with intention, sending a shiver down your spine. The promise in his tone was undeniable, and it sank deep inside you, where the pulse of your desire had only been growing stronger.

With slow, deliberate movements, he continued to press forward, his rhythm steady, but unrelenting. His body aligned with yours in a perfect, consuming dance. Every shift, every movement sends waves of sensation crashing over you. 

His pace was measured, as much as there was that playfulness in the way he plays with your clit. But there was a quiet power behind it—an awareness of how easily he could unravel you, how each thrust deepened the tension that coiled between you.

The connection between you was electric, an undeniable force that seemed to press against the very air you breathed. Your mind struggled to keep up, lost in the clash of sensations that flooded every inch of you. Each movement made you dizzy, a mix of pleasure and frustration, but you were unable to pull away, unable to break free from the pull of him.

You tried to hold on, to maintain that stubborn edge, to convince yourself that your resistance could hold. But with every push, every breathless moment that passed, the lines between hatred and desire blurred.

It wasn’t just him moving inside of you—it was the way he knew exactly how to push you, how to pull the tension taut, drawing out something from you that you could barely name.

He shifted slightly, leaning closer, his chest brushing against your back. The sound of his breath, shallow now, mixed with the quickening rhythm of his movements. His hands slid across your skin, every touch searing, every caress a reminder of how deeply entwined you had become in this moment.

You couldn’t focus on the words anymore, couldn’t even remember what you had said. The intensity was too overwhelming, his presence too consuming. All you could do was feel, your body caught in the pull of him, trapped in the ebb and flow of sensation that made everything else disappear.

He whispered again, his lips brushing your ear as he moved, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I know what you feel. Don’t pretend it’s anything but this.”

His words broke through the haze, pulling you back to reality, but only for a moment. The desire was stronger now, an undeniable current that swept through you, making it impossible to think beyond the next wave, the next surge of pleasure. There was no room for resistance, not anymore.

And in that moment, you were no longer sure if you hated him or needed him.

You just wanted him to make you feel this good.

You wanted him to make you feel whole.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

IN THE MORNING, IT’S NOT WHAT HE EXPECTED. He woke up early, as he usually did, the quiet of the morning wrapping around him like a cocoon. The room was still heavy with the scent of the night, the lingering warmth of your body where you lay sprawled across the sheets, naked and content in sleep.

It was a scene that could’ve been serene, intimate, a moment of peace—but last night shouldn’t have happened. It wasn’t part of the plan, and he knew that. Yet, as he sat up, his eyes lingering on the curves of your body beneath the soft, rumpled sheets, he knew that it had.

But there were no regrets. No hesitation. He had a purpose, and he had no choice but to play your game, to dive into the depths of it, as dangerous as it might be. Every move he made had to be calculated, every action precise. If he wanted to win, truly win, he had to risk it all. He had to let himself slip into the very thing that might unravel him, if only to see how far he could go.

Last night was a game, nothing more. But in the dark corners of his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had meant more to you than you let on. He saw it in the way you moved, the way your breath had caught when he’d touched you in the right way, the slight tremor in your fingers when you’d whispered to him. But that wasn’t something he could afford to dwell on—not yet.

He stood, feeling the plush fabric of the night robe you had given him last night slide over his skin. It was a reminder, a lingering token of the intimacy between you two that he had to put aside. He couldn't afford distractions. Not now. Not when the stakes were so high.

His eyes flickered to the space where you slept. For a moment, he almost lingered, but he couldn’t. He knew the risks. He had to move. The urgency gnawed at him as he stepped away from the bed, the silence of the room pressing in on him like a thick fog.

He didn’t need to think twice about where you’d hidden the phone. He already knew. You weren’t subtle, and he was too good at reading people—especially when it came to you. Your body doesn’t lie. Your movements, the way you’d touched that phone last night, the exact spot where you’d set it down without thinking.

All spoke to him in a language he knew better than his own. He made his way to the desk, his fingers brushing over the surface, feeling the faint indentation left by your hand when you’d placed the phone there. He smiled to himself, a brief, knowing smirk, before he slid the drawer open.

There it was.

The phone, sleek and cold, resting where you’d left it. He picked it up with a certain reverence, his fingers brushing the screen, already knowing the passcode, already aware of what lay beneath the surface.

The secrets, the blackmailing material, the coded messages that could bring the world to its knees. He’d seen enough to know just how much power you wielded, how dangerous you could be when it suited you.

But he wasn’t worried. Not yet.

He pressed his fingers to the phone, feeling the slight warmth still radiating from where you had held it last night. The touch was almost intimate in its own way, like the faintest reminder of your presence, but he pushed that aside.

There was no room for sentimentality in this. He had to keep his focus. His eyes scanned the screen as the lock clicked open under his touch, revealing everything you thought you had carefully hidden.

You were easy to read in that regard. Your body, your habits, the way you’d hidden everything. All your secrets were all written in the lines of your movements. You couldn’t help but let slip your patterns, and that, he had learned long ago, was your greatest weakness.

With the phone in his hand, he knew he was one step closer. Just one step. But there were many more ahead, and the game wasn’t over yet. He’d made his move. All he has to do is figure out the password. 

He has a few guesses in mind, if he was being honest.

It’s why he was careful to measure everything about you last night.

Choices were good for a detective playing a game.

But as he was starting to get into his mind, he could hear the thumping. His face darted in annoyance. They’re already here to disturb his case. He moved aside as he heard the footsteps.

Just like that, the special forces stormed in like a thunderclap, their tactical gear and weapons clashing violently with the otherwise serene atmosphere of your home. The once peaceful, intimate space was now flooded with tension, the air thick with danger.

Kento could feel his body tense at the sound of muffled voices, his mind quickly shifting gears. The case was no longer about you, about the stolen moment between the two of you—it was all about the objective now. 

A quiet anger simmered beneath his calm exterior, but he pushed it down. His instincts took over as his analytical mind snapped back into focus. He had to get this right. He had no choice. He had to make this quick.

“Numbers... proportions…” he muttered to himself, his fingers itching for the puzzle’s answer. 

He looked at the phone, his hand moving automatically to input the code. His caramel gold eyes never left the paper as he punched the numbers into the safe’s sleek digital keypad of the phone. He hums to himself, trying to get various options right.

"Bust, waist, hips..." he muttered, piecing it together at last. He had known it all along, hadn't he? Should’ve guessed earlier. But now there was no mistaking it—the passcode was your measurements.

Just as he got to the size of your waist, everything had just clicked. The phone had opened and the screen opened with all the files welcoming him with open arms. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself.

Another case closed, another win for him, he supposed. The special forces were moving in quickly, eagerly. But just as they approached, something shifted in the room. Before anyone could take a step closer, you smiled as you appeared before him.

“Now, you don’t think I wouldn’t have a little fun of my own, don’t you?”

It was as if the world slowed. Your body blurred with speed and precision, a fluid motion that defied logic. One moment, you were on your bed upstairs asleep; the next, special forces agents were incapacitated, writhing in pain, their weapons scattered across the floor. Nanami Kento was too late to stop you. His own body, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, couldn’t react in time.

And then, as he tried to process what had just happened, your bright clouded eyes locked with his own orbs with a sharp, calculating gaze. Everything about that is filled with something darker. A quiet satisfaction, as though everything had gone exactly as you’d planned.

He stood there, caught in the unexpected chaos, watching you. The mission had shifted once again—now it was about survival, about navigating a trap he hadn’t seen coming. And for once, Nanami Kento soon realized that he wasn’t the one in control.

When Kento came to, the world around him was eerily silent. His head throbbed, the pain searing through his skull like a jagged blade. His hands were bound behind his back, his arms aching as if they’d been in this position for hours. 

His vision was blurry, hazy, and it took a moment for his mind to catch up with his body. The room felt wrong, too still, too quiet, as though the calm before a storm. He could feel everything was so out of place. So deeply disturbed. How could he have let this happen?

The memories hit him swiftly, a flash of what had just transpired. He had your phone, he had opened it, the special forces were here to assist him and had stormed in to do their job and then you, in your smiling nude form, walked over to him. 

He curses under his breath. That knowing smile. You were good. You were too good. The way you had incapacitated everyone so effortlessly. The look in your excited eyes were so determined as they were unreadable. That had unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Before Nanami Kento could make sense of it all, he found that his vision blurred again, and his body once more succumbed to unconsciousness, drifting away from the present and into the chaos of his mind.

In the dream, the world was different. It wasn’t quite reality, but it felt more vivid, more alive—like a twisted, almost haunting version of it. The colors were sharper, the air heavier, and you were there beside him. 

Your presence was undeniable, a force he couldn’t ignore, and your gaze never left his. You were dressed sharply, every inch of you radiating confidence and poise, an aura of unspoken power that seemed to disarm even the most guarded men.

Your bright eyes glinted with mischief, that familiar spark he’d seen in you when you were toying with him in the real world. There was something dangerously playful in the way you watched him, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking and how to throw him off balance.

“This is why you can’t solve it, detective.” you said, your voice smooth, like honey dripping from the tip of your tongue. 

There was something unsettling in the calmness of your tone, almost too composed, like you were savoring the moment. It was the kind of voice that could lull a man into a false sense of security, a trick, an illusion—just like the puzzle you had expertly crafted around him.

“I thought you were good.” you added, your words almost teasing, laced with an unmistakable challenge, as though you were daring him to catch up.

Nanami Kento’s brow furrowed. It was a rare sight, him visibly unsettled, caught off guard. The detective in him prided himself on his ability to read people, to dissect a situation with precision, but in that moment, he realized how wrong he had been. 

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected you to be a part of the puzzle. But there you were, standing beside him, offering cryptic insights with a calm that sent a shiver down his spine. You weren’t just playing the game. You were the game. You had manipulated every thread, every clue, just to see how far he would go before he cracked.

“See here.” you said, stepping closer, your presence leaning in like a quiet storm. 

You reached forward, your finger tracing a spot on the board in front of him, the motion effortless, deliberate. Your touch was controlled, tracing the edges of something he had missed entirely. His eyes followed, every movement of yours like a magnet pulling him closer to the realization that his assumptions had been all wrong.

“You focused on the suspects, the alibis, the motives, but you never asked yourself why this wasn’t adding up.” you continued, voice almost a whisper, a dagger slipping between his ribs. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

Your finger glided over the surface, slowly but with purpose, pointing out a flaw in his reasoning that he hadn’t even thought to consider. A blind spot, now glaringly obvious. He watched as you dissected his work, the very strategy he had relied on crumbling beneath your hands. He could feel the tightness in his chest, a strange sense of unease creeping in.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong lead, Kento.” Your voice was quiet but damning. “This isn’t about them. It was about who was in the front car seat. You knew it couldn’t have been that. You knew that already, didn’t you? You always have.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The weight of them made his heart skip a beat, and for the first time in this case, his sharp mind had trouble keeping up. That car. Of course, he’d known something was off.

He’d felt it in his gut, the way the pieces didn’t quite fit together. But he had overlooked it. Too focused on the suspects, the alibis, the obvious trails. He had been distracted by the noise.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The pieces finally clicked, and it was all too clear now. Your finger had pointed out a thread he hadn’t seen, the one that connected everything. You weren’t just playing a part in this.

You were the key to the whole puzzle. Your precision, your sharp ability to see things from a different angle, had allowed you to lead him down the path of his own mistakes. His breath caught in his throat as everything aligned. You knew. Even in his dreams, you had always known how to play the game with him.

“That’s why you let this said guilty man walk, didn’t you?” His voice was lower now, a realization dawning on him, both a question and an accusation. “Because you knew the murderer wasn’t him. It was that girl he was protecting. Because you knew she’d give you that hit on the serial killer you were finding, didn’t you?”

You didn’t say anything at first, but your gaze softened, an unreadable look flashing in your eyes. There was something in the way you looked at him, something that didn’t quite match the cold logic of your words.

“You’re catching on, detective.” you said, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips. “The girl was always the key. The one everyone overlooked. But not you. Not anymore.”

His mind raced, scrambling to catch up with the torrent of information flooding in. You had manipulated him so effortlessly, guided him through a maze of false leads, making him chase shadows when the real answer had been in plain sight the entire time. He had been so sure, so convinced that he had it all figured out. But you had been several steps ahead, as always.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time in this entire game, he wasn’t sure if he was the one playing or if he had been the one being played. He blinked, his mind racing as he took in everything you were saying. Your deductions were sharp, methodical. 

Together, you moved through the case, your minds combining in a beautiful, almost perfect dance of logic and wit. Every piece seemed to fall into place, the puzzle coming together effortlessly, as if it had been waiting for you to find the answer all along.

His heart raced, but he couldn’t help the sense of awe that filled him. You were good. Too damn good. And he realized, in that moment, that maybe he hadn’t been the one pulling the strings all along. It was you.

You smiled, a knowing, almost secretive smile, as you moved to stand closer to him. The case had been solved, but the triumph felt fleeting, overshadowed by the way your presence seemed to swallow the room, leaving him feeling small, uncertain. He wasn’t sure what to make of it—of you.

As the final pieces clicked into place, you leaned in, stepping close enough for your lips to barely brush his ear. The warmth of your breath sent a shiver down his spine, and his pulse quickened. You were so close now, the space between you almost nonexistent, your presence overwhelming.

“Brainy, that’s what you are, detective. You always have been.” you whispered, your voice low and sultry, just the right amount of tease in it. “Definitely the new sexy.”

Your words reverberated in his mind, burning into his thoughts. You had always known how to push his buttons, how to get under his skin, but in that moment, it was different. There was something dangerous in the way you said it, something that left him feeling both drawn to you and utterly helpless.

He pulled away just slightly, but your gaze followed him, never breaking. The mischievous glint in your eyes remained, and Nanami couldn’t shake the feeling that you were playing a game far beyond him, the one he hadn’t even realized he was a part of.

"Why do you do this?" Kento murmured, unable to hold back the frustration. "You throw me off balance, make everything feel like a damn puzzle."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your expression unreadable, but the smile on your lips never faltered. “Because, detective.” you said, tilting your head slightly, “I like games. And you play with me too well.”

He stared at you, his heart beating a little faster than it should have been. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed. He lets himself be washed by the sight of you, the siren you were. The siren that’s playing a criminal for fun. He lets his lips echo into a line.

"You always think you’re ahead, don’t you?" you continued, your voice laced with amusement, though there was a challenge in your eyes. "Well, maybe you should start thinking of me as the puzzle, Nanami Kento. Because I’m the one who’s always going to be one step ahead of you."

He couldn’t argue with that. You had always been one step ahead, even when he thought he was in control. But something inside him, some part of him, didn’t want to accept it. He wasn’t going to let you get the better of him forever.

As the dream began to fade, the room around them blurring and distorting, he found himself reaching for you, his hand grasping at the air in an attempt to hold on to the only thing that had ever truly unraveled him. 

But you were gone. You already were. And this round was over. That’s just how it was. As he took a breath, he could feel everything was disappearing into the dream’s chaos, leaving him grasping at nothing but the lingering memory of your voice and the faintest scent of your perfume.

Nanami Kento woke with a start, groaning as the harsh light of reality pierced through his senses. His head was pounding, and the ropes around his wrists dug into his skin. The room was silent, the aftermath of the dream still clinging to him like a fog. The evidence was gone. You were gone.

Except for the lingering hint of your perfume, faint but undeniable.

He cursed under his breath, his jaw tightening in frustration. He had been so close. He had let himself be distracted, fooled by your words, your presence. He couldn’t afford that mistake again.

Next time, he thought, his mind sharpening as he refocused. Next time, you wouldn’t outsmart him.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

HE DIDN’T KNOW WHERE YOU HAD GONE. But he had quite a few guesses, knowing you. But life moved on as it always has. And still continued solving cases left and right, as he always has. In the months that followed, Nanami Kento found himself caught in an unexpected dance with you, one he didn’t know how to step away from.

You had added a phone number on his phone.

Six months after he met you, you messaged him.

And ever since then, you kept texting him. 

Your flirtations, while playful, always left a subtle bite, a lingering edge to them. Your messages were never too forward, never outright invasive, but there was always something that felt like a slow burn. You knew how to pull him in, how to keep him wondering, questioning, and even when he tried to distance himself, the pull of your words, your subtle, calculated charm, kept him coming back for more.

Your Siren:

“Detective, you’ve been quiet lately. Too busy solving everyone else’s problems? Or is it that you can’t stop thinking about me?” 😏

Pretty Man:

“I don’t have time for distractions at this moment.”

Your Siren:

“Hmm, I’m not a distraction. Just a little... temptation. Don’t worry, I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to.” 😈

Pretty Man:

“I’m not in the habit of asking for things like that.”

Your Siren:

“Oh, but maybe you should be. You might find it interesting... just a thought. How long do you think you can avoid temptation, Kento?”

Pretty Man:

“Too busy to play games.”

Your Siren:

“You sure? Because every time you text me, I can’t help but think you’re already playing. But don’t worry... I won’t push. Yet.” 😏

Pretty Man:

“You always do this. You don’t know when to stop.”

Your Siren:

“You’re right, I don’t. But I can’t help it when someone’s so... irresistible. I’ll let you figure it out. But just so you know, I don’t mind being patient. We both know you’re not as immune as you think.”

Pretty Man:

“You don’t know me as well as you think.”

Your Siren:

“Oh, Kento. I know exactly what you want. And trust me, I know exactly how to give it to you. But only if you’re ready for it.” 😏

Pretty Man:

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

Your Siren:

“Of course, you’re not. But I think you might be interested in me. And I don’t mean the usual way. I’m more than just... a pretty face. You’ll see soon enough.”

Pretty Man:

“As I said, I don’t have time for games at this moment.”

Your Siren:

“The problem with you, Kento, is that you think everything is a game. But maybe... just maybe... the game is already over. You’re already playing, and I’m always one move ahead.”

Pretty Man:

“I’m not falling for this.”

Your Siren:

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just showing you how easily you can fall when you least expect it. You’ll see.” 😈

He’d wake up to your texts, your quiet, seductive words that danced between lighthearted banter and something darker, something dangerous that made his pulse race and his heart beat faster. It was a game, he knew, but it was a game he couldn’t seem to quit. 

Sometimes, he caught himself getting lost in those conversations, allowing his mind to wander to places he knew it shouldn’t. He never let himself acknowledge it fully, but deep down, he recognized that you were getting under his skin. You were more than just a case, more than a temptation. You were becoming a shadow in his life.

As Christmas drew closer, a sense of foreboding settled over him, thickening the air around him. It wasn’t just the weight of the holidays or the cases he hadn’t solved; it was you.

The last few months had made him feel like he was constantly walking a tightrope, one step away from falling off, and every text from you only deepened that sense. He tried to focus on his work, tried to keep his mind clear, but you were always there, lingering like an unanswered question.

Then, one evening, a package arrived. The familiar weight of it told him who it was from before he even opened it. He didn’t need to look at the return address—he already knew. Inside, wrapped in simple brown paper, was a phone. 

A camera phone, scratched and worn, with the screen cracked and a faded sticker on the back. Your phone. The woman whose disappearance had left a hole in his chest, whose death had been the catalyst for so many of his sleepless nights. The case had never sat right with him, and now, months later, this phone was reappearing in his life like some twisted ghost.

His fingers were cold as he held the phone, his breath catching in his throat. The smell of her perfume, faint but still distinct, clung to the device. The note that came with it was simple, almost too simple, but it sent a chill down his spine nonetheless: 

“You wanted answers. I think it’s time you got some.”

The words haunted him. His grip tightened on the phone as his mind began to race. He had tried to bury the case, tried to move on, but now this thing you had sent, this link to the past, dragged him back into the abyss.

The guilt he had buried deep down resurfaced, mixing with a sense of dread. This wasn’t just a message about the woman who was dead—it was a message to him, about him, as if he were being pulled back into the game he’d been trying to escape.

A few days later, the news hit him like a blow to the stomach: a body had been found. The victim was a woman, her body discarded, lifeless and cold. The description matched you—you, his siren.

The one whose death had never been fully explained, never truly understood. His mind raced, every instinct screaming at him that this was connected. It had to be. He should have expected it, but when the truth came crashing down, it was still a blow.

He couldn’t look away from the image of your own body, your face frozen in an expression of pain, the familiar features twisted by the brutal finality of death. The realization was slow to settle in, but it sank like a stone in his chest.

You had orchestrated this. You had sent him the phone. You were always the one pulling the strings. This was more than just a case to you. It was personal. It was a twisted game, and Nanami Kento was just another piece on your board.

Days turned into weeks, and Nanami found himself sinking deeper into a well of depression. The guilt, the despair. He couldn’t escape it. He had failed. Failed to protect you, failed to see the signs, failed to connect the dots in time. 

The person whose life he couldn’t save now haunted him, and the worst part was that it wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about you. You had been playing him all along, and now he was left to clean up the mess, surrounded by the broken pieces of a case that he could never close.

Each night, he would come home, exhausted from the mental and emotional toll, only to stare at the phone you had sent him. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. Something about it kept him tethered to the reality he didn’t want to face. 

It was a constant reminder of his failure—and of you. The scent of your perfume clung to it like a poison. The knowledge that you were still out there, still watching him, was a constant weight pressing on his chest over and over again.

He tried to focus on the case, tried to throw himself into finding answers, but the deeper he dug, the more he realized that this was a trap. It was a trap you had set for him long ago, and he was too far in to find his way out. Every lead he followed seemed to circle back to you. Every piece of evidence pointed back to you.

You were the mastermind, always just out of reach, always one step ahead.

By the time the holidays passed, Nanami Kento had stopped celebrating. There was no joy in the season for him. Only the gnawing emptiness and the crushing weight of his own inadequacies. He knew, deep down, that he would never escape you. You were like a shadow, always following, always watching. Always waiting for the next move.

And as he lay awake at night, the thought that gnawed at him more than any other was this: Next time, would he be able to stop you? Or would he fall for your game again?

But then he received that message. 

He felt his eyes widened at that beep.

Did you miss me, pretty man?

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YOU CAME TO HIS APARTMENT THAT DAY. He couldn’t believe it. His mind was racing, his heart hammering in his chest. You were still alive. After everything, after all the assumptions and deductions, after all the pieces that seemed to fit perfectly in their place, here you were. 

Full in the flesh, standing before him. The winter air was crisp around you, your breath visible in the cold as you stood there in a coat, a scarf wrapped loosely around your neck, looking as composed as ever.

Nanami Kento took a moment to take you in. His caramel eyes lingered, almost as if he couldn’t quite process the sight. You were here. Alive. Breathing. In the flesh. The siren who had been a ghost, a phantom in his case, who had slipped through his fingers. 

The same vicious smile you always wore was still there, tugging at the corners of your lips, as though everything was a game to you. And those eyes—those same cloudy, unreadable eyes. Eyes that seemed to reflect nothing and everything at once.

He felt a pang in his chest, the strange mixture of emotions flooding him all at once. Confusion, anger, horror, surprise. Some of it was easy to name, others not so much. But the most striking of all was the disbelief.

The realization that this was real, that this moment was real. His breath caught as he stared at you, frozen in place for a moment. How did this happen? How did you survive?

"You’re not dead." he finally managed, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. His hands were clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with the need to understand, to make sense of it all. "How?"

You gave him no answer at first, simply letting your gaze hold his, piercing and cold. You were enjoying this, the way he struggled to find the words, the way the detective inside him  faltered. Then, as though sensing his confusion, you spoke, your voice smooth and mocking, a trace of amusement threading through your words. 

"You missed me, didn’t you?"

The question hung in the air like smoke, curling around him, suffocating him in a way that left him almost breathless. He didn’t know how to respond. His mind was still reeling from the shock, his pulse quickening. You were alive, and yet, everything he had come to understand about this case had been a lie. A carefully constructed illusion designed to deceive him.

"Missed you?" His voice was quieter now, laced with a mixture of disbelief and something darker. His eyes narrowed as he finally took a step forward. "You’ve been playing me from the beginning."

You tilted your head, a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips. "Is that what you think?" you asked, your tone almost playful. "Tell me, pretty man, do you feel used? Confused? Or perhaps... a little betrayed?"

His frown deepened as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "All of the above." he muttered, voice low with frustration.

But despite his words, something else flickered beneath the surface. Curiosity, maybe. A strange pull he couldn’t quite ignore.

"You knew this whole time, didn’t you? You knew I’d be after you. You wanted me to come for you."

You didn’t answer at first, letting the silence stretch between you. Then, with a small sigh, you shrugged as if it was nothing. "You’re the one who followed the breadcrumbs. You’re the one who couldn’t resist. You wanted to solve it. It’s just a part of the game."

"Game?" he repeated, the disbelief turning to something sharper, more biting. "You think this is a game? People have died."

Your smile only deepened, colder now, the amusement never leaving your face. "And yet, here you are, still chasing after me. Yearning even, don’t you think? Still trying to make sense of it all."

His hands clenched tighter, anger flaring. “You’ve made a mess of everything. You’re toying with people’s lives like they don’t matter.”

"Toying?" You raised an eyebrow, amused, almost entertained by his indignation. “No. I’m giving them a choice. And you’re the one who chose to follow. After all, detective, you thrive on puzzles, don’t you?”

He took another step toward you, his voice a low, threatening murmur. “You’ve made your game far too dangerous. You’ve hurt people... innocent people.”

“You’re acting like you care.” you replied with a laugh, as if the idea of him being emotionally invested was laughable. “But we both know you don’t. You’re just trying to win. And you will, Kento. Eventually. But not without paying the price. That’s how this works.”

For a moment, the tension between you two was unbearable. He was so close now, the air thick with the weight of his anger, and yet, there was something else beneath it all. He wanted to understand you.

With how you thought, how you operated. But more than that, something in him craved the challenge you presented, even now, even after all the destruction you’d caused.

"You think you’re above it all, don’t you?" he muttered, his tone laced with both frustration and intrigue. "But you’re just as trapped in this as everyone else."

The smile never left your lips, but your eyes shifted, a flicker of something darker flashing beneath the surface. "Maybe." you said softly, the words drawing his focus closer. "But I’m not the one chasing. You are."

Nanami Kento’s frustration was palpable, his brow furrowing as he stared at you, unable to fathom why you were here, standing in front of him, alive. Alive. His thoughts scrambled, questions tumbling over one another in a chaotic mess.

He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t grasp the full extent of the situation. And yet, here you were, standing in the middle of it all, as calm and composed as ever.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, his voice rough with a mix of disbelief and barely contained anger. “You should be—" He stopped himself, the words hanging in the air as he realized how much had gone wrong. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You let his question linger for a moment, your gaze never leaving his as the air between you thickened with unspoken tension. His eyes, sharp and searching, never wavered, as if waiting for some explanation that would make sense of the madness. But all you did was smile. Calm, almost indifferent.

“I needed a place to hide.” you said softly, your voice smooth, almost too casual for someone who had just reappeared from the dead. “And you’ve been looking for me for so long, pretty man. It seemed like the most obvious choice.”

His eyes narrowed, not sure whether to be more furious or more confused by your nonchalant answer. His breath came in quick, uneven bursts, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as if keeping himself from reaching out and shaking some sense into you. 

"Hide? Hide from what? From who? You’ve been playing everyone, manipulating them—manipulating me."

Your gaze flickered with something unreadable, but your lips quivered upwards, amused by his attempt to piece it all together. "You think you understand everything, don't you?" you said, stepping a little closer to him, the space between you closing, your body language daring him to act. "But you're missing the point. You're too caught up in your own game, in your own rules."

His breath hitched as he took a step forward, eyes burning with something darker, something more dangerous than frustration. "Stop playing with me." he warned, his voice low and tense, every word coming out with an edge that made the air feel even heavier. "Tell me what you want, what you're really after."

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you looked up at him, your eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, the tension between you both was almost suffocating. The air was thick with unspoken words, with desire and anger and something else, something neither of you had been willing to acknowledge until now.

Kento couldn’t help but just stand there, staring at you, the weight of the situation sinking in deeper with every passing second. His mind was clouded, his control slipping just a little more with each heartbeat that seemed to thunder in his chest. And then, before he could stop himself, the last thread of restraint snapped.

Without warning, he moved, closing the distance between you in one swift motion. His hands gripped your shoulders possessively, pulling you into him as his lips crushed against yours. It was a kiss of urgency, of frustration, of desire that had been building since the moment you walked back into his life.

For a moment, you didn’t react. But then, slowly, deliberately, you kissed him back. Your lips parted, and the tension that had been coiling between you two unraveled, replaced by the heat of your kiss. 

The sensation was electric, a dangerous blend of anger and attraction that you both couldn’t seem to escape. His hands slid to the small of your back, pressing you closer, as if trying to imprint the feeling of you into his very being.

You let yourself go, the sharp edges of your emotions dulling under the intensity of the kiss. It was everything he hadn’t expected and yet everything he had craved in this moment. The game, the puzzle, the questions—they all faded into the background as his kiss consumed you.

His heart was pounding in his chest, every nerve alive with the need for more, but he pulled away just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "You’re not getting away this time." he muttered, his voice low and gravelly.

You smirked, breathless but unfazed, your fingers lightly tracing his jaw as you met his gaze. "I never planned on running." you replied softly, your voice a whisper of something darker, something more dangerous.

The tension between you was palpable now, the air crackling with a dangerous energy that neither of you could deny. You were playing the game, and so was he—but this time, the rules had shifted. And neither of you knew exactly where it would lead.

As the days wore on, the subtle, electrifying tension between Kento and you only deepened. Your presence in his life was no longer something he could dismiss. Even though he tried to maintain his emotional distance, you had an uncanny ability to break through that wall, piece by piece. 

Every conversation, every look, and every small gesture you made slowly chipped away at his resolve. You were pulling him in with an invisible force, and despite his best efforts to resist, he could feel himself being tugged along, unable to escape the gravitational pull of you.

The house was quieter now, the days blending into nights where neither of you spoke much about the underlying tension. But you didn’t need words to communicate. The silence between you both was a language all its own, an understanding that neither of you could easily put into words. You didn’t need to talk about your past, about the things that had driven you to seek him out again. 

Kento knew that there was a story buried deep inside you, one you were unwilling to share, but it didn’t matter anymore. You had already told him more than enough, through your body language, the quiet moments where your eyes would meet just a little longer than usual. He understood you better than anyone else could, even if he hated it.

One evening, the two of you sat together at the kitchen table, an open bottle of wine between you. It was a routine that had become familiar, a time when the chaos of the outside world could be forgotten, even if just for a moment. 

You had been telling him about a case you were working on, but as you spoke, Kento found himself lost in your presence rather than the details of the case. The way you leaned into the table, the way your fingers brushed the rim of your glass, the way your voice carried effortlessly through the room.

Everything about that, all of it held him captive. You had caged him along with you. It was then, in the stillness between your words, that the question came, hanging in the air like a soft whisper. It always was.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?” Your voice was quiet but laced with something unspoken, something that made the words feel heavier than they should have been.

Kento’s heart thudded in his chest, and for a moment, he almost forgot how to breathe. He knew what you were offering wasn’t just a meal. There was something deeper, more intimate in the way you phrased the question. 

It was a silent invitation, one that promised more than just food and conversation. He knew that much. It was obvious. It promised the chance to finally break down the last of the barriers that had kept you both apart. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He pursed his lips.

No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how badly his body and mind screamed at him to give in, he knew he couldn’t let himself fall back into this—this pattern, this trap. He had to maintain control, to keep his distance. 

But even as the words left his lips, as he said, “I can’t” something inside him felt like it was unraveling. The regret and the longing in your eyes, the way your smile faltered just for a moment, told him that you understood exactly what he meant. It hurt, but it was the right thing to do. Or so he told himself.

You didn’t say anything at first. You simply looked at him, the silence stretching between you like an ocean. And then, as if all of your plans had finally come to fruition, you stood up from the table and walked around it, your heels clicking softly on the floor. 

The distance between you both evaporated the moment you moved closer, your presence suddenly all-encompassing. Without a word, you leaned in, your lips barely grazing his ear as your breath sent a shiver down his spine. 

“You don’t have to say it with words, Kento.” you whispered. “I think you already know what I want.”

And in that moment, every single ounce of resistance he had left shattered. It wasn’t that he had stopped caring about the boundaries he had put in place. It wasn’t that he was suddenly willing to throw away everything he had tried to protect. 

It was simply that the pull of you was too strong, too irresistible. The magnetic force between you both was something that no amount of willpower could suppress. He was already too far gone.

Before he could think or process what was happening, your lips were on his, soft and urgent, demanding nothing and everything all at once. His hands, seemingly of their own accord, reached up to pull you closer, to feel the warmth of your body against his. 

The kiss deepened, slow at first but quickly turning desperate, as if both of you had been holding back for too long. The taste of you, the feel of your skin against his, was intoxicating, overwhelming.

It was more than just desire. It was the culmination of everything that had been building up between you both, an undeniable need that neither of you could control.

The night unfolded like a haze of touch, soft whispers, and heated moments that blurred into each other. The world outside ceased to exist as the two of you lost yourselves in each other, in the raw, untamed connection that had always simmered between you. 

Nanami Kento couldn’t remember when things had gone from tentative, unsure steps to something more frantic, more desperate, but he didn’t care. He was past caring. In the quiet aftermath, as you lay beside him, your body pressed against his, Kento’s mind raced. 

He couldn’t pretend that this didn’t change things. It had already changed everything. The walls he had so carefully built had crumbled in a matter of hours, and now he was left standing at the edge, unsure of how to move forward.

As you slept beside him, your head resting on his chest, he realized the truth that he had been trying so hard to deny: You were no longer just a temptation, a passing distraction. You were something else entirely—a force that had entered his life and shaken everything to its core.

And for all his attempts to hold back, to keep his distance, he knew, deep down, that he would never be able to escape you. The lines between right and wrong, between desire and control, had blurred beyond recognition, and now, there was only one thing he knew for certain: he was caught in your web, and there was no going back.

As the quiet settled over the room, Kento couldn’t shake the feeling of your presence beside him. It was as though every inch of him had been pulled toward you, and now that you were so close, the pull had only deepened. 

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. The vulnerability of the moment was overwhelming, and he didn’t know how to handle it. You stirred beside him, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. 

There was a quiet contentment in the way you touched him, as if you knew exactly how to make him feel both at ease and disoriented at the same time. Finally, you broke the silence with a soft, teasing whisper, your voice low and laced with something that made his pulse quicken. 

“You know, Kento, I never took you for someone who’d be so... unpredictable.”

Kento turned his head to look at you, your face still partially hidden by the dim light of the room, but he could see the playful glint in your eyes. Despite the heaviness of the situation, despite everything that had just transpired, there was still a challenge in your tone—like you were daring him to acknowledge what had just happened between you.

“I never expected you to be so persistent.” he replied, his voice hushed but tinged with the weight of the words.

You smiled, a faint, knowing smile that seemed to reach the corners of your eyes. “Persistence has its rewards, don’t you think?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let his eyes linger on you, taking in the details of your face—how you looked so much like the woman who had always been just out of reach, yet now was lying next to him as though you belonged there.

The closeness was intoxicating, and for a moment, Nanami Kento allowed himself to let go of the inner tension that had been gnawing at him.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” he muttered, almost to himself. His hand moved to gently push a lock of your hair behind your ear, a movement that seemed strangely intimate. “I’m not... someone you should be relying on for this kind of thing.”

You turned toward him, propping your head up with one hand, the other resting on his chest. Your gaze was steady, unwavering, and you leaned in slightly, as if closing the space between you would help you understand him better.

“You’re wrong.” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet confidence. “I know exactly who you are, Kento. You’ve been so careful, so stoic, but underneath that... I see you. And I know this isn’t just a passing thing for you. You wouldn’t let it be. Not with me.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to say something in response, something to deny the truth of your words, but for some reason, the honesty in your gaze made him pause. It was almost like you had peeled back a layer of himself that he had buried for so long, and now there was no turning back.

“Do you think you’re the first person to think they can outsmart me?” Nanami asked, his voice surprisingly gentle, almost like he was talking to himself. “You’ve always been good at what you do. Too good.”

“Is that a compliment, or are you just being modest?” you teased, but your voice was softer now, as if the playful note was fading into something more serious.

“It’s the truth.” he said, his voice steady but filled with a new kind of weight. “I can’t pretend that I’m immune to you, that I can just walk away from all this.”

You shifted slightly, your body inching closer to his, as though the tension in the air had become too much for both of you to ignore. Your lips parted, your gaze never leaving his. A glint of something beyond the icy clouds he was enamoured about.

“You don’t have to walk away, Kento.” you whispered, a trace of vulnerability beneath your usual boldness. “But if you’re not willing to stay, then don’t bother pretending. I won’t waste my time.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, heavier than it had ever been before. Your hand rested against his own, smiling at him so tenderly.

“I’m not pretending.” he finally said, his voice quiet but resolute. “I know what I want. The question is... do you know what you want?”

For a moment, it seemed like the world outside the room had disappeared entirely. You were both in this space, suspended in time, just the two of you, your emotions intertwined in a way neither of you had fully prepared for.

“I know exactly what I want.” you replied softly, your fingers brushing his jawline. “But the real question, Kento, is whether you’re ready to let go of what you’re holding onto. You may be in control... but for how long?”

The challenge in your voice sent a shiver down his spine, and Kento couldn’t help but lean in just a fraction closer, as though the very air between you had become too thick to ignore. The magnetism of the moment was too strong, and even though he knew the risks, knew the consequences, he didn’t pull back.

“I’m not sure if I can let go.” he admitted, his voice low. His caramel eyes searched yours, looking for something—anything—to make sense of the chaos swirling inside him. “But maybe... just maybe... I’m starting to understand why I don’t want to.”

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you closed the small gap between you and kissed him, a soft, slow kiss that held all the promises neither of you dared to speak aloud. It was a kiss that conveyed everything, a silent agreement that neither of you had the strength to pull away from.

And as the night stretched on, the boundaries between right and wrong, between need and guilt, blurred once again. Neither of you said what was truly on your minds, but in that moment, words weren’t necessary. 

The understanding was enough. The desire was enough. And maybe, just maybe, this—this strange, inevitable connection was more than either of you could ever have imagined. Even though he didn’t know how long this was going to last.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

YET HE KNEW THAT YOU WERE COMPETITIVE TOO. You didn’t want to lose the game. It was more than just a challenge to you—it was a test of your control, your power over the situation. You’d played the game so carefully, weaving each step, each move, into a perfect symphony of manipulation. 

But that night, before you disappeared from his apartment, Kento had seen it in your eyes. That brief, fleeting moment where the façade cracked, where the sharp edges of your confidence gave way to something far more vulnerable, something he would never fully understand.

The room was thick with tension, charged with an intensity that neither of you had been able to escape. You were face to face with him now, and the walls of your meticulously crafted world were closing in. The situation had shifted in ways you hadn’t planned for, and every move you had made, every carefully laid out strategy, was beginning to unravel.

You’d been the one pulling the strings, the one who had orchestrated everything with precision. But now, Nanami Kento stood before you, a force that had disrupted the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain. 

His sharp mind, his piercing gaze, and his unyielding persistence had become the thorn in your side, one you hadn’t expected. The game was still on, but the stakes were higher than ever. For a moment, you let your mind drift back to the past few days. 

How you’d thought you had him under control, how you’d been so sure of yourself. You had always been in control of the game. Whether it was your charm, your intellect, or the secrets you so expertly guarded, you had always held the upper hand. 

But with Nanami Kento, there was something different. Everything about him was an anomaly.  His presence was like a force of nature, one that couldn’t be ignored, one that made you question everything.

“This is what you’ve been working towards?” Yaga Masamichi's voice was cold, filled with disbelief. 

He had been observing from a distance, waiting for the right moment to intervene, but now it was clear that the game had reached its climax. You stood across from them, eyes sharp, calculating. You could feel Kento’s eyes burning holes into you.

"I’m not interested in your so-called justice, iceman." you spat, turning your focus back to Kento. "You both are just pawns in a much bigger plan. This—" you motioned vaguely around you. "—all of this is a distraction. A test. And you were so easy to manipulate, detective."

Kento stood still, the air thick with resolve. The betrayal in your voice stung, but he wasn’t letting it sway him. “You’re the one who’s been playing a game, siren.” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. "And the one who's been pretending. Pretending like you didn’t have a stake in all this."

You scoffed. "Please. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need you. I’m using you, just like I’ve used everyone else. You were always just a tool."

But there was something in your eyes, there was a flicker, an imperceptible shift. Something that betrayed your words. Kento, ever observant, didn’t miss it. He took a step forward, his brow furrowed, voice cutting through the air. 

“You’re lying.”

You froze.

His eyes narrowed, taking in the subtle signs you thought you had hidden so well. "Your elevated pulse. You can't fool me. You're interested in me. All this... it’s a game to you, but you’re not fooling anyone.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. How could he have figured it out so easily? You had worked so hard to keep up the façade, to maintain the power, but in that moment, Nanami Kento had seen right through you. He always has, the moment you both met.

“You really thought you had me, didn’t you?” Kento continued, his voice low and steady, almost teasing. “You thought I wouldn’t notice. But I can see right through you. The truth is, you’ve always been a lot more invested than you let on."

“How can you be so confident?”

The room felt smaller, the silence deafening as Nanami Kento moved closer, his expression unreadable. You were beginning to panic inside, but you refused to let it show. Your eyes tensed as he got to you. You watched as he wraps the fingers of his right hand around her left wrist, then leans forward and brings his mouth close to her right ear.

“Because I took your pulse.”

Almost suddenly, you could feel yourself going through your memories. You found yourself at that moment, where you were kneeling in front of him and smiling at him. Your hand on top of him. You hadn’t noticed it then. You were too busy looking at him.

It was then he, keeping eye contact, turning his hand over and resting his fingertips on the underside of your wrist. The beating of your heart echoes against the fabric of his flesh. He pursed his lips in a flat line.

You frowned, betrayal finally evident in your eyes as you gathered yourself to the present once more. You could feel his grip on your wrist tightens. You try to open your mouth but nothing comes out of your lips.

“They’re elevated.” He continues to whisper to you. “Your pupils dilated, just like back then.”

“I imagine people think that love seems like a mystery to me, that it’s of lesser value to my fondness of the game, of logic.Like you want it to be.” He tells you, brushing your hair and tucking it against your ear. “But it’s chemistry,a s simple as breathing. It’s just as destructive, don’t you think?”

Kento turns away and walks a few paces from you. You couldn’t help but try and follow behind him. But you stopped as he turned around and faced you once again. You purse your lips in a flat line. He smiles at you as he takes the phone.

“You know, you tried to convince me that this is all a game, that you were bored and this was you having fun. You played all those games over and over, tempting me and you couldn’t help it could you?”

He starts pressing the buttons on the phone. You could feel the air get punched out of your lungs. You wanted him to stop, but he didn't. He looks up to you, trying to see your panic and tension. 

“You knew I would try and use your body as much as you would use mine. You allowed me to take your measurements, everything. But this phone, everything about this is intimate. This is your heart.”

Without breaking his gaze into your bright emotional eyes, Kento pushes his finger and punches in the first of the five letter code. Then it clicked. You closed your eyes, tears pouring out your eyes. You could feel your heart beating loudly.

“And if you wanted to win the game.” He whispers to you, smiling. “You should never let it rule your head.”

You stared at him, trying to stay calm but the panic is beginning to show behind your eyes, tears pouring down your cheeks. You had lost to him. He smiles at you in a triumph as your breathing becomes heavier.

“You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for.” he tells you as he stares at the phone. “But after all that time, being obsessed about me. You just couldn’t resist it, couldn’t you?”

“Stop. Please.”

“I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage.” He continues as you try to seize his hand, gazing intensely at him. “Thank you for the final proof.”

He shows Yaga the phone. 

It was his name, K-E-N-T-O.

You felt the tears pour again.

“Everything I said: it’s not real.” You whispered back at him, lying through your teeth. “I was just playing the game.”

“I know.” He whispered to you, his eyes echoing fondness. “And this is just losing it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be able to guess it so quickly, but of course, he was always ahead of the game. He knew what you had been hiding all along. With a sharp click, the phone unlocked. Kento glanced at the screen briefly before turning his gaze back to you.

Your stomach turned. The room seemed to tilt around you. For the first time in your life, you were the one caught in the web. You had underestimated him. The man who had been nothing more than a distraction was now the one holding the key to your entire operation.

Before you could react, Yaga moved swiftly to grab the phone from Kento’s hands, but you were already one step ahead. Your instinct for survival kicked in. You didn’t have time to make sense of it all. You needed to leave. Now.

With a sudden movement, you grabbed your coat, the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you turned to the door. Kento’s gaze followed you, but he didn’t try to stop you. You looked into his eyes. He knew that you wouldn’t last six months. 

“Not so fast.” you heard him say, his tone sharp. “You won’t get away that easily.”

But you were already slipping out of the room, the sound of your heels echoing down the hallway as you fled. Behind you, you could hear Kento and Yaga discussing the aftermath, but it didn’t matter anymore. 

Your plan was unraveling, but you were no longer in the mood to play by their rules. In the blink of an eye, you were gone, disappearing into the shadows of the city, knowing that the game had shifted—and you would need to find a new way to stay in control.

As you hurried through the corridor, your mind raced. The realization that Nanami Kento had figured out your carefully constructed ruse was a blow to your confidence, but you couldn’t afford to dwell on it. You had come too far, planned too meticulously, to let it all collapse now.

Still, the fact that he had guessed the password, his name, cut deep, deeper than you'd expected. You had thought your feelings were buried beneath the cold, calculated façade you’d built, but now, standing on the brink of losing everything, they resurfaced in full force.

Nanami Kento—the man who had been a mere pawn in your plan had somehow become the center of it. His presence, his ability to break through your defenses, it all felt like a betrayal, even though you were the one who had been playing the game. You didn’t have time to question what had gone wrong; you had to act fast.

As you made your way down the stairs, the voices of Yaga and Kento grew fainter, their words drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You knew you had to disappear before they caught up, but something inside you resisted, a strange mix of anger and... longing. You couldn’t let it show, not now, not when everything was slipping through your fingers.

Your fingers gripped the handle of the door to the street, but just as you were about to escape, a voice called out.

“You think you can just run?” Kento’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine. He had followed you.

You whirled around to face him, your eyes narrowing in defiance, your body tense with adrenaline. Kento stood a few feet behind you, the doorframe casting shadows across his features. He looked at you with a mixture of frustration and something else, something more complex than anger, maybe even understanding.

“Do you really think this is the end, Kento?” you sneered, trying to mask the uncertainty building inside. 

You had never shown this side of yourself to him before, this vulnerable, off-balance side that was beginning to crack under the weight of your own feelings. You couldn’t afford to let him see it, though. Not now.

“You always have an answer, don’t you?” he said quietly, his gaze steady as it locked with yours. “Always one step ahead, but this time, I’m the one who figured you out. I know what you're really after.”

You clenched your jaw. You could feel the heat of your emotions bubbling to the surface, but you held them back. “You don’t know anything, Kento.” you said, your voice was hard, but the crack in it betrayed you.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His presence was like an anchor, heavy and undeniable, making it impossible for you to ignore the magnetic pull between you. For a moment, the anger you had been holding onto faded, replaced by something much more dangerous. You could feel it in your chest. A thudding, tight sensation that wasn’t entirely from fear.

“I know you.” Nanami said, his voice low. “I know how you work. How you manipulate, how you play people to get what you want.” He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I also know something else. I know that you... care.”

You blinked, startled. "You're wrong." you hissed, your heart racing as you tried to shove the feelings back into the recesses of your mind where they had been hiding.

But he wasn’t finished. "No.”he said, his tone firm. "I’m right. You’re not as cold as you think you are. You’ve been hiding behind your plan, using it as a shield, but it’s not fooling me anymore."

You wanted to lash out, to deny it, to prove him wrong. But his words hung in the air, making it harder and harder to push them away. He was right, in a way. You had always told yourself that you were in control, that you could manipulate the situation, use it to your advantage. But now, standing there with him, with the evidence of your vulnerability laid bare, you weren’t so sure.

"Don’t make this harder than it already is." he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to keep running, but if you do, you’ll only be fooling yourself.”

You could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, the truth of them sinking in like a heavy stone. You were out of options. You didn’t have an answer. The truth of it hit you hard, and before you could stop yourself, you were already fleeing. 

Your heart pounding, the camera phone slipping from your hand as you disappeared into the night. You didn’t know if you were running from Nanami Kento or from yourself. But one thing was certain: the game was far from over.

“Run now, siren.” He whispers in your ear. “I’ll let you have the head start.”

He had won this time, and you lost.

You always will, when it comes to him.

You loved him, after all.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THINGS HAVE GONE AND PASSED AGAIN. The air was heavy with the kind of silence that could only follow about something like this. Yaga Masamichi. sat at his desk, the faint hum of the office lights above the only sound as he held the letter in his hands. Kento can only look at him, trying to keep a poker face.

He had received the news just moments ago. The news that people were expecting. News that even Kento knew would happen. But after you had lost the game, you were more vulnerable than ever before. And there was nothing that was to be done about it. That was just how it was in this world.

You, the enigmatic figure who had stirred the threads of chaos and manipulation in their lives, had been executed by enemy spies. He heard it was at least merciful, one clean cut.  And now he has to tell Nanami Kento. And that would close the case. 

"Yaga, you called me here too early for this.”

“I know, I know. But it has to be said in person.” Yaga said, his voice steady but grim. “It’s about the dominatrix.”

Kento looked at him for a moment.

He sighed as he straightened his position.

“What happened?” Kento’s voice had softened, as if preparing for the inevitable.

“They’ve been executed.” Yaga said, each word feeling like a final nail in the coffin of everything they had all been through with you. “Some of their enemies... They caught them. They’re gone.”

There was another long silence. Nanami Kento didn’t speak immediately. He sighed, and slowly took out a cigarette from his pocket. Soon, he pulls out a lighter. The soft click of a lighter igniting the moment filled the void. 

“Thank you for informing me.” Kento replied, his voice low, emotionless.

“Listen, I just—” Yaga started, sensing the complicated nature of their relationship, but Nanami cut him off.

“I’ll handle it.” he said, his tone final. 

And with that, Nanami Kento stood up.

The smell of nicotine echoed through.

And then, he left as quietly as he entered.

Nanami Kento arrived back at his apartment, the cigarette already gone. He sighed as he sat in the quiet of his apartment, the heavy weight of the news pressing against him. His apartment, usually a place of calm and routine, felt eerily empty now. 

The hum of the outside world fading into a distant, unimportant murmur. He walked to the corner where his violin sat. He had left it a while ago, having been summoned. There was a new piece he had to enjoy. A new refuge from the chaos of his life.

Sitting down, Kento lifted the violin, the bow in his hand as though it were second nature. He placed it against the strings and began to play—a soft, mournful tune that echoed through the empty space of his home.

The melody wasn’t one he had planned to play. It was a reflection of the tumult he felt inside. There was an unspoken grief, a lingering ache that he couldn’t quite place. It was almost as if he were trying to play the sorrow out of his chest, to make sense of the confusion swirling in his mind.

But his mind kept circling back to you. The way you had manipulated him, pulled him into your web, but also the way you had challenged him, pushed him to think in ways he never had before. He couldn't deny the complexity of his feelings for you. The mix of resentment and a strange, reluctant respect for the person you were.

You had been his puzzle, one that never quite made sense, and now, with your loss, that piece of his life was forever unfinished. You were the game that he enjoyed the most, the game that had excited him the most. The game he loved.

As he played, his fingers faltered slightly over the strings, the tension building in his chest as he remembered the last time he had seen you. The way your eyes had locked, full of unspoken words. The way you had almost reached for him, only for everything to crumble apart in the chaos of the mission.

The music began to swell as he poured his emotions into each note, but something else caught his attention. The glint of the camera phone in his breast pocket. The phone that had been the key to everything. 

The phone that he had kept close, far closer than he had ever intended. It wasn’t just a tool, a piece of evidence. It was a reminder of you, a tether that still held him in your orbit, even in your absence.

He paused his playing, reaching up to gently pull the phone from his pocket. His fingers brushed over the smooth surface, feeling the weight of it like a secret too heavy to carry. The camera phone wasn’t just part of the plan you had devised. 

It was a part of you. And in that moment, Nanami realized that he hadn’t just kept it because it was useful; he kept it because it was a connection to something deeper. You were gone, but the phone, the lingering traces of you, remained.

Nanami Kento sighed, placing the phone on the table before him as he continued to play, the melody soft and contemplative now. It was clear that, despite the distance between them, despite all the lies and manipulation, there had been something real there. A part of him, something he couldn’t quite articulate, had been drawn to you.

He didn’t understand it completely, but one thing was undeniable: you had left your mark on him, and in the quiet solitude of his apartment, Nanami Kento allowed himself to admit it. He would keep the camera phone close. Near his heart.

But then he smiles. 

His mind goes to months ago.

The air was thick with the sounds of an angry voice drifting over the low hum of a military vehicle. The camera shakes, blurring the scene in the darkness, until it finally stabilizes, the picture clearing as reality begins to take form.

You’re kneeling on the cold, unforgiving earth, the bright floodlights from the vehicle casting long shadows across your body. Clad in your death robes, you appear almost serene, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding you. 

With one hand, you type slowly and deliberately on your phone, ignoring the shouts, the movement, the urgency of it all. Your fingers glide over the screen, eyes fixed on the message you’ve been preparing for hours.

Goodbye pretty man.

Your heart beats steadily as you press send. It’s the final touch. Your final act. To your right, a man holds a rifle with one hand, his other hand outstretched, demanding your phone. His voice is rough, laced with frustration as he calls for you to hand it over. 

But you don’t flinch. You don’t move. You’re not done. His voice sharpens with each demand, but you remain composed, fingers pressing the keys with a calm that unnerves him. Give me the phone! Now! he roars, but your gaze stays fixed on the screen.

Not yet. Not until you finish.

He steps closer, anger flashing across his face, rifle raised again, his grip tightening. But you don’t look up. You don’t react. You type with precision, your thumb moving over the screen with careful intent, as if time no longer holds any meaning.

The world around you may be closing in, but you’re lost in the finality of your message. 

It feels almost too simple, and yet, it’s everything. 

Then the atmosphere shifts.

A sudden tension cracks through the air, and the voices behind you falter, confusion rippling through the men as a figure steps forward from the shadows. You hear his voice before you see him, calm, unyielding.

“Stand down.”

Nanami Kento.

The man holding the rifle hesitates, looking between you and the newcomer. Kento’s presence is a force. It was silent, authoritative. His voice has the weight of a command, and it leaves no room for argument. The rifle lowers, and the soldier steps back, unwilling to face the quiet fury Kento brings with him.

Kento doesn’t spare a glance at the man. His attention is on you. His steps are measured, purposeful, as he approaches. He kneels beside you, and for a moment, the chaos around you blurs into silence. 

His hand brushes your shoulder gently, a wordless comfort in the midst of everything. He doesn’t ask why you’re here, doesn’t ask why you’ve sent the message. Instead, he simply looks at the phone, glancing down at the words you’ve typed.

“Goodbye pretty man...” he reads softly, his voice a mixture of concern and something else—something unreadable.

You finally glance up at him, your expression a mask of calm, but your eyes flicker with something more. A slight smile, cold but there, pulls at the corners of your lips. You take a moment to breathe, taking in the presence of him.

“I didn’t think I’d make it out this time.”

His gaze softens, just for a second, before he stands, pulling you to your feet effortlessly. His fingers are warm against yours as he closes the phone, taking it from your hand. His grip is firm, sure, as he pulls you into his orbit, away from the danger, away from the violence.

Without a word, Kento turns his back to the men as he walks away. You’re with him now, an unspoken agreement passing between you. His presence is unwavering, the tension around you fading with each step. He leads you through the chaos, his voice cutting through the din with quiet authority, silencing any protest from the soldiers around you.

“You’re coming with me. Now.”

His words are simple, but there’s no room for defiance. You follow, not because you have to, but because for the first time in months, you feel something that’s been missing. An anchor, a safety in his steady presence. You couldn’t help but smile.

You don’t need to say anything more. He’s here. 

You’re not alone anymore.

The game has changed. 

And Nanami Kento is the one who changed it.

“My vixen of a siren, where could you be now?”