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okaylikeschaewon · 3 days ago

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Chapter 10: Choices

~6k words, male reader, smut

“I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” Sakura yawned, rubbing her eyes.

“Kkura I’m fucking scared.”

She took one proper look at you and that was enough to let the drowsiness instantly fade from her face. The fact that it was the break of dawn and that she had just rolled out of bed a moment earlier seemingly no longer mattered. Shrugging her shoulders to protect herself from the cold, Sakura shut the door behind her and stepped out into the crisp morning air, pulling her robe tight around her body.

“What happened?” she asked softly, her beautiful, round eyes widened. Her expression was warm, despite the chilly morning air.

“What if she doesn’t take it well?” you asked, your breath catching in the cold and your teeth clattering.

“Let’s slow down for a second,” Sakura began shivering. “But first, can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Uh…”

“Oh, right,” Sakura frowned. “Car?”

“That works,” you agreed, turning around and leading Sakura towards where you parked.

Sakura got into the passenger seat as you turned on the car.

“Much better,” Sakura shivered, holding her hands up to the vents as you started blasting the heat. “Alright, now do you want to explain what you’re talking about?”

“I slept on it, like you said,” you began anxiously. “I can’t shake my head around… I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Sakura sighed, her eyes shimmering with compassion. Her gaze was soft and understanding, radiating a soothing energy that promised there would be no judgment on her end.

“You’re going to need to clarify who you’re talking about.”

“Sorry. It’s Zuha. I can’t get that girl out of my head. I swear ever since she confessed, I’ve felt something inside me that I just haven’t been able to shake.”

“Then I guess you have your answer.”

“Isn’t it fucked up though?” you raised your voice unintentionally, nearly shouting at the girl without even realizing it. “Sorry, I just mean like, for Chaewon, I feel awful. I still really love her, I think, but I think I also have feelings for Kazuha? I don’t know, nothing makes sense to me anymore, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m not here to tell you what’s right and wrong,” Sakura replied calmly. “I love both of those girls with all of my heart.”

“And I still have a lot of love for both of them.”

“But you can’t see both of them romantically,” Sakura smiled gently. “There’s no real nice way to put it, you have to pick one.”

“It just feels wrong,” you let out an exasperated sigh. “Why can’t I just have them both?”

“It’s one thing to sleep with both of them, but it’s another to have feelings for both,” Sakura chuckled. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it would be fair to either girl if you tried keeping both.”

It sucked to hear, even if for just a moment you tried to trick yourself into thinking it would be possible. “You’re right, I know, it just blows.”

“And I’m not telling you which one you should pick, that’s your decision,” Sakura continued. “Lucky you, by the way, in the grand scheme of things there are worse choices to be left with.”

“I know, I’m making my own life difficult.”

“I’m not saying it’s an easy choice.”

“But I have to make it.”

“Yeah, you do,” Sakura pursed her lips as her expression bled empathy. “They both really like you, more than you probably know.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“My bad,” Sakura chuckled before her expression turned more serious. “If it makes you feel better, I know better than anyone that you’ll do right by Chaewon even if you decide to move onto Kazuha.”

Better than anyone. Something about that comment didn’t exactly sit right with you, and immediately you figured something was wrong.

“Sakura?” you gave her a look of confusion as you fixated on that one line.

“I’m fine,” her voice cracked as she quickly turned away from you to look out the passenger side window.

“I… are you…” your voice trailed off, and it was like there was a rock in your throat. All of a sudden you couldn’t speak, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You reached out for Sakura’s shoulder with your hand.

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated firmly, pulling her shoulder away from your touch, still staring out the window. “Just… give me a second, please.”

“Sure, let me know,” you leaned back slowly.

This couldn’t be much further from what you expected the conversation would be like. It all happened too fast, you were still trying to comprehend how it turned into this. You kept your gaze fixated on Sakura’s back, confused and worried about her, forgetting about your own dilemma for the moment.

She brought one of her hands up to her face, presumably wiping her eyes with the cuff of her robe, followed by a couple of silent sobs. Her body trembled just enough for you to notice, as if she was still outside in the cold, but the car was as warm as it could be. She let out one final sniffle, shrugging her shoulders as she took a deep breath and turned back to face you.

“Sorry about that,” she stated, her beautiful round eyes stained scarlet. “As I was saying-”

“Sakura,” you cut in, barely hearing your own voice over your thumping heart. “Are you okay?”

A shaky exhale escaped her lips as her brow furrowed. Her lip began to tremble, and her eyelids began blinking rapidly. She nodded, unable to find her voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Sakura laughed as a couple of tears flew down her face. “About how pathetic I am? How it takes one mention of our past to send me down a fucking rabbit hole all night?”

“What are you talking about? You’re not pathetic-”

“Aren’t I?” she shouted, her voice unstable and shaky, each syllable wavering and threatening collapse. “I bet you didn’t think about it at all after we stopped talking last night.”

“Of course I did,” you responded unconvincingly, fully aware that she knew you were lying.

“Yeah? Did you also spend all night looking at pictures? Pictures that I refused to delete? Even though I told myself I would?” Sakura snapped back. “That’s what I thought.”

It was tough to hear and you were admittedly at a loss for words, staring at Sakura as she was on the verge of fresh tears. It hurt so unbelievably bad to see her like this. You’ve known this girl for years and seeing her in this state was a rare occurrence, but it was so fucking difficult whenever it happened. You hated it. You hated every second of what was happening in this car.

“I’m fine,” Sakura choked, still struggling to get the words out. “Being reminded last night just really had me thinking about those days.”

“I’m sorry-”

“It took me a really long time to forgive you,” Sakura confessed, ignoring your apology. “Like, a really fucking long time.”

“I had no idea-”

“I once told Zuha I was going to murder you in your sleep.”

“Oh,” you raised your eyebrows. “Understandable, very reasonable.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sakura scoffed. “What you did was… honestly it’s been long enough, I’m going to say it. What you did was fucked up.”

“Excuse me? We both agreed to end things when we ended them,” you finally found your voice and defended yourself. “How can you put all the blame on me like that?”

“You’re right, we both agreed,” Sakura retaliated with her voice full of rage. “I’m talking about the reason you gave and what you did right after.”

“You mean-”

“Yes you fucking asshole,” Sakura interjected. “Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? And it’s not like she knew a thing, I made sure to never tell her, because it wasn’t her fault, she didn’t deserve to have that in her mind.”

“I didn’t plan for things to happen the way they did, you know this. It just… things just happened the way they did, no one could have seen it coming.”

“I. Fucking. Know,” Sakura sighed with exasperation, frustratingly agreeing as if she knew she had no other option. “Of course I fucking know, I’m the one who basically…” she sighed deeper with heavy pent up frustration behind her before adding in a nearly-silent whisper. “But it still really hurt.”

“I’m really sorry Kkura, I-”

“Never thought about it? Had no idea? Why would you? You had a pretty girl obsessed with you while all I had was fucking nothing, nothing but the pleasure of watching you replace me in less than… however long it was. I don’t even give a fuck about that part, it’s just the reason you gave me.”

She was right, to a degree. It’s not that you hadn’t thought about it, but you clearly did not realize how much you put her through, or perhaps you were just too much of a dickhead to care. She deserved better, and it took you far too long to realize this, you hurt the girl who was there for you far more than you ever could have known.

“Kkura-”

“Alright, fine, maybe I did care about that part as well, maybe I felt like what we had wasn’t very special if you could replace me that quickly. I don’t know, but I could have overlooked it,” Sakura kept going, not letting you get a word in. “Really it’s probably my fault, I could have said no when you asked me that night, I could have just ignored your text, never set you up on that date.”

“That’s not fair at all, no one could have ever predicted that night to turn into what it did. Chaewon wasn’t even in the picture at that point. It wasn’t even supposed to be her, you know this, things just kinda fell into place after.”

“Obviously I do, I set it up,” Sakura snapped at you. “And we both know damn well how I don’t have it in me to ignore you like that, but I probably should have.”

“Sakura, I know I hurt you,” you began as you chose your next words carefully. “But you know my first date with Chaewon was before the announcement, right? I had no idea she was going to debut again, she didn’t tell me until way later.”

“Even if you knew, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but it still matters,” you replied softly. “The reason I gave you was genuine, and I don’t think I would have gone forward with Chaewon had I known about the group. You believe me, right?”

She paused for a moment to think about what you said. “Yeah, I do, and honestly I don’t really blame you, I know I don’t,” Sakura replied, her voice losing the anger and being replaced with a touch of dejection - one that stung much more than when she was yelling at you. “I get it, I saw the way you looked at her. It was clear as day you were madly in love with her, and you two were just so perfect together.”

“That must have made it even harder on you,” you muttered, your vision starting to blur. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sakura replied bluntly. “How could I be upset? Chaewon was happier than I had ever seen her. I was happy for her. Of course I was. It’s not her fault.”

Words once again escaped your brain.

“As mad as I was, I was also secretly happy for you as well,” Sakura confessed with a smile stained with melancholy. “It may sound stupid, but even though we didn’t work out, deep down I still wanted to see you happy. Oh, who am I fucking kidding, it wasn’t that deep down. I wanted you to be happy, even when you hurt me. Pathetic as fuck, right?”

“And I also want to see you happy, does that make me pathetic too?” you replied, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “I hope you know I really mean that, I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. And my reason wasn’t bullshit, I swear I really felt that way, I just wasn’t expecting that whole thing to unfold the way it did.”

“I know, I don’t think either of us expected it, I didn’t even know it was an option,” Sakura mumbled quietly under her breath. “I promise I never held it against Chaewon.”

“Just against me.”

“Only at the start,” Sakura laughed softly as the tears finally spilled. “You know how I said I know you’d do right by Chaewon? Yeah, as much as you hurt me, there’s a reason I didn’t actually murder you in your sleep.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, but sometimes things happen,” Sakura smiled faintly, her eyes glistening as she fought the losing battle against the wave of emotion threatening to break through. “Seeing how happy you made Chaewon made it a lot easier for me to forgive you.”

Just like that, tears also began flowing down your face in a way you couldn’t control.

“That… wasn’t supposed to be…” Sakura stammered quickly.

“Sakura I’m so-” you choked up before finishing your thought.

“It’s okay,” Sakura whispered, leaning over and wrapping you up in her arms. “I promise it’s okay. I’m here with you.”

It took you a few moments - squeezing Sakura tenderly - before you were able to compose yourself again. You let go of her slowly and another wave of warmth shot through your body when you saw her face tear-soaked.

“It’s all behind us now,” Sakura said softly. “Just like I was able to forgive you, I’m confident Chaewon will, too.”

“Does that mean you think she’ll be mad at me?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that,” Sakura quickly backtracked. “This situation is different.”

“Isn’t this one worse?” you asked nervously. “Fuck, Sakura I don’t know anymore, maybe this is all a mistake.”

“I don’t think you should doubt yourself, just listen to what your heart’s telling you. It’s also kinda too late to back out now, think about Zuha.”

“You really think so?”

“I don’t see a better option, but it’s definitely complicated,” Sakura replied nervously. “Just be thoughtful when it’s time to tell Chaewon, if you’re mean to her, maybe I will have to murder you in your sleep.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you half-smiled. “But let’s be honest, we both know I could never hurt that girl on purpose, ever.”

“You probably thought that about… actually let’s not go there again,” Sakura returned your smile half-heartedly. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

“Fingers crossed,” Sakura chuckled, wiping her face clean as she opened the door.

The two of you stepped into the brisk air once more. You walked around your car to Sakura who was waiting for you. Without speaking a single word, the two of you embraced in a tight hug, properly this time.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into her shoulder, the coldness of the morning being completely replaced by the warmth of Sakura’s hug.

“Good luck with everything, I’m always here for you if I can help with anything,” Sakura whispered back before letting go of you and shooting you a nervous glance. “When do you plan on talking to them?”

The talk with Sakura ended up creeping just a bit of doubt into your decision, but your mind was still set. You knew, as much as you didn’t want to do it, this conversation had to happen at some point soon because the longer you waited the worse it would become. With that in mind, you returned Sakura’s nervous expression with a look of determination.

“Right now.”

—

“Hey,” you whispered, peeking your head through the door to see if she was awake.

“Oh! I thought it was Kkura,” Kazuha blurted out as she looked up from her phone. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I came to see you, actually,” you answered while opening the door a bit more. “Mind if I come in?”

“Oh, uh, yeah of course,” she replied, sitting up in her bed and putting her phone aside. “Come, sit. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Kazuha raised an eyebrow at you as if you were an idiot. “I pieced together that much,” she giggled softly. “Did you not sleep well? Your eyes are a bit red.”

“Oh no that’s just-”

“You don’t have pinkeye do you?” Kazuha leaned back away from you. “I really don’t want to wear an eye patch, not during promos.”

“No, Zuha, it’s not pinkeye,” you smiled meekly.

“Okay good!” she giggled again, leaning back in and cuddling up next to you before quickly pulling away in fear. “Uh, sorry, that was… I probably shouldn’t do stuff like that right now with the whole… sorry…”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” you scooted closer to her as her face turned a shade light pink. “Forget everything else for a moment, because things are a bit complicated, but just listen to me. I like you, Zuha. A lot.”

“Oh,” Kazuha blushed even harder. “T-Thank you? I also like you, a lot.”

“I want to make you my girlfriend.”

“What?” Kazuha began blinking rapidly as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “But what about-”

“I told you, please just for a moment forget everything else, we’ll figure that stuff out,” you cut her off. “Just tell me, would you like that?”

Kazuha pondered your words. Unknown to you, her heart was beating harder than it ever has before. “I… I would…” she muttered before smiling brightly at you with her eyes twinkling. “Yes, I would.”

Just like that, you knew you made the correct choice. The way she looked at you, the way you felt right now, everything was perfect. You wanted nothing more in life than this girl sitting next to you, that precious smile and those pure eyes. Your insides were burning up in a warmth of comfort and love that you didn’t know you felt towards this girl, all of a sudden it just came rushing in. That gnawing sensation you’ve had inside you ever since her confession, it finally made sense.

Unfortunately, the feeling only lasted for a fleeting moment before reality came crashing in and Chaewon popped into your mind again.

“What’s wrong?” Kazuha looked concerned as she immediately noticed your shift. She pulled you into her arms, just like Sakura did earlier. “I guess we need to address the elephant in the room.”

“How am I supposed to tell her?” you whispered, pulling away from Kazuha slowly. “I want this, I really do, but I don’t want to hurt Chaewon.”

“And I don’t either,” Kazuha agreed as worry filled her expression. “Should we talk to her together?”

“You think that’s better? It’s a bit of a unique situation, I don’t really know what to do.”

“I don’t either,” Kazuha smiled softly. “You’d be my first relationship, remember?”

“I guess we’ll be traversing some uncharted territory together,” you smiled back at her before leaning in.

Without thinking, you kissed her. As soon as your lips touched, you froze, regretting and realizing this probably wasn’t the right time - but then you felt Kazuha kiss back. You let her take control as she ended up on top of you, her lips pressed softly against yours.

“Zuha,” you whispered into her mouth.

“You asked me to forget everything else, just for a moment,” she whispered back before kissing you again. “Can we really forget it all, please?”

“You mean?”

“Yes,” she gasped as she sat up and began taking off her shorts. “Can we?”

Your mind went a bit hazy as you thought back to the other night. The memories of how good Kazuha felt flooded into your brain.

“Fuck it,” you also began lowering your pants before you flipped Kazuha onto her back and spread her legs.

“Is this wrong?” she asked, looking up at you with her hair framing her face as if she was some sort of angel laying there beneath you.

“Probably,” you shrugged as you pulled her underwear to the side. “We could stop, we don’t have to do this right now.”

“No!” her voice cracked, immediately followed by an intense red glow of her cheeks. “I just mean… uh…”

“Don’t explain, I understand,” you smiled down at her as you lined yourself up. “Whatever happens in this room this morning, it’s between us and only us, let’s agree to put everything else on pause, alright?”

“I’d like that,” Kazuha nodded at you before spreading her legs a bit wider. “Go slow?”

“Let me know,” you whispered back as you pressed yourself forward carefully. You leaned in close, slipped your hands under Kazuha’s body, and pressed your mouth to her neck, kissing it softly as she flexed her body. “Try to relax, if you can.”

“It’s really fucking tight,” Kazuha whispered, arching her back.

“Should I stop?”

Kazuha hesitated, taking a couple deep breaths before speaking. “No, not yet, just… just slowly…”

“Okay,” you moved up a bit and began lifting Kazuha’s shirt up.

She helped you take it off, exposing her perky tits, letting a sweet moan escape her lips as you pressed your mouth to her chest.

“Oh that’s nice,” she whispered as you started moving your hips. “Good, but still really tight.”

“Hold on,” you moved your hips back and pulled out. “How about we slow down even more?”

Kazuha bit her lip. “I’m sorry, for some reason I’m more nervous this time.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled reassuringly while bringing your fingers between her legs. With delicate and deliberate movements, you tried your best to ease her nerves, slowly pressing where she was most sensitive. “We can take our time, or we can try again another time, it’s up to you.”

“How about a different position?” Kazuha suggested as she pressed her fingers down on top of yours and pressed them down a bit harder. “But this feels nice.”

“Yeah? Should we just keep doing this?” you asked before leaning into her again and kissing her collarbone.

“This feels really nice,” Kazuha moaned softly as she pressed her fingers even harder, guiding your hand around her pussy.

Your fingers began sliding easier as time passed. The gentle sound of wetness, accompanied by Kazuha’s eyes shutting and her features softening, put you into a state of ease. It was working, and you didn’t want to stop. You had her entire body relaxing, you could almost see each and every fiber of Kazuha’s toned muscles relax.

She began moaning in a musical-like tone, one that screamed class and innocence with just a touch of naughty. It fit her so well, that pretty - unbelievably pretty - face. Even as she scrunched up her expression, she just looked so fucking pretty. You could stare at her all day.

While this was going on, the pressure building up in your cock was becoming too much. You couldn’t help but start stroking yourself to the view, trying to relax your own body as Kazuha began squirming beneath your fingers. It took a lot of self control, you knew that you could finish in just moments if you let yourself go, but right now you were more concerned with how Kazuha felt.

“You’re so beautiful,” you muttered softly under your breath as Kazuha’s body began trembling. He moans crescendoed, that beautiful voice of hers piercing your ears, but despite the increase in pitch, she stayed quiet. Elegant, in a way, even as she started cumming on your fingers, the epitome of grace and tenderness.

“I want it,” Kazuha moaned, fluttering her eyes open as she let go of your hand.

“What were you thinking? You wanna try being on top again?”

“No,” Kazuha smiled before pulling you closer. “Just like this, I want to see you, to kiss you. Is that fine?”

“Absolutely,” you gasped as Kazuha spread her legs a bit wider for you and took hold of your cock. She gave you a couple of soft strokes before rubbing her thumb against your tip, pressing against the little glob of precum. “That sounds perfect.”

With your cock in hand, you slid forward between her legs, pressing your tip against her entrance.

“Come on,” Kazuha replied while spreading herself even more, showing off her flexibility. “I need this.”

“So do I,” you muttered as you eased your cock into her pussy.

This time was a million times better than last time. She was still perfectly tight, but her pussy accepted your cock beautifully. The warmth and snugness hugged your cock like a blanket, bringing you unmatched comfort and sensation. She had the most ideal pussy.

She was like a flower, her soft and delicate curves moist to your touch. There was this warmth, this allure, that kept you captivated. You were entranced by Kazuha’s body, so much so that you felt this irresistible urge of greediness within you.

As carefully as you could, you grabbed Kazuha’s neck from behind and began kissing her deeply. Once you started, you pressed your thumb against her clit, making little circles along her skin. Your tongue slipped past her lips, gently intertwining and mixing against hers, while you worked her entire body.

“You feel so good,” you whispered as you leaned away from the kiss.

“Give it to me,” Kazuha pleaded with her eyes wide. “Please.”

So you picked up the tempo, pushing your hips harder, pressing your cock deeper. You slowly broke down that layer of delicateness that you viewed Kazuha through - her expression was basically begging for it. The more you fucked Kazuha, the harder you went, and the better it felt.

At this point, your thrusts had lost almost all degrees of tenderness, and both your hands had found their way to Kazuha’s hips. She took it well, bracing herself as you pressed your fingers into her skin and slammed your cock against her pussy. She showed no signs of anything other than raw pleasure as she took your cock over and over.

If she felt good, you felt fucking amazing. You lightened the grip you had on her hips as you slowed down your thrusting. This wasn’t a moment you wanted to rush, but you could only slow down so much - your body wouldn’t let you stop completely, it was out of your control. Still, you made do, sliding your hands up Kazuha’s body and giving her tits a few little squeezes. Her body was fucking amazing.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were too close to hold back. Despite your best efforts, it was already too late, so you took hold of Kazuha’s hips once more, pushing down on Kazuha’s body and shoving your cock into her as hard and fast as you could. Kazuha’s moans filled your ears as she shut her eyes and arched her back beneath you.

She looked so fucking good right now, even as your vision was going blurry. You held on for just a bit longer, fighting back any fatigue as your cock throbbed harder than ever. Her warm pussy felt better than heaven in this moment, and with a couple of final thrusts and grunts, you began launching your cum deep inside her pussy.

“Zuha,” you grunted a final time as your body gave up, collapsing onto her.

The next few moments had you in a trance as you let your cock pulse inside Kazuha’s warmth as she wrapped her arms around your body, rubbing your back softly.

“You feel so good,” Kazuha whispered against your ear. “Oh fuck, you feel so damn good, cum for me, fill me up.”

Such gentle words when delivered through her voice, but she was driving you insane right now. You almost felt paralyzed inside her as your cock just kept on spilling cum again and again, the pulsing felt like it went forever. It took so much strength for you to finally, carefully ease yourself out of Kazuha’s body. Even lifting yourself up off her was a task.

“Fuck, that’s a lot,” you mumbled as you pulled out, leaving your cum spilling between Kazuha’s legs as you reached for some tissues. “One second.”

“Wow,” Kazuha muttered as she gently rubbed herself, spreading your cum around, playing with it between her fingers. “That was something.”

“Something good or something not good?” you asked as you sat back down on the bed next to her.

“Something amazing,” Kazuha smiled softly. “But also a bit inappropriate.”

“If it makes you feel better, Chaewon technically wanted me to do this,” you carefully wiped her inner thighs clean before tossing the tissues away. “Although it still feels a bit wrong.”

“Oh,” Kazuha turned her head away from you.

“Not you, that felt amazing,” you quickly pulled her into your arms for a hug before grabbing her by both shoulders and staring tenderly into her eyes. “Zuha, let there be no confusion, that was fucking perfect.”

“Right, sorry, I guess I’m still just a bit…” her voice tapered off as she looked up at you and gave you a weak smile.

“You’re. Perfect. And. Amazing,” you whispered, kissing her neck between each word. “It’s totally natural to be a bit-”

“Sensitive?” Kazuha finished your sentence. “Because I am, I’ll admit it.”

“And that’s completely okay. What I said was stupidly phrased. I’m sorry,” you wrapped an arm tightly around Kazuha’s shoulders, pulling her to sit next to you, and leaned against her head. “Things are just messy, but we'll figure it out. Together.”

“I hope so,” Kazuha sighed softly. Her hand began exploring your thigh, inching towards your shaft slowly until she gently caressed it with her fingertips. “I wish there was some sort of way that we could do this without all the mess.”

“Zuha, you know it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” her voice faded softly and she unwrapped your arm from her shoulder, leaning away from you and turning towards you. “Okay, this might sound stupid since you call me Zuha all the time, but I loved that. This time it felt… different?”

“I’m glad,” you smiled as a wave of warmth flooded your body. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly,” you kissed the top of her head. “But one thing - do not call me daddy.”

“Oh no I could never,” Kazuha agreed quickly, sounding completely put off just by the thought of it as she rested her head against your body again. “I guess we should probably talk about boundaries and stuff at some point.”

“We have a lot to talk about, but maybe we should wait until…”

“Until after you talk to Chaewon?”

“Yeah, I think,” you replied as your mind drifted into thought, trying to figure out how to go about things, gently stroking Kazuha’s hair. “Hey, I thought you said we should both talk to her together?”

“Well, I think you got it, I don’t know what I’d say.”

“I don’t even know what I’m going to say,” you sighed. “Zuha, do you think this might cause problems with the group dynamic?”

“Truthfully? At first, yeah, I did,” Kazuha answered quietly. “But then I got to thinking.”

There was a pause, a bit longer than you expected. Kazuha lifted and turned herself slightly so that she could look up at you.

“And?” you encouraged her to continue as the anticipation grew.

“Promise you’ll keep this between us?”

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Zuha, yes, I know. Not a soul.”

“Alright,” she bit her lip nervously. “I think there might have been a bit of… something… between Sakura and Chaewon at the very beginning.”

“Oh?” you waited for her to continue as you thought back to what Sakura told you in the car earlier.

“Look, I met them a bit after everyone else, but I could tell there was some sort of… resentment? I don’t exactly know, and maybe it was just because we were all getting to know each other.”

“Well, most of you were.”

“So you see what I’m saying?” Kazuha pursed her lips. “Chaewon and Sakura barely talked. I never understood it since they knew each other already, but then, seemingly overnight, the two of them became closer than ever. I don’t know if the others ever noticed it.”

“Chaewon never gave me details, but I sort of know around when this happened,” you explained. “She told me she spent a night with Sakura, and I didn’t really ask questions.”

“Right. Anyway, the reason I brought this up is because I really think no matter how the conversation with her goes, as a group we’ll get through things, we always do.”

Her words were reassuring at least, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit better. “Thank you, really.”

Then, you leaned in, but before you could kiss her, Kazuha lunged up towards you and pressed her lips against yours, catching you a bit by surprise. She kissed you aggressively until you fell onto your back with her on top of you. It felt like this kiss would go on forever, and maybe it would have if it weren’t for the knock on the door.

“I don’t know what’s going on in there, but I really need to get ready!” Sakura's voice came through the door.

---

A/N:

I posted a poll and based on the first day responses, Dating Seraphs was in the lead. Ask and you shall receive!

The Kazuha arc continues! Maybe? Probably? I guess next chapter will have more answers. The talk with Chaewon, the history with Sakura, sex with Kazuha, there's so much to cover in the next few chapters! Also, there's a cameo appearance coming soon that I can't imagine anyone will be able to guess because I don't know if I've ever talked about this idol, but we'll see how popular she is among my readers (ex-izone member). I'll give this chapter at least a few days to marinate before my next post.

Based on how things are going in my writing world and the initial responses to that poll, Dating Seraphs needs attention. My next post will probably either be Debauchery p2 or something in the roommates universe, followed by Dating Seraphs ch11, and then most likely I'll give Twice some love and post an update to that story. Of course, this is subject to change!

Feedback, requests, messages, comments, asks, whatever you feel like sending, feel free. I'm a bit more active these days with writing stuff, but just please be considerate if you're going to send something. I've gotten a few questionable DMs recently. Use common sense!

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #le sserafim smut #kazuha #kazuha smut

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swagophile · 1 day ago

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me: (wearing a little magicians outfit complete with a top hat and bowtie and cute coattails) Okay . For my first trick I will turn this tiny baby puppy into an adult human woman (pulls a tiny weird looking dog with its tongue out out of my hat) Are u ready to be a real girl Ginger ??? Good ... YABBA DABBA DOO! (only magic words i know. everything suddenly puffs into smoke. A fully grown adult woman appears out of the smoke, completely naked) Ta daaaa... Wait you arent Jenifer , (a second girl wearing a fullbody dog costume looks at me with an angry and confused expression) Wtf . Im sorry jen IDK who this is Hey Lady who are you

Naked Woman: walk ??? Walk ??? Treat ? Treat? Walk ???

me: wtf

Naked woman: (starts trying to hump me)

me: STOP

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selectivegeekwithstandards · 1 day ago

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The brain stem and spinal chord connect the brain to the rest of the body. Damage the spinal chord generally fucks you up anywhere below where the damage took place.

And the moment the spinal chord exits the brain.

The whole body thins out so there’s literally only room for the bare essentials. And so. Along with the OTHER important things in the fragile neck tube. The spine is now accessible. From all sides.

BUT. Nature has pulled a fun neat trick. Because it actually doesn’t matter if you get stabbed from the front of the neck and ur spine is damaged. Because there’s so many other vital shit in the way that nerve damage and paralysis are the least of your problems!!!

they really did make the throat to be vulnerable and easily wounded. some people would call this a design flaw but not those who can appreciate and understand like i.

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munsonsmixtapes · 2 days ago

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Take Your Time

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!virgin!reader

You and Simon go on your date and you're sure that you're falling for each other. Especially when you go back to his apartment.\

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) nipple play, fingering

You can’t take your eyes off your reflection in the mirror of the small dressing room. The lingerie set you’ve picked out compliments your skin beautifully. It’s a light blue color and the cups are made of a thin material, completely see through and you almost want to send Ghost-Simon-a photo to show him what he’s in for tonight.

But you decide against it, wanting to see the look on his face when he undresses you. You want to see his eyes fill with lust as he takes in what you’re wearing, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. You’ve been thinking about this moment for so long and even though you don’t know Simon that well, you don’t think you’d want anyone else taking your virginity.

You change out of the lingerie and purchase it, buzzing with excitement as you think about how he’s going to react. You’re sure that this along with the dress you’ve picked out are going to be a lethal combo. For once, you’re going to approach the uncertainty with confidence. The old you would be so nervous that you’d find an excuse not to go. But the new you-the you that took over after that first call with Simon is really looking forward to tonight.

Simon is nervous as shit. He’s changed his shirt at least three times and when he hasn’t been fussing over what he’s wearing, he’s gone back and forth trying to fix his hair as well as reading your reply to his text over and over because he just can’t believe that you said yes.

Can’t wait to see you!

He thought he blew it when he didn’t answer your call but it seemed like that begging really did the trick. And he was happy to do it. He feels silly because he doesn’t even know you, but he’s already sure that he’s falling for you. You’ve been texting all day and he’s been having a great time. Texting is easy. Texting is safe. And Simon likes things that are safe.

Doing this, going out with you, is so unlike him. He’d never do something like this on a whim, but he feels like he has to see you. He has to get to know you beyond the phone calls. He wants to see you, to know what the sweet girl who has been taking up his mind looks like. He wants to pick your brain, to know every single thing about you.

You’re walking out the door as you’re texting Simon that you’re on the way. You’re biting back a smile as you put your phone into your purse as you head to the elevator, pressing the button with the down arrow. You still can’t believe that you’re doing this and you almost want to laugh at the fact that this is probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to you.

Your phone rings in your purse and you pull it out to see that Simon is calling. You immediately answer, putting the phone to your ear as the elevator doors close, pressing the button that will take you to the lobby.

“Hey, handsome,” you answer and Simon is biting back his own smile as he exits his apartment, heading to the elevator.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replies as he presses the button that’s beside the elevator and your heart melts at the nickname yet again. “I’m just leaving but I-I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You’re about to see me,” you reply with a laugh as you hear a ding in the background and you assume that he’s getting in an elevator too. As the door opens, there’s a very handsome man waiting there-probably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He steps into the elevator and when he speaks, your eyes widen as you realize that you’re hearing his words on the other line. You both hang up as he gets into the elevator, grinning at each other as the doors close. He’s somehow even more handsome than you imagined. He’s wearing a tight black button up shirt with the sleeve rolled up to his elbows and you let your eyes take in the tattoo on his left arm.

He’s got the prettiest brown eyes and blonde hair that’s the perfect length for you to run your hands through. He steps closer and you don’t miss how he’s checking you out, his arms raising at an awkward angle, like he wants to reach out and touch you but he’s afraid to do so.

“Are you wanting to hug me?” You ask with a laugh and he nods.

“Yeah,” he replies, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. “I-is that okay?”

“Simon.” You’re laughing harder and he loves hearing it in person. It’s easily becoming his favorite sound-well besides your moans. “We’re on a date. Of course you can hug me.”

So he does. He pulls you into his arms, his hands pressing against your back as he gives your body a squeeze. Having you there just feels so right that he almost doesn’t want to let you go. Your head is pressed to just the right spot of his chest and he’s hoping that you can’t hear how loudly his heart is beating.

“Do I make you nervous?” You tease as you pull away and his cheeks turn a bright pink. He has no idea where this confidence is coming from but he loves seeing this side of you. That he’s the reason why you’re behaving this way.

“You make me nervous too,” you reply and he feels a little relieved. “See? Feel.” You take his hand and put it against your chest, your eyes locking in his and he gulps as his skin makes contact with yours. You’re right, your heart is beating fast, but that’s not what he’s focusing on.

The way his hand is pressed against your chest, he can’t help but want to dip his hand into your dress because god does he want to see more of that blue lace that’s peeking out because his hand pushed it down.

He wants to unzip your dress and see what you’re hiding underneath it. He wants to see your hard nipples and your cunt that he wants to be dripping for him. God, he doesn’t even want to go to dinner now. He just wants to skip straight to dessert.

The elevator door opens and Simon is snapped out of his filthy fantasy. Especially when you remove his hand from your chest and hold it in yours, your fingers threading through his. You pull him along and he’s happy to follow. He doesn’t know where you’re going because you’re sure as hell not driving. Since you’re coming from the same place, he thinks it’d be silly for you to drive separately. Besides, he likes the idea of you sitting prettily in his passenger seat with his hand on your thigh.

So he pulls you over to his truck, helping you into it like the gentleman he is and once he’s in the driver’s seat, he has to steal one more glance at you, the beautiful woman who he can’t believe is giving him a shot.

“Here,” he says, handing you a cord that’s plugged in in front of the cup holders that are between the two of you. “Play whatever you want.”

“Are you sure? That’s giving me a lot of power.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d give you whatever you’d ask for. All you’d have to do is bat those pretty eyes.” It’s your turn to blush now, your cheeks heating at his words.

“God, you always know exactly what to say to make me an absolute mess, don’t you?” You cover your face with your hands and Simon can’t stop smiling at you, at how adorable you are.

“Sweetheart, that’s quite literally my job. But these aren’t just lines. I genuinely mean it, name it and it’s yours.”

“So if I wanted your truck-” you can’t even finish the sentence because he’s pulling the keys from the ignition.

“Done and done, baby, here are the keys,” he holds the keys out to you and when you study his face, you see that he’s serious. This man doesn’t even know you and he’s willing to give you whatever you ask for while other men that you’ve actually dated couldn’t even bother to text you back. He’s unlike any other man you’ve ever met and you hate that you’re already starting to fall for him.

His hand takes yours as he cranks the truck again and pulls out of his parking spot before heading down the street. You talk the entire time and Simon listens. He just loves hearing you talk so he’s going to let you do it as much as you want.

The music you pick is a pop artist-not his thing but he thinks it’ll grow him. It feels so strange having someone in his passenger seat. It’s always just him but he likes having company, especially since that company is you.

The ride is short but this is something you could definitely get used to. Simon isn’t man of many words, but you know he likes to listen to you talk, the way he smiles at what you’re saying even though it’s most definitely nonsense. You know he just likes hearing the sound of your voice.

The truck pulls up to the valet and that’s how you know that this is a nice place. You don’t think you’ve ever been anywhere that’s had valet parking. Simon helps you out of the passenger seat as he passes the keys off to one of the employees and as he rests a hand on the small of your back, you can’t help but notice how he’s showing you a whole other world.

After he gives his name at the hostess stand, you’re led to what you assume is a private room that couldn’t have been easy to get. Now you’re wondering what exactly he does for a living because there’s no way that he makes this kind of money just by working for a phone sex hotline, right?

The door is closed, leaving the two of you alone and Simon is quick to pull your chair for you before sitting across from you. He’s sweating bullets but he’s trying to play it cool. You just look so pretty and you’re so sweet and he’s so scared that he’s going to blow this up before he even has a chance to thrive.

He watches you open your menu and your eyes widen at all of the zeros next to the prices. Just a meal for you would be what you spend on your weekly groceries. Knowing that he’s willing to spend this amount of money on you almost makes you want to stick to water.

“Don’t worry about the prices,” he whispers. “When you’re with me, I never want you to worry about money. I’ve got you.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not? I’ve got all of this money and I’ve gotta spend it on someone. Why can’t it be you?”

“Why should it be me?” Simon just lets out a laugh and takes your hand that’s resting on the table before pressing a kiss to it.

“Because I want it to be. Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since our first call and I think I might lose my mind if you walk out of my life tonight.” He’s serious. You can tell. This isn’t a line either. You can see it just by the way his brown eyes are boring into yours.

Your cheeks heat at his words and you have to cover your mouth with your hand because of the giggles that are spilling out of it. Never in your life has a man made you so giggly. Simon kisses your hand again before resting your joined hands back on the table. He already knows what he’s going to order so he decides to watch you peruse the menu.

He can’t keep his eyes off you, the smile permanently plastered to his face as he does so. He’s shameless about it too, staring at you like he’s falling in love with you or something. And he hates that he actually might be. It’s becoming increasingly harder not to.

He has no idea that you feel the same way. That you so desperately want to be part of his life. To be the one person he wants to talk to after work. You want the two of you to talk about your days over dinner before doing dishes while playing music that’s too loud and he’ll eventually pull you into a dance, holding you in his arms as you sway to the beat.

You’d finish the night snuggling up on the couch and watching a movie that you’ve both seen a million times so you can talk through it, giving each other fun facts you’ve read about it and then go to bed and where you snuggle even more, exchanging I love yous between kisses and fits of giggles before you eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up in the morning and do it all again.

The rest of dinner is spent over pleasant conversation and you both decide very early on that you have to do it again soon. You see a whole other side of Simon-the rich side. He ordered everything and as you watched him you were sure that he was speaking a whole other language because you didn’t understand any of it.

Everything is so easy with him. You’re never able to talk to other people this easily but there’s something about him that makes you feel like you can tell him anything. You feel like you can talk to him about any topic of your choosing and he wouldn’t judge you and would be able to add his own commentary.

After dinner, he invites you over and you immediately agree. Tonight is the night, you can feel it. Why else would he be inviting you to his place? Well, even if that’s not what he’s wanting, you decide you’ll stay anyway. You just like his company so much that you can’t even imagine going home alone tonight.

Simon opens the door to his apartment and holds the door open so you can step inside. The layout is the exact same as yours but this is decorated much nicer. You’re not exactly sure how much he makes, but it has to be a lot with all of the expensive furniture he’s got all over the place. Now what he said about giving you anything you ask for has taken a whole new meaning. You thought he was just trying to be romantic but now you’re sure that he was serious.

“So this is how the other half lives,” you sigh as you sit on the couch and Simon follows, placing himself next to you but gives you some space to be respectful.

“So you like this? Spending time with me?”

“Simon, I was just wined and dined while being showered with compliments by the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Of course I like spending time with you. You’re sweet and it’s so obvious that you care a lot about the people in your life.” He does and god does he want you to be one of them.

He wants to be able to wake up next to you every morning and kiss you whenever he wants and tell you that he loves you any chance he gets. God, he thinks he’s in love with you and he doesn’t know how he can’t stop it. He doesn’t know that he can nor does he want to. He’s diving in head first and is trying not to think about how terrified he is.

“I do,” he nods, scooting closer to you, taking your hands in his. “And if you’d like to, I’d want you to be a part of it. This has been one of the best nights of my life and I don’t know how I could go on spending another one without you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, his own softening as his thumbs rub your knuckles gently. You can’t believe what he’s saying but your heart is melting. He’s saying everything you’ve been thinking tonight and you almost want to cry because for once in your life, you feel wanted. For once, you’re someone’s first choice.

“I feel the exact same way,” you reply and before you can register what’s happening. Simon is taking your face in his hands and slotting his lips between yours. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but you kiss him back, giving him the same energy, the two of you pouring out your feelings for each other through the kiss.

Simon pulls away before he can get ahead of himself and you’re both smiling like idiots, giggles spilling from your mouths like you’re a couple of high schoolers going on your first ever date. He wants to go in for more, but he can’t. He knows that kissing you will just make him want more and he’s trying to be a gentleman. He’s trying to take it slow because it’s what you deserve.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, licking his lips, making them look even more inviting than they were before. “Got ahead of myself.” But he can’t stop himself from staring at your lips, wanting to know what they taste like. He wants to know so badly but he really needs to reel it in.

“Why are you sorry? You can kiss me, Simon. It’s okay.” You can see him battling himself and you hate how he’s treating you like you’re some fragile thing. He knows what you’re wearing underneath your dress so he’s got to know what you’re wanting to happen tonight, right?

“I just-” he lets out a frustrated sigh and you feel so bad that he’s overthinking it. “I want this to be special for you. I want it to be nice and sweet and slow but I’m not sure I can be any of those things right now.”

“What if I don't want you to?” Those words immediately turn his brain to mush and now he can’t seem to think about anything else. “What if I want you to rip this dress to shreds then fuck me so hard that I can’t walk for days?” You’ve barely gotten your sentence out before Simon is kissing you again and this time, he’s not being gentle. His tongue slides into your mouth and he feels his cock twitch when he hears you moan. God, it’s even better in person.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says against your lips as you begin to unbutton his shirt.

“We should slow down,” you reply as his hands reach up and unzip your dress. He pushes it down your body and you stand up to let it fall to the floor. His mouth falls open and Simon is practically drooling as he catches sight of what you’re wearing underneath. He can see your hard nipples clear as day through the sheer fabric and now he’s hair as a rock, his dick so close to coming out of his jeans.

“God, if I knew this was what you were hiding from me, we wouldn’t have even made it to the restaurant. Now get over here.” You do as he says and he helps you straddle his waist before bringing his lips to yours again. You go back to unbuttoning his shirt and he’s confused when you kiss his cheek, making your way down to his neck. And when you give it a suck, he knows that he’s absolutely done for.

“Where did you learn to do that?” He asks, hating that he’s getting jealous again.

“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean that I don’t know things. I read, Simon.”

“Read what?” Now he wants to know where exactly you’ve learned how to give a hickey because he’s convinced that this is the best one he’s ever received.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply as you go in for a bite and Simon reaches up and digs his nails into your back, needing something to hold onto. “Just can’t handle the fact that you’re not in control, hm?”

“Fuck,” he whines and you feel yourself getting wet at the sound. “No, baby, you can be in control all you want. Do whatever you’d like. I’m yours.” You continue to suck on his neck and try to go about it with confidence and when he moans again, you just know that you’re doing something right.

You feel his hard cock pressing into you and you feel like you can get off on the fact that you’ve made this way. You rock your hips against him and the whine that falls from his lips make you feel a type of power you didn’t know was possible.

Simon is a mess underneath you, eyes shut tight, fingers white knuckling the cushion underneath him because he doesn’t want to scratch up your back just yet. As enjoyable as this is, he can’t take it anymore. He’s gotta get inside you before he busts. So he picks you up and practically throws you onto the sofa as he places himself on top of you. He pulls a condom out of his wallet then sets both on the coffee table before he kisses you again.

This one is all teeth and tongue as he just wants to explore your mouth to taste every inch of it. He knows that he promised himself he would be a gentleman but how can he when you asked him to rip your clothes to shreds? That image alone makes him feel like an animal.

His hands move up to your bra and he grabs hold of the thin band that rests between your breasts and gives it a hard tug, the thing opening pretty easily. You gasp at his actions, shocked that he actually took you up on it and now you don’t think you’ve ever been more turned on in your life.

“I’ll buy you another one,” he says, his voice raspy as he stares down at your now bare chest. He reaches up and runs his hand along one of your very hard nipples. Your eyes are pleading but he thinks he wants to hear you beg this time.

“Please,” you whisper and he immediately massages your nipple with the pad of his thumb as his lips find yours once again. You moan into his mouth and god, it sounds even better in person. You’re arching into him and he takes the opportunity to slide his other arm around you, pulling you even closer.

“So pretty like this,” he says as he nips at your bottom lip. “I hope you know how honored I am to be in this position.” And he is. The fact that he’s the one who wants to take your virginity is the biggest honor he’s ever been given and he doesn’t take this lightly. “You ready for me, baby?”

“Fuck yes.” He kisses you one more time before his hand that’s on your breast travels down to your panties. He’s about to rip them like he did with your bra but when he looks down, he sees that they're crotchless.

“You naughty girl,” he chuckles as his fingers slide inside. His eyes on you as your flutter closed, mewling at the feeling. This is already far better than your own fingers and he hasn’t even done anything yet. He begins to pump them and you feel embarrassed that you feel like you’re already close. “Feels good, doesn’t it sweetheart?”

“Mmm,” is all that you’re able to respond with, your brain starting to feel like mush. You’re coming undone underneath and this is just his fingers. How are you going to be able to handle his cock?

“Just stretching you out and then i’ll promise I’ll fuck you the way you want.” You’re already melting from his touch and now he thinks your ready for the real thing. He gives a few more fast pumps as you beg for his dick over and over then pulls his fingers out. Simon then reaches for the condom before taking off his pants and boxers and your eyes widen at the size of him, wondering how the hell he’s going to fit inside of you.

He rolls on the condom once his shirt is off and places himself on top of you one more time. He takes his hands in yours and kisses them over and over as his eyes stare into yours. He could get used to this view and he doesn’t know what it is, but there’s this foreign feeling rising in his chest. And before he stops himself, the words are rolling off his tongue.

“I think I love you,” he breathes and he fully expects you to run, but you stay, pulling one of your hands out of his to rest it on his cheek, your thumb moving back and forth across as you give him that smile he’s grown to love seeing tonight.

“I think I love you too,” you reply and his cheeks turn pink as he lets out a giggle. He’s sure that this is the happiest he’s ever been in his life and you’re the one to thank for that.

He kisses you once more as his cock slowly slides inside you, his hand reaching for yours again, your fingers intertwining as he pins your hands to the sofa. His thrusts are slow as you both get used to the feeling. You release your control to him, letting him do what he wants. And how can you not when he’s smiling down at you like that, telling you that he loves you?

You let yourself give in to your feelings, letting the sound slip from your lips, for once not caring about how you’re being. And Simon is eating it up, encouraging you with every step of the way. He’s being nothing but a gentleman, soft and sweet. You can tell he’s holding back, promising that he’ll do it however you want next time, but this time, he just wants to take it slow, to actually enjoy the two of you sharing this special moment.

You’re bucking your hips against his, matching his pace and now he’s wondering where you learned that since he never taught that to you. He wonders if it has anything to do with those books you told him about. Now he’s got to see what they contain, hoping that maybe he can learn a few things as well.

“There’s my girl,” he says as he watches your orgasm approach. You’re screaming his name as he’s slowing, grinning down at you as hearing it gives him the biggest ego boost. He’s so proud of you and if you hadn’t told him, he would have never known you were a virgin. You’re a natural and he really hopes that you enjoyed it as much as he did.

As you’re coming down, he scoops you up from the sofa and carries you to his bathroom where he cleans you up with a warm towel before taking you to his bedroom where he dresses you in one of his t-shirts. He gets his own self dressed then the two of you crawl into bed.

You’re a changed woman and now you completely understand why there are couples that do it on the regular. You’ve done it just one time and you’re already addicted, wondering if he’d be willing to do it again even though you’re so tired and sore.

“So round two?” You ask and Simon chuckles as he pulls you into his arms after turning off his lamp.

“Ask me again in the morning,” he replies, already knowing that he’s going to give in. Anything you want, you get. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you reply as you snuggle further into his chest and Simon is positive that this is going to be the best sleep he’s ever had.

part one part two

taglist: @robinfeldt98 @courage-of-the-stars

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley x virgin!reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #ghost x reader #ghost x fem!reader #ghost x virgin!reader

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temiizpalace · 2 days ago

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❥┊OPERATION: ANNIVERSARY

SUMMARY: you two decided to celebrate your anniversary every month. it was his turn to give you a gift, and he had nothing prepared for you! out of panic, he searches for backup. operation: anniversary!

CHARACTERS: first years

╰ ˙∘ …

GENRE: fluffy fluff with a side of fluff and fluff on top

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: pairings were randomly selected by wheel for more interesting interactions + lots of "ily's". please enjoy!

reader is g/n, reader is not specified to be you

❤┊ACE TRAPPOLA

ace huffs, staring at the chocolate that’s been resting in the fridge for what felt like ages.

fiddling with the nicely wrapped ribbon, he stares at the calendar blankly, dreading the upcoming days. “oi, ace. this entire week you’ve been spacing out in the middle of cleanup! housewarden will have our heads if the kitchen ain’t spotless.” deuce grits his teeth, brushing the dust from the floors into a dustpan.

“shaddup, deuce. can’t ya see im busy?” ace huffs in response, brushing his companion off with a frown. peering over his shoulder, deuce narrows his eyes and looks to ace, brows furrowed. “did you even get them anything back?” he asks, setting down his cleaning supplies off to the right. ace remains silent, wiping an imaginary sweat off his brow.

“not cool, ace.” he scoffs, causing ace to jerk his head back with a defensive expression. “im working on it! just you wait, my gift will be so good it’ll knock all competition outta the water!” he declares, storming out of the room with the chocolates in hand.

laying still on the couch, ace groans as he racks his brain for ideas, feeling lost and hopeless. “urrghh, why..” he mopes, putting a pillow over his face with a solemn sigh. love was such a struggle.. gifts were never this hard, so why was he overthinking it so damn much? somedays he wish he could just suck up these stupid feelings and toss them out to never see the light of day.

“woaahh, did somebody die in here?” cater exclaims, looking at ace’s lifeless body. he takes note of the chocolate resting in the first years hand, his mind putting the pieces together with a cheeky grin. “were those from [MC]..?” he asks, leaning against the armrest.

looking from behind the cushion, ace looks to cater’s face, then to the chocolate. with a slight blush, he covers the exposed parts of his face with his hand and grumbles. “so what if they were?”

“your monthly anniversary is soon, yknow. got anything planned?” the same damn question. ace frowns at his upperclassman and sits up. for once he doesn’t say anything, only earning a raised brow from the boy across from him. pulling out his phone, cater opens up magicam and plops himself next to ace.

“heree~☆! check out what’s trending for some fresh inspo!” cater grins, scrolling through the reels and reels of videos in the #anniversary tag. all the videos were nothing short of extravagant, insanely thoughtful acts of love to their partner. ace’s brows knitted together, side-eyeing cater.

“and how am i supposed to pull any of that off?” he scoffs, crossing his arms and leaning back. cater tuts, wagging his finger. “silly ace.. the trick is to show your love in your own way,” he explains with a wink. “your love is uniquely yours, and the ways you express it are accustomed to you. if [MC] really likes you, then any act of love you give them will be enough.”

sitting there for a moment, ace thought cater’s words over carefully. “uniquely mine..” he whispered, staring at the ground. with a small pat on the back, cater stands upright and waves as he exits. “i’ll be in the rose garden. text if ya need anything, kayy?”

ace has yet to budge from his spot, resting his chin on his hand. “uniquely mine, huh?” he repeats, images of you flashing across his mind. he smiled softly to himself, taking a glance at the chocolate in his hands. with a slight chuckle, he gets up and walks towards sam’s shop. “this love stuff stinks.” he murmurs with a grin.

❥˙∘ ✦

“this is for me?” you ask, holding the item in your hands. it was encased in a small velvet pouch, the material feeling very nice in your palms. you were surprised at how fancy this packaging was considering the one giving it to you was ace of all people. “yeah, yeah, sure. consider this a repayment for last celebration.” ace shrugs, trying to act nonchalant about this exchange.

he tried to mask the beating sound of his heart, desperately praying you were unaware of the way you make his heart race increasingly fast. you open the pouch to find a keychain. there were small charms on it, but the one that stood out to you the most was the ace of hearts charm hanging in the center. he averts your eyes, whistling as if he didn’t plan all this with a light blush on his cheeks.

you stare at it in the light, a smile forming at the corners of your lips. “ace..” you begin, trailing off, unable to find the words appropriate enough for your gratitude. “no need to thank me, i know, i know.” he smiled triumphantly, making you laugh.

“..i’ll cherish this.” walking over to him, you were going to pull him into an embrace, but he beat you to it. “thank you.” he murmurs softly, a contrast to his usual sarcastic tone and remarks. his voice was genuine, laced with raw emotion. patting his back, you smiled at him in response. “love you.” you coo, making his ears red.

“love ya, too.”

♠┊DEUCE SPADE

deuce sits at his desk, crumpling another piece of paper for the nth time before tossing it into the overflowing trash bin.

his side of the room was littered in tossed sheets of paper, looking like a madman who has yet to find a plan. to be fair, that was not far-off. deuce sighs as he lifts the parchment in the air to get a better look, smiling to himself proudly. it was then did he notice the small mistake on one of the letters, causing the poor boy to furrow his brow and crumple the paper. he tossed it, letting it join the rest of the stack.

ace kicks through the sea of discarded letters, frowning as the pile seemed never ending. “aagghh, couldn’t ya at least try to be neater, deuce?” he whines, picking up a letter and uncrumpling it to reveal the messily written handwriting.

“dont!” deuce shot upward, yanking the parchment out of his roommates hand and tearing it to shreds. “GAH—!” ace exclaims, holding his hands up in defense. “whatever, it wasn’t decipherable anyway.” he huffs, scratching the back of his neck. “look, we both know your tryna write to [MC]. just put down anythin, they’ll probably lose their mind over it anyway.”

deuce shakes his head, staring down at his recently written letter. rereading it in his head, he can’t help but feel unsatisfied, like something is missing from it. “but i don’t wanna give them a half-assed letter.. what if they don’t accept me? is this even enough to repay them?” he murmurs, holding it tightly to his chest. he felt he’ll never be able to give you enough, to repay you in a way that’ll truly reflect his love.

ace sighs, patting his friend on the back. “this might come off as a sick joke, but i do know one guy that could help.. just.. don’t freak out about it.” deuce looks up at ace, a look of expectance on his face. “thanks, man.”

..what?

deuce finds himself in front of idia’s room, contemplating as to whether ace was actually pranking him or if this was genuine advice. well, idia is an upperclassman.. surely he still has some advice to give. but then again, the guys a total shut-in. just as he was about to turn and leave, ortho chimes in from around the corner.

“deuce spade? what are you doing here!” he cheerily asks, catching deuce off guard. “ortho?! is your brother here?” he asks nervously, earning a nod from ortho. “yeah, he’s inside his room! we can go in together.” without giving deuce a moment, ortho is already knocking.

“ortho?” the voice from behind calls out. upon entry, idia is hunched over in his seat, one foot on the chair as he types away on his monitor. “deuce spade came to visit you, big bro!” ortho exclaims, causing idia to freeze. “..what..”

deuce waves awkwardly, clutching the letter in his hand tightly. “ace told me you could help me with something..” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. “..ya sure your not getting pranked?” idia sighs, narrowing his eyes at the boy across him. “even if he is prankin me, i’ll show him who’s the fool!” deuce grits his teeth, directing his frustration towards the redhead.

“what do you write to someone on their anniversary?” he asks straightforwardly, making idia’s eyes widening. “wh-what? and you th-think id know?! does it look like someone like me would have an anniversary?!” shaking his head, idia rolls back on his chair before hitting the wall. racking his brain for ideas, deuce tries to find ways to convince idia to help him. deuce was stubborn, and he doesn’t appreciate quitters.

“..ace said you of all people should have the most experience! you're a gaming guy, this is completely in your turf! shouldn’t you have years and years of knowledge?” deuce mentions, practically tooting idia's horn. he looks up from his curled position, letting the first years words register. his ego is boosted, confidence running to new heights. idia smirks, brushing off his shoulder. "well, i guess i do know a thing or two about romance.."

"im familiar with all the fan ships in games and manga. call me an expert." deuce lets out a sigh of relief as idia took the bait, rushing over to his desk to immediately ask for help. that was too easy.

❥˙∘ ✦

"[MC]!" deuce calls out, rushing over to you with a shout. you turn around in a hurry, noticing the poor boy out of breath. "deuce!? is everything alright?" you ask, suddenly getting an envelope shoved in your hand. "here!" deuce bows, giving the letter to you with two hands. "..what's this?" taking the sealed letter from his hands, you look to him as if asking to open it.

he nods in response, watching intensely as you unfolded the letter.

'dear [mc],

i dunno how 2 start this but thanks for the chocolate. you somehow made it exactly how i liked it and i thought it was really good. today, i wanna repay you for everything that you do for me cuz you really really deserve it. for our anniversary together.

every little thing about you, i want to celebrate on this day. ill return my feelings to you tenfold and promise you the awesomest day ever. we can do anything you want and maybe take a ride on my blastcycle after school. if you want i can bake you a cake as an even bigger thank you for today too. there's nothin out there that can really show my feelings so i hope this letter is ok

what im tryna say is thank you for everything. let me be the one to do something for you today and show you how much i really really like love you. happy anniversary to us ♡

-- deuce'

the handwriting was shaky, and dare you say this letter was awkward in some places. despite that, you can't help the heat sneaking up on your cheeks, the dopey grin on your face that says it all. deuce fidgets in place, his hands forming knuckles before finally breaking the silence. "th-the letter is pretty stupid anyway! here--let me just take it back!" he quickly exclaims, reaching for the letter before you hastily avoid his grasp. "no way!"

you instead grab the arm that reached for the letter and brought him into an embrace instead. he stands there, dumbfounded for a moment. "its perfect, deuce." you smile as he returns your hug, squeezing you tightly.

no words needed to be exchanged at that moment. the calm silence filled the air as you both keep your positions for a few moments more.

🐺┊JACK HOWL

mindlessly watering his cactus, jack's thoughts seemed to wander.

your monthly anniversary was just around the corner, yet he had no gift for you. he was disgusted with himself.. he had the whole month to think of something, anything you might like, yet he had nothing. what a sign of weakness, he thought, frowning as he set down the watering can.

during his reps, he barely kept count. all he thought about was what he could get you.. yet the feat seemed impossible. would anything he give even be good enough? the chocolate you gave him was great, amazing even. all his questions led to more questions, then even more questions.

not to mention during class did he look more sour than usual. students nearly paved the way as he passed through the halls, wondering what the hell put this guy in such a foul mood. "jack?" epel calls out, snapping jack out of his week long daze. "is everything alright? you looked seriously more intimidating today an' yesterday." epel shakes his head, trying to guess what this was about.

"..it's nothing." jack sighs, crossing his arms and walking far past epel before the interrogation could even begin. he can't handle this right now. nothing a good run can't fix. thankfully track and field met today, maybe then will he be put back to normal.

however, he still felt lost the entire time. not once has he ever felt this way before, the feeling is foreign. he has received chocolate, but never from someone he truly fell for. the unfamiliar feelings swallowed him whole, drowned him with uncertainty and confusion. he scowls as he ran, accelerating faster and faster after each lap. deuce notices jack acting more off, furrowing his brow during the break.

"jack!" deuce shouts, alerting the beastman. "what's going on with you? for the past month you have that same blank look on your face." he shrugs, watching as jack averted his gaze. "it's nothing." he states, ready to end the conversation before suddenly getting stopped by deuce. "it's not nothing! something is bothering you and keeping aint gonna do anything!" deuce exclaims confidently, practically forcing jack into a corner.

"..it's not any of your business." jack grits, trying to find a way out. "is this about [MC]? yknow, after the chocolates?" deuce mentions, causing jack to practically freeze in his tracks. "i told you it wasn't any of your business." he huffs, turning his back to deuce.

"if you're worried, im sure they'd be happy with anything you get them! even just being around you makes them happy, so don't beat yourself up over it!" reassuring the lost beastman, he pats jack on the shoulders and throws him a thumbs up. oddly enough, jack felt slightly relieved. knowing at least somebody had his back put him at ease, nodding his head at deuce's advice.

"okay, gotcha. thanks." with that quick talk, jack is already back to running. his pace is back to normal and his expression had been reverted to its previous glory. the track team sighs in relief, celebrating deuce for bringing their star back down to earth.

❥˙∘ ✦

"jack, this is so cute!" you squealed, grasping the silver wolf plushie in your hands tightly. he crossed his arms, staring at the space above your head rather than right at you.

“this is what i owe you after last month..” he murmurs, causing you so smile slightly. “mhm, your tail is wagging.” he tries to hide it, grabbing it to prevent it from moving rapidly. jack grumbles something under his breath as his face started to heat up.

“thank you.” pulling jack close, you wrap your arms tightly around him. he flinches, trying to find a reaction. gently, he returns the hug. his ears twitch, tail wagging and brushing against your leg. jack smiles, staring into your eyes.

“this was the least i could do for you. after everything.” he brushes against your cheek with his finger, unable to hide his loving gaze. “i love you, jack.” you coo, squeezing him tightly.

“love you too.” he whispered, kissing the top of your head with a lovestruck grin.

🍎┊EPEL FELMIER

epel scratched his chin, glaring at the mirror with intensity.

“dangnabbit.. stupid, stupid..” cursing himself for forgetting such an important day, epel stewed as he started scratching his scalp, racking his brain for even a faint idea. “nahh.. maybe— no..” he murmurs, shaking his head on occasion.

the chocolate you made him was delicious, he ate it all in one sitting! he was thinking of making you some back, but he’d hate to recycle your ideas as vil said it “wasn’t romantic enough.” salty about that comment, he didn’t dare ask his housewarden for help. but the gift completely slipped his mind, and now he was empty handed. “arrrgggghh… what a load of—”

“epel.” a voice breaks through the boys mindless sputtering, jerking his head towards the sound of the voice. vil stood there with a raised brow, silently demanding epel to stop scratching his chin. “are you trying to get acne?” he sighs, massaging his temple.

epel moved his hand back to his side, mumbling an apology before turning back to the mirror. “are you positive you don’t need my help?” vil frowns, crossing his arms at the helpless first year in front of him. “dang right.. ahem, i mean, im positive.”

vil shook his head. “right.. i have an errand for you to run.” he holds up a list and places it in epel’s hand. it was folded neatly and pristinely, but crumpled in the first years hand. “hah?”

“rush to octavinelle and pick up the items on the list. jade or azul should meet you there.”

unfolding the paper, different types of makeup and skincare products were listed below. “..don’t they run a restaurant?” epel frowns, raising his brow. “don’t underestimate azul’s desire for sponsorship.” vil notes, rushing the boy away.

walking down the halls, epel found himself spiraling back to the original problem. his brow is furrowed, trying harshly to concentrate and find something that was worthy, truly worthy of you. “..nah that won’t do either! what would gran think if i couldn’t impress ‘em?” he grumbles, looking around the lounge.

floyd looks over one of the booths and grins as he saw epel enter the lounge. “guppy!” he exclaims, startling the poor first year. “gah! floyd!”

“what brings ya to the lounge?” he asks, circling epel like a small piece of prey. brushing imaginary dirt off his blazer, epel sighs with a frown. “actually, i was looking for—”

“jade or azul? they’re plannin in the VIP lounge. this about beta fish’s studs? stuffs right here.” he holds up an elegantly patterned paper bag, purple streaks resembling seaweed and shells printed across. “ah, thank you.”

“you good, guppy? your face is a lot more frowny than usual. seriously, kinda cringe.” floyd shrugs, starting to loose interest. “what?” epel scoffs, shaking his head trying to stay polite. “argh, i mean, yes im fine, thank you.” he nods, gripping the bag tightly.

tilting his head, floyd stares unconvinced. “you suck at lyin. tell me! tell me! tell me!” with his interest piqued once again, floyd starts circling epel once more, giggling and grinning foolishly. “hey! i told ya it’s nothin! leave me alone!” epel tried swatting the eel away, but his efforts result in vain.

“tell me! tell me! tell me or ill squeeze the answer outta ya.” with a sudden shift in tone, from playful to murderous, he throws the first year a deadly glare. epel freezes, biting back his insults.

“fine! it’s [MC]..” he mumbles, looking to the side with embarrassment. “i dont know what to gift them.” he sighs, picking at his chin again. expecting floyd to leave disinterested after getting his answer, epel is taken aback as he heard said eel blow a raspberry instead. “pssshh, that’s easy.”

“..huh?”

“lemme guess, you wanna do somethin over the top or whatever?” he asks, clocking epel. “wh— so what if i did, hah?” epel retorts, looking to floyd with a glare.

“well the answers right under ya nose, silly! tadaaan, cooking!” floyd reveals, smiling with a dopey grin. “cooking?”

“geez do i gotta spell everythin out for ya? just cook em something and they’ll be all over ya. easy as that.” floyd states matter of factly, now looking at epel with disinterest. “this is gettin boring. later.”

and just like that, the large twin disappeared into the kitchen.

epel scratches the back of his neck, beginning to loose himself in thought. he wasn’t familiar with any types of fancy cooking, mostly things like one pot stews at home..

however, his last dish during the culinary crucible was a major success, he’s definitely got this in the bag so long as he puts his mind to it.

and besides, he’s always wanted to take you back to harveston for a second time. a nice home cooked meal? doesn’t that scream married couple?

❥˙∘ ✦

as you entered the dorm, you were hit by the smell of familiar spices and seasonings, thrown in with a hint of crisp fresh apples. smells like harveston, you thought, smiling fondly to yourself.

epel pops out from behind the corner, dressed in a nice apron while holding up a pot of stew. the top was still bubbling, steam clouded his face but not enough to hide his blooming smile. “you’re finally back! take a seat, i made stew!” he leads you to the table. it was decorated, albeit clumsily, but much nicer than how you left it.

“what’s gotten into you?” you laugh, taking a seat across from him. epel sets the pot onto the table, scooping a generous amount into your bowl. the carrots have been chopped in the shape of hearts and apples. “hah? don’t tell me you forgot!” he pouts, acting as if he wasn’t distressed for the last month.

“monthly anniversary? helloo?” he cracks some pepper on the top of your stew before sliding it in front of you. “hmm, so you did remember.” you smiled, seeing as he looked to you with mock offense. “ya think i’d forget or somethin?!” he exclaims, now wondering if he came off wrong this entire time.

“relax, relax, just teasing. this smells great, epel.” you grin, grabbing your spoon, eager to chow down on the goodness before you. “thanks! it’s a recipe meemaw taught me back home. she said i was basically a master at it.” he huffs triumphantly, puffing his chest up with pride.

you take a bite of the piping hot dish. flavors exploded on your tongue, the familiar and warm feeling exactly what you needed after such a long day. “feels like home.” you murmured with a smile, looking at him with a soft look in your eyes.

epel couldn’t help but blush, taking your free hand and squeezing it tightly. “happy anniversary.”

⚡┊SEBEK ZIGVOLT

sebek grumbled angrily as he kicked at the dirt beneath his feet.

he had been tasked with the duty of shoveling the horse dung into a pile. normally, he’d take such tasks with pride! being the one assigned by riddle to take care of such a strenuous and laborious task? why this must be complimenting his strength and stamina. (literally nobody else wants to do the job) ((nobody is more eager than him to do it)).

however, something was off about today.

“sebek, is everything alright? i’ve noticed you’ve been.. quieter than usual.” riddle asks, glancing at the pouting first year. his brow was furrowed and his glare was harsher than usual. anyone with a right mind would back away from such an intimidating figure. sebek shakes his head. “yes, im perfectly fine!”

the reason for sebek’s dismay wasn’t because of poop scooping duty. no, he had not the faintest idea on what to get you for your once-a-month anniversary. it felt like anything he could do has been done already. chocolate? check. cooking? ..ehh. restaurant date? check. he picked every standard date there was possible, but he was afraid nothing was enough to WOW you.

he grimaced as he imagined you growing bored and moving on, leaving him for another. he couldn’t even handle the thought, shaking his head aggressively before slapping his cheeks to snap out of it. silver and riddle jump slightly, unaware of the poor boys internal torment.

“sebek. you’re gonna scare the horses.” silver sighs, brushing the stallions mane. “agreed. not to mention, this behavior doesn’t exactly scream ‘perfectly fine’ to me..” riddle frowns, trying to grab the shovel from sebek’s hand. “might i suggest taking a break to clear your head?”

sebek frowns at the thought, the mere idea of being useless. “i can assure you, everything is alright! your concern is not needed.” he huffs, yanking the shovel back into his hands. continuing to scoop with agitation, riddle felt himself growing more irritated.

if there was anything anyone knew about sebek, if you were a superior he respects, he’ll follow your words to the letter. “sebek. by my order as a housewarden, i demand you to take a walk!” riddle shouts, forcing sebek to freeze. “b-but—”

“did i happen to stutter? housewarden’s orders!”

though they didn’t share a dorm, sebek wouldn’t dare disrespect his upperclassman. reluctantly handing the shovel to riddle, he’s shooed away to take a stroll in the nearby thicket. grumbling words to himself, he leans against a nearby tree and looks up at the sky.

his weakness was showing. he’s gonna be left behind. countless words stirred in his head, brewing and lingering doubts and negative thoughts.. it was beginning to grow overbearing.

gripping the thing closest to him, there was a soft squish before realizing it had stained his hand. “grrk! by the seven..” he grumbled, looking at the mystery plant he had just killed.

“oh dear, that was a hydnellym peckii..” a familiar voice sighed from behind, making sebek jolt. “a-a what?!” he exclaims, turning to see jade leech.

“also known as a devil’s tooth or bleeding tooth mushroom.. fufu it’s quite fascinating.” he chuckles, resting his hand on his chin. “..that is, before you had squished it.”

“bleeding tooth?!” sebek frowns, wiping his hand against the bark. “by no means is it poisonous, just incredibly bitter.” jade notes, picking up the remains of the fungi and placing it into a small plastic baggy.

“never mind that, what brings you to the forest, sebek? are you also out foraging?” the eel asks, smiling in anticipation. “no, i am out here clearing my head!” he exclaims, nodding affirmatively.

jade raises his brow, but chooses not to comment. “i see.. it has been known that you’ve been much quieter lately,” jade notes, thinking aloud. “could it be perhaps something is troubling you? we are always free at the lounge if you require assistance. fufu..”

narrowing his eyes at the vice housewarden, sebek scoffs. “i would rather not get myself involved in your dorms shady deals! my issues are entirely personal!” sebek retorts.

“yes, yes, about [MC]?” jade asked nonchalantly, catching the poor first year off guard. “where in the world did you obtain such information?!” he shouts, hiding the blush on his ears. “fufu, word happens to travel fast is all.”

“argh..” before commenting once more, sebek thinks about it for a second. jade, while shady, has always presented himself as a gentleman. even with his distaste, it is true he may be able to learn a thing or two.

“..you’re correct. if i have permission to ask, what would one gift their partner on a special occasion?” sebek asks, making jade smirk.

“are you willing to pay the price if i were to answer?” he asks, not willing to let a good deal go to waste. “would foraging for your fungi suffice? lilia had trained me to be able to search for plants and resources in the wild on my own.” sebek offers, not wanting to waste time with jade’s banter. pleased with his offer, jade nods.

“my, what a generous offer.”

“natural beauty is all around us. though most flora happen to ward us away, the most dangerous are also the most enchanting,” jade starts, leaning down towards a flower hidden in thorns. he picks it, holding it to the light. “additionally, the language in which nature speaks is endearing in its own right. each plant houses its own meaning, its own definition in a gift.”

“it all belies on how you choose to gift it.” with that, jade slides the flower into a small booklet and gives sebek a nod. “if you are in need of more advice. you may visit me in the lounge. i must take my leave now.”

jade leaves sebek in the forest alone, wading in his own thoughts. gazing down at the grass beneath him, he picks at the small flowers growing down below.

❥˙∘ ✦

“sebek, this is beautiful!” you squeal, holding the extravagant bouquet of flowers in your hand. sebek smiles proudly, blushing from ear to ear. “this flower exclusively grows in briar valley. i can assure you you’ll find nothing of the sort anywhere else.”

the sticks were less like branches and more like thorns, rigid and sharp at the ends. however, blossoming white flowers adorned the bouquet, leaving you breathless as it glowed in the darkness of the nrc halls.

“i love them, thank you sebek.” you smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. he clears his throat, trying his best to not act shy.

“take this as a token of my gratitude, my eternal love. i will forever be in your debts and will cherish time we will and have spent. most of all,”

he brings you close, holding you in a tight hug.

“happy anniversary, my love.”

A/N: this was supposed to be the white day fic,,,,,,,, honestly i was gonna just scrap but i was halfway done with jacks so i tried salvaging it. sorry if it’s off in some parts. anyway hiii.

date published: 05/05/25

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zhelin-thames · 2 days ago

Text

Constantine, Chaos, and the Support Group from Hell

pev Masterpost

Location: Zatanna’s Living Room, Because the Watchtower is Now “Danny-Proofed” Zatanna: So glad everyone could make it! John Constantine: I was tricked. You told me this was an emergency exorcism. Zatanna: It is. For your sanity.

Danny and Tim (enter simultaneously) Tim: Yo. Danny: Hey, Dad. Constantine: CHOKES ON CIGARETTE Tim: He’s not your dad. Danny: Yet. Constantine: WHEEZING Danny: (to Zatanna) Did you know he dated my adopted grandpa Clockwork in the '80s? Zatanna: …Wait what. Danny: Yeah. I’m your metaphorical step-grandson. Constantine: genuinely begins performing an exorcism with holy water and sarcasm

Bernard and Tucker enter with Starbucks and dead eyes Tucker: We brought lattes and emotional damage. Bernard: Is he banishing Danny again? Tucker: He tried last week. Danny absorbed the circle and said “yum.” Danny (cheerfully): It tasted like salt and bad decisions. Constantine: I AM TOO OLD FOR THIS.

Support Circle™ Time Zatanna: Okay, let’s start the meeting. Everyone, name one thing stressing you out.

Tucker: Hi, I’m Tucker. I’m here because I love my boyfriend, but I can’t keep track of who’s who. Bernard: I’m Bernard. I’m here for moral support. Also, because Danny once pulled me through a wall thinking I was Tim. Danny: I stand by that. Bernard: My boyfriend can’t go two days without getting mistaken for his chaos twin. Tucker: Mine phased through the kitchen floor to avoid paying for lunch. Tim: Hi, I’m Tim. I cause 50% of the chaos. Danny: And I cause the better 50%. Constantine: Hi. I’m John. I’m leaving. Danny: You can’t. You live inside me now. John: I’m calling an exorcist. Zatanna: You are the exorcist. John: Then we’re all doomed.

Constantine: eye twitching He has all my soul. Everyone Else: …WHAT?! Danny: Just a little piece! Like, 78% tops. Tim: We were playing poker and he bet John’s soul as a bluff. Danny: I wasn’t bluffing. I won. Constantine: YOU CANNOT OWN A MAN’S SOUL VIA UNO. Danny: You can if it was a Draw Four. Zatanna: …Technically he’s right. Constantine: I. HATE. TIME. GHOSTS.

Later: Constantine tries to escape Constantine: If I leave now, I can still fake my death and move to another plane— Danny (floating outside window): You forgot your coat, Granddad’s Boyfriend~ Constantine: screams into the void Danny: Also, I RSVP’d you to brunch with Clockwork. It’s eternal. Constantine: I’m exorcising myself. Bernard: You’ll still owe Danny rent for the soul-space. Tucker: I’m charging him ghost tax.

Group Activity: Sharing Feelings Danny: I feel like having a soul dad has made me a better person. Constantine: You’ve used me to summon ghosts during gym class. Danny: That was ONE TIME. Tim: It was four times. Tucker: Once for dodgeball. That one was kinda awesome. Bernard: I still see Slimer when I blink. Constantine: I’ve fought demons with more emotional regulation. Danny: You’re just mad I beat your high score in haunting.

Group Chat – “The Hell Support Club” Danny: Guys. I convinced Constantine to attend therapy. Tim: Did you possess him again? Danny: No. I just reminded him Clockwork still has his mixtapes from 1983. Bernard: Emotional blackmail is self-care. Tucker: Group hug? Danny & Tim: phase through each other trying to do one Constantine (texting): I hate you all. Group Therapy Turns to Chaos (Inevitable) Danny: Hey Dad, wanna see me go full ghost mode? Constantine: If you even flicker, I swear by the River Styx— Danny: goes full glowing-eyed, floating, cape-of-shadows Ghost King mode Room temperature drops by 30 degrees Bernard: sipping cocoa, unfazed Yeah this happens. Tim: You get used to it. Tucker: I am so turned on right now. Constantine: I need bleach. For my soul. Danny: grinning with eldritch teeth Joke’s on you. I already have it.

Ten Minutes Later Constantine: So this is hell. This is my hell. Zatanna: Welcome to the Support Group from Hell™ Tucker: Next meeting’s on Wednesday. We’re doing soul-care crafts. Bernard: We make little felt ghosts. Danny eats the glitter. Danny: I regret nothing. Tim: They’re edible glitter. It’s fine. Constantine: I will never emotionally recover from this. Danny: But you will spiritually recover. Inside me. Forever. Constantine: screaming into his trench coat

Group Chat: ChaosSupportNetwork Tucker: That went well. Bernard: Better than last time. Tim: At least the carpet didn’t catch fire this time. Danny: New personal best. Constantine: I AM TRAPPED IN A TWINK WITH A GHOST COMPLEX. Danny: 💖 Love you too, Dad! 💖 Zatanna: See you all next week. Don’t forget to bring snacks. Constantine: sobbing emoji

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Tim and Danny are identical twins separated at birth #their boyfriends become bffs #reunited by scared confused boyfriends #Savant Par ship #timber #danny fenton #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #batfam #danny is a little shit #tim is a little shit

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lazy-ahh · 2 days ago

Note

Oki so werid request but could you do one of the reader helping Maskless mark ( the variant) rehabilitate into a better person and it makes main mark jealous?

YOU, ME, AND THE GHOST OF HIM

pairing mainstream! mark grayson x male reader x maskless! mark grayson

in every world, you'd choose mark grayson. even when he's not yours. even when he's broken. even when it destroys you both.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the first time you see him, he’s slumped against the alley wall like a discarded puppet, one arm pressed to his ribs like they might give way any second. blood is smeared across his split lip, fresh and glistening under the flickering streetlight, while bruises bloom like storm clouds along his jaw. his hero suit—once vibrant, now torn and darkened with stains—clings to him, some of the blood his, most of it… probably not. his breath comes in ragged, uneven pulls, but it’s his eyes that freeze you in place—wide, almost wild, pupils blown so wide the usual brown is just a thin ring around the black.

and then he sees you.

his breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound. his lips part, but no words come—just a shaky exhale, like he’s been punched all over again. his fingers twitch at his sides, as if he wants to reach out but fears you’ll vanish if he does. for a second, he doesn’t even blink, like he’s terrified that if he closes his eyes for even a second, you’ll be gone when he opens them. and then—slowly, so slowly—his expression cracks. his brows knit together, his throat bobs as he swallows hard, and his voice, when it finally comes, is rough, wrecked.

"...[y/n]?"

it’s just one word, but it’s loaded—with disbelief, with aching hope, with something so raw it makes your chest hurt. because he knows you. knows you. and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only light left in a world that’s gone dark—tells you everything.

in his universe, he lost you.

and now here you are, alive, standing in front of him like a miracle he never thought he’d get.

mark—no, not your mark, but another version, one carved from grief and rage—looks at you like the world just cracked open. because in his universe, he’d held you as you bled out, as your fingers went slack in his. and now here you are, alive, breathing, standing in front of him like some cruel trick or some kind of miracle.

he’s a storm of anger, regret, and raw, aching grief—a warped mirror of the boy you know, his edges jagged where your mark is soft, his fury scorching where your mark’s warmth soothes. but beneath all that, beneath the bloodstained hands and the haunted eyes, you see it: the fracture in him, the way his breath stutters when you touch him, like he can’t believe you’re real. the broken edges of him that could maybe, maybe be pieced back together, because why else would he look at you like that? like the world had been nothing but shades of gray until you stepped into view, like all the color had rushed back in a single, dizzying moment the second he realized—you’re here. you’re alive. in this universe, he didn’t lose you.

(and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to make him want to be better.)

you know this isn’t your mark. heck, this mark is one of the many variants that tore through your universe, leaving destruction in his wake, his hands stained with blood that isn’t just his own. but you can’t help it—your body moves before your mind can catch up, dropping to your knees beside him, pressing your palm against the deep gash on his side to stem the bleeding. his skin is fever-hot under your touch, his breath coming in shallow, pained gasps as you carefully lift him, his arm slung over your shoulder like deadweight. you whisper soft reassurances, half-formed words of comfort—"it’s okay, i’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay"—even though you’re not sure if that’s true. and he clings to you like a drowning man, his fingers digging into your sleeve, his face buried against your shoulder like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

when you try to pull away—just for a second, just to grab the first aid kit, some water, anything—he panics, his voice breaking as he calls out for you, his hands scrambling to keep you close. it’s pathetic, it’s heartbreaking, and it makes something in your chest ache.

at first, you told yourself it was just because he wore the face of the boy you’ve loved for years—the boy with the stupidly endearing smile, the one who laughs too loud at his own jokes, the one who always, always tries to do the right thing, even when it’s hard. the boy who looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the universe, who holds your hand like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t. the boy who, despite all his power, is so soft with you, so careful, like you’re something precious.

but as you sit with this mark, as you clean his wounds and coax him into drinking water, as you stay by his side even when you should be out there, fighting, saving people—you realize something.

this is still mark.

not your mark, not the one who makes your heart stutter when he grins at you with that stupid, lopsided smile, not the one whose fingers always linger just a second too long when he hands you things, like he’s afraid to let go. but he’s still mark—the way his nose scrunches up when he’s trying to tough out the pain, the way his voice goes all rough and cracked when he’s pushed past his limits, the way his entire body seems to sag the second your fingers brush against his skin, like he’s been starved for touch for years.

and maybe that’s why you can’t walk away.

"you don’t have to be like this," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper as you press the damp cloth to the cut on his cheek. he flinches at first—old instincts, maybe, from a world where touch only ever meant pain—but then he melts, his breath hitching as he leans into your hand like a dying man offered water. his eyes, red-rimmed and glassy with exhaustion, flicker up to yours, and god, he looks so lost, so desperate, like he’s one wrong word away from shattering completely.

his fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he tries. so you do it for him—your free hand finds his, threading your fingers together, and the noise he makes is downright pathetic, a choked-off whimper as he grips you like a lifeline.

it’s not fair. it’s not fair how your pulse jumps when your fingers brush against his skin, how your breath catches when he leans into your touch like he’s been starving for it. you’ve imagined this a thousand times—finally being close to mark, finally feeling the warmth of his body, the weight of his hands on yours—but never like this. never with this mark, bruised and broken and bleeding on your bed, his torso wrapped in haphazard bandages that do little to hide the hard planes of his chest, the way his muscles tense under your fingertips. he’s wearing your black sweatpants, the fabric loose around his hips, and the sight of him like this—vulnerable, yours, even if it’s just for now—makes something hot and guilty curl low in your stomach.

you shouldn’t be doing this. shouldn’t be savoring the way his calloused palms press against yours, rough from years of fighting, or the way his breath hitches when your thumb traces the ridge of his knuckles. you’re a horrible friend. a friend shouldn’t be thinking about the way his lashes flutter when you touch him, shouldn’t be memorizing the way his ribs expand with every shaky breath, shouldn’t be enjoying how ruined he is for you, how he clings to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to this world.

but god, he’s here. he’s warm and solid and real, his skin radiating heat even through the bandages, and when he looks up at you with those gold-flecked eyes—dazed, desperate—it’s all you can do not to pull him closer.

"missed you," he slurs, voice cracked and raw, like the words have been clawing their way out of him for years. his forehead drops against your shoulder, his breath hot against your collarbone, and you can feel the way his entire body trembles, the way his fingers dig into your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. "missed you so much, please—" his voice breaks, and your chest aches. "please don’t go."

you should push him away. should remind him that you’re not his you, that the boy he’s mourning is gone, that this—whatever this is—isn’t right.

but then his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, and your resolve crumbles.

your chest aches. you shouldn’t do this. you shouldn’t.

but you tighten your grip on his hips anyway.

(just for tonight, you tell yourself. just for tonight, you’ll let him pretend. just for tonight, you’ll pretend too.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

when mark finally falls asleep, his breathing deep and even, you can’t help but tuck the blanket around him with the same careful precision you’ve always used with your mark—fingers smoothing out the wrinkles, pulling the fabric just high enough to cover his bare shoulders. it’s muscle memory, really, something you’ve done a thousand times before, back when the two of you were kids playing house and he’d inevitably pass out mid-game, sprawled across your bed like he owned it. before you can stop yourself, you lean down and press a quick, feather-light kiss to his temple, just like you used to. the second your lips touch his skin, your stomach twists—because this isn’t your mark, and you haven’t done this in years, not since you realized how dangerous it was to let yourself want something you couldn’t have.

you slip away before the guilt can settle in, pulling your hero suit back on with practiced efficiency. the window slides open silently, and then you’re gone, the cool morning air biting at your cheeks as you fly toward the chaos.

it’s early, the sky still painted in soft pinks and golds, but the city is already in ruins—buildings crumbling, smoke rising in thick plumes, the distant sounds of screams and fighting echoing through the streets. you throw yourself into the fray, pulling civilians from rubble, stopping falling debris, doing everything you can to help—but even as you work, your thoughts keep drifting back to him, to the broken boy in your bed who looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him whole.

some part of you feels pathetic for it. why should you grieve for these other marks? why does your throat tighten every time you see another variant's corpse, another version of him crumpling to the ground, lifeless? why do you keep imagining what might’ve happened if you’d found them first, if you’d been able to save them too?

the sun is dipping below the horizon by the time you finally slip away, your body aching, your suit stained with dust and sweat. every muscle screams in protest as you move, your ribs throbbing from where a chunk of debris had slammed into you earlier, your knuckles split and stinging. you just want to shower, to scrub away the grime and blood, to sink into the scalding water until your skin is raw.

but when you climb through your bedroom window, the air is thick with something electric, something dangerous—and there they are, standing on opposite sides of the room like rival wolves, glaring at each other with enough heat to set the walls ablaze.

your mark’s fists are clenched so tight his knuckles have gone white, his jaw locked, his shoulders rigid with tension. his eyes—usually so warm, so soft when they land on you—burn with something you’ve never seen before, something possessive, something furious. and the other mark—your mark, the one you tucked in, the one you kissed—he looks wrecked, his bandages peeling away, fresh blood seeping through the fabric, his expression caught between fury and devastation. it’s clear they’d fought, but they’d held back—your room is mostly intact, save for the blankets strewn across the floor, the pillows torn open, feathers drifting lazily in the charged silence.

your stomach drops like a stone, the sudden rush of dread so heavy it makes your knees feel weak. your pulse roars in your ears, a deafening drumbeat that drowns out everything else—so loud you’re sure they can hear it, so frantic it feels like your ribs might crack from the force of it. your mouth goes bone-dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of it as your fingers twitch helplessly at your sides, curling and uncurling like you could reach out, like you could somehow stitch this disaster back together with your bare hands. but the weight of their stares pins you in place, the air between you three thick enough to choke on, every breath a struggle against the suffocating tension.

and then—

your mark’s voice cracks through the silence like a whip, sharp enough to make you flinch. his expression—god, his expression—is a wreckage of emotions, his brows pulled together in something agonized, his lips trembling just slightly before he presses them into a thin, wavering line. his eyes, usually so warm, so bright, are glassy with hurt, the gold flecks in them dulled under the weight of betrayal. his jaw works, like he’s fighting to keep the words steady, but his voice still comes out rough, frayed at the edges.

"where were you?" he chokes out, the words thick. "i—i tried calling you, like, a dozen times. kept telling myself you were just busy, that you’d pick up eventually, but…" his breath hitches, his fingers flexing like he wants to reach for you but can’t bring himself to. "then cecil told me you brought one of them here. to your house. [y/n], what the hell were you thinking?"

you cut him off before he can finish, your voice too loud in the suffocating quiet, your expression twisting with guilt. "i just wanted to help you, okay?"

mark’s face does something complicated then—his eyes widen, his lips parting in stunned disbelief, like he can’t quite process what you’re saying. his variant stays silent, but you can feel his gaze burning into you, heavy and unreadable. when mark finally speaks again, his voice is quieter, but no less wrecked.

"help…? [y/n], he’s not me. you get that, right?" he runs a shaky hand through his hair, his breath coming faster now, his words laced with something desperate. "that’s—that’s the guy who leveled cities. who killed people. who enjoyed it. how could you—how could you even look at him after everything he’s done?"

"how could i not help him when he has your face?" you finally snap, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. the words tear out of you like they’ve been clawing at your throat for hours, raw and desperate. "how could i just leave him there to die when he’s you, mark—when i know he can be better because he’s still you—"

something in mark’s expression flickers, his defiance wavering for just a second—his lips part, his brows twitching like he’s fighting back a wave of something too big to name. but then his jaw tightens again, his hands clenching at his sides like he’s physically holding himself together.

and then—

you catch it. from the corner of your eye, a shift. the other mark goes utterly still, his breath hitching audibly. his eyes—dull with exhaustion just moments ago—widen slightly, the faintest spark of light returning to them. his lips part like he wants to speak but can’t, like the air’s been punched out of him. like he’s just realized something devastating.

your mark doesn’t notice. he’s too busy staring at you like you’ve just ripped the ground out from under him. "better?" his voice is strained, disbelieving. "[y/n], you can’t just—you can’t just say that like it’s that simple. he didn’t just hurt people, he slaughtered them. entire cities, gone. you don’t come back from that. you don’t get to just—just pretend it didn’t happen!" his hands rake through his hair, tugging at the roots like he’s trying to physically stop himself from shaking. "that’s not how this works. that’s not how any of this works."

"i’m not pretending it didn’t happen," you say, voice fraying at the edges. "but what was i supposed to do, mark? let him bleed out in some alley just because he’s not your version of you? because he made choices you didn’t?" your hands are shaking now, your nails digging half-moons into your palms. "you—you of all people should know how easy it is to fall. how hard it is to climb back out. if anyone deserves a second chance, it’s—"

"it’s not him," mark cuts in, his voice cracking like he’s the one wounded. his eyes are too bright, his chest rising too fast. "you don’t get it. this isn’t some—some redemption arc, [y/n]. you can’t just love him into being a good person."

the words hang there, sharp and suffocating. love. neither of you meant to say it like that.

a beat of silence. then—

"i don’t need to be loved," the other mark murmurs, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. both you and your mark whip around to look at him. he’s standing straighter now, his bandages rustling as he shifts, his gaze locked on you with something terrifyingly close to devotion. "i just need to be given a chance to fix what i broke. i’ll do anything. anything. bleed for it, beg for it—i don’t care." his lips curl, just slightly, at the edges. "funny, isn’t it? in my world, you were the one who always believed i could be better, too. even when i didn’t."

your mark makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. "stop talking about him like—like you had him. like he was ever yours."

the other mark’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. "wasn’t he?"

the air leaves your lungs in a rush. "that’s not—we weren’t—"

"you weren’t?" the other mark tilts his head, all false innocence. "huh. guess some things really are different here." his gaze flicks to your mark, deliberate, slow. "or maybe you’re just slower."

your mark moves then—a half-step forward, fists clenched, his entire body trembling with something raw and furious. "get out," he grits out. "get out of his house. get out of his life. you don’t get to come here and—and poison this just because you’re too fucked up to live with what you’ve done."

the other mark doesn’t flinch. just looks at you, his voice softening. "do you want me to go?"

and god, that’s the worst part—because you should say yes. you should push him out the door and let your mark hold you and pretend none of this ever happened.

but you don’t.

you just stand there, silent, your heart splitting right down the middle like rotten fruit bursting at the seams. the air feels thick, syrupy with unsaid things as you let out a shaky exhale that rattles your ribs. your eyes squeeze shut like if you just keep them closed long enough, you might wake up from this nightmare. the pain radiating from your injuries—the cracked ribs, the split knuckles, the bruises blooming like stormclouds under your suit—is nothing compared to the way your chest caves in when you imagine opening your eyes to mark's face. you already know what you'll find there: that wounded look he gets when he's trying so hard not to cry and his voice goes all rough and broken. you're so selfish. such a fucking terrible friend.

"you..." mark's voice comes out strangled, like someone's got their hands around his throat. when you finally crack your eyes open, he's staring at you with this devastated expression, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but forgot how. "you're actually considering this?" his laugh is hollow, humorless. "after everything he's done—after everything we've—[y/n], look at me and tell me this isn't fucking killing you too."

the other mark doesn't blink, doesn't waver. his gaze burns into the side of your face as he murmurs, so quiet it's almost tender, "he doesn't need to say it. we all know the truth."

your breath hitches when you finally force yourself to meet your mark's eyes—really meet them. the tears welling up make his golden flecks swim, and god, you want to wipe them away so badly your fingers ache with it. your fists clench so tight your nails bite fresh crescents into your palms. "i can't turn my back on him," you whisper, voice fraying at the edges. "don't ask me to do that. not when i'd walk through fire for you. not when i'd still choose you—" your throat closes around the rest, but it's too late. the words already hang between you, raw and bleeding.

your words hang in the air like a guillotine blade—i’d still choose you—and mark’s breath stutters like you’ve punched it out of him. his lips part, trembling, and for one terrifying second you think he’s going to say it back, think he’s going to wreck you completely with three stupid words you’ve both been too cowardly to voice for years. but then his throat bobs, his fingers flexing like he wants to reach for you but can’t quite remember how. "you can’t just—" his voice cracks, raw. "you can’t say shit like that and then—and then ask me to watch you forgive him."

the other mark lets out a quiet, wounded noise from beside you—something between a laugh and a sob. "he’s right, you know," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over the nape of your neck. "you shouldn’t say things like that unless you mean them." his fingers brush your wrist, feather-light, and your mark’s eyes snap to the contact, his jaw clenching so tight you hear his teeth grind.

you swallow hard, your pulse rabbiting in your throat. "i mean it," you whisper, turning to face your mark fully, your voice trembling but sure. "i love you. but that doesn’t mean i can’t care about him, too."

the silence that follows is deafening. your mark looks like you’ve carved him open—his eyes wide and glassy, his chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. "that’s not fair," he chokes out. "you don’t get to—to love me and then—"

"then what?" you interrupt, your voice breaking. "ask you to trust me? to believe that i’d never choose him over you?" you take a step forward, your hand hovering just above his chest, not quite touching. "you know me, mark. you know how i feel. don’t make me say it louder when you’ve spent years pretending not to hear it."

the other mark exhales sharply, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "god, you two are pathetic." he shakes his head, his smile bitter. "in every other universe, one of you has the guts to just kiss the other. but here?" he barks out a laugh. "here you just ache. how tragic."

your mark flinches like he’s been struck, his fingers twitching toward yours—almost bridging the gap, almost proving the other mark wrong. but then he curls them into a fist instead, his breath coming in shallow bursts. "this isn’t over," he mutters, but it sounds like a plea. like a prayer.

you don’t know if he’s talking to you—or himself.

"i know... i know the both of us would make sure it isn't." the joke falls flat the moment it leaves your lips, your attempt at lightness crumbling under the weight of everything unsaid. your mouth curves into something that might've been a smile if not for the way your bottom lip trembles, if not for the way your eyes stay painfully wide—too shiny, too vulnerable. you're terrified. the kind of terror that sits heavy in your ribs and makes your hands feel numb, the kind that whispers this might be the moment that fractures you two in ways no amount of late-night apologies or desperate touches can repair.

mark's expression does something complicated then—his brows twitch like he wants to frown but can't quite manage it, his eyes softening just for a second with that familiar warmth that always made your stomach flip. for a breathless moment, you think maybe he understands. but then his jaw sets again, that stubborn tilt you know means he's digging his heels in, means he's going to keep fighting this because in his heart he truly believes this is wrong. and maybe it is. maybe you're a fool for clinging to the broken pieces of someone who shares his face but not his soul.

but when have you ever been able to walk away from mark grayson in any form? the thought of leaving him—any version of him—to drown in his own darkness makes your chest ache so sharply you have to press a hand to your sternum, as if you could physically hold your heart together. you love him. you love him in ways you've never dared say out loud, in ways that terrify you, in ways that would probably terrify him too if he knew the depth of it. and that's the cruelest part—you'd choose him in every universe, even when it's the wrong choice, even when it breaks you both a little more.

and the other version of mark? he just watches, something unreadable in his eyes. the way he looks at you is different now—less desperate hunger, more quiet wonder. his fingers brush absentmindedly over the bandages on his chest, the ones you carefully wrapped around his wounds hours ago. maybe, just maybe, he's starting to believe he can be better. as long as he has you, then he'll be okay. the thought settles in his chest like sunlight after years of darkness, terrifying in its simplicity.

(and maybe, just maybe, that scares your mark the most. the way his darker self looks at you like you're salvation. the way you look back like you might just believe in him.)

your mark makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, his voice cracking when he speaks. "you're really gonna make me watch this, huh?" he gestures weakly between you and his counterpart. "watch you try to fix him like he's just some... some broken version of me you can patch up with enough care?" his breath hitches, and god, you've never seen him look so lost. "what happens when he's better, [y/n]? where does that leave me?"

your breath stutters, your chest so tight it aches. you look at mark—your mark, the one who makes your pulse skip just by smiling, the one who’s held your heart for years without even realizing it—and something in you breaks.

"it leaves you right where you’ve always been," you whisper, your voice raw, trembling. "with me. always with me." you take a step closer, your hand hovering near his face, so close you can feel the heat of his skin but not quite touching. "don’t you get it? there’s no version of this where i don’t choose you. where i don’t love you. but i can’t—i can’t just turn away from someone who needs help, especially when they’re you, even if they’re not my you."

your mark’s eyes are glassy, his lips parted like he wants to argue but the words won’t come. his hands twitch at his sides, caught between pushing you away and pulling you in. "you can’t save everyone," he chokes out, but it sounds weak, like he doesn’t even believe it himself.

"i know," you admit, your thumb finally brushing his cheek, so gentle it makes him shudder. "but i have to try. especially for you. in any universe."

the other mark watches silently, his expression unreadable—but there’s no smirk now, no cruel amusement. just something quiet, almost sad. like he finally understands what he’s stolen in another life. like he knows, no matter what, he’ll never truly have this again.

your mark swallows hard, his fingers finally, finally curling into your sleeve, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. "you’re gonna be the death of me," he murmurs, but there’s no real anger left—just exhaustion, and fear, and love, so much love it makes your knees weak.

you lean in, your forehead resting against his, your breath mingling. "then we’ll go together," you whisper.

hey y'all, so this was... something. 4.8k words of pure midnight angst fueled by sad playlists and questionable life choices. no idea where i was going with this, just that mark grayson owns my whole heart and i wanted him to suffer (affectionate). if this wasn't what you imagined, hit me up and i'll gladly write another version when i'm more coherent than "2 AM drunk on emotions" hours. hope you enjoyed this messy emotional rollercoaster anyway—let me know if you want more, i live for your reactions 😭

#chatttttt #what am i doing LOL #bro this was such a mess to write #i don't even know what i wanted to happen here LOLOL #NEED THAT INVINCIDIH #i can take all of them #heh #but not in a fight #lazy-ahh #invincible #invincible variant #mark grayson #maskless mark grayson #male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible variant x male reader #mark grayson x male reader #maskless mark grayson x male reader

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mieldreams · 2 days ago

Text

Pure Imagination

Summary: Come with me and you'll be in a world of pure imagination

or where Vader delivers sweet torture in cruel dreams

pairing: Darth Vader x reader

word count: 4,912

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI (as the title suggests, dream stuff and I'm not too sure abt how comprehensible this is ngl), inappropriate use of the force etc.

a/n: 5k of pure filth, wasn't actually planning on releasing this cuz I wrote it so long ago but...oh well. it's the first time I'm posting a full fledged smut fic, hope y'all like

masterlist

You're in a rare deep slumber when you hear it, the unmistakable mechanical inhales and exhales coming from a dark silhouette in your mind. “You again.” That almost droid-like voice is hard to misidentify and all your senses freeze at once. Panic builds inside you but on the outside, you somehow remain asleep. “Vader? What the fuck?” You weren't exactly unfamiliar with the infamous Sith lord, having run into him on more occasions than you'd like, which established you on at least a ‘he can recognise me by face’ basis – much to your displeasure. But why in the kriffing hell were you hearing his voice in your mind right now? Hadn't you just gone to sleep? Fuck, had Vader found your secret base and infiltrated it? Had he taken you hostage and was he planning on torturing you through his weird mind fuckery? “Your inability to comprehend the ways of the Force does not make it absurd or a deception.” His hoarse voice echoes in your mind once again and you scoff. “Do not patronize me in my own mind. What the fuck do you want? Why are you here?” “You tell me, Rebel.” He spits out the word like it's venomous and putrid. You're losing patience, you're not sure what is happening – last time you checked you were supposed to be asleep in your room, so how was Vader manipulating your mind? “Your mind could be penetrated in my sleep, though I doubt I'd find anything of use.” His voice booms, emotionless as always, “However, it seems you have something rather interesting to show me.” You're starting to get pissed off by this giant fucking leather-wrapped tin can. “Hmmm, your tongue is sharp. If only the same could be said about your intellect.” He spits out, “After all, which perfect little rebel would want something like this.” Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind and your face immediately pales, appalled by what appears before you. In a quick flash you see yourself, lying on your back, goosebumps spreading across your skin as your bare breasts stiffen in the air. You hear your laboured breathing; see the way your chest heaves up and down. And then, you see him. The Darth Vader – in between your legs. His head over your most intimate area. You don't see his face, and the image cuts off right below his shoulders, but the way you're clutching him, pulling him in, and the way his head moves, the way your legs quiver and the way your mouth remains dropped open in pleasure very well lets you know what is going on. You gasp, your own horrified voice echoing in your mind, “What the fuck is this? What the fuck are you doing to me?” His tone would be teasing if he were speaking with his natural voice, “Would you like me to give a descriptive narration?” You growl, “What are you trying to do? Some new perverted mind trick your kind have come up with?” Despite the angry words thrown at him, on the inside you feel terrified. Because where even is this ‘him’? You're shouting at him in your mind but he isn't appearing to you. Just his hollow voice echoing endlessly in your brain with seemingly no origin. “Do not forget your place, Rebel.” It seems you have pissed him off now, or whatever weird body-less voice version of him at least, great. “These fantasies are a creation of your mind. Not so much a perfect rebel now, are we?” You're not going to just let him bullshit his way into your mind no matter what. “Your lies won't work on me.” “You think this is a lie?” He flashes the same image in your head again. This time you appear even more desperate in the filthy act he shows you, hips moving wildly as you moan and pull his head closer to your cunt. “A pity you fight against the want. Your subconscious betrays you.” “You're a kriffing liar!”

“Silence!” His voice booms in your head and you flinch. “A lie? You think I am lying? What about this?” Quickly the image changes, this time showing a close-up of your most intimate parts. Heat pours into your cheeks while anger burns through your veins. A black gloved hand comes into the frame, teasingly snaking up your thigh to caress your folds. You watch, frozen in horror, as it catches your clit, rubbing circles on the nub before dipping lower to tease at the slit. It does this a bunch of times till your empty hole is pulsating in demand, all the while your desperate little pants and whines colour the background. “Vader– want you inside me, please...” Your voice echoes through the dream. The hand, his hand, gently smacks your cunt to silence you before two of his long, gloved fingers enter you. Even through the image you can tell that they are thick, and to your surprise they move slowly at first, yet expertly, delivering deep thrusts that send shivers up your spine. “Stop this! Stop it! Why are you doing this?” You scream at him and his angry voice answers, “Why? Isn't this what you want? Isn't this what your body craves? Or do you still think this is a lie?” The image before you quickly shifts again, this time showing his fingers moving fast and hard inside you. He removes them to rub and pinch at your clit, before pressing on your slit again, this time with three fingers. “What do you want from me? Stop this! You're lying!” “Is that so?” The three fingers swiftly plunge into you, this time your loud moan sounds and your own hand comes into the picture, grabbing his wrist, holding him there. Vader's voice taunts you in your mind, “So this isn't what you want?” You watch as his hand quickly shakes yours off and the same hand that was inside you delivers a loud slap to your cunt, your hips jerking up in reaction but Vader's other hand pins them down. He delivers another wet slap to your cunt, then another and another, each one getting messier and messier as you get wetter and wetter. His fingers finally enter you again and it doesn't take long before you're gushing your release all over his hand. He prolongs your high by rubbing on your already sensitive clit and it has the dream-you begging, “Vader, please...” You shout in your head once again, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop this! Get out of my head!” “Do not assume that I am here by pleasure,” he clearly means to taunt you more, alluding to the embarrassing state you just saw yourself in, “it is your mind projecting this.” If you could, you would stab him. “So tell me, Rebel, am I to believe this is not something you want?” “I don't care what the fuck you believe. Get. out. of my fucking head.” He continues, “So you wouldn't want me to do this?” Out of nowhere, you feel a small pressure on your neck, one that steadily grows, as if someone were holding you by the throat. You panic – you had heard about the Sith Lord's preferred method of quickly disposing of his enemies – choking the life out of them as their flailing bodies struggled to get enough oxygen, limbs convulsing and face paling till they eventually died. He was going to kill you in your sleep. Your mind is on high alert, yet your body remains unconscious in bed. “Tell me, Princess, what does your body tell you.” “—If you think that is not enough, what about this?”

The next image he projects in your mind absolutely destroys you. You see your bare back facing you in the fantasy, though your torso is not enough to hide Vader's wide built silhouette in front of you. You are straddling him, but this time too the image is cut off just below your waist. However it doesn't take a genius to figure out what is going on when you can so clearly see the way your body moves on top of his, swivelling your hips sensually as you move up and down. The way your back arches, the way you cling to him, nails digging into the leather over his chest, the breathy moans that escape you. The you in the image grabs Vader's gloved hand and places it on your throat and the real you – or at least your consciousness in your mind gasps in mortification. “How scandalous. The proper princess of the rebellion wants me.” He mocks, “worse, she wants me to want her.” This whole time you had been angry, mad at the evil Sith Lord for showing you these lies – these perverted images that you don't understand the purpose of. What is he trying to achieve? Does he hope to shame you? Provoke you? Therefore weaken your mind's resolve and obtain some information from you? But then you watch yourself in the fantasy – your hips quickening their pace as your breathy moans become raspier and louder, Vader's huge hand roams your naked back, running the middle finger of his gloved palm down your spine before moving to your front again. He caresses your breasts, toying with them and it makes the dream-you mewl. Suddenly the Vader in the projection grabs your hips, stopping your movements entirely, making you whine. He lands a stern slap on your ass in warning before pulling you in by your waist, guiding your arms from his chest to lay over his shoulders.

You can only stare in horror and regretfully–arousal, as Vader takes full control, thrusting up into you with such precision it has you screaming. You still cannot see anything below your waists and yet the lewd sounds that now echo in your mind, mixed with your own traitorous mouth chanting his name in pleasure, asking him, begging him to make you cum, has a certain humiliating warmth pooling in your centre. You want to look away, you want him to stop showing you these cursed dreams – but you have no idea how. The images are directly showing in your head and Vader doesn't seem to actually be in your room. So how do you stop this? Before you get to shout at him again, the previous pressure on your neck, one that you had nearly forgotten about, grows stronger again, pressing more on your throat till you can hear your own heartbeat echoing in your head. You realise then that the pressure on your throat is definitely not something imagined and that somehow, Vader was actually choking you physically in your sleep. Were you wrong about your assumptions? Had Vader really somehow broken into your quarters? But the others would know. They'd wake you – they'd try to stop him. Wouldn't they? Or had they all already tried – and failed to stop him. Is that why you could physically feel his hands on your throat? “You think too much.” His voice echoes after a long time, “Tell me, Princess – after everything I've shown you – do you still dare to think of this as a deception?” You don't know what to say, you have always wished for Darth Vader's defeat in every battle you have been a part of, always hoped that the tyrannical rule he was a part of would end. And yet you also knew that there was something weird– something wrong here. Every time you had encountered the Sith Lord you had felt an odd sort of feeling in your mind, as if something was amiss. You had always been wary of the force-users and weren't entirely convinced of its powers– or better yet, its presence in the universe. Yet every time you ran into Vader, you had always felt a certain presence in your being – like a pull, a connection that wasn't quite complete. Like two wires of a running circuit that occasionally rubbed together and created sparks. But what does it mean? What does any of this mean? You still cannot believe that whatever Vader showed you was some sort of prediction of the future. However, he told you that it was your mind that projected this.

But can you believe him? You would scream and fight and argue that he's a cruel perverted liar and that none of this is true. But then why is there a part of you that suddenly feels heavy with need? You almost want to strangle yourself when you realise the wetness in your pants. And you suppose you really should just jump off a cliff when you realise that Vader can and probably is reading your mind right now. “I do not need to read your mind to know your desperation, Rebel.” Or maybe you could throw him off one instead. “While it would surely be amusing to see you attempt, right now, Princess, tell me – are you still convinced that all I've shown you is a deception?” With his words he slowly moves the pressure down your neck, tracing your collarbones to your breasts, cupping them as if they were naked. He fondles them, pinching and pulling and you whimper. “—that you don't want this?” His hands ghost down your torso, caressing your hips before moving further south. You freeze when you feel him slip below the waistband of your pants, going lower and lower before stopping right at your slit – the same way he had in the vision he showed you. He mimics the same actions from the fantasy on your body – running his fingers up and down teasingly before pausing on your clit to rub slow circles. “Tell me to stop, Princess.” He slips his fingers lower again to put pressure on your slit without actually slipping inside and you're not sure how to answer him. You want him to stop because this cannot be right – you already don't know how he's even doing this, and surely you don't want to fuck Vader? But then you don't want him to stop because the expertise with which he's teasing your tits and rubbing your clit is making it hard to think. Vader can tell that you're at the edge of your limits. He flashes all the images he's shown you once again, repeating them in your head as he lures you, “Look,” he can tell that you're trying to fight him, trying to break off his connection and stop him from showing you these visions. Too bad he's a Sith Lord and much better at controlling. Brats like you really need to be tamed. “I said look.” The images flash much quicker now, all of them with you naked and begging for Vader to take you. He uses the force to toy with your body once again – phantom lips kiss their way from the corner of your mouth and up your jaw to nibble at the sensitive spot right under your ear. He shows you your own face in the visions where you climax in his mouth, on his fingers, on his cock – your mouth dropped, brows scrunched and naked chest heaving as you whine and moan. He makes you listen to your own screams of pleasure, of begging – begging to give you his cock, to let you cum, to do it all over again.

The real Vader puts a steady thrumming pressure on your clit, one that would've had you immediately buckling at the knees if you weren't still asleep in your bed. You can't help the whimper that escapes you. “Vader, please...” You feel ashamed when you find yourself repeating the words from the dream, though you're not sure if you're pleading him to stop or asking for more. “What's the matter, Princess? Surely a proud rebel like yourself wouldn't want a Sith Lord?” His voice continues mocking you as the humming pressure turns into full vibrations over your clit and that combined with the way he pinches your nipples has you melting against your own wishes. Or is it? Is this really against your own wishes? You can lie to him, but can you really lie to yourself? And it seems Vader's presence in your mind is as attentive as ever as he soon questions. “Tell me to stop. You said I was lying – so why aren't you stopping me?” Vader can feel the steady build of a climax in you, you are right at the brink and he can tell that all it would take is one push to send you over the edge. Suddenly, he stops all his actions. Every way he was touching you–it all disappears in a second. It happens so quickly it's like your body gets whiplash. You feel naked despite the fact that your body is still fully clothed and tucked in bed. You sob, “Vader—” “What is it, Princess?” When your own inner turmoil keeps you silent he continues his provocation, “Surely, you do not want me–a Sith Lord, to fuck you?” He mocks with a surprised tone. “Surely you do not want something like this,” he once again flashes another image in your head. This time you're on your back again, fully naked, but the sight doesn't shock you after all that you have seen in the past few minutes. Your hair is strewn over the surface, nipples hard as your half-lidded eyes twinkle up at him, a teasing smile pulls on your lips as your nails dig into Vader's stomach, dragging them up before spreading your palms over his chest. You tug him to you, and Vader's wide frame covers your body.

He is still clothed and his cloak falls over his shoulders to drape over the two of you. You watch as he squeezes your throat, but unlike the panic that grows in you every time you feel Vader's hands over your neck, the you in the dream smiles. She smiles and puts her hand over his as if encouraging him and fuck that shouldn't make you drip even more but it does. Vader shuffles back a little and for the first time in all of the visions he's shown you do you get to see any part of him. The real parts. And it's his cock – thick and long, slightly curved–and heavy. Heavy as you watch yourself take him in your palms, heavy as Vader slips his hand under yours to pin your wrists above you before thumping his cock on your button, making you whimper. Heavy as he runs it up and down your slit before he hooks the fat head in your hole. The dream you hums in pleasure as Vader's thick cock parts your walls, except suddenly he stops. He stops halfway in, running his possessive hands up and down your hips and legs. The pause makes you whine, instinctually clenching around him to pull him deeper and it almost knocks the breath out of Vader. He leaves a stinging hand print on your ass as a reminder to behave before one of his hands comes down to where the two of you are joined. Watching his hands–it makes you think. Even during such an intimate act Vader never takes off his gloves, in fact he doesn't even take off his clothes. In every dream you have seen tonight he is always fully clothed and it almost makes you yearn to see what he actually looks like. The dream you was always busy being fucked senseless by Vader but you couldn't stop wondering about how he was underneath all that leather. How would it feel if he were to touch you, really touch you. Would his hands be warm to touch? Or would they be as cold as his voice? Your contemplation doesn't last long as that same vibrating pressure grows stronger on your clit, just as the pleasure blooms in your core. Every time Vader touches you, really touches you–with whatever weird sexual Force abilities he possesses, your mind goes entirely blank. It's like he quickly takes over every string controlling your body and all you can do is give in. You give in as Vader cups your sex and palms your throat–it's as if he's right there behind you, broad chest to your back, slow and deep breaths exhaled right next to your ear, tickling you and somehow arousing you further. When you start getting fussy he tightens his grip on your throat, “Watch.” He commands before directing your attention to what he's projecting in your mind. You stare in embarrassment and arousal as the dream Vader first makes you come on his tip, using his fingers to pinch and pull and rub on your clit, pushing you to your high till you're pulsing around the head of his cock. It makes him dig his nails into your plush thighs, slick fingers moving up to grip your ass and lift your hips up to use for his pleasure. Vader pulls out of you to tease you again. You had been whining the entire time he was playing with your body and it entirely distracted you from the way Vader was actually toying with you in reality. Or was this all a dream too?

Your thoughts are cut off as Vader lines his thick fingers to your slit, circling and circling till you're dripping and surely staining your pants. Your hips move on their own to get him to finally push inside. You're embarrassed but also glad that you have separate quarters and that you sleep alone. “You want it that bad, Princess?” His deep voice rumbles in your mind. Wasn't the bastard supposed to be able to read your mind? You don't answer, instead, you try to reach out to whatever it was Vader was using to toy with you, focusing in your mind on that odd sensation that seems to be the source of all this. Maybe it's Vader's own distracted nature that allows you to sense his presence so quickly in the Force, especially when he doesn't do anything to stop you as you reach out to him, to the feeling of him. You connect to his presence, as if gently caressing the very fabric of his being. It feels somewhat weird; you've never done anything like it before. It feels like you're weaving yourself into him as you concentrate on the feeling of him in your mind. Even his presence feels intimidating–strong and dark, imposing and fearful. Yet, you reach out, gently, a little unsure but determined to get him to do something, anything.

You wonder why Vader isn't doing anything to stop you, especially when you know he can, being all-powerful and all that. Did he want this just as much as you? Your contemplation is cut short as you feel a steady pressure on your entrance and you throw your head back, thinking fucking finally. You think you hear something like a deep chuckle echoing in your mind before the same dream from before flashes at the forefront again. This time, dream Vader lines his cock up with your hole just as you feel the force touch grow stronger on your cunt, and simultaneously you watch as Vader's cock swiftly enters you and you feel a thick length bury deep inside. A loud moan echoes in your mind and you can't tell if it was the dream you or you. This time Vader doesn't waste a second before he starts thrusting, both in the dream and inside you. You watch as Vader fucks you fast and hard and feel as the heavy girth parts your walls, before pulling back to deliver sharp and precise thrusts, making you feel so full that it steals your breath and renders you speechless. “Hmm, nothing to say now, Princess? No accusations of lies or deception?” When you say nothing Vader slows down his pace, again both in the dream and in you, and this time even if the dream you says anything it goes completely unheard as you whine out. After watching yourself come apart so many times, hearing your whines and begs, the lewd sounds of fucking, you were downright aching, desperate to have your want fulfilled and your cunt stuffed. “Tsk, tsk tsk, such filthy wants you have, Princess.” His mocking voice booms, “and here I thought you wanted me defeated and dead.” You did, you swear you did, just....after you were done with whatever this was. Because fuck Vader feels so good inside you, so big and so deep, especially as he grinds into you without pulling out. In the haze of your pleasure you barely notice Vader picking up pace again and in retaliation he delivers a slap to your ass and it's so much worse. It's so much worse because it feels so so good, your hole pulsating around nothing desperately. “Watch.” He echoes the same word again as he forces you to concentrate on the dream he's showing you. It's a struggle to focus as Vader expertly fucks you into the mattress, pleasure coursing through your veins as he hits that deep spot inside you again and again. It becomes so much more difficult when he makes you watch the way he fucks you, the way his broad frame covers you entirely, practically dwarfing you, the way you greedily swallow him, stretched to your limits as his thick cock thrusts into you – hard and fast, not showing any mercy. Holy shit, you realise, Vader was showing you how he would fuck you, and he's making you feel how he would fuck you. All without fucking you at all.

He's ruining you, absolutely ruining you as the lewd sounds of him thrusting hard and deep into your wet pussy echo in your mind. As sweat runs down your forehead, as your chest heaves, and as your cunt leaks and leaks, surely ruining your sleepwear. As you sob in pleasure and you can’t even tell if it’s from the dream or you.

You feel the pressure on your neck return and it makes you heady, your eyes roll to the back of your head as Vader toys with your clit again, not faltering in his pace of fucking you.

You’re barrelling towards the edge at record speed, but you would never admit to Vader that no one’s ever fucked you this good, not even the best sex of your real life came close to whatever Vader was doing to you now.

Did you feel guilty about it? Immeasurably so. But it wasn’t at the front of your mind when you could also feel the way you were so close. So so close – just one more deep thrust, just one more flick of your button, just one squeeze of your throat and you’d be—

Suddenly every bit of touch disappears from your body.

The long length inside you is no longer there, the wide palm on your bare throat has vanished and the thrumming pressure on your clit has faded into nothing.

You can’t help the cry that escapes you, calling out his name in desperation.

There is no reply. You writhe on the bed, your desperation showing in the way your knuckles protrude as you fist the bedsheet, your hips squirming and cunt pulsing in need for what was so cruelly stolen from you.

You quickly sit up as your mind awakes and your eyes shoot open. Your quick pants are the only sound you can hear in the pin drop silence of your separate quarters.

Your voice is shaky as you call out, “V-Vader?”

Still no reply. You let your head fall into your hands, a silent sob escaping you as you come down from the high. Your cheeks feel warm, in fact, your whole body feels on fire and you just can’t seem to get enough air into your lungs.

The tears that slip down your face, dry and cool your heated skin but it’s not enough.

Every encounter with Vader always made you feel like something was missing, and tonight that feeling’s stronger than ever, carving out a chunk of your being and wringing your stomach into knots.

You feel hollow. Unsure. Unsafe. And yet you want to forget all of this. There is no physical evidence of anything other than your ruined underwear that you’re more than willing to ignore. Maybe this was all just a dream. A very very bad dream. Nothing more.

Just as you’re about to chalk this all up to some weird way of the universe fucking with you, a deep inhale echoes in your mind.

“The temple is where our business will be finished.”

And just like that you’re once again left alone in the silent darkness of the room.

a/n: welp folks, here we have it. weird way to say it ig but happy star wars day! may the force be with you

(ignore that this is a day late and also absolutely not proofread, both becuz tumblr was being a bitch and I lost this fic like 6 times and I almost don't care anymore lol)

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #darth vader x reader #darth vader smut #hayden christensen

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chilling-seavey · 3 days ago

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GEORGE HAVING A SEX DREAM! He is jetlag and so tired and misses you so much that he need up having a dream about one of your guys wildest night. He wakes up thinking you are in the room but is meet with disappoint and is really hard

Hot hehe

Warnings: 18+, brief descriptions of wet dreams, fantasies, and male masturbation

It felt all too real: the heat of your touch, the sound of your breaths, the way you cried his name. You were there and he was tangled with you, unsure where you began and he ended, just how he liked it. The way you chanted his name against his ear, your breath on his neck, fingers dragging across his back, the way you felt wrapped around him so fucking tightly. George was in heaven, his fingers tangled in your hair, cradling your head in the comfort of your expensive sheets of your shared bed, smelling your body wash and your perfume and the scent of sex. Everything was you, you, you.

But then he was fading awake to a darkened room, slowly and cruelly torn from the comfort of your body and your loving gaze. He groaned and reached a hand up to rub his eyes, the chill of the room rising shivers over his skin as he realized all of the covers were pushed almost entirely off the side of the bed. At the early hour it was, well before sunrise, he was still disoriented and still half asleep and he blindly patted his hand across the bed to find them.

“Blankets, m’love,” he mumbled out of habit through the dark, as if having figured you had hogged all the sheets in your sleep.

But, when his hand met nothing but the empty mattress beside him and fingers ghosted the edge of the scratchy hotel duvet, his eyes fluttered open in realization. He was alone, out of town for yet another race, cooped up in some other hotel all by himself. He had just been dreaming, that hadn’t been real, no matter how authentic it felt. A cruel trick of the mind.

As he heaved the covers back over his body, he was drawn to the awareness of just how hard he was thanks to that dream as the sheets dragged over the tent in his boxers. With a groan, George rolled onto his back and pushed a hand through his bed-tossed hair before reaching for his phone on the bedside table. He squinted at the screen that read 4:48am and he swore under his breath.

He knew it was late back home for you and you were also likely in bed by then too. So he set his phone back down and, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep like that, shoved the sheets down to his thighs and pulled his cock out of his boxers. That dream must have done wonders on him because he was already leaking pre-cum, a bit of a mess as he took himself in hand, hissing faintly at how sensitive it was to touch. Fuck, he was already so close.

George tossed his other arm over his eyes and started to stroke himself in firm pumps, the actions simply muscle memory by then. He thought back to his dream, to memories of you, fucking you into your bed until you were mewling and scratching up his back…nothing could compare. If you were there, you would have helped him out yourself with a cheeky hand or letting him grind up against you under the covers until he was satisfied but, alone and across the continent, he had no choice but to deal with it himself.

It didn’t take him long to finish, already so worked up from the dream, and he came across his abs in little spurs, groaning beneath his arm with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, thrusting up into his hand habitually with his heels pressed into the mattress. Once he caught his breath, he carefully reached over to the bedside table for a tissue, only to find that there was no box there.

Grumbling under his breath, he winced as he held a hand under his mess on his abs as he sat up and hurried into the bathroom to grab some toilet roll to clean himself up. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with his boxers sitting low on his hips, softening dick still out, and cum streaked over his hand and abdomen; he looked no better than a teenager. He knew that if you were there, you would be fawning all over him seeing him like that, showering him in kisses and praise and adoration. Instead, he was left to return to bed all alone.

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#🩵#george russell smut #george russell fanfic #george russell fic #george russell x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula one fic #f1 smut #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #twig mini drabbles

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alfredpennyworththecat · 1 day ago

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As someone who is face blind (not so much to this level), I love this to bits! I have absolutely done half of these to people XD! Friends, family, coworkers.

Cass: "Hi, Selina."

Random woman: "Oh... I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong person."

Cass: "Oh. Sorry." [*Calls Selina*] "Tea shop?"

Selina: "Hardware store."

Cass: "Oh no."

--------

Bruce: [*Pulls up in his car to pick up Cass from dance rehearsal*]

Cass: [*Locks eyes with him, walks around the front of the car before getting in*]

Bruce: "What was that?"

Cass: "Checking the license plate."

Bruce: "You memorized the license plate of every vehicle in the family?"

Cass: "I make jingles in my head of the plates numbers. Yours sounds like a radio station."

Bruce: "... You know, it does."

------

Bernard: "Bernard. Hi, Cass!"

Cass: :D! "Hi!"

Bernard: "I have a hilarious prank. Tim is away for the day. I'll give you some of Tim's clothes and you pretend to be him."

Cass: >:3 "Payback!"

Bernard: "Hell yeah!"

-----

Dick: "Hey, Cass. Why are you wearing Tim's clothes?"

Cass: >:(!!! "It didn't work!"

Dick: "Uhhh, what didn't work? Wait, were you trying to trick us into thinking you're Tim? Cass, you have a completely different face shape."

Cass: "I had the hood up though."

Dick: "That doesn't change your face."

Cass: "It doesn't. You wear a hat and you're a stranger."

Dick: "... That explains the park."

Cass: "That was you!?"

Cass is face blind, not like oh she’s bad at remembering faces but in an actual cannot for the life of her know who she’s looking at kinda way. Instead of faces she uses context clues, body language, and voices to tell who she’s interacting with. She’s gotten pretty good at it each of her family members having an obvious tell that it’s them. Some of them include how Dick always has blue incorporated into his outfit. Jason always smells slightly of gun powder and cigarettes. Tim’s posture is so bad Cass can tell it’s him from a mile away. Damian has green eyes, Steph has blonde hair, Babs has red hair. Cass wishes all the boys had different colored hair, as it would simply make her life a lot easier.

The face blindness really doesn’t impare her abilities during patrol cause all of the Gotham rogues and heroes wear such dramatic outfits Cass doesn’t need to see their face to know who they are.

Unfortunately problems often arise when she’s in civilian form,

Cass: *at starbucks*

Dick: oh my god Cass! is that you?

Cass: *confused but polite* hello.

Dick: hey, how’s your day been?

Cass: *is unsure why this random guy is talking to her but once again polite* good.

Dick: *confused on why his sister is acting weird*...that’s good.

Cass: *grabbing her order and attempting to leave.*

Dick: Wait don’t you want a ride back to the manor?

Cass: No. *rushing away and is very uncomfortable.*

Cass: *halfway down the street, realizing she’s heard that voice before, immediately pulling out her phone*

Dick: Hello?

Cass: Starbucks?

Dick: Yea..

——

Jason: *recently dyed his white streak black cause he was feeling insecure about it*

Cass: *stands next to no streak Jason sitting at the batcomputer* Bruce?

Jason: I beg your finest pardon

Cass: Oh, Hi Jason.

Jason: *on his way to bleach his streak back cause never again.*

——

Bruce: *brings Clark to the manor, they’re both in civilian clothing looking identical.*

Cass: No metas, too confusing.

Cass: *staring directly at Bruce thinking it’s Clark* I. Don’t. Like. You.

Bruce: *has not been this heartbroken since Khoa Khan.* Clark, I think it’s best for you to leave

——

Cass: *staring at the blonde person in the kitchen thinking it’s Steph* oh wow your hair..

Bernard: *also face blind.* Tim…You sound different.

#batman #dc #dick grayson #bruce wayne #tim drake #batfam #cassandra cain #black bat #selina kyle #bernard dowd #jason todd

2K notes · View notes

neptunsx · 22 hours ago

Text

LOST IN THE BEAT | N.RK

⤷ genre: slow burn nsfw.

⤷ synopsis: ni-ki as your rival in a dance competition.

DAY 1:

The bus ride from the airport to the competition hotel felt endless, but the moment you stepped into the grand lobby, your breath hitched. Towering glass windows overlooked the skyline, golden lighting warmed every corner, and banners for the World Hip Hop/Street Dance Championship fluttered from the ceiling like flags of war.

“Welcome to six days of stress, sweat, and too much hairspray.” your teammate muttered beside you, tugging her duffel higher on her shoulder.

You laughed, adrenaline already buzzing in your veins.

You and your crew had worked all year for this moment. Elite teams from all over the world gathered here — a melting pot of styles, reputations, and rivalries. Your group was respected. Feared, even. But this was new territory. A bigger stage.

After check-in, your team settled into your rooms on the 6th floor. Two people in each. You dropped your bag and flopped onto one of the beds, exhaling.

“Welcome ceremony is in 4 hours.” your captain reminded everyone, already checking her phone. “Be presentable. Be seen. But don’t get sloppy.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “We’re not amateurs.”

Your room was soon cramped but buzzing with your teammates' energy. Outfits were unpacked, makeup kits sprawled across beds, and loud music thumped from someone's portable speaker.

You pulled yourself together with care — sleek outfit, clean makeup, hair swept up to frame your face — and left for the party.

The rooftop was glowing under soft string lights, music pulsing through the floor like a heartbeat. Dancers mingled — laughing, dancing, showing off tricks and spins. The atmosphere buzzed with that unique energy only dancers gave off when they were off-stage but still trying to win.

You found the rest of your team gathered by one of the long cocktail tables, sipping drinks and scanning the crowd.

“There’s Japan’s team.” someone murmured, and you turned your head.

Their presence was impossible to ignore — sharp movements, dark clothes, an air of quiet superiority. You caught the way a few of them threw glances — not friendly, not curious. But competitive. Judgy.

Your leader straightened, tossed back the rest of her drink, and with the kind of confidence only years of winning could build, walked straight toward them. There was no choice but to follow.

Fake smiles were exchanged like poker cards. Introductions, tight handshakes, forced compliments. You kept your expression neutral, nodding along, but your eyes were scanning... observing.

And that’s when you saw him.

Ni-ki.

The best dancer on Japan’s team — and one of the most talked-about competitors this year. Standing just slightly apart from the rest, tall and big, oreo hair, dressed in an oversized shirt layered over low-slung jeans, silver chains glinting against his collarbone. Chrome Hearts rings adorned his fingers, catching the light as he sipped casually from his drink, his gaze trained on your group and you. Or through you. You couldn’t tell.

Judging you. Or checking you out.

Either way, your blood heated.

You stepped closer, drawn like a moth to a flame you already knew was going to burn.

"What?" you snapped under your breath once you were within earshot. "Never seen real competition before?"

His lips quirked — barely. "Competition? I thought you were part of the decor."

You scoffed. "Guess it takes a real dancer to recognize one. You probably wouldn’t know."

Ni-ki’s smile sharpened. "Sweet of you to think you’re the standard. You dance like you’re trying to prove something. It’s exhausting to watch."

"And you dance like you know everyone’s already watching. Arrogant much?"

He stepped closer, gaze scanning you with the kind of intensity that made your skin prickle. "It’s not arrogance if you can back it up."

You folded your arms. "Is that what you tell yourself before every performance? Must be nice to live in that delusion."

"Delusion implies it’s not real." he said, tipping his head slightly. "But I guess it’s hard to see the truth when you’re used to being second-best."

You bristled. "You’ve seen me dance for five seconds. You don’t know shit about me."

He raised a brow, calm but smug. "Didn’t have to. The way you keep puffing your chest around us says everything. Insecure much?"

You stepped forward now, chest brushing his. "Please. If anything, you’re the one intimidated. Watching me from the edge like a scared little boy."

He tilted his head, gaze dropping briefly, slow, deliberate, before rising to meet yours again. "Oh, I was watching. Just trying to figure out how someone could look so confident and still mess up their footwork."

You raised a brow, biting back a scoff. “Says the guy who’s been leaning on a wall all night, too scared to sweat his perfect hair out.”

That smug smirk returned. “I don’t need to try hard. People know what I’m capable of.”

“Do they?” You stepped a little closer, drink still in hand. “Because I’ve seen videos. You’ve got showmanship, sure. But underneath that? Kind of hollow.”

Ni-ki let out a low chuckle. “Cute. You dig through my reels before bed or something?”

“I don’t waste my time on mediocrity.” you shot back.

He leaned in just slightly, voice lower now, almost amused. “No, you just come to parties pretending to be the big shot when you still have something to prove.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough. You’re loud. In your dancing. In your attitude. That’s what people do when they’re desperate to be seen.”

You blinked. Heat prickled in your chest. “You think hiding behind cool looks and cryptic one-liners makes you interesting? Newsflash — you’re not mysterious. You’re just emotionally constipated with a rhythm.”

Ni-ki gave a slow shake of his head, tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek. “Wow. That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Trust me, I’m holding back.”

His gaze dragged down your face, slowly, then back up again. “All bark. No bite.”

You stepped even closer, practically toe-to-toe now. “Try me.”

Ni-ki’s expression flickered, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes. He didn’t respond right away, just stood there, looking like he was trying to figure you out.

But then, with a slow shake of his head, he turned his gaze elsewhere, the corner of his mouth curling into something too smug for your liking.

You didn’t wait for more. Without another word, you turned on your heel, walking away with purpose, the weight of his stare still pressing into your back as you made your way back to your table with your team.

The party carried on around you, loud and lively, people chatting, laughing, drinks flowing. But despite the noise, the space between you and Ni-ki felt charged, like the air itself was holding its breath.

Every time you caught his eye from across the room, it was like a quiet spark. His gaze would linger for just a moment too long, something unreadable flickering behind it, before he’d look away—only for you to find him staring again moments later.

You tried not to let it bother you, focusing on the conversations around you, laughing with your team. But you could feel his presence in the room, a weight that was impossible to ignore.

And every now and then, just when you thought you were imagining it, you’d catch him watching you—his expression unreadable, but something in his eyes undeniably locked on you.

A challenge, a dare, a question. You weren’t sure which. But whatever it was, it made your pulse race every time.

DAY 2:

You blinked your eyes open. Dim morning light leaked in through the sheer curtains, casting sleepy shadows across the floor. The air smelled like clean linen, hair product, and faint perfume from the night before. But your body was already buzzing — your mind racing ahead to 4 PM. Preliminaries.

You turned your head.

R/N (roommate’s/name) was sprawled out on the other bed, one leg kicked off the blanket, mouth slightly open, hair splayed across her pillow.

“Rise and suffer.” you said hoarsely, tossing a pillow at her hip.

She groaned into her arm. “Can’t we just skip prelims and manifest our way to the finals?”

You laughed softly, dragging yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “We wish.”

She grunted but started moving. Slowly. Like her bones were made of lead.

You both threw on sweatpants and hoodies — hair pulled back, faces bare — and made your way down to breakfast with the rest of your team filtering out of rooms nearby.

The hotel lobby smelled of fresh coffee, citrus cleaner, and some kind of pastry. You trailed behind the group, the nerves blooming under your ribs now, your legs jittery even before caffeine.

The dining hall was lively but low-pitched — teams clustered at different tables, some still blinking sleep from their eyes, others already buzzing with energy. Laughter drifted from the table closest to the buffet. Someone was talking in rapid French, and another group in Portuguese. The international air made everything feel bigger.

You grabbed trays and moved through the buffet — eggs, toast, fruit, a second cup of coffee you hoped wouldn’t make your hands shake later.

R/N leaned in as you scanned the room, casually trying not to look like you were looking.

"He's not here."

You blinked. "Who?"

She gave you a slow, smug look as she bit into a piece of melon. "You know who."

You rolled your eyes and poured orange juice a little too forcefully. "I wasn’t checking."

"Yeah, right.”

You sat by the window, where light poured over the table and made the morning feel deceptively calm. Your team filtered in around you — still in half-asleep states, teasing each other, sharing TikToks, whispering nervously about the schedule for the day.

Preliminaries weren’t until 4 PM.

That meant hours of build-up. Hours of waiting. Of nerves tightening by the minute.

You tried to focus on breakfast, but your thoughts were restless. Like your body was already halfway on stage, halfway counting beats and measuring breath.

Back in your room, the energy shifted. You weren’t in pajamas anymore. Your hoodie came off. The performance outfits were on. Hair brushed out. Makeup bag open. Music playing low from someone’s speaker.

It felt real now.

You sat at the desk mirror with R/N beside you, both of you doing eyeliner like it was war paint.

“You good?” she asked, her reflection catching yours.

“Just want to get out here already.”

“You’ll kill it. We will.” she bumped her shoulder into yours. “We didn’t fly all this way to quit and blend in with the losers.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but there was more at stake than just placement. You wanted to be seen. To be undeniable. And not just by the judges.

The venue was packed when your team arrived.

Polished floors. Massive LED panels. Blasting bass echoing off high ceilings. Teams were everywhere — stretching in hallways, warming up on the sidelines, coaches talking with tight-lipped intensity.

You felt your heartbeat climb just from stepping into the room.

It was more than nerves. It was anticipation.

From the moment your team stepped into the side area by the stage — shoulder-to-shoulder in matching warm-ups, names stitched in sharp block letters across your backs — everything felt realer. The air was thick with sweat and nerves. Every second, another team went up, another music cue played, another burst of applause hit like thunder through the walls.

You and R/N stood near the curtain, peeking through the side gap to catch glimpses of the competition.

“Shit…” she muttered under her breath. “They’re clean.”

On stage, the team from the Philippines was tearing through their set. All tight footwork and fluid, contemporary bursts between sharp hip-hop breaks. They moved like they’d been born rehearsing.

You didn’t mean to doubt yourself, but your heart tripped over itself watching them. And they weren’t even the strongest ones here.

Your hands flexed at your sides.

Someone behind you started counting eight-counts out loud to stay loose. Your other teammate was stretching again — even though she’d already stretched twice. You could tell everyone was carrying it differently: nerves, anticipation, hope.

You weren’t scared.

But you were wired.

Every cheer from the audience sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through you.

Then came the call.

Your team name echoed through the speakers. You felt your pulse in your ears.

“Time to go make them remember you.” your coach clapped her hands once behind you.

You walked out under the lights.

Everything dimmed but the heat of the spotlights and the weight of the music waiting to drop.

The stage felt enormous. Your whole body was aware of its size, of the way your heartbeat seemed to bounce back off the walls. You took position and the rest of the team fell into place.

And then—

The first beat dropped.

Like muscle memory, your body launched into motion. Your nerves didn’t vanish. They transformed. They sharpened.

You weren’t thinking. You were feeling. Every turn, every syncopated move, every drop of your weight into the beat — it was real and alive and honest. You danced like it was the last time you ever would.

The crowd blurred. But you caught flashes of motion in your periphery — shadows moving. Someone watching from the wings. Cameras panning. Judges scribbling.

But you didn’t stop.

You snapped into the final pose with the kind of force that left your chest burning and your vision spotty.

For one second, there was silence.

And then — roaring applause.

You stood there, heaving for breath, sweat sliding down your spine, your teammates already lunging in to hug each other behind you.

T/N’s voice cracked behind you.

“We killed that.”

Backstage, your adrenaline was still spiking. Your hands shook as you took a water bottle from a volunteer, half-spilling it as you tilted it up.

Then you heard…

“Team Japan, please take your places.”

You turned instinctively. The hallway cleared just enough to catch them walking past.

Cool outfits. Calm, unshaken. Like nothing could touch them.

Ni-ki walked at the front, hoodie off now, arms loose at his sides, eyes steady. He didn’t look at you at first. But you could feel his awareness like gravity. You didn’t mean to stare, but—

Then he turned.

Just slightly. Just enough to lock eyes for a split second.

He didn’t smile.

But something sparked at the edge of his gaze. A flicker. Something like challenge.

And then he passed.

You should’ve looked away when they hit the stage but you didn’t. You watched all of it. And it shook you.

Because Ni-ki danced like he didn’t need to prove anything. Every movement was effortless — crisp, fast, deadly smooth. The whole team was good, but your eyes kept snapping back to him.

Not because of attraction. It was something else. Something magnetic. Commanding.

The crowd was loud — louder than they’d been for anyone else.

You hated how your chest ached watching them.

R/N leaned in during their set.

“Fuck.” she whispered. “They might win this whole thing.”

You couldn’t answer. Because part of you already agreed.

A few performances later, it was time for the results. All the teams gathered on stage, the air thick with anticipation and nerves, hands clenched tightly and breaths held.

Names flashed up on the screen, team by team.

Your name hit the screen second.

You and your team screamed in sync.

You felt like someone had taken the air out of the room. You couldn’t stop laughing — loud and breathless and maybe a little hysterical. Your teammates tackled each other in hugs. Someone cried into your hoodie.

You glanced up again—

Japan.

They were in. You both were.

Semi-finalists.

Across the crowd, Ni-ki was looking at you. This time, he didn’t look away. Your smile faltered for half a second. You lifted your chin.

So did he.

And just like that, you both turned away at the same time. Unspoken: we’ll meet again.

DAY 3:

Everyone woke up late, skipping breakfast.

Your team had crammed into one room last night to celebrate — it got messy, loud, and unforgettable.

Today was the preliminaries for the minors division, which meant the adult teams had the day off. Time to hit the streets, explore the city, sneak in some light practice — or maybe even hook up with someone from another team. Heard rumors.

You and your team had thrown on your most casual fits. Hoodies, sunglasses, sneakers — and poured out of the hotel like kids on a field trip.

No schedule, no pressure, just the open streets and whatever looked fun.

You started in the historical part of the city, wandering down cobblestone streets lined with narrow cafés, souvenir shops, and murals painted across aging buildings. Street performers filled the air with music.

“Let’s find food before Y/N passes out.” someone said, pointing at your dramatic limp.

You all ducked into a local spot — cozy, busy, the smell of grilled meats and spices washing over you as soon as you stepped inside. The tables were close together, conversation loud and fast in languages you half understood.

You ordered too much. Shared everything. Took videos of your teammates trying something spicy and immediately regretting it. Someone flirted with the waiter just enough to get you all free desserts. You hadn’t laughed this hard in days.

After that, you wandered into a nearby shopping district — bright signs, trendy boutiques, street carts selling accessories and snacks.

The team split up to hit different stores, rejoining every so often to compare finds or drag each other into dressing rooms.

You were strolling with your teammates, casually chatting about what was still missing from your shopping lists, when you spotted a group of dancers hanging outside a sneaker store, laughing. You recognized their faces from the prelims. Canada’s team. One of the guys — tall, sharp jawline, nose ring — looked over and gave a subtle nod of recognition.

You nudged T/N. “That’s the team from Canada, right?”

“Mhm. And that guy is not ugly.”

As if summoned, he and his team walked over with a slow grin. “Didn’t expect to run into stars of the stage.”

You raised a brow, playful. “Didn’t expect to be recognized without stage lights.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Some people are hard to forget.”

His gaze lingered — not in a creepy way.

Behind you, your teammates were already chatting with his, the two groups blending easily, like dancers always do. He stayed near you, hands in his pockets, voice low as he asked where you were headed next.

“You should come to that club near the riverfront with us tonight.” he said.

“You dance as good offstage as you do on it?” you teased.

He smirked. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

By the time you left the shopping area, the plan was set: both teams were going clubbing tonight. At the BEST club of the whole city. Half your team was hyped, the other half already planning outfits. R/N looked at you with a knowing smile and mouthed, “You better wear something lethal.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t disagree.

Tonight was for having fun— no judges, no scores. Just lights, music, and the kind of tension that had nothing to do with competition.

By the time the sun dipped behind the skyline, your hotel room looked like a tornado of makeup, clothes, and hair tools.

Your teammates were spread out everywhere — one doing eyeliner in the mirror, another trying on their third outfit, someone blasting music from a small speaker. You were half-dressed, sipping something bubbly out of a stolen paper cup, and lining your lips with the kind of confidence that only came after a good day and a better outfit.

T/N flopped dramatically on the bed behind you.

“We’re about to commit crimes with these looks.”

You gave yourself one last glance in the mirror.

“Let’s make it illegal, then.”

Downstairs, the hotel lobby was a mini runway. Your team had gathered by the glass doors, dressed to kill and louder than ever. Outside, Canada’s team was already waiting — jackets slung over shoulders, shoes clean enough to mean business.

Black-haired guy, the one who’d been flirting, grinned the second he spotted you.

“Damn, you look good.” he said, low but not subtle, eyes running down then back up.

“Thank you.” you smiled, cheeks already flushing.

The teams merged effortlessly, playful energy bouncing between you all as you walked down the street together. The night was cool, the city alive — music from open bars, the hum of traffic, and laughter echoing off the sidewalks.

Once you reached the club, it felt like entering a different world.

Low lights, deep bass, everything tinted in red and purple glow. A strobe cut across the floor as dancers swayed and spun, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and that charged kind of joy only dancers understood.

Your team flooded in like a storm. Jackets dropped, drinks ordered, hair let down. You ended up at the bar with T/N and two others, clinking glasses and laughing at something ridiculous. The music was good. Your body was already moving with it.

You let the beat guide you onto the floor, your teammates cheering, half of them already spinning into their own circles. You moved like the music was yours. Smooth, effortless, magnetic. Canadian guy followed. You danced, laughed, touched lightly here and there.

It was fun. It was light. It wasn’t serious — it didn’t have to be.

The night blurred into laughter, half-finished drinks, and dancing like you didn’t even care who was watching. Everyone was tipsy, glowing under the lights, arms thrown around shoulders, bodies swaying to the beat like gravity didn’t exist.

The Canadian guy had gotten bolder — his hand at your waist more often now, fingertips brushing just under the hem of your top when he leaned in to say something close to your ear. You let it happen. Maybe even liked the attention. You weren’t exactly innocent either. You were challenging him.

But then —

You turned your head. Scanned the crowd out of instinct more than curiosity.

And your stomach dipped.

In the far corner of the club, tucked half in shadow, you saw him.

Ni-ki.

Back pressed against the wall, arms locked around some girl’s waist. She was pressed against him, her arms curled around his neck. He was grabbing her ass, pulling her closer to him. Their mouths crashing into each other. It wasn’t shy. It was desperate.

Your body went still, your smile freezing at the edges. The music kept going. The guy beside you was still speaking — something about a drink, maybe. You didn’t hear it. Couldn’t. The heat that flushed your skin wasn’t from dancing anymore.

Why him?

Why did it bother you?

You didn’t even like Ni-ki. You barely knew him. You’d spoken once — argued, really — and yet somehow the memory of his eyes raking over you felt hotter than this guy’s fingers ever could.

But seeing him like that — her hands in his hair, his mouth on hers, on her neck — it hit something sharp and sour behind your ribs.

You looked away fast, like the sight had burned your eyes. Turned toward the guy still touching you, tried to focus. Tried to let him pull you closer. His hand slid lower. His breath warmed your cheek.

But it didn’t feel right anymore.

His touch didn’t spark anything now — not when you’d just watched Ni-ki stick his tongue down another girl’s throat. Like he knew someone was watching.

Do I care? No. I don’t.

...But you did. And it pissed you off.

You threw back the rest of your drink like it could kill the feeling.

Fine. Let him kiss her.

Two can play that game.

You tugged the Canadian guy by the hand, pulling him into a darker corner of the dance floor, away from your teammates, away from the noise. This spot gave a clearer view of the club’s back wall, where Ni-ki had been before, pressed up against that girl like she was oxygen.

You tilted your head, laughed at something you didn’t hear, leaned in closer. The Canadian guy’s hands were eager, mouth finding yours in seconds. His kiss was clumsy but hungry. You let it happen. Let his hands settle on your hips, your fingers tug gently at the back of his shirt.

Because you wanted Ni-ki to see.

But when you looked up — the corner was empty. He was gone.

Your stomach twisted, annoyance curdling in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were disappointed he didn’t see — or angry he didn’t care. You pulled away from the guy, muttering some excuse about needing air before he could even ask and rushed outside the club.

The air hit you like a splash of cold water — crisp, quiet, and far too clear compared to the chaos inside. You stepped out onto the dim sidewalk, heels clicking against the concrete, heart still pounding from the music. Or maybe not from the music at all.

You needed space. You needed to stop feeling this stupid twist in your stomach every time you thought about it — about him. You barely knew him. You had one conversation. One fight. One impossible, electric stare-off.

So why did seeing his mouth on someone else make your skin crawl?

You exhaled sharply, ready to brush it off — until you looked to your left.

And there he was.

One hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette between his fingers. Shirt slightly undone at the collar, hair messy, lips puffy from making out, expression unreadable — except for that glint in his eye when he noticed you.

He looked unfairly good, like the kind of trouble you knew you shouldn’t want.

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate as he took a drag from his cigarette.

“Out for air? Or did your little fanboy run out of lines?”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. “Didn’t realize you were on a break from dry-humping your way through the club. You looked real sentimental with that girl’s hands down your pants.”

He hummed, letting your words hang. Flicked ash onto the ground like it bored him.

“Didn’t realize I needed your approval.”

“You don’t.” you said, stepping a little closer, arms crossed, jaw tight. “But if you’re gonna act like a dog in heat, at least find someone with a pulse behind her eyes.”

That got a reaction. He turned to face you fully now, eyes narrowed, jaw tensing once before he grinned — slow, sharp, like a warning.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you.” he murmured.

“I’m not jealous.” you bit out, words too sharp to be anything else. “I’m disgusted.”

He chuckled — low, humorless.

“That’s why you couldn’t stop looking?”

You flinched. Just slightly. But it was enough.

His eyes caught it, and the grin faded. What replaced it was colder. He took a step forward, just one — deliberate.

“You really think you’re above this? That you don’t play the same games?”

You matched him, closing the space between you by another inch.

“At least I don’t pretend I’m mysterious when really I’m just emotionally stunted and vaguely rude.”

Ni-ki gave you a long, slow look. A muscle in his jaw ticked once.

“You think you know me.”

“I know your type.”

Another step.

His eyes dragged over your face, and for the first time, the smugness faded. His voice dropped an octave.

“No. You don’t.”

You should’ve walked away.

But your body was already tilting toward him — just slightly. Like gravity had picked a side.

“Then stop acting like a stereotype.”

“Then stop staring at me like you want to ruin me.”

Your mouth parted.

The space between you could be measured in heartbeats now. His cigarette burned between two fingers, forgotten, smoke curling around the both of you like a trap. You could see his chest rise and fall, feel the heat off his skin, feel every word like a bruise.

“You think I want you?” you said it quietly this time. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Ni-ki’s gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up — and his voice turned to gravel.

“No.” he stepped even closer. “I think you want to hate me so bad you don’t know where the line is anymore.”

And just like that, you were chest to chest. Close enough to feel the breath from his lips. Close enough to see the flecks of bronze in his dark eyes.

The air between you charged. A breath. A heartbeat. His hand twitched, like he almost reached for your face — and your body leaned in before your brain could catch up.

Your noses brushed. No one moved.

Not quite a kiss. Not yet.

His lips parted “Say it again.”

You whispered, “I don’t want you.”

But it didn’t sound like a denial. It sounded like surrender.

His eyes searched yours like he was waiting — like if you blinked, he’d kiss you.

You blinked.

And then you took a shaky step back. The moment shattered like glass underfoot.

Ni-ki didn’t speak. Just let the silence burn. He took one last drag, exhaled, and flicked the cigarette away without looking.

“That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t reply. You turned, walked away, your legs too steady for how wrecked you felt.

You didn’t look back. And he didn’t follow. But the heat of him followed you all the way inside.

DAY 4:

You woke up with a pit in your stomach. It wasn’t the hangover.

Tonight was the semi-finals. 7PM sharp. And it felt like the entire world was holding its breath.

Your roommate was already up, gathering her things. You got up and dressed quickly, pulling your hair back, staring into the mirror for longer than necessary as if it could prepare you for what was coming.

A few hours later, you all regrouped at a small studio a few blocks away — one you found and booked days in advance. The space wasn’t perfect, but the mirrors were clean, the sound system was decent, and the floor felt like home.

You danced through every beat with precision and force, trying to sweat the nerves out of your bloodstream. The run-throughs were good. Just like you’ve been practising for months for this moment. You kept going, pushing harder each time, breathing through the tightness in your chest.

It was close to 3PM when your coach finally made you stop.

“You’ve got this.” she said, voice firm but soft around the edges. “Trust the work you’ve put in.”

You nodded, even though your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You returned to your rooms, half-dead and half-floating. Everyone rushed to take a shower and rest for a few hours, to regain powers for the semifinals.

Time passed quickly. You didn’t really want it to. But it did.

Everyone dressed with care, stage makeup went on like armor. You lined your eyes sharper than usual, slicked your hair back, smoothed your outfit like you were building a version of yourself that didn’t feel like crumbling.

The hotel lobby was buzzing when you came down. Teams were pouring in, competition jackets draped over shoulders, nerves vibrating through the floor. You spotted familiar faces — teams you partied with, competed beside, nodded to in passing. It felt like every step toward the shuttle was heavier than the last.

And of course, the devil, Ni-ki, couldn’t be missing. Your eyes always found him with no effort in the crowd. Like they were used to him.

He stood across the lobby, leaning slightly against the wall as his team checked in with officials. His expression was unreadable, arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched like he was trying to contain something that wanted to spill.

He didn’t see you. But you did.

And even from a distance, your stomach twisted. You swallowed it down. Turned away. Let it burn somewhere deep.

The lights hit differently tonight — brighter, harsher. The crowd was louder. The stage felt colder under your sneakers. Every second backstage felt like an hour.

You watched other teams perform. Some flawless, others crumbling under pressure. It didn’t matter. Nothing registered but your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Your team went on near the middle.

When the music started, you moved like you had nothing to lose. Like every breath had to count. The choreography hit hard — footwork sharp, turns clean, faces locked in and burning. You felt every second of it in your body. The ache, the sweat, the adrenaline like lightning in your veins. You could hear your teammate's breaths in rhythm with your own, feel the ground thrum with each drop of the beat.

And when it ended, you were shaking. But you were smiling.

The cheers blurred around you. You stumbled off stage and fell into a huddle of arms and breathless laughter. It was good enough to get you to the finals.

And then came Japan. Again.

They took the stage like wolves. As always. Every movement was controlled, smooth. Their energy was cold-blooded, but magnetic. Ni-ki’s performance was ruthless. Every glide and hit exact, every expression unreadable but intense.

You hated how he danced. You hated how good he was. And you hated how you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

By the time they ended, the air had shifted.

The room knew. It was between you and them.

Everyone gathered on stage, hands held too tightly, whispers too quiet to hear. You stared straight ahead, chest caving in with nerves.

One team was announced. Then another.

And then — your name.

Your team screamed, collapsing into each other like falling dominoes.

You did it. You made it to the finals. This is what your team had been dreaming off, practising hours for. And you did it. But that didn’t mean victory. Finals did.

Moments later, Japan’s name was called. Ni-ki’s team erupted too — less noise, but just as sharp.

It hit like a cold wave. Japan was in the finals. Of course they were. You knew they would be, had expected it, but hearing their name called still made something sink in your chest. They were good. Too good. And everyone on your team knew it.

The high from your own victory thinned the second reality settled in. Glances were exchanged, subtle and tense, like no one wanted to say it out loud: we might not win. Japan was sharp, dangerous, disciplined down to the bone. And Ni-ki? He was a force all by himself — the kind of dancer that didn't just hit moves, he owned them. You felt the nerves in your teammates, the weight of what was coming. The finals weren’t going to be a celebration — they were going to be a war.

After results, all teams and coaches had the chance to chill at the lounge. The tension had shifted into something looser. Music played low in the background, ambient and modern. Tables were filled with food trays, pitchers of juice and cocktails. Dancers from every team spilled across the room, slouched into couches, laughing, sharing videos from the stage, comparing blisters and bruises like badges of honor.

Your team had taken over one corner, plates half-full, drinks getting chucked down, one after another. Everyone was smiling, but you could feel the static under the surface — conversations danced around one name: Japan.

You needed a minute. Maybe it was the post-adrenaline crash or just the heaviness in your chest, but something pushed you to your feet. You scanned the lounge casually — too casually — looking for Ni-ki. And you found him. As always.

You should’ve stayed with your team. Your coach had even pulled you aside to keep morale high. But your feet moved before your mind made the choice.

Surrounded by his teammates, one hand holding a drink, the other resting on the back of a chair. Relaxed. Effortlessly confident. Like the night hadn’t even scratched him. His teammates were talking, laughing. But you saw him glance your way before you started walking over.

You didn’t have a plan. You weren’t even sure why your feet moved. Maybe it was ego. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was just the bitter twist in your stomach that hadn’t gone away since the results were announced.

“Congratulations.” you said when you were close enough, tone flat and pointed. “Must feel nice to know you’ll coast through to the finals.”

Ni-ki’s head tilted slightly. A slow blink. He didn’t answer right away — he just took a sip from his glass, eyes never leaving yours. Then, without a word to you, he turned to his team and muttered in Japanese, voice cool and bored:

「タバコ吸ってくる。」(“I’m going for a smoke.”)

And then, to your confusion, he looked at you and motioned his head toward the exit.

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t wait for an answer — just started walking. Like he knew you’d follow. And damn it, you did.

The hallway outside was dim, quieter, lined with low wall lights and half-drawn curtains. He pushed open a side door leading into the alley behind the venue. Cold air hit you instantly, crisp and biting. The sky overhead was black, speckled with city glow. He pulled a cigarette from the packet he had in his pocket, lit it with one flick, and leaned against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

He didn’t look at you at first.

Outside, the alley was quiet — dark and lit only by one flickering streetlight. The night air was cold but clean, curling around your skin like a warning. He lit a cigarette without looking at you.

“You always come when called?” he muttered, not looking at you.

You crossed your arms. “I wasn’t called. You just did your brooding little nod and walked off like some K-drama villain. And no one’s scared of you, by the way.”

He exhaled smoke through his nose, finally glancing over. “You followed, didn’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer. “Only because I knew you’d say something stupid, and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to correct you.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ve ever corrected me.”

“You’re not as untouchable as you think.”

He scoffed. “No, but I’m still above your level.”

You froze. A beat passed. “Funny, for someone so ‘above,’ you’re spending a lot of time on the ground with us mortals.”

His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. “Just keeping an eye on the competition.”

“You mean obsessing?” You stepped closer again, defiant. “Because it’s starting to look a lot like that.”

He didn’t flinch. “If I was obsessing, I wouldn’t be wasting my time on someone who barely scraped through the semis.”

Your mouth opened, sharp words poised—but they caught in your throat. He was closer now. Not by much, but enough that you could smell the smoke on his breath, the faint trace of cologne under his jacket.

You blinked. “You know what your problem is?”

“I’m dying to hear.”

“You don’t know how to lose. Not just competitions—people, control, moments. It terrifies you.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And you don’t know when to shut up.”

You both stared at each other, the silence charged. His jaw was tight. Your fingers were curled into fists. The space between you crackled like the air before lightning.

“You walk around like chaos in a pink top.” he said suddenly, voice lower now. “Like if you’re loud enough, no one will notice you’re scared of failing.”

Your chest tightened. “At least I don’t hide behind silence and smoke. You think being mysterious makes you untouchable? You’re just emotionally illiterate.”

His brows twitched, barely. You hit a nerve.

“You’re scared.” you added, voice quieter but colder. “Because you’ve seen us. And you know we might beat you.”

He stepped in. You didn’t move back.

Now, you could feel his breath. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to read something between your lashes, something you didn’t want him to find.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” you whispered.

He didn’t.

Instead, his gaze dropped. Slowly. Your lips. Your neck. The way your throat moved when you swallowed.

The air thickened. Your heart thudded in your chest so loud it drowned out everything.

Neither of you said a word. But something shifted. The hostility didn’t leave—it just changed shape. Still sharp, still biting, but now laced with something dangerous. Wanting. He leaned in, dangerously clsoe.

You inhaled through your nose, shaky. “We shouldn’t—”

“I know.” he murmured.

But neither of you moved. His hand brushed yours, just barely. You didn’t stop it.

Then your nose almost touched his. One more breath and you’d fall into him.

Your lips were inches apart. The world outside the alley vanished. A slow tilt of your chin and a flicker of heat in his eyes was all it took. His lips crashed onto yours.

Hot. Unapologetic. Like he was trying to shut you up and pull you in at the same time. You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. The second your lips met his, everything else dropped out of your mind—every insult, every glare, every sarcastic jab. All of it dissolved under the pressure of his hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, your bodies snapping together like magnets.

You kissed like enemies. Desperate, territorial, clashing in rhythm and teeth and breathless groans. It wasn’t pretty. It was addictive.

His hand slid up your spine, pulled you flush against him, and you gasped against his mouth. He took advantage of that, deepening the kiss until your head spun.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him. But then again, everything with him was wrong. And that’s what made it feel so good.

When he finally broke away, just enough to look at you, his lips were swollen, chest heaving.

“What the hell are we doing?” you breathed, voice wrecked.

His fingers tightened on your waist. “Ruining each other, probably.”

You didn’t answer.

You just kissed him again.

Ni-ki’s hands gripped your waist like he couldn’t get you close enough. You found yourself pressed against the wall before you could think about what was happening—his thigh slipping between yours, his mouth dragging heat down your neck, teeth grazing skin like he was trying to leave a reminder. A mark. A warning.

Your breath caught. “Ni-ki—”

“Don’t.” he muttered into your jaw. “Don’t say my name like that if you want me to stop.”

Your fingers curled into the back of his neck. His skin was hot. His pulse matched yours—fast, wild. He kissed you again, slower this time but deeper, like he was learning the shape of your mouth, tasting defiance and swallowing it.

You tugged at his jacket, your hips rolling forward without even thinking, chasing friction, chasing him. His hands dropped low, firm on your thighs, pulling you up slightly, caging you against him.

There was nothing soft about it. It was heat and tension, pressure and frustration. Months of unspoken things condensed into a kiss that felt like punishment and pleasure tangled together.

His lips trailed up your neck again. “You and your big fucking mouth… look where it got you.”

You bit your lip, dizzy. “I hate you.”

“I can tell.” he said against your skin, and kissed you harder.

The moment cracked when your head fell back against the wall and reality slammed into your chest like a fist. Your fingers stilled. His lips hovered an inch from yours. The silence that followed felt louder than the music still pulsing behind the wall.

You looked at him—really looked. His lips were red. His eyes were dark. His expression unreadable.

Your breath hitched. “What the hell are we doing?”

Ni-ki stepped back, just barely. Enough to let cold air fill the space between you. He didn’t answer.

You smoothed your hair with shaky fingers, like that would fix what just happened. But it couldn’t fix your heart slamming against your ribs or the way your body still leaned toward him, like gravity was stronger where he stood.

“This never happened.” you said, more to yourself than him.

“Right.” he muttered, voice flat now. Detached. “It didn’t.”

He didn’t follow when you turned and left.

You walked back alone. Chest tight. Mind racing. The kiss still burned on your lips, in your lungs, in your bones. You hated how much you liked it. Hated that it had to be him.

By the time you made it back to your room, you felt stupid. Stupid and breathless and a little bit ruined.

And worst of all? You wanted it again.

DAY 6:

Day 5 was mostly a blur. The minor divisions were in their semifinals, so it was a quieter day for the adults. Your team was locked in, rehearsing non-stop, your bodies sore and exhausted from the constant practice. You didn’t have time to think about anything else—just the finals ahead. It was the calm before the storm, and the pressure was building.

It’s today that mattered.

The nerves hit hard in the morning. Every part of you was on edge, the weight of the upcoming performance hanging heavy in the air. Finals night. The moment you’d been working for, grinding for. And everything felt amplified—every little detail, every second of practice, every mistake you couldn't undo.

It was 4pm, and you could already feel the tension thickening in the air. The team gathered in the hotel room, a mix of excited chatter and quiet focus. Everyone was trying to calm their nerves, but you knew it was going to take everything to pull off what you'd been dreaming about. The finals were at 8pm, but the clock felt like it was ticking at double speed.

"Alright, we got this." your teammate said, tossing a water bottle in the air and catching it with a grin. But even with the confidence in his words, you could see the fear in his eyes, mirrored in everyone else’s. The stakes were too high, and the thought of falling short felt suffocating.

Your leader entered the room, eyes sharp as ever, but there was a softness in her voice. She didn’t need to pump you up with words. You knew what was at stake. You’d all been working for this, for each other. But the final words were important, and they hit like a punch in the gut.

"Remember why you’re here. You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to give it your all. For you. For each other. And don't forget—this is your moment."

The words stuck with you as you gathered your gear and made your way downstairs. The hotel lobby was quieter now, the air thick with tension. You passed by other teams, all of them wearing their game faces, the weight of the moment evident in their stiff movements.

When you walked into the venue, it hit you hard: the spotlights, the hum of excitement from the crowd, the smell of fresh sweat in the air. It all collided into one overwhelming sensation. Your heart was in your throat.

The other teams performed first, each act fueling the fire in your belly. Some were impressive. Some were good. Some were clearly struggling under the pressure. But no one had the flawless execution you were hoping for. The nerves had you second-guessing, but the clock was ticking. It was your turn.

And when it came time for you to step onto the stage, it was like time slowed down. You heard the cheering, the lights blinding you, but it all blurred into the background. It was just you, your team, and the music.

You danced like you were born to be there. Every move was sharp, controlled, and somehow, it felt like the world had disappeared. You and your teammates were in sync. Everything flowed. It was perfect. You nailed it.

As the last note hit, there was no holding back. You all screamed, adrenaline flooding your veins. You couldn’t tell if you were shaking from excitement or fear, but you had done it. You had nailed it. You’d given everything, and now it was in the hands of the judges.

Then, of course, Japan’s team went up. And it was like the air was sucked out of the room.

They moved with a precision that made you freeze. Every step, every beat, every turn was flawless. The synchronization was unreal. Their energy was undeniable, and the crowd ate it up. Your stomach sank as you watched, realizing just how damn good they were. It wasn’t just a performance—it was a display of dominance.

Your team exchanged looks. You could feel the fear creeping in. You weren’t sure you could compete with that. But there was no time to dwell on it. More teams performed, some just as good, some not quite matching up. Your mind raced, the anxiety building. You couldn’t even hear the crowd anymore. All that mattered was the results.

Then came the worst part.

The results. The moment when everything you’d worked for came down to a few words. Your heart drummed in your chest, every nerve firing in overdrive.

The tension before the results was suffocating. You stood shoulder to shoulder with your team, sweat drying on your skin, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the noise of the crowd. Hands were clenched, breaths shallow, glances exchanged but no one spoke—there was nothing left to say. Every second dragged like it was trying to break you. You tried to replay the performance in your head, grasping for reassurance, but all you felt was uncertainty. The stage lights seemed harsher, the air heavier. You could feel your pulse in your throat. Hope and dread twisted together inside you like a storm, and all you could do was wait for the verdict that would either crush you or crown you.

The host stepped up to the center of the stage, mic in hand, his voice echoing through the venue as the buzz of chatter slowly died down.

“And just like that…” he began, glancing around at the rows of exhausted, adrenaline-soaked dancers, “another championship comes to a close.”

A round of light applause rippled through the crowd, the energy low, everyone too on-edge for celebration just yet.

He smiled, eyes sweeping over the teams. “You all brought fire to the stage these past few days. Passion, skill, heart. Every single performance was a reminder of why we do this, why we train, why we compete, why we love this craft. You should all be proud.”

You shifted on your feet, nerves climbing higher with every word.

“But of course,” he continued, voice slowing, “only a few can take home the trophies tonight. So let’s get to what you’ve all been waiting for…”

The crowd hushed again, and your heartbeat roared in your ears.

Here it comes.

“The first place goes to…..Japan!!” The words hit like a punch to the gut.

There was a beat of silence. Then, a collective exhale from your team. It was anger, frustration, and a gnawing feeling of defeat all at once. Japan had earned it. They deserved it, but damn it—you wanted it. You wanted this moment. But all you could do was watch them bask in the glory.

The announcer’s voice echoed again, “Second place..… [Your Team].”

The room fell silent again, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe. Second. Second place. You had done it. But at what cost? You wanted to scream, to shout, to feel something. But all you felt was this bittersweet, hollow weight in your chest.

Your teammates broke into cheers, throwing their arms around each other. But you? You were caught somewhere between satisfaction and disappointment. Your hands clapped, your lips curved, but none of it felt real.

You were proud of yourself, your team, of the blood and sweat you’d all poured into this week, of every bruise and sleepless night. Second place was huge. It was proof that you belonged on that stage. That you were damn good.

But beneath that pride was something darker. Something that coiled low in your gut and burned in your chest.

You didn’t just lose. You lost to him.

To his smug smirk. To his unreadable eyes. To that quiet, lethal confidence he carried like a weapon. You could already imagine the way he’d look at you later—cool and composed, maybe even offer some sarcastic congratulations like it was all a joke. Like you were the joke.

And worst of all, you knew this would inflate his already oversized ego. He’d eat this victory alive. Let it drip from his words the next time he spoke to you. Turn it into another sharp edge in your rivalry.

You should be celebrating. But all you could think about was how badly you wanted to wipe that inevitable look off his face.

The announcer’s voice rang out, calling for the winners to come up and claim their trophies. You stood still for a moment, letting the weight of it sink in. Your team cheered, clapped, and rushed forward, but you stayed back for a beat longer, watching Japan’s team take their place on the podium, the gleaming first-place trophy held aloft like it was meant for them, and them alone. The cheers for them felt loud, too loud, a reminder of what could have been.

But soon enough, your leader was beside you, pulling you into the group. “Come on.” she said with a smile, “Second place is still a hell of an achievement.” And it was. You knew that. But you couldn’t shake the thought of what if.

You forced a smile as your team gathered around. The trophies felt heavy in your hands as you joined the group photo, your teammate's excitement and pride infectious, but something inside you was still a little hollow. You couldn't help but think of the one thing you wanted most. The win that slipped away.

After the ceremony, you all took your seats in the back of the venue, waiting as the other divisions went through their final rounds. The air was thick with tension and adrenaline, but slowly, it began to shift. Your team relaxed a bit, letting go of the intensity of the competition for a moment. You looked around, catching glimpses of your teammates laughing, taking photos, trying to shake off the disappointment, the finality of the night.

The finals were winding down, and as soon as they ended, you all made your way back to the hotel. The hallways seemed quieter now, everyone still high from the performances, but the exhaustion was creeping in.

In your room, your leader came in, their smile wide. "You did amazing." she said, clapping you on the back. “Second place is no small feat. We’ve earned it.”

You nodded, your eyes meeting hers. There was pride there, and you could feel it, but it still didn’t settle the storm brewing inside you.

Your teammates gathered around, still buzzing, cracking jokes, pulling each other into quick hugs. Despite the second-place finish, the camaraderie was undeniable. You’d made it. You’d fought hard.

Around midnight, the celebration party started. Your leader gave you the green light to head down, still a little stiff from the day’s exhaustion, but the thrill of the competition fading just enough for everyone to relax. You did your makeup and dressed up like a goddess, grabbed your things and joined the group, a mix of excitement and lingering frustration swirling in your chest.

Tonight wasn’t over. Not yet.

The party was about to begin, and it was time to blow off some steam. You didn’t know what to expect, but you knew this much—no matter what, you weren’t going to let this night slip away without something to remember it by.

The music blared through the hall, shaking the walls and vibrating through your chest. It was wild, electric, a chaotic mix of neon lights, pulsing beats, and bodies moving like they had nothing to lose. The energy was insane, everyone dancing like they were free from the weight of the competition, like the world had faded away for a while. Your teammates were all over the place, laughing, dancing, shots flying from hand to hand, the floor a blur of colors and movement. You hadn’t felt this alive in ages, just letting the music consume you.

The laughter, the noise—it all felt like it was drowning out the ache of second place for the night. Everyone was chillin', and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t care about the competition. You were just living.

But then, out of nowhere, you felt a hand. Warm and firm, pressing against your waist, pulling you back into a body you couldn’t ignore. You stiffened, tension rushing through your body like wildfire. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. You felt the confidence radiating off him even before his voice slid into your ear, too smooth, too sure of himself.

“Congratulations.” Ni-ki’s voice was low, like he was savoring every word. “Told you we’d win. How does second place feel like, huh?”

His grip tightened, pulling you against him even more, his chest pressing into your back. You could feel every inch of him, and it made your skin burn with that strange mixture of anger and something you didn’t want to admit was there.

“Don’t start.” you snapped, trying to twist out of his hold, but he wasn’t having it.

“You gonna complain now?” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Not that surprising, though. You all were good, but not good enough.”

You could feel your jaw clenching, anger rising, but there was something else bubbling beneath it. The tension was thick between you two, electric, and it wasn’t just about the competition anymore. No, this felt like something more. Something dangerous.

You spun around to face him, eyes narrowing. “You’re really gonna rub it in, huh? You think you’re above everyone else because of one damn win?"

Ni-ki’s gaze hardened, his grip still unyielding. “It’s not about being above anyone. It’s about being the best. And you’ll always be second, no matter how hard you try.”

Your chest tightened at his words. Anger, frustration, and something else you refused to acknowledge churned inside you. "So this is it? You’re just going to keep playing this game? The ‘I’m better than you’ act?”

"Maybe." he shrugged, his eyes locking onto yours. "But I’m not the one with the problem. You’ve got a lot of pride for someone who lost." His fingers traced the outline of your waist, his touch too intimate for the situation, but you couldn’t pull away.

You moved closer, the tension between you two growing unbearable. "And you’ve got an ego that would take up the whole damn room." you muttered, barely above a whisper, your breath hitching as his fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, teasing the bare skin of your waist.

His smirk deepened. "At least I earned it."

You took a step back, glaring up at him with a wicked smirk. "You really think you can walk around acting like you're the king of this place? You're not even a challenge. You're just a spoiled brat who thinks his wins mean anything more than a fluke. You fucking asshole.”

He took a final sip of his drink and set it down on the nearest table with a quiet clink. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Your heart punched your ribs. “What—now?”

He was already turning, throwing one last glance over his shoulder. “Need a minute to muster up the courage? You fucking brat.”

You didn’t answer. Just followed.

The elevator ride was thick with silence — but not the empty kind. The kind laced with charged glances, shallow breaths, every inch between your bodies pulling tight like stretched wire.

The hallway was dim. Your footsteps echoed in time. When he unlocked the door, he didn’t look at you. Just opened it and stepped aside like he knew you’d walk in anyway.

And you did. Because you weren’t backing down. Not from this.

Once the door clicked shut, it was like all the noise of the party dissolved. Just the quiet hum of air conditioning. He turned around and stared at you, hands in pockets.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head in challenge. "You gonna keep staring or actually do something?"

He gave a soft, humorless laugh under his breath. "You're all mouth, aren't you?"

You arched a brow. "Better than being all ego."

He stopped a breath away, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of his cologne — clean, sharp, a little intoxicating.

"You talk a big game." His voice was a low murmur now, rough around the edges. "Still haven’t seen you back any of it up."

You held his stare, heart hammering against your ribs. "Maybe you just can't keep up."

A flicker crossed his face — something between a grin and a snarl.

"You’d break before I even had to try."

Your pulse skittered. You hated how much you liked the way he said it. Hated how much your body reacted when your mind was screaming at you to shove him away.

Instead, you stepped into his space fully, your chin tilting up so your face was inches from his. You could feel his breath now, steady and hot against your lips.

"Prove it." you whispered.

For half a second, he just stared — like he was giving you one last chance to walk away.

Then the string snapped.

His hand shot up, gripping the back of your neck as he crushed his mouth to yours. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was teeth clashing, mouths fighting, desperate and rough like you were both still arguing — just without words now.

You shoved him back against the wall with a thud, and he laughed into the kiss, one hand finding your waist, fingers digging in, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a breath between your bodies.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his oversized shirt, pulling him down harder, wanting to erase the smirk he wore like a second skin.

He responded by spinning you, pressing you back into the opposite wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one strong hand. His thigh slipped between yours, pressing up, tilting your hips just so.

You gasped against his mouth, and he grinned against yours, victorious.

"Cocky little thing." he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. "Let’s see how long you can keep that up."

With expert precision, he slid his hand from your wrist down your arm, across your side, back to your waist, molding you against him. His other hand worked at removing your shirt and bra, rough fingertips brushing your bare skin. You tilted your head back, offering him more access, heart racing at the reckless abandon in his movements.

His mouth followed the path of his hand, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and chest, nibbling gently before sucking on your nipple hard. Every touch was deliberate, claiming, like he was rewriting the entire week of competition into a single moment of raw need.

You bit your lip as he nuzzled the hollow of your neck, breath hitching. Your body arched instinctively, pressing further into him. “Ni-ki…” you whispered, voice trembling with want and frustration.

“Shut up.” he growled and picked you up roughly, throwing you on the bed.

He hovered over you, his eyes dark and intense as he took in the sight of your flushed skin and heaving chest. You could see the hunger in his gaze, the primal desire that had been building between you the whole week. It was like a dam had burst open, and now a flood of pent-up passion threatened to consume you both.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of his toned torso, the defined muscles of his abdomen and the lean lines of his chest.

You licked your lips unconsciously, your fingers itching to explore the hard planes of his body. He smirked at your reaction, one hand trailing down to the waistband of his jeans. With a deft flick of his fingers, he undid the button and zipper, shimmying the denim down his long legs until he kicked them off completely.

Now clad in only a pair of Calvin Klein black boxers that left little to the imagination, Ni-ki settled between your spread thighs once more. You could feel the heat of him, the thick ridge of his arousal pressing insistently against your core. A needy whimper escaped your lips as you arched up to meet him, craving more of that delicious friction.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, "You want it so bad, don't you? Want me to fuck you until you can't walk straight?"

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you nodded frantically, too far gone to form a coherent response. He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding up your thigh to hook under the hem of your skirt. With a swift tug, he yanked the fabric down, tossing it aside to leave you in nothing but a scrap of lace panties.

You gasped as cool air hit your overheated skin, your nipples pebbling instantly. Ni-ki drank in the sight of your naked body, his gaze lingering on the damp patch darkening the delicate fabric between your legs. Without warning, he ripped the flimsy barrier away, leaving you completely naked and vulnerable under him.

He settled between your trembling thighs, his shoulders pushing them further apart as he gazed up at your glistening pussy with unbridled hunger. Without preamble, he leaned in and ran his tongue along your slit, groaning at the first taste of your arousal. His hands gripped your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he delved deeper, his tongue circling your clit before suckling the sensitive bud greedily.

"Oh god, Ni-ki!" you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him in place as you grounded your hips against his face. He growled in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. He was relentless, his tongue plunging into you, leaving you breathless.

Your legs quivered and shook, threatening to give out at any moment as he ate you out like a starving man at a feast. He seemed determined to devour every last drop of your essence, his mouth and chin slick with your juices. The obscene sounds of his lust-filled sucking and slurping filled the room, mixing with your increasingly desperate moans.

Just as you felt your climax building, cresting like a tidal wave, Ni-ki abruptly pulled away. Before you could protest the loss of his talented mouth, he was hauling you up and flipping onto his back, dragging you on top of him. Your hair was fisted in his hand, guiding your face down towards the prominent bulge straining against his black boxers.

With shaking hands, you tugged the fabric down, freeing his thick, hard cock. It sprang up, slapping against his abdomen, the swollen head already glistening with precum. Ni-ki groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he guided your face closer to his throbbing erection.

"Fuck, Y/N... I need your mouth on me. Now." he demanded, his voice rough and ragged with desire. Obediently, you leaned in and dragged your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tasting the salty essence of his skin. Ni-ki shuddered, his hips jerking up slightly, seeking more of your touch.

Emboldened, you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. You could taste the precum beading at the tip, making you crave more.

Ni-ki groaned as you took him deeper, his thick length stretching your lips around his girth.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good." he grunted, one hand fisting in your hair as the other gripped the base of his cock. "I'm going to ruin this filthy mouth of yours that's been running off all that shit."

He started to fuck into your mouth, his hips surging up to meet your downward motion. You relaxed your throat, letting him push in deeper, until the head of his cock kissed the back of your throat. He cursed, setting a rough, punishing pace.

“This is what you wanted, isn't it? To choke on my dick like the dirty girl you are?" he snarled, his voice dripping with lust and a hint of anger.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he used your mouth, fucking into it with wild abandon. Drool leaked down your chin, dripping onto your heaving chest as he claimed your throat ruthlessly. The obscene sounds of his flesh slapping against yours and your gagging filled the room.

Just as you thought you couldn't take anymore, Ni-ki wrenched you off his cock, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the engorged head. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back on the bed, his strong body covering yours.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you." he panted, his eyes wild and feral as he loomed over you. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to sit right for a week."

He hooked your leg over his shoulder, the other one falling open automatically as he notched the swollen head of his cock at your entrance. With one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, stretching you wide around his thick length.

"Oh fuck!" you cried out, back arching off the bed as he started to move, his hips slapping against yours with brutal force. He set a punishing pace, the bed creaking and shaking beneath you as he fucked into you with all the pent-up frustration and desire he'd been holding back.

Ni-ki's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your breasts, kneading and squeezing as he pounded into you mercilessly. You could feel every thick inch of him stretching you open, hitting depths you didn't know you had. Obscene wet sounds filled the room as he fucked you harder, the force of his thrusts jostling your entire body.

"Fuck, your tits are perfect." he growled, leaning down to capture one hardened nipple in his mouth. He bit down, the sharp sting of pain blending deliciously with the pleasure radiating through your body. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to your chest.

He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same treatment as his hips never faltered, driving into you with animalistic fervor. You could feel your climax building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter with each brutal thrust.

Just as you were teetering on the edge, ready to shatter, Ni-ki flipped you over onto your stomach. You gasped, your cheek pressing into the mattress as he hauled your hips up, forcing you onto your hands and knees. The new angle allowed him to drive even deeper, and you could feel him in your stomach with each powerful surge of his hips.

"Fuck, you like that, don't you? Being put in your place, getting your tight little cunt wrecked?" Ni-ki snarled, one hand fisting in your hair, wrenching your head back as the other hand cracked across the rounded globe of your ass.

You yelped at the sudden sting, your body clenching down around his pistoning length.

"Yes!" you whimpered — your eyes rolling back as he spanked you again, the pain morphing into pleasure that set your nerve endings ablaze.

He chuckled darkly, his hand coming down on your ass again and again, leaving red handprints blooming across your skin.

You could only whimper and moan, your body shaking and trembling as he fucked you through the pain and pleasure, the line between the two blurring until you couldn't distinguish one from the other.

Ni-ki's movements became erratic — you could feel his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, growing even harder if that was possible. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

“F-fuck Ni-ki, im cumming” you whimpered.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision going white as you screamed your pleasure into the mattress.

You were trembling and gasping from the force of your orgasm, your inner walls fluttering around Ni-ki's throbbing length as he continued to pound into you. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with your ragged breathing and wanton moans.

Just as the aftershocks of your climax began to subside, Ni-ki suddenly pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and aching. Before you could react, he was gripping you hair tightly and wrenching you back, forcing you onto your knees on the bed. You blinked up at him, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed with post-orgasmic bliss.

Ni-ki loomed over you, his cock jerking and pulsing, slick with your combined juices. "Stick out your tongue." he demanded, his voice rough and strained. "I want to see that filthy mouth put to good use."

Obediently, you stuck out your tongue, your lips parting slightly as you gazed up at him with hooded eyes. His hand tightened in your hair, holding you in place as he stroked his thick length, his grip tightening as he neared his peak.

With a guttural groan, Ni-ki aimed his cock at your face, the swollen head hovering just inches from your outstretched tongue. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, could see the way his cock throbbed and jerked as he teetered on the brink.

"Fuck, Y/N, I'm gonna..." Ni-ki's words cut off with a strangled cry, his hips jerking forward as he found his release. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from his cock, splattering across your tongue and painting your face with his essence.

You shuddered as the first spurt hit your tongue, the slightly bitter taste of his release flooding your senses. He rode out the waves of his orgasm, each twitch of his cock sending another string of cum to mark your skin.

You swirled the salty essence on your tongue, savoring the taste of his release before swallowing it down greedily. At the same time, you used your fingers to scoop up the stray drops of cum that had landed on your cheeks, making sure not to waste a single precious drop. You licked your fingers clean, your eyes locked with Ni-ki's as you did so, watching as his pupils dilated with dark satisfaction at the erotic display.

He reached down and hauled you up to your feet, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against his body. Before you could regain your balance, he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim every inch of it. You could taste yourself on his lips, the musky flavor of your lovemaking mingling with the salty tang of his cum.

Ni-ki reached for a towel he tossed onto a nearby chair, pressing the soft fabric into your hands. You took it with a grateful nod, using it to wipe the remnants of his cum from your face and neck, leaving your skin feeling clean and refreshed.

You both lay back down, catching your breath. The room was hot with the aftershocks of what just happened, your skin damp, your chest still rising and falling in uneven waves. You lay there, limbs tangled in the sheets, legs trembling with every faint movement.

Ni-ki was beside you, half-sitting against the headboard, one arm lazily draped behind his head, the other running through his messy hair like he hadn’t just wrecked you. His breath was slower now, but the gleam in his eyes hadn’t dulled in the slightest.

You tried to sit up but failed, your body refusing.

“Can’t move?” he teases, voice low.

“Go to hell. I can’t feel my legs.” you snapped with rasping voice.

“Good.” he said without missing a beat. “Means I did it right.”

You rolled your eyes and flopped back down. “Shut up.”

His gaze finally shifted toward you, dark and cocky. He leaned in a little, brushing hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. “You think we’re done?”

Your eyes flicked to his, breath catching for half a second “Are you serious?”

His mouth curved in a slow, cruel smile. “What? Scared round two will remind you who really came out on top tonight?”

You wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss him harder. Both urges hit at once like a slap to your chest.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re a bitch.”

Your chest heaved. “Fuck you.”

He dipped his head, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s the plan.”

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, so close you could barely think.

“So,” he whispered, voice like poison and silk, “what’s it gonna be? You gonna run back to your little team with your silver medal and pretend this didn’t happen?”

You stared at him, furious and breathless. “No.” you muttered, teeth gritted.

“That’s what I thought.”

And then you kissed him again. Hard, reckless, like punishment.

Because this wasn’t over. And maybe, deep down, neither of you wanted it to be.

{this story took so long bye-}

#enhypen #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enha #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x you #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x oc #enhypen niki #nishimura riki

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