#defying gravity comes to mind

[abnormalstarfish]

Feeling very manic

[uisceb]

Endlessly baffled every time I see people water down Glinda’s actions in Defying Gravity to “oh she was too cowardly or too selfish to stand by Elphaba,” as if she didn’t spend that entire sequence from Chistery’s transformation onward doing everything in her very limited power to keep Elphaba safe.

Like the second things start going wrong, Glinda’s entire focus switches to “keep Elphaba safe at all costs.” This girl does not have any magic. She does not have any physical survival skills. She probably has no idea how to throw a punch. She can barely run in those heels. Her one power is her charm and her ability to work a crowd. She is desperately trying to get Elphaba to come back with her not because she agrees with what the Wizard and Morrible are doing, but because she thinks maybe if she can just smooth things over, Elphaba will be forgiven, and she’ll be safe. 

In that regard, there’s a very obvious selfishness to Glinda’s actions - she lacks perspective; she lacks scope; she prioritizes Elphaba over what we as the audience would understand as the “Greater Good” and over her own morals about what’s going on with the Wizard’s agenda; she’s visibly horrified by what happens to Chistery but her first instinct is to comfort Elphaba above all else, despite having no understanding of what's happening.

I am the last person who’s ever going to argue that Glinda isn’t selfish, because she very clearly is, it’s one of her defining characteristics, and it’s one of the main things she has to learn to overcome in order to actually become “Glinda the Good.” This is in no way me trying absolve my very selfish girl who very much made the wrong decision.

But it does kinda boggle my mind when I see the argument that Glinda betrayed Elphaba or is a “fake friend.” Especially because ultimately she comes to the conclusion that the best thing she can do for Elphaba in this moment is to let her go. She knows she would only hinder Elphaba if she were to go with her, she knows there’s no happy ending for them if she tries to run away with her (I think in that moment she might even suspect there’s no happy ending at all). Elphaba is going through her own personal revelation which is beautiful in its own right, but it’s also impulsive, and there’s a certain level of unsustainable grandiose fantasy to it. Glinda almost lets herself be swept up in it for a moment, but her rational side kicks in, because, of the main trio, Glinda really is the most grounded in reality.

I’ve seen a lot of weirdly smug people out there proudly saying if Fiyero was there he definitely would’ve gotten on the broom with Elphaba - and honestly, I think they’re probably right. But it’s not because he’s somehow morally superior to Glinda, or that his love for Elphaba is more pure. Our boy is depressed, he’s nihilistic, he’s lost, and truly doesn’t have any attachments to anyone.

He was genuinely moved by Elphaba’s fearless convictions and he fell hard and fast for her, so I agree he’d be on that broom in a heartbeat, he quite literally has nothing to lose, and everything to gain. He’s found himself wanting to believe in something for the first time because Elphaba brought that out in him, his whole world revolves around her. And that’s very romantic, but because of that, the stakes are much lower. For him, leaving everything behind wouldn’t be a sacrifice, it would be freedom.

Glinda’s gone through the world much differently, much more carefully. She doesn’t have Fiyero’s sense of nihilism or detachment, she’s lashed herself tight to the reality of the world around her. Where Fiyero has been regularly kicked out of schools and freely wandered from place to place experiencing new things and getting into trouble on purpose, Glinda has never stepped outside the predictable comfort and safety of her bubble until meeting Elphaba. She lives in constant fear of failure and being looked down on. She is forever clinging to this persona she’s created because she’s terrified of what will happen if she’s anything less than perfect.

She has constructed her entire existence around being an icon rather than a person - in the beginning, she literally doesn’t know how to be her own self, she’s just barely learning, because of Elphaba. And it scares the shit out of her. 

Fiyero would likely play action hero if he was there for Defying Gravity, and that’s great, but Glinda is weighing a million things in her head, not least of which is “holy shit the person I love most in the world is in imminent danger and I have no magic and no strength to keep her safe, so I will beg and plead and insult and fight her tooth and nail to keep her with me inside my privileged bubble because maybe I can smooth this over, maybe everything will be okay if I just do what I always do and use my privilege to get my way.” She understands the rules of her world, so she’s going to play by those rules because that’s how you win the game.

Elphaba, of course, refuses to play a corrupt game at all, and Glinda gets angry - she lashes out at Elphaba because Elphaba has just put herself in such a dangerous situation, and Glinda is completely powerless to change it. Every little bit of control Glinda is used to having is obliterated.

Her “Maybe you’re not as powerful as you think you are” when Elphaba doesn’t grow wings is so desperate - the words border on cruel, but her tone is both painfully apologetic and above all filled with RELIEF because while her heart hurts for Elphaba, she’s terrified that Elphaba would hurt herself the way Chistery was hurt, and she’s cleaving to the hope that maybe if Elphaba isn’t as powerful as she thinks she is, Glinda stands a chance at undoing the damage, and protecting her. 

Glinda’s selfishness is just so fascinating to me because it’s so rich and so contradictory - she loves Elphaba so deeply and destructively that she fully paralyzes herself when the chips are down and it breaks them both. She fails to be what Elphaba wants her to be, and she fails to be a good person, but there’s no “fake friend” about her actions - she is acting on pure desperation to keep this person she loves safe in literally the only way she knows how, at the cost of everything else, including what’s right, which is something Elphaba could never abide by. Elphaba would never compromise her own morals, but at this point in the story Glinda is willing to compromise everything as long as Elphaba is tucked away in her bubble with her, and that difference in values is irreconcilable to both of them. 

So, realizing this, Glinda does the one last thing she can think of to protect her at this point, and wraps a cloak around her shoulders to keep her warm. That’s all that’s left.

She’s selfish and she’s cowardly and she’s brave and she’s loving and she fails Elphaba and she fails herself and she regrets her decision for the rest of her life and yes I am writing all this with glass under my tongue and between my teeth, she makes me insane.

[stllmnstr]

every fragile thing

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, figure skating au, college/university au

word count: 12.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy, non graphic descriptions/depictions of injuries, use of the american (usa) university system, a kiss or five

soundtrack: get him back! / brutal / jealousy, jealousy / good 4 u / the grudge / bad idea right? / drivers license - olivia rodrigo

After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

note: hi hello yes this is me on a new blog with the same name. I deleted my old one and wasn't sure if I planned on remaking/reposting but here we are! if you've read this before, then I hope you enjoy just as much this time around. and if you haven't, I hope you love figure skater sunghoon just as much as I do! happy reading ♡

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition. 

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted moments, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill. 

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best. 

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath. 

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come. 

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin. 

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you. 

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track? 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals. 

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this. 

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly. 

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question. 

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.” 

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance too.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace. 

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully. 

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing. 

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue. 

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space. 

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left. 

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision. 

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door. 

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.  

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though. 

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next. 

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows. 

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.” 

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you. 

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new members.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes. 

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes. 

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs. 

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice. 

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it. 

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up. 

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either. 

A beat passes. 

Two. 

Neither of you break eye contact. 

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second. 

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?” 

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink. 

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect. 

Oh, you know him alright. 

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well. 

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough. 

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess. 

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again. 

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions. 

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane. 

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started. 

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours. 

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule. 

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes. 

Including him. 

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be. 

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around. 

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.” 

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.” 

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.” 

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade. 

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.” 

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room. 

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible. 

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last. 

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back. 

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you. 

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.  

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance. 

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does. 

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth. 

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin. 

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you. 

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate. 

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.” 

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out. 

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends. 

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant. 

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong. 

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious. 

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look. 

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not. 

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?” 

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all. 

“No way.” Jake says. 

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission. 

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap. 

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them. 

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces. 

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees. 

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at fifteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out your coach’s. 

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice. 

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time. 

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater. 

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip. 

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once. 

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks. 

Not until it all shattered in a single moment. 

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart. 

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all. 

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn. 

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger. 

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner. 

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance. 

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself. 

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed. 

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him. 

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone. 

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses. 

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods. 

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage. 

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other. 

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side. 

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always. 

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead. 

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight. 

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile. 

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he. 

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.”

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car. 

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely. 

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering. 

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home. 

And he never says your name once. 

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness. 

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again. 

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays. 

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that. 

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first. 

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze. 

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat. 

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head. 

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests. 

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day. 

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern. 

“Or something,” Jake agrees. 

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program. 

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts. 

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice. 

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake. 

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question. 

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off. 

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor. 

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again. 

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.  

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a pair of boys you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know. 

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine. 

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips. 

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod. 

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing. 

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about you.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant. 

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid. 

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife. 

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier. 

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later. 

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local  band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long. 

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low. 

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations. 

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off. 

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing. 

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body. 

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you. 

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp. 

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation. 

Last time, he let you fall. 

You have no idea what he’ll do now. 

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target. 

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin. 

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.” 

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon. 

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room. 

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought. 

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung. 

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt. 

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting. 

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier. 

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks. 

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer. 

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers. 

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation. 

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception. 

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape. 

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have. 

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe. 

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you. 

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie. 

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread. 

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd. 

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction. 

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared. 

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink. 

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible. 

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice. 

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year. 

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes. 

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.  

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief. 

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past. 

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.” 

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?” 

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to. 

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes. 

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him. 

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear. 

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response. 

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame. 

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry. 

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes. 

And then another. 

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to. 

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right. 

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong. 

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning. 

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace. 

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon pulls you into his apartment with his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time. 

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought. 

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet. 

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most. 

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates. 

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough? 

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels. 

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout. 

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return. 

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin. 

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs. 

…

outtake—five years ago. 

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission. 

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down. 

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore. 

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse. 

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact. 

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through. 

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger. 

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run, every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck. 

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him. 

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either. 

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors. 

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own. 

It seems to stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him. 

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five years later. 

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you. 

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts. 

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

.....

note: thank you for reading! as always, comments, reblogs, and asks are very much appreciated :D

[monocaelia]

apricity.

even if the sunlight filtering in through the window is warm, nothing beats the comforting embrace of your lover beside you; aka, mornings with the love interests. feat. caleb, rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne. genre : fluff note : can you tell what i desperately want to do with all of them lol anyways… waking up to a handsome and pretty boy what a dream.

❀ CALEB

the morning sun is barely peeking through the closed curtains of the bedroom you lay in. you can hear the faint chirping of birds as they too begin to rise from their slumber and begin their day. it’s cold in the room, a nice contrast from the warmth and comfort of the duvet you’re curled up in. the scent of fruit mixed with a masculine perfume fills your senses as you bury your head further into the blanket as you try to get back into the lull of sleep. you’ve had a long night, and with the promotional banquet lasting for so long, being awake at this hour was criminal.

but with the lack of another body in the bed to comfort you back to sleep, sleep slowly slips away from you and the ceiling is all you can focus on. with a heavy sigh, your body slowly slides off of the plush mattress and you begin your sluggish trek out of your lover’s bedroom in search of him.

the smell of breakfast is what attracts your attention as you enter the kitchen of caleb’s home. as you turn your head to the stove, the man of the hour is standing in front of it. there’s a pink frilly apron tied around his waist and from behind you could tell that his hair is a mess. honestly, this man’s sleeping habits haven’t changed a bit seeing how horrible his bed hair remained from the time you were both young. you feel a smile grow on your lips, heart warming at the sight of his familiar bed hair.

until caleb turns around and reveals the mess of yesterday on him.

along with the mess of hair on top of his head, lipstick marks are covering your lover nearly from head to toe as if some crazed lover attacked him last night. there were marks all over his face, his neck, even down his shoulders possibly, and his lips were smeared in the pigment that you’re well acquainted with. however, despite the mess on his skin, eyes of amethyst shine brightly seeing you stand in the kitchen doorway and his lips pull up into that boyish grin tat you’ve grown to love through all these years.

if anything, caleb looks like he’s proud wearing your lipstick all over his skin.

“good morning, shortstack! did you sleep well?” caleb asks with a wide grin. his eyes follow you as you make your way to him to get a closer look at the mess of hair and lipstick on his head. you feel his lips press onto your forehead as you get close enough to the taller air pilot.

“i think so,” you begin as you peer over the stove to peek at the breakfast he was preparing. “more importantly, did you sleep well? why didn’t you stop me?” you ask him. it’s clear you’re referencing the mess you’ve made of him, but caleb only gives you a pleased smile in response.

“i enjoyed the attention,” caleb says as he flips the sizzling omelette in the frying pan. “besides, it’s not everyday you come home so eager to shower me in affection.”

you sigh in response to your lover’s words. your hands raise up to hopefully flatten a strand of caleb’s hair that tries to defy the laws of gravity by sticking up and out of his head. as if reading your mind, caleb squats down just enough for your hands to reach where they need to and enjoying your touch in the process.

“you’re a mess, you know?” you murmur softly as your fingers stray from his hair and onto the skin of his cheek. your heart melts seeing your lover lean into your touch. but, before you could fully pull away from him caleb’s hand reaches for your own. his hand is much larger than yours, palm calloused and rough from years of training in the deepspace aviation administration, and pulls you closer to him. you hear the faint click of the stove turning off before you’re met face to face with the playful man in front of you.

“if you’re so bothered by it, why don’t i pay you back tenfold for what you did to me, pipsqueak?”

your lover ignores your pleas as he leans forward, pressing his lips all over your face and covering as much skin as he possibly could. your giggles echo in the kitchen as you beg for caleb to release you from this prison, but he’s much stronger than you and he’s relentless in his punishment to you. despite his body being rugged and big, suited for being the colonel of the farspace fleet, he holds you firmly against him but never enough to harm you. your lover lands a final, sloppy kiss on your cheek, releasing the kiss with an obnoxiously loud smooch as your laughter quietly dies down from his onslaught of affectionate attacks.

lavender eyes gaze into yours, taking in every inch of your face that he loves so much as the morning sun continues to fill his home with warmth. but nothing could ever compare to the love and warmth that caleb shares with you as he leans down once more to press his lips onto yours in a gentle kiss filled with nothing but the deep affection and adoration held for only you.

❀ RAFAYEL

the gentle warmth of the sun is beginning to rise over the horizon, showering the glistening waves in a golden hue. the crisp morning air flows through the cracked windows of your lover’s home and causes you to retreat deeper into the plush duvet of rafayel’s bed. the ocean air is cool and your body seeks the comfort and safety of the blanket wrapped around you. as the chill begins to seep through the cracks of the blanket and rouse you from your slumber, you feel the dip of the bed of another body joining you. your eyes crack open slightly and catch a blurry purple blob pull back the covers and a familiar warmth encase you.

the familiar scent of the sea breeze and clean laundry brings a sense of comfort to you and you automatically wrap your arms around your lover as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. it seems he stayed up a tad too late on his artistic endeavors and is only now going to bed just as the day is beginning. your fingers play with the ends of rafayel’s purple hair, twirling them around your finger as you gently massage his scalp.

“g’morning,” you mumble out sleepily. rafayel doesn’t say anything and responds with his nose nuzzling the side of your neck. you sigh sleepily and pull away from your lover for a brief moment to look at him.

through your half-asleep daze, you could see your purple haired lover looking at you with his beautiful azure-pink eyes. his gaze is as fiery as his evol, filled with passion and so many emotions that sometimes it's hard to read just exactly what he's thinking. as if on instinct, your hand finds its way to the side of rafayel's face and cups his jaw. your thumb rubs gently across his cheek and your heart flutters as the artist leans into your touch. soft, pillowy lips gently press against the sensitive skin of your palm, but his eyes never leave yours.

"go back to sleep, cutie. don't wake up so early because of me," rafayel whispers against your skin. his hand encases your own and he buries his face into your palm, indulging himself in the warmth and familiarity of your skin on his. he presses another kiss this time on your inner wrist before shifting so that he's eye to eye with you.

you can see the dark eye-bags beginning to form underneath your lover's eyes and your thumb gently caresses the skin.

"shouldn't i be telling you to sleep more?" you murmur as your eyes rake over his face. it's impossible to hide the furrow in your brow as you examine every inch of your lover's face for other signs of fatigue. "you know your life shortens when you sleep less, and you already get little to no sleep."

rafayel pauses slightly at your words before chuckling softly. the purple haired lemurian wraps his arms around your body, pulling you closer into his embrace and closer to the eyes that have captivated you. he rests his forehead on yours, his warmth melting the coolness of the air around you as he encases you with nothing but the comfort of his body.

"there's nothing in the world that could take me from you, my beautiful love," rafayel whispers to you. he presses a simple, yet loving kiss to the top of your head before looking at you once more. there's a loving smile blooming on his rosy lips and an even more loving expression in his eyes as he affectionately brushes the skin of your cheek with his finger. "don't worry, for i'm yours to have. and i'm here resting with you now."

your lover's eyes show nothing but sincerity as he leans down to press the gentlest of kisses to you, your lips moving immediately to his act of love. despite the kiss being short, there was no hiding his deep adoration for you and the promise he'll keep of being by your side until the end of time. your hearts beat as one as the sound of the sea and the solace of each other's embrace quietly lulls the two of you back to sleep.

❀ SYLUS

dawn has not even broken through the horizon yet when you begin to stir from your sleep. even though exhaustion seeps through every single bone of your body, the quiet shuffling of clothes and the faint click of the door closing into place is enough to alert you that you’re no longer alone in the safety of your lover;s bedroom. although your eyesight is a blurred mess from waking up from your sleep, you know that whoever is in the room as of now is not a threat. if anything, you’re well aware of just who is in this room.

not that any person who poses as an actual threat to you would ever dare try to break into onychinus’ headquarters, let alone think about harming their leader’s one and only.

“good morning, kitten,” sylus’ voice is a calm whisper beside your ear, finger gently brushing away the hair that has fallen over your face. you can hear his deep chuckle, most likely at whatever expression you have in your half-asleep state, and shortly after his lips press against your forehead. “i didn’t mean to wake you up, dear. you should go back to sleep.”

your vision begins to clear as sleep is gradually blinked away from your eyes. your tall, silver haired lover is hovering above you with a soft smile; unbefitting of the leader of onychinus but absolutely expected as the one you hold closest to your heart. he looks haggard; eye bags heavy and dark underneath his beautiful ruby eyes. sylus must be exhausted having to work all through the night, but he tries to never show it in front of you even though you can always tell.

your hand reaches up to cup his jaw and, like a dragon obeying his beloved other half, obediently leans into your touch. the night must have been cool for his skin to be colder than your touch, or maybe it’s because you’ve been comfortably curled up in the thick duvet covering his bed. sylus sighs with closed eyes and only opens them once he’s satiated with your touch.

a calloused hand encases the hand over his jaw and ruby eyes stare directly into your own.

“i can’t. i have to get ready for work, anyways,” you murmur back to your lover. sylus frowns at your words. a finger gently pushes you forehead down when you try to sit up.

“and walk in with those eyebags? kitten, the organization would think you’re a wanderer if you walk in looking like that,” sylus quickly quips back at you. at his words, you send him a glare; of course, instead of being sweet to you in the morning and making sure you slept great your boyfriend decides to humble you. but… would he be sylus without a remark full of sass?

“stay in a while longer, it’s not like you’ll be reprimanded for coming in late this once,” sylus tells you with a playful smile. “besides, it’s not like you’re the only person coming in late all the time because they’re busy sleeping.” you roll your eyes at his dig at your coworker. your lover traces his finger across your cheek and behind your ear, his large hand sending your skin ablaze with every inch that he touches. but you find comfort in his touch and your body yearns for the comfort and safety of his arms.

“oh, alright. but go shower first, you smell like sweat and blood and i don’t want that to cling to me,” you give in with a heavy sigh. sylus chuckles at your request and leans down once more to kiss you; despite his rugged appearance, his lips are always soft to the touch. each movement against you is filled with so much passion and love, almost as if his body has been yearning for you for a thousand years. as you begin to pull away, you could feel sylus take a breath before eagerly chasing after you to kiss you again and again.

after being fully satiated with the kisses and love received from you, sylus pulls away, teeth gently pulling your bottom lip in a playful manner before letting go and leaving you behind to patiently wait for the return of his warm embrace until the sun begins to filter in through the dark curtains of his bedroom window.

❀ XAVIER

it is way past sunrise by the time you’ve gain consciousness in your own apartment. the morning light shines into your bedroom, the rays of pure sunshine peeking through the curtains of your bedroom window and filling the room with nothing but the warmth of the sun. the morning songbirds sing their songs through the sky and the bustling of the city in the distance is comforting in a way.

though, not as comforting as the weight of the body lying on top of yours. or rather, not as comforting and not as heavy. the sleeping hunter snoozing away on your chest is in a deep sleep; his breaths are quiet and even as his head rests comfortably on your chest. the golden rays of sun make his blond hair glisten and shine even brighter than he normally is. from the angle he’s at, you cannot see his face, but you’re assured that he’s peaceful in the comfort of your warmth. and your chest.

as much as you would like to stay in bed all morning, you know staying in longer than necessary would cause your body to be sluggish for the rest of the day. and so you begin to shuffle out of bed being careful not to awaken the slumbering prince on top of your body. however, your plan quickly fails as the lack of warmth underneath his body is enough to awaken him.

“mmm… morning,” xavier mumbles sleepily, his voice groggy with drowsiness dripping from his voice. the blond hunter mumbles something incoherent to you before he nuzzles his face into your chest then rests his chin on your body to look at you. his beautiful pale cerulean eyes are half lidded as he gazes up at you. in this light and in this moment, you have to admit how utterly cute and charming he looks. you’re tempted to close your eyes and go back to sleep with him, but you know your body will regret it in the long run.

“morning, sleepyhead,” you whisper to your lover. your hand comes up to brush away the blond strands cover his face. as if on instinct, xavier leans into your touch, leaning into it and remaining unmoved to bask in being in your palm. for a hunter who killed 70,000 wanderers, seeing him become so supple and obedient at your simple touch melts your heart. his blue eyes, akin to the sky, stare into your eyes, never wandering far from your face as the both of you begin to pull away from the intoxicating arms of sleep.

“don’t you want to sleep a bit more? you can; i’m just going to get ready for the day,” you murmur to xavier. your thumb rubs gently across your lover’s cheek, admiring how smooth his skin is despite his job as a hunter. he closes his eyes for a mere moment and takes in the feeling of your finger rubbing across his skin.

“as much as i love sleeping,” xavier begins, pressing his lips against your palm, “i’d rather spend our day off awake and with you.”

his eyes are twinkling as if stars were caught up in the vast sky that is his eyes and you feel your own heart skip a beat at the sincerity of his words as he smiles up at you. you sigh as your hand slowly slides up his cheek and-

“hey…!” your lover exclaims softly as your fingers gently squeeze his cheek, tugging his skin and shaking his head back and forth. your brows furrow as you shake him, annoyed at how cute he can be so early in the morning.

“that’s what you get for being so charming this morning,” you say as you pull your hands away. xavier looks up at you, eyes wide and his bottom lip jutting out just enough to get the perfect pout. but his little act doesn’t last for long as the blond hunter sits up and hovers over your body on the bed. his hands rest beside your head as he leans down so you’re eye to eye with him. there’s a playful glint in his eyes as he smiles down at you.

“then, starlight, do i get to punish you for being so cute, too?” xavier asks. pale blue eyes glance down at your lips, a signal that you know far too well.

your arms reach up to wrap around your lover’s neck, pulling him down as he eagerly leans forward to capture your own lips in his. his kiss is gentle, nothing short of loving and affectionate. but you could feel his eagerness for you, the heat rising with each movement of his lips on yours. your hands gently push against xavier’s chest before anything could go any further.

you almost laugh out loud seeing his pout as he obeys your wishes; his expression gives away all of his wants and needs to you and you can’t help but find him endearing. you reach up to lean up to quickly peck the corner of his lips, but your lover moves faster and, with a quick turn of his head, he’s kissing you again. the morning is warm and filled with sunshine as xavier showers you with affection he has been withholding this morning. but no sunlight could ever compare to the star holding you within his loving embrace.

❀ ZAYNE

the quiet buzzing and ruffling of the bedsheets is all you can hear before your body begins to rouse from your deep slumber. although your eyes haven’t completely opened yet, you recognize the blurry, dark blob beside you as his long arms reach over the nightstand to turn off the alarm. the comfort of his embrace is enough to lull you back to sleep, but you’re well aware that the warmth that you two share is fleeting as the day begins and the dreaded hours of work begin for the both of you.

unfortunately for you, the sun has yet to rise and the darkness is enough to truly drag you back into the depths of sleep, but you begin to truly wake up as zayne’s arms pull away from your body.

“mn…” you mumble as words try to form in your bedridden state. your arm drowsily reaches forward, clinging onto the body beside you and preventing him from immediately leaving your side.

you can hear his soft chuckle at your antics and a rough hand touching the side of your face; he’s cold to the touch, but you don’t mind it at all. it’s a beautiful contrast compared to the warmth hidden underneath the blankets you share. you pull zayne closer to you in hopes of enticing the poor heart surgeon into staying with you for just a bit longer; not that you don’t want him to go to work but because it’s just so comfortable being here with him. you hum in content feeling your lover’s stubble poking at your neck, an unusual feeling but one you welcome as it’s zayne’s body on your skin.

“good morning, beloved,” zayne whispers to you in a quiet voice. for being known as a cold and reserved doctor to others, he has shown you nothing but warmth and love as your boyfriend and you wouldn’t have it any other way. the calmness in which he speaks to you, his tone filled with nothing but adoration for you and only you makes your heart melt completely despite his evol being ice.

“you know i have to get ready for work, dear,” zayne murmurs softly as he begins to pull away, much to your despair. your hands reach for him again, but he’s far from your reach now. instead, hands covered in scars from his field of work encase one of your own and you can feel his lips press against the sensitive skin of your palm. his kiss is gentle despite the ticklish feeling of his stubble against your skin.

your eyes begin to open now, slowly focusing on the man above you. zayne has sat up now, olive green eyes looking down at you with nothing but sincere adoration and the longing to fall back into your arms and sleep for another hundred years. it’s not like he doesn’t yearn to be beside you, but duty calls and he cannot let more lives fall because of his hands.

“…i know,” you mumble back to him. zayne whispers an apology to you as you begin to sit up alongside him. rough hands intertwine with your own and you feel your body being slightly tugged towards him. his scent, clean with a hint of pine, nearly intoxicates you as you try to fight back the urge to wrap yourself around him and pull him down again.

“i love you,” you whisper to him. zayne’s breath hitches at your words and you can feel his forehead gently lean against your own.

“can i kiss you?” he asks you, his words a mere breath as if you’ll deny his request and shame him for his desire for your lips on his. you don’t have to say a word, a mere nod is enough and your lover leans forward to capture your lips with his. he’s gentle with you, kissing you with so much ardor yet so hesitantly as if you’ll break from his touch. before you could do anything else, zayne pulls away from your kiss. although he doesn’t return your words of affection to him, his actions and his kiss alone are enough of a reminder that he returns your sentiments the same amount, if not tenfold.

he loves you, and he wishes for the day he can say it back to you again and again and again.

[flux1563]

Happy Birthday ft karina and winter

Words : 11k

Tags : just read it

Karina stood in front of the mirror, her heart racing as she admired her reflection. Her hourglass figure was the envy of many, with curves that could make any outfit look like it was painted on her body. Her ass, a perfect bubble that seemed to defy gravity, was the subject of countless whispers and rumors among her fans and colleagues. Her boobs, full and round, had the power to turn heads wherever she went. The reflection staring back at her was a testament to years of hard work and discipline. As the leader of aespa, she knew she had to look her best, especially on days like today.

Winter, on the other hand, sat at the vanity with a frown. Her body was slender, almost too thin in the industry's harsh light. She had always felt inadequate when standing next to Karina, with her own average-sized breasts and ass. Her skin was her saving grace, so pale it was almost translucent, a stark contrast to the tanned bodies that were so popular. She picked up the letter she had written, her thoughts racing. This was her chance to make Karina's birthday special, to show her how much she appreciated her.

"Hey, Karina!" Winter called out, her voice echoing through the shared dressing room. "You've got a surprise waiting for you!"

Karina turned, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. She had always loved surprises, especially from her fellow bandmates. She strutted over, her hips swaying in a way that made the fabric of her dress cling to her curves. "What's this?" she asked, her voice dripping with excitement.

Winter handed her the envelope, her hands shaking slightly. "It's just a little something I wanted to give you."

Karina took the envelope with a smile, her curiosity piqued. She felt a sudden thrill at the thought of a secret midnight rendezvous. She knew Winter had always had a flair for the dramatic, but this was something else. The instructions were simple, yet they sent a shiver down her spine. A penthouse at 12 AM, dressed only in a long dress with no panties and bra beneath. It was bold, it was risky, but it was also incredibly tantalizing.

As the day went on, Karina couldn't help but think about the letter. She wondered what kind of surprise Winter had planned for her. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more daring and thrilling than the last. The anticipation was killing her, but she knew she had to keep her cool. After all, she was the leader of aespa, and she had a public image to maintain.

The hours ticked by, and soon it was time for the concert. Karina pushed thoughts of the letter to the back of her mind as she stepped onto the stage, her confidence radiating out to the thousands of fans screaming her name. The lights, the music, the adoration—it was all a rush of energy that fueled her performance. But as the final notes of the last song played out and the applause faded into the night, she couldn't help but feel a tug of excitement for what was to come.

Finally, the clock struck midnight. Karina slipped away from the after-party, her heart pounding in her chest. The penthouse was only a short drive away, and she knew exactly which one was Winter's. She had been there before, but never under such... intimate circumstances. She arrived and took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. As she stepped out of the elevator, she could feel the cool air brush against her bare legs. The dress was indeed long, but it was also sheer, revealing her lack of underwear. She felt a mix of excitement and vulnerability as she approached the door, the anticipation of what lay behind it almost too much to handle.

Winter answered almost immediately, her eyes lighting up as she took in Karina's attire. "Wow, your nipples are hard," she said with a laugh, unable to hide her surprise and delight. Karina felt a blush spread across her cheeks, but she couldn't deny the thrill that shot through her body at the sight of Winter's eager gaze. The cold air had indeed done its work, making her nipples stand at attention, clearly visible through the flimsy material of her dress.

The penthouse was dimly lit, with only a few candles flickering around the room, casting an eerie yet romantic glow. The floor was littered with rose petals, leading to a large bed adorned with silk sheets. Winter had clearly gone all out for this surprise. She took Karina's hand and led her to the bed, her own heart racing with excitement. Karina's eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail. There was a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket, and a box of chocolates rested on the bedside table.

Winter wore a simple black tank top that clung to her small breasts, showcasing their perky firmness. Her nipples were already hard, poking through the fabric, and Karina couldn't help but stare. It was clear that she wasn't wearing a bra, and the thought sent a jolt of desire through her. Winter had chosen not to wear any underwear either, the thin strip of fabric barely visible beneath the tank top. Karina felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch her, to explore the softness of her skin.

"What's the plan?" Karina asked again, her voice thick with anticipation. Winter's eyes twinkled mischievously as she pulled Karina closer, her breath hot against her neck. "You'll see," she whispered, her hand slipping into the fold of Karina's dress, tracing the curve of her ass. "But first, we need to get you relaxed."

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, jolting them out of their moment. Winter's expression grew even more playful as she squeezed Karina's hand. "I guess the party's starting early," she said, a hint of something else in her voice.

Karina's eyes widened as the door swung open to reveal not one, but twenty muscular black men dressed in matching tuxedos, each holding a bouquet of roses. They filled the room, their deep voices blending into a harmonious chorus of "Happy Birthday." Winter had gone all out, hiring an entire flash mob to serenade her. The sight was overwhelming, a mix of excitement and bewilderment flooding through her. The men's gazes were respectful but filled with an undeniable admiration for the two beautiful women before them.

Winter stepped aside, revealing the true intent behind the surprise. "This isn't just any party, Karina. It's a celebration of you, for you. Twenty of the most attractive and attentive men in the city, all here to make your birthday wishes come true."

Karina's jaw dropped as the reality of the situation hit her. The tension in the room was palpable, a heady mix of excitement and nervousness. The men, with their broad shoulders and chiseled jaws, looked at her with a hunger that made her stomach flip. She had never been the center of attention like this, especially not in such an intimate setting. Her eyes darted to Winter, seeking reassurance, but all she found was a knowing smirk.

One by one, the men began to strip, their movements precise and practiced. The first few layers of clothing fell away to reveal their taut abs and bulging biceps. As they reached the last piece of clothing, their pants, they each pulled out a pair of velvet boxers, which were strategically designed to showcase their massive erections. Each man's cock was at least twelve inches long, with a thickness that would make any woman's knees go weak. The sight was overwhelming, and Karina could feel her own arousal growing, her pussy tightening in anticipation.

Winter leaned in and whispered into Karina's ear, "You can handle it. You're a goddess, and they're here to worship you. Just let go and enjoy the night."

Karina's eyes remained wide with both excitement and trepidation as she took in the sea of naked men surrounding her. She had never experienced anything like this before—her heart was racing, and she could feel her arousal growing with each passing second. Winter's words echoed in her mind, giving her a sense of empowerment that she had never felt before.

The first ten men approached Karina, their eyes full of lust and admiration. They began to gently touch her, their hands gliding over her bare skin like warm silk. Their kisses were soft and feather-light, leaving a trail of fire wherever their lips touched. Karina's body responded instinctively, arching into their touch, her own hands reaching out to explore the muscular planes of their chests and abs. The men were careful, almost reverent in their actions, as if they knew that even the slightest misstep could shatter the delicate balance of power in the room.

Meanwhile, Winter was not forgotten. The other ten men had surrounded her, each eager to claim their share of her delicate form. They started with gentle pecks on her neck and cheeks before moving to the softness of her full lips. Their hands began to wander, caressing her shoulders, tracing the lines of her collarbones, and finally cupping her small, firm breasts. Winter moaned softly, her nipples stiffening under their touch. She looked up into their eyes, her own filled with a mix of lust and mischief, daring them to go further.

The tension grew as clothes were removed, revealing the full extent of their desire. Karina's dress fell to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her heels. The men took turns kissing her neck, her shoulders, and her breasts, each one eager to taste the sweetness of her skin. Their hands explored her body, squeezing her ass cheeks and sliding up her thighs, teasing the wetness that was already gathering between her legs.

Winter's tank top was lifted over her head, revealing her perfect pale breasts to the hungry eyes of the men. They took turns sucking and biting her nipples, eliciting gasps and moans from the young idol. Her own hands were busy unbuckling belts and pushing pants down, revealing the impressive erections that awaited her.

"Ahh, so good, keep it going," Karina managed to say between the kisses and touches, her voice strained with pleasure. The men took this as a cue to intensify their efforts, their hands becoming more insistent, their kisses more demanding. Winter mirrored Karina's response, her voice a soft whine of pleasure as she was laid back on the bed.

The scene was a blur of limbs and passion as the men worked in harmony to pleasure the two idols. For Winter, it was an overwhelming sensation, her body responding to the skilled hands and mouths of the men around her. They took turns, one licking and suckling her nipples while another kissed down her stomach, his tongue tracing the delicate line of her navel before dipping lower, teasing the fabric of her panties. Her legs quivered as she felt a wet, hot tongue slip beneath the elastic, brushing against the soft hairs of her mound.

"Ahh, so good," Winter moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. The man between her legs was a master, his tongue flicking against her clit with the precision of a maestro conducting an orchestra. She could feel herself getting wetter, her body begging for more, and the men were more than happy to oblige.

The room was a symphony of passionate noises: the sound of kisses, the rustle of fabric, the wet smack of tongues against skin. Karina's moans grew louder as the men took turns lapping at her clit, their fingers delving into her tight ass and soaking pussy. Each thrust sent a bolt of pleasure through her body, making her hips buck and her toes curl. She had never felt so exposed, so desired.

The tension grew unbearable as the men worked in unison, their movements becoming more intense. Karina felt a hand slide up her thigh, the heat of it sending shivers down her spine. The finger circled her pussy before plunging in, the sudden intrusion making her gasp. At the same time, another hand began to massage her asshole, the sensation foreign but oddly pleasurable. Her eyes rolled back in her head, lost in the sensation of being filled so completely.

And then it happened. A wave of pleasure crashed over Karina, making her entire body convulse as she squirted, her juices soaking the bed beneath her. The sight was too much for the men, their eyes glazed with lust as they watched the evidence of her climax spray across their chests. Winter, not to be outdone, arched her back off the bed, her body shaking with the force of her own orgasm. Her pussy clenched around the fingers inside her, and she felt a gush of wetness as she too squirted, her body releasing in a display of pure ecstasy.

The men stepped back, giving the two women a moment to catch their breath. Winter looked over at Karina, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed with pleasure. "Ahh, that was so much," Their panted, their voice thick with satisfaction.

Karina nodded, her chest still heaving from the intensity of her orgasm. "But we're not done yet," she said with a smirk, her eyes gleaming with a newfound hunger. She turned to the men, her gaze traveling over the sea of hard cocks before her. "Who's first?"

The men looked at each other, a silent challenge passing between them. The first one stepped forward, his cock standing tall and proud. Karina opened her mouth wide, her jaw aching with the effort as she took the tip into her mouth. She could feel the man's heartbeat through the veins that pulsed against her tongue, the taste of him salty and intoxicating. Winter watched, her own desire growing as she saw the way Karina's lips stretched around the massive girth.

Without missing a beat, Winter followed suit, taking the second man's cock in her mouth. It was thick and warm, and she had to stretch her jaw to the limit to accommodate it. The feeling of power was exhilarating, and she could feel the man's body tremble as she swirled her tongue around the head.

They took turns, moving from one cock to the next, their mouths and tongues working in unison to bring each man to the brink of pleasure.

But as they grew more comfortable with the rhythm, something unexpected happened. The first man who Karina was sucking suddenly pulled away, his eyes locked on hers as he positioned himself between her legs. Before she couldn't even react, he pushed his cock into her pussy, filling her in one smooth, powerful stroke. The surprise of the sudden penetration made her gasp, but the pleasure quickly overwhelmed any shock.

Winter watched, her eyes widening as she realized what was happening. The man before her did the same, pulling out of her mouth and moving behind her. She felt the blunt tip of his cock press against her pussy, and despite the initial shock, she found herself pushing back, eager to feel him inside her.

With a gentle yet firm hand, he guided himself in, inch by inch, stretching her open until he was fully sheathed in her tight, velvety heat. The sensation was intense, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent her mind reeling. The room grew even hotter, the air thick with the scent of lust as the men began to thrust, their movements coordinated and deliberate.

Karina's eyes met Winter's, and she saw the same wild desire reflected there. Winter had whispered those words with a mix of awe and envy, her voice heavy with lust. "U are such a slut, Karina," she had said, and there was no judgment, only admiration in her tone. Karina felt a thrill run through her at the thought, her pussy clenching around the cock inside her. Was she a slut? Perhaps. But tonight, she didn't care. Tonight, she was going to live out every fantasy she had ever dared to dream of.

The men took turns fucking both of them, their rhythms becoming more erratic and desperate as they approached their own climaxes. Karina's pussy was a wet, tight fist around the cocks that plunged into her, and she reveled in the feeling of being used, of being filled to the brim with so much cock. She watched as Winter's eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth open in a silent scream, as the men took her in every way imaginable. Winter's body was a canvas of pleasure, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat as the men worked her over, each one eager to leave their mark.

Karina couldn't help but whisper to Winter as she was pounded from behind, "Look at that pussy, it can't get enough of the big dick," her voice filled with a mix of amazement and lust. Winter's eyes snapped open, and she stared at Karina with a fiery intensity, her pupils dilated with desire. She nodded, her mouth a perfect O of pleasure as she felt the cock inside her hit just the right spot.

But the night was far from over. As the men grew bolder, one of them approached Karina from behind, his cock standing tall and slick with precum. She felt a sudden pressure against her tight asshole, and she knew what was about to happen. She braced herself as he pushed inside, the sensation of being stretched open sending waves of pleasure through her body. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes squeezed shut as she adjusted to the intrusion. It was painful at first, but she quickly grew accustomed to the feeling, her body opening up to the new sensation.

Winter watched, her eyes glued to the sight of her friend's face contorted in pleasure. She had always been curious about anal, and now she knew she had to experience it for herself. She whispered to the man behind her, "Please, I want it too," her voice barely above a breath.

The man grinned, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight as he positioned his cock at her entrance. Winter felt the same pressure building, the same delicious anticipation as he pushed into her ass. It burned at first, but she knew she could take it. After all, she was made of stronger stuff than most. The sensation of being filled so completely was overwhelming, and she moaned as he began to move in time with the others.

Karina's eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth open in a silent scream. The feeling of two cocks inside her was like nothing she had ever experienced before. The pain melded with pleasure, creating a symphony of sensation that had her entire body trembling. She could feel the men's muscles flexing, their hips pistoning as they drove into her, and she knew she was in for the ride of her life.

Winter's own moans grew louder as she too was filled with cock, the sensation of being double penetrated sending her over the edge. Her body was a taut bowstring, ready to snap with the tension of unbridled lust. The men took no mercy, their strokes becoming more erratic and forceful.

As Karina's moans grew louder, another man stepped forward, his cock bobbing eagerly before her. He didn't bother with words, simply grabbing her chin and guiding his shaft into her open mouth. She took it with surprising ease, the feeling of fullness overwhelming as she was sandwiched between two thick cocks. The taste of him mixed with the salty tang of her own desire, and she couldn't help but moan around the new intrusion, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through the man fucking her.

Winter, not to be outdone, spread her legs wider, inviting the next man to fill her mouth as well. He didn't hesitate, pushing his cock deep down her throat, making her eyes water. She choked and gagged, but the feeling of being so completely used was exhilarating. Her body was a playground for these men, and she had never felt more alive.

The men took turns, filling every hole with their thick, pulsing members. Karina felt another cock at her entrance, the tip of it probing at her already-stuffed pussy. She looked up at the man, her eyes pleading, but all she saw was a look of primal hunger. He didn't need an invitation. With a grunt, he pushed inside her, the added pressure making her eyes roll back in her head.

The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent her spiraling into an endless abyss of ecstasy. Winter could feel the same happening to her, the third cock stretching her tight pussy until she thought she might split in two. But she didn't stop, she didn't protest. This was what she had always craved, what she had never admitted to herself. To be used, to be filled, to be the center of attention for so many men.

Their moans grew louder, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the penthouse. The men grunted and growled, their bodies moving in a primal dance of lust. Karina could feel her orgasm building, the tension in her body coiling tighter and tighter. And when it hit, it was like nothing she had ever felt before. Her body spasmed, her pussy contracting around the cocks inside her, as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Winter's orgasm followed quickly, her body trembling as she felt the warmth of the man's cum filling her ass. She swallowed the load in her mouth, her eyes never leaving Karina's. The two of them were in a world of their own, a place where only pleasure existed. They had transcended any semblance of reality, lost in a haze of lust and desire.

And then, as if by some silent command, they all came together. The men's bodies tensed, their cocks pulsing as they filled Karina and Winter with their hot seed. The room was filled with the scent of sex, the air thick with the musk of desire. The two idols lay there, their bodies shaking with the aftershocks of their shared climax, their eyes locked in a silent promise of more to come.

The night stretched out before them, a canvas of endless possibility. They had only just begun to explore the depths of their desires, and already they were insatiable. The men, spent but still eager, pulled out, their cocks glistening with the girls' juices. Karina and Winter lay there, their bodies sticky with cum, their hearts pounding in their chests. They knew that this was just the beginning.

Their breaths coming in ragged gasps, they looked into each other's eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. This was a night they would never forget, a night that would change the very fabric of their friendship. They had crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as they lay there, their bodies entwined and their hearts racing, they knew that they had found something special, something that would bind them together forever.

But even as their bodies grew slick with sweat and cum, the two idols knew that the night was far from over. They had only just begun to explore the depths of their desires, and already they were insatiable. The men around them were eager, their cocks still hard and demanding. And so, with a grin that was part challenge and part invitation, Karina turned to Winter and said, "Ready for round two?"

Winter's eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. The two of them lay back, legs spread wide, as the men lined up again. The sixth man stepped forward, his cock already at attention. Karina took his length in her mouth, her eyes watering with the effort as she tried to deep-throat him. Winter watched with envy, her own mouth watering as she felt the ache in her jaw from the first round. But she knew she could handle it—she had to.

The man behind Karina didn't waste any time, pushing his cock back into her ass, filling her up once more. She groaned around the shaft in her mouth, the sensation of being so full making her pussy clench around the cock that was still lodged deep inside her. Meanwhile, Winter felt another man enter her pussy, his thickness stretching her out even further. She could feel the wetness of the previous man's cum mixing with her own juices, making it easier for him to slide in.

And then it began again. The men took turns, fucking them with a passion that was almost violent in its intensity. Karina's moans grew muffled as the cock in her mouth worked its way down her throat, and she had to fight not to gag. Winter, on the other hand, was a vision of pure wantonness, her mouth full and her pussy and ass being pounded in a relentless rhythm that had her screaming for more.

The feeling of being so completely used was intoxicating, a high that neither of them had ever experienced before. They had become the embodiment of desire, the living, breathing representation of every dark fantasy they had ever had. And as the men took them again and again, their bodies pushed to the brink of endurance, they reveled in it, each orgasm more powerful than the last.

The room was a blur of motion, a kaleidoscope of limbs and cocks. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh a constant symphony of passion. Karina felt herself begin to lose control, her body a vessel for the men's lust. Winter's eyes were glazed with pleasure, her moans a constant soundtrack to the debauchery that played out before her.

The man in Karina's mouth was the first to reach his climax, his hips jerking as he unloaded his hot, sticky cum down her throat. She swallowed it greedily, her eyes watering as she took it all in, eager for more. The sensation of his cock pulsing in her mouth was almost too much, but she didn't dare pull away. She was a goddess, and she would take every drop of their adoration.

Winter's mouth was equally full, the man groaning in pleasure as he emptied himself into her. She swallowed with a gulp, the taste of his seed mixing with the sweetness of the champagne they had been sipping earlier. The feeling of his cock sliding out of her mouth was almost a disappointment, but she knew the night was still young.

Karina's voice was hoarse from screaming, her throat raw from the constant abuse, but she didn't care. The feeling of the cock in her pussy and ass was a symphony of pleasure that she never wanted to end. "Ahh, don't stop," she begged, her hips bucking wildly as the men pounded into her. The one in her pussy was hitting just the right spot, making her orgasm build even faster.

Winter could feel the same pressure building in her own body, the cock in her ass hitting her g-spot with every thrust. "Ahh, yes," she panted, her voice high and breathy. "It's so big, so perfect."

The men took their cue from the girls' cries of pleasure, moving faster and harder, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. They were like animals in heat, driven by the primal need to claim their prize. And Karina and Winter were more than willing to let themselves be claimed, their bodies begging for more.

The man in Karina's ass was the next to cum, his hot load filling her up until she thought she might burst. She felt it trickle out around his shaft, the sticky warmth of it adding to the depraved scene before her. Winter watched with hungry eyes, feeling the same pressure building in her own ass, the cock inside her pulsing with the promise of release.

And then it happened. The man in her ass pulled out, and she felt the warmth of his cum spurt out of her, painting her thighs with white streaks. The sensation was indescribable, the feeling of being so utterly used sending her over the edge. She screamed, her body shaking as she came harder than she ever had before.

"I liked it when my pussy and ass was destroyed by that cock," Winter panted, her voice thick with satisfaction. Karina nodded in agreement, her eyes glazed with lust. "Yeah, it's so fucking long," she managed to say, her voice a low growl of desire. "It can reach so deep, I can feel it bulging under my stomach."

The two friends shared a moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of their orgasms. The men looked on, their own lust-filled gazes taking in the sight of the two idols, their bodies painted in sweat and cum. They knew that they had been a part of something special, something that would be remembered for a long time to come.

The night stretched out before them, a promise of more debauchery and more pleasure. Karina and Winter were insatiable, their desires only growing with each passing moment. They looked into each other's eyes, the fire of lust burning brighter than ever. "We should do this more often," Karina whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Winter nodded, a wicked smile playing across her lips. "Definitely," she said, her voice a sultry purr. "But next time, let's invite the rest of the group. I think they'd enjoy this as much as we do."

The idea of sharing their newfound passion with the other members of aespa was intoxicating. They had always been close, but this was a bond that went beyond friendship, beyond anything they had ever experienced before. It was a bond forged in the fires of desire, one that would never be broken.

The two idols lay there, panting and spent, their bodies a testament to the night's carnage. The men pulled out, their cocks still hard and gleaming with the girls' juices. Karina looked up at them, her eyes glazed with lust, and whispered, "Again?"

The remaining men, their cocks standing tall and proud, stepped forward eagerly. They had watched the first round with rapt attention, waiting for their turn to claim their share of the divine offerings. Now, it was their chance to taste the sweetness of the idols' flesh. There is only eight men left.

"What are you guys doing?" Karina panted, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she took in the sight of their arousal. "Why only four men?" she questioned, her voice a sultry tease. Winter's eyes glinted with excitement at the thought of what was to come, her own body still trembling from the intense pleasure she had just experienced.

The men chuckled darkly, their gazes hungry as they approached the two idols. "You'll know soon," one of them murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Karina's spine. The anticipation grew as the remaining four men knelt before them, two cocks pointing at each of their pussies. The room was silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing, the tension palpable as the two friends watched, their eyes wide with excitement and a hint of trepidation.

As the first one cock pushed into them, Karina and Winter gasped in unison, their eyes meeting as they felt the unyielding pressure. "Ahh, it's bulging again," Karina moaned, her voice a mix of pain and pleasure as she adjusted to the size. Winter nodded, her own eyes squeezed shut as she felt the thickness of the cock inside her, stretching her to the limits. "My pussy is getting wrecked,".

But to Karina's surprise, she realized that the cock was not heading for her ass, as she had anticipated. Instead, it was pushing into her sopping wet pussy, filling her up just as the others had done before.

"No, not in my pussy too," she gasped, her voice a mix of fear and excitement. She could feel the man's cock pushing against her already swollen pussy lips, stretching them even further.

"Ahh, your pussy can take it," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. But the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. There was a hunger there, a need to claim her completely, to make her scream his name.

Winter watched as the two cock disappeared into Karina's pussy, her eyes going wide with shock and fear. She had never seen anything so big, so powerful, so... overwhelming.

"No, don't do that to me," she panted, her voice trembling with the weight of her own desires. "My pussy is so small, it can't take two of those monsters at once."

The men only chuckled, their strokes growing more urgent, more demanding. They didn't care about her protests; they only cared about filling her up, about making her scream. And as the second cock began to push into her already-stuffed pussy, she realized that she didn't care either.

"Ahh, so hurts," Winter whimpered, her voice high and breathy. The feeling of being so full was almost too much to bear, but she couldn't deny the delicious ache it brought. She felt the man at her ass push deeper, his cock stretching her to the brink of pain, and she knew she was going to come again. "It's so big, my pussy stretch to 7 inches."

The men took no heed of their cries, driven only by their own carnality. They fucked the two idols with a ferocity that was almost animalistic, their hips slapping against their asses as they claimed them fully. Karina felt her body give way to the relentless pounding, her pussy and ass stretched to accommodate the thick cocks inside her. "I can't take it," she panted, even as she pushed back, begging for more.

Winter's own moans grew louder as she too was filled with cock, the sensation of being so completely dominated sending her spiraling into another orgasm. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her body shaking with the force of it. "It's too much," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sounds of their frenzied coupling.

Karina's pussy clenched around the two cocks inside her, the feeling of being so full sending waves of pleasure through her body. She watched in amazement as Winter's pussy was stretched to accommodate the two men, the sight of her friend's pleasure only increasing her own desire. "Fuck me harder," she screamed, her voice a hoarse wail of need.

The men took her command to heart, their strokes becoming more forceful, their hips slamming into her with a brutal rhythm that had her body jolting with each thrust. She could feel their cocks rubbing against each other, the friction sending sparks of sensation through her. "It's so tight," one of them groaned, his voice thick with lust.

Winter watched, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and arousal as she felt the two cocks inside her as well. The feeling of being so full was almost too much, but she couldn't help the way her body responded. Her pussy clenched around them, her muscles rippling with the effort to accommodate the massive intrusion. "Fuck," she whispered, the word barely leaving her lips as she felt another orgasm building.

The man in her pussy pulled out slightly, then pushed back in, the movement sending a jolt of pleasure through her that made her toes curl. "Does it feel good?" he asked, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

"Yeah," Winter panted, the word escaping her as a breathless moan. "It's so good, stretching my pussy to the limit." The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt before—the pressure was almost unbearable, but the pleasure it brought was addictive.

The men took their words as a challenge, their strokes becoming more powerful, more demanding. Karina could feel her orgasm building again, the pressure in her pussy growing until she thought she might burst. "Is so full," she gasped, her voice tight with the effort to speak. "My squirt can't escape because there is no more room."

Winter nodded, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the same sensation in her own body. Her stomach was indeed bulging with the girth of the cocks inside her, the sight of it a testament to the depravity of the moment. "It's so... much," she managed to get out, her voice a high-pitched whine of pleasure.

The men took no mercy, fucking them harder and faster, their bodies moving in a symphony of lust and power. Karina's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the beginnings of another orgasm, her pussy clamping down around the two thick shafts. "Ahh, I'm gonna...," she gasped, unable to finish her sentence.

And then, as if on cue, the man in her pussy pulled out, his cock glistening with her juices. She felt the pressure building, her body begging for release. The man in her ass took one last, deep stroke before pulling out as well, his cock spurting cum across her ass cheeks. And with that, Karina's orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her pussy releasing a torrent of squirt that soaked the bed beneath them.

Winter watched in amazement as Karina's squirt gushed out, the force of it almost comical in its intensity. But she had no time to laugh, as the man in her own ass pulled out and sprayed his cum across her back, the hot liquid making her shiver with pleasure. The cock in her pussy followed suit, filling her up until she too was on the brink of release.

"Now," the man whispered, his voice a dark promise. He pushed back in, the pressure of the two cocks inside her pussy too much to bear. She felt herself let go, her squirt spurting out like a fountain, mixing with the cum that filled her. It was a messy, sloppy affair, but neither of them cared. They were lost in a world of pure sensation, their bodies nothing but vessels for the men's pleasure.

The remaining men took their cue, their cocks sliding in and out of the two idols with a wet, sloppy sound that filled the room. Karina felt the pressure build again, her body responding to the relentless pounding. "Again," she begged, her voice a desperate plea for more.

Winter's own orgasm was a thing of beauty, her body arching off the bed as she screamed out her release. Her pussy clenched around the two cocks, the sensation making her squirt even more. She looked over at Karina, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared ecstasy.

The men grunted and groaned, their bodies tight with the effort of holding back their own climaxes. But the sight of the two idols, their bodies soaking wet with their own juices and cum, was too much to resist. One by one, they pulled out, their cocks pulsing as they painted the girls' bodies with their seed.

And as the last man came, Karina felt herself being filled once more, the warmth of his cum mixing with the mess already inside her. She collapsed back onto the bed, her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. "So much...," she murmured, her voice a breathless whisper.

Winter's eyes were glazed with lust, her chest heaving as she too felt the warmth of cum filling her up. They had never experienced anything so depraved, so beautifully carnally satisfying. The two friends looked at each other, a new understanding passing between them.

The men stepped back, their cocks still hard and gleaming with the girls' juices. "Thank you," one of them murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You two are truly amazing."

Karina and Winter couldn't help but smile, their bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of their orgasms. They had found something that went beyond friendship, beyond love, beyond anything they had ever known. They had found a place where they could be free, where they could embrace their desires without judgment. And as they lay there, their bodies spent and their minds racing with thoughts of what was to come, they knew that this was only the beginning of their journey into the dark, delicious world of unbridled lust.

The four remaining men, their cocks still hard and gleaming, stepped closer to the bed, their eyes filled with hunger and admiration for the two idols before them. Karina felt a thrill run through her as she watched them, their bodies tight with anticipation. "Ready?" one of them asked, and she nodded, her heart racing.

Winter took a deep breath, her eyes locked onto Karina's as the first two men positioned themselves at her friend's ass. The sight was almost too much to take, the thought of being filled by two such massive cocks making her own pussy clench with need. But she knew that she could do it, that she wanted to do it. "Now," she whispered, her voice a sultry invitation.

The men didn't waste any time, pushing their cocks into Karina's ass in a smooth, practiced motion. She cried out, the pain sharp and intense, but it only served to heighten the pleasure. She could feel herself stretching around them, the sensation of being so completely filled unlike anything she had ever experienced before. "Oh, fuck," she gasped, her voice a ragged moan of pleasure.

Winter watched, her own ass already being prepared by the remaining two men. She could feel the cold lube being applied, the sensation making her shiver. "You're going to love this," one of them murmured, his voice a low growl of desire. "We're going to fill you up so good."

And with that, the two men pushed into her ass, their cocks stretching her even wider than before. The pain was exquisite, the feeling of being so full making her eyes roll back in her head. She could feel Karina's eyes on her, the connection between them stronger than ever as they shared this moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

The men began to move, their hips thrusting in unison as they claimed their prize. The room was filled with the sounds of their moans and the wet slaps of skin against skin. "Fuck, your asses are so tight," one of them groaned, his voice a testament to the intensity of their shared experience.

Karina's eyes fluttered closed as she felt the two cocks inside her move, their strokes becoming more deliberate, more demanding. She knew that she was going to come again, that she was going to shatter into a million pieces beneath their relentless pounding. "I can't...," she whimpered, her voice a mix of pleasure and pain.

Winter's own orgasm was building, the feeling of being so completely filled making her pussy throb with need. "It's so good," she whispered, her voice a breathless sigh. "I never knew it could feel like this."

The men took their cue from her words, their strokes growing more urgent. They didn't stop to let them catch their breath, didn't give them a moment's reprieve. They were insatiable, their cocks moving in a blur as they pounded into them with a ferocity that was almost frightening.

Karina felt her body begin to spasm, her pussy clenching around nothing as the two cocks in her ass worked their magic. The feeling of emptiness in her pussy only served to drive her closer to the edge, her body begging for release. "Fuck, yes," she panted, her voice a mix of desperation and need. "Keep going, please, I need it."

Winter's own pussy was a mess of cum and juices, her squirt flowing freely as she was pounded from behind. She could feel the men's cocks stretching her ass, the pressure building until she thought she might pass out from pleasure. "It's so...," she managed to get out, her voice trailing off as she lost herself in the sensation.

The men took her words as a challenge, their strokes growing even more forceful. They fucked them with an intensity that was almost brutal, their eyes never leaving the girls' faces as they watched every twitch, every gasp of pleasure. "You like that?" one of them growled, his voice thick with lust. "You like being our little sluts?"

The question was rhetorical, the answer clear in the way their bodies responded. Karina felt herself begin to climax again, her pussy convulsing with the need for something—anything—inside her. "Yes," she screamed, her voice raw and desperate. "I love it, I love being your slut."

Winter's own orgasm hit her like a freight train, her body shaking as she felt the two cocks inside her reach their peak. She could feel the hot spurts of cum filling her up, the sensation making her pussy clench even more. "Oh god," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea for release.

And then, as if in response to her silent prayer, the man at her pussy pulled out, his cock swollen and red with need. He positioned himself at her entrance, and with one powerful thrust, he pushed into her, the feeling of fullness making her eyes roll back in her head. "Yes," she screamed, her voice hoarse with pleasure. "Yes, fuck me, please."

The two men in her ass didn't miss a beat, their cocks pounding into her with a ferocity that was almost painful. But the pain was a sweet agony, one that only served to heighten the pleasure that was building within her. Her pussy clenched around the new intrusion, her squirt mixing with the cum that was already flowing freely.

Karina watched with wide eyes as Winter's pussy squirted again and again, the sight making her own need grow even stronger. She felt the two cocks inside her begin to pulse, the men on the brink of their own climaxes. "Do it," she begged, her voice a ragged whisper. "I want to feel you come inside me."

The men didn't need any more encouragement. With one last, powerful thrust, they both emptied themselves into her, their cum mixing with her own juices in a sticky mess. She felt herself come again, her pussy spasming around the two thick shafts as she screamed their names.

As the last of the men pulled out, their bodies spent and exhausted, the two idols collapsed onto the bed, their breathing ragged and their eyes glazed with satisfaction. They were covered in cum, their bodies sticky and slick with the evidence of their carnality. "That was... amazing," Karina murmured, her voice still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Winter nodded, her own voice equally affected. "Yeah," she panted. "Better than I ever imagined."

The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound the harsh breathing of the men as they caught their breath. And then, one by one, they began to speak, their voices filled with awe and admiration. "You two are... incredible," one of them murmured, his eyes never leaving their bodies. "Thank you."

Karina couldn't help but smile, the pain and pleasure of the evening still coursing through her veins. "It's our pleasure," she said, her voice a low purr. Winter nodded in agreement, her eyes hooded and filled with a hunger that hadn't yet been sated.

The men took their words to heart, and the party continued, moving from room to room as they explored every inch of the penthouse. They were insatiable, their cocks hard and demanding as they took the two idols in every conceivable position. Karina and Winter were pushed to their limits, their bodies stretched and filled in ways they had never imagined. They begged for mercy, their voices hoarse and desperate, but the men were relentless.

In the kitchen, they were bent over the counter, their asses in the air as the men took turns filling their pussies and asses. The cold marble pressed into their skin, a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. The smell of sex mingled with the faint scent of food, creating a heady, intoxicating aroma that only served to drive them wilder. They screamed and squirted, their bodies shaking as they were used and abused.

The bathroom was next, the mirrors steaming up as the men took them one by one, their cocks sliding in and out of their tight, wet holes. They watched their reflection, the sight of their own pleasure reflected back at them, making it even more intense. They touched themselves, their fingers sliding through the cum and juices that covered their bodies, their eyes never leaving the men who owned them for the night.

The hallway was a frenzied blur of limbs and flesh, the two friends pressed against the wall as the men fucked them from behind. They could feel the coolness of the paint on their skin, their bodies sliding against it as they were pounded into oblivion. It was a depraved, animalistic scene, and yet they couldn't get enough. The men's hands gripped their hips, their fingers digging in as they pulled them back onto their cocks, the sound of their slapping skin echoing through the hallway.

"Please," Karina begged, her voice a desperate whine. "I can't take it anymore."

Winter nodded in agreement, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt herself being stretched to the breaking point. "It's too much," she gasped. "My pussy is going to tear apart."

But the men only chuckled, their voices dark with lust. "You'll be fine," one of them assured them. "We'll stop 6 am."

They didn't bother to dress, their naked bodies a testament to their wanton need. The group stumbled out of the penthouse, the corridor echoing with their moans and the slap of skin against skin. The cool air of the hallway was a shock to their overheated bodies, but it did nothing to dampen their arousal. They were wild animals in heat, and nothing could stop them.

The elevator was too small, too confining, so they made their way to the emergency stairwell. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the concrete walls, mingling with their cries of pleasure. The man who had taken Karina's pussy earlier bent her over the railing, her ass high in the air as he plunged into her with a ferocity that had her squirting almost immediately. The others watched, stroking themselves, as they waited for their turn.

The stairwell was a whirlwind of passion, each step a new stage for their depraved performance. They fucked in front of the emergency exit door, the red glow of the exit sign casting an eerie light on their sweat-slicked bodies. Winter felt a thrill of fear mingle with her pleasure as she watched the door, her heart racing at the thought of being caught. But the corridor remained blissfully empty, their cries of ecstasy unheard by any but themselves.

Their luck held as they made it to the ground floor, the elevator passing them by without incident. The lobby was quiet, the night staff too busy to notice the group of sweaty, cum-covered figures that stumbled past the reception desk. The men had their pick of the women, taking them against the wall, on the couch, even on the grand piano that stood in the corner.

And through it all, Karina and Winter's friendship grew stronger, bound by the shared experience of their darkest desires. They whispered to each other, their eyes meeting in moments of pain and pleasure, their bodies moving in a silent symphony of lust. It was a night they would never forget, a night that would change their lives forever.

The men's grunts and the wet slaps of skin grew louder, bouncing off the walls of the stairwell as they neared the ground floor. They were wild, animalistic, driven by a primal need to claim and conquer. And the two idols were more than willing participants, their bodies responding to every touch, every thrust, every demand.

On the final landing before the lobby, they paused, their chests heaving with exertion. Karina's legs were shaking, her pussy soaked with cum and her own squirt. Winter looked up at her, her face a mask of need, her eyes begging for more. The men took this as a challenge, their cocks growing harder at the sight of their vulnerability.

They took them again, this time with a newfound aggression. The man who had filled Karina's pussy pushed her to her knees, his cock still slick from her juices. "Suck me clean," he ordered, and she eagerly complied, her mouth engulfing him to the hilt. The taste of cum and sweat mingled on her tongue, a heady cocktail of pleasure and submission.

Winter was bent over the railing again, her ass high in the air as another man took her from behind. She could feel the precum leaking from his cock, the anticipation of his release making her pussy clench with need. "Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "Please, make me come."

The man didn't need any further encouragement, his cock plunging into her with a force that had her crying out. He fucked her hard, his hand reaching around to rub her clit as she squirted once more, her juices spilling onto the floor below.

The group stumbled into the lobby, their breathing ragged and their eyes glazed. They were a spectacle, a testament to the power of desire, but the night staff remained blissfully unaware. The idols' shyness had been shattered, replaced by a fierce hunger that only the men could satisfy.

They made their way outside, the cool night air kissing their skin as they sought out new places to continue their debauchery. The alley behind the hotel was their next playground, the shadows hiding them from prying eyes as the men took them against the rough brick wall. Karina felt the coolness of the wall against her back, the stark contrast to the heat of the men's bodies driving her wild.

Winter was pushed to her knees, her mouth open wide as one of the men filled her with his thick cock. She gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she tried to take all of him. But she was a good student, her body adapting to the intrusion, her mouth working him like a pro.

And as the night went on, the two friends grew bolder, their inhibitions shed like a second skin. They took the men's cocks in every hole, their bodies writhing in ecstasy as they were used and filled. The squirt that had once been a source of embarrassment was now a badge of honor, a symbol of their newfound freedom.

The streets were empty, the city a silent witness to their depravity. They didn't care who saw them, didn't care what people would think. All that mattered was the pleasure, the connection, the feeling of being truly alive. They were no longer just idols, no longer just friends. They were sexual beings, free to explore the darkest depths of their desires.

As the sun began to rise, their bodies spent and their minds racing with memories of the night, they stumbled back to the penthouse. The mess they had made was a testament to the intensity of their encounter, a physical manifestation of their shared lust.

They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies sticky with cum and sweat. The men lay beside them, their chests heaving with the aftermath of their exertion. "Thank you," Karina murmured, her voice hoarse but filled with genuine gratitude. "Thank you for giving us this night."

Winter nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you," she echoed. "Thank you for making us feel so... alive."

The men didn't respond with words, but their actions spoke louder than any could. They picked the exhausted girls up, their cocks still hard and demanding. The idols' legs wrapped around their waists, their bodies boneless with fatigue, but the men didn't seem to notice. They carried them through the penthouse, their cocks still buried deep inside them, the squirt from their overstimulated pussies dribbling down their thighs and onto the floor.

The journey to the elevator was a blur, their cries of pleasure mixing with their begging for mercy. The elevator was too small, but the men didn't stop, the doors closing on them with a ding as they continued to pound away. The girls' pussies were stretched to their limits, their squirt soaking everything around them, leaving a trail from the penthouse to the rooftop.

The cool night air hit them like a slap in the face as they emerged onto the rooftop, but it did nothing to dull their desire. The city lights twinkled like stars around them, a backdrop to their depraved heaven. The men didn't waste any time, laying them down on the cold concrete, their bodies trembling with the anticipation of what was to come.

"Please," Karina gasped, her voice a desperate whine. "I can't take any more."

But the men were insatiable, their lust for the two idols unquenchable. They took them again, their strokes deep and punishing, their bodies moving in a dance of pure carnality. The sound of their moans filled the air, mingling with the distant hum of the city.

Winter's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself being pushed to the edge once more. "I'm... I'm gonna...," she moaned, her voice trailing off as her pussy clenched around the thick cock inside her.

And then, as if in slow motion, she felt the warmth of her orgasm wash over her, her body convulsing with pleasure. The man pulled out, his cock spurting cum onto her stomach. Karina watched, her own need growing even stronger, as another man took his place, his cock sliding into her ass without hesitation.

The night continued in a haze of pleasure and pain, the two idols pushed to their limits and beyond. They squirted and begged, their bodies trembling with the intensity of their climaxes. But the men didn't stop, their hunger insatiable as they claimed the girls' bodies again and again.

Karina's pussy felt like it was on fire, stretched to its limits and yet she couldn't get enough. "Please," she gasped, her voice a desperate whine. "My pussy is going to tear apart."

Winter's body was a wreck, her pussy clenching and releasing in a never-ending cycle of pleasure. "I can't stop squirting," she managed to get out between gasps. "It's too much."

But the men were relentless, their cocks pounding into them with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. They didn't care about their cries for mercy, only the sweet release that came with each powerful thrust.

The rooftop was a minefield of wet spots, a testament to the endless flow of juices that the girls had produced. They were a mess, their bodies sticky with cum and sweat, but the men were unfazed. They moved from one position to the next, their cocks never leaving the warm, tight embrace of the idols' pussies.

Karina felt her body give in, the pain and pleasure becoming one as she lost herself in the moment. "I'm so tired," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut as another orgasm ripped through her.

Winter nodded in agreement, her body a tapestry of sensation. "But we can't stop," she panted, her voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. "We're theirs."

The men didn't stop, their hips pumping in a relentless rhythm. Karina's pussy was a sopping mess, her squirt mixing with the cum and sweat that coated the floor. "Ahh," she gasped as another wave of pleasure hit her. "I can feel it everywhere."

The men's grunts grew louder, their strokes more erratic as they approached their own climaxes. Winter felt her pussy tighten around the cock inside her, her body begging for release. "Fuck me," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "I need to come again."

The man in her ass pulled out, his cock slick with cum and her juices. He stepped aside, allowing another to take his place. "You want this?" he asked, his voice low and filled with lust. "You want to come on my cock?"

Winter nodded frantically, her eyes glazed with need. "Yes," she whimpered. "Yes, please."

The new man slammed into her, his cock hitting all the right spots. She felt herself start to squirt again, her body betraying her in the most delicious way. "Ahh, so much," she gasped, her voice filled with pain and pleasure. "It's too much."

Karina's pussy was on fire, the feeling of fullness almost unbearable. She watched as Winter was taken, her body jerking with each powerful thrust. The sight of her friend's pleasure pushed her closer to the edge, her pussy clenching around the cock inside her. "Ahh, I'm going to come," she moaned, her voice a raw scream of ecstasy.

The men didn't let up, their hips moving in a blur as they brought the girls to the brink of insanity. The rooftop was a symphony of wet, slapping sounds, a cacophony of desire. The city lights twinkled below, indifferent to the depraved scene playing out above them.

Winter felt the warmth of the man's cum fill her up, his seed mixing with her squirt. She collapsed onto the concrete, her body shaking with the force of her climax. Karina followed soon after, her pussy spasming around the thick cock that filled her, her squirt painting the man's abs.

The men pulled out, their cocks glistening with cum and squirt. They didn't speak, their eyes never leaving the girls' trembling forms. And as they watched, the idols began to squirt once more, their bodies betraying them in the most delicious way. The men didn't hesitate, plunging back into their warm, wet pussies, eager to feel that sweet release again.

The city was a blur of lights behind them, a backdrop to their passion. They didn't care who might be watching, didn't care about the mess they were making. All that mattered was the feeling of the men's cocks inside them, the sweet agony of being used and filled.

The night stretched on, a never-ending cycle of pleasure and pain. Their bodies were pushed to their limits, but they never once considered stopping. They were in a world of their own making, a place where their desires were the only law. And as the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, they knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

Their friendship had been irrevocably changed, the bonds of friendship replaced by something darker, something more primal. They were no longer just Karina and Winter, two idols sharing a secret. They were sex goddesses, creatures of the night who craved the feel of a man's cock more than anything else.

The men took them until they couldn't take any more, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of countless orgasms. And when it was finally over, when the last drop of cum had been spilled and the last whimper of pleasure had been wrung from their lips, they lay there, panting and spent, their bodies a mess of sweat and cum.

But even as they lay there, the embers of desire still burned within them. They knew that this was just the beginning, that the night had only just started to reveal the depths of their desires. And as the sun rose over the city, they knew that they would never be able to go back to the way things were before.

Their eyes met, a silent promise passing between them. They would continue to explore these dark, uncharted waters, together. The world of aespa would never be the same again, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

The rooftop was their playground, a place where their most carnivorous desires could come to life. And as they watched the sunrise, their bodies still quivering with the aftermath of pleasure, they knew that this was just the start of a journey that would take them to places they never thought they'd dare to go.

The girls' eyes remained shut, the weight of exhaustion too great to lift. They lay on the rooftop floor, sticky with a blend of their own juices and the men's cum. Their limbs were leaden, their muscles no longer willing to cooperate. Each shallow breath they took was a silent testament to the intensity of their encounter.

Without a word, the men lifted them once again. Karina felt the cool grip of a hand on her ankle, the gentle tug as she was lifted from the floor. Winter's body was similarly manhandled, the men's strength surprisingly gentle despite their earlier ferocity. They stumbled back into the penthouse, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. The idols' swollen clits were tender, pulsing with the aftermath of countless orgasms, and each step sent a fresh wave of painful pleasure through their bodies.

The walk to the penthouse was a blur of sensation, the men's hands playing with their sensitive flesh as if they were delicate instruments. Each brush of a thumb against their clits had them squirming and gasping, their legs shaking uncontrollably. They were powerless to stop the flow of juices that dribbled from their pussies, leaving a wet trail on the plush carpet. Their breathing was heavy, their bodies trembling as the men teased them, keeping them on the edge of another climax.

The door to the penthouse clicked shut behind them, the soft light of the suite a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the rooftop. Karina and Winter were placed on the bed, their legs spread wide as the men took their time to admire their handiwork. The idols' chests rose and fell in unison, their hearts racing from the sheer overstimulation. They were too tired to speak, their only response the occasional whimper that escaped their lips as their clits were massaged.

One by one, the men stepped forward, their fingers sliding into the girls' swollen pussies for one last taste. Their bodies reacting to the familiar touch despite their exhaustion. Each man took a moment to appreciate the tight, wet warmth that had been their playground all night, their thumbs circling the sensitive nubs above.

Karina's eyes snapped open, her mouth forming an 'O' of surprise and pleasure. The sudden pressure on her clit sent her spiraling into another orgasm, her body bucking and twitching on the bed. Her pussy spasmed, releasing a torrent of squirt that soaked the sheets beneath her. She gasped for air, her body trembling with the sheer intensity of the sensation.

Winter's eyes flew open as well, her own pussy reacting to the sudden rush of pleasure that washed over her. She felt the warmth of Karina's squirt spray across her stomach, the sensation making her own orgasm even more powerful. Her legs clamped around the man's waist, her nails digging into his skin as she rode the wave of pleasure.

The men watched in awe as the two idols came together, their bodies speaking a language of desire that transcended words. Their eyes were glued to the sight of the squirt shooting from Karina's pussy, a testament to their shared experience. They had pushed the girls to their breaking points and beyond, and yet here they were, still craving more.

With a grin that spoke volumes, one of the men leaned down, his tongue snaking out to catch a droplet of squirt. The salty taste of Karina's pleasure filled his mouth, a flavor that seemed to ignite a fire within him. The other men followed suit, their tongues lapping at the mess they had made. The sound of their slurps and moans filled the room, a symphony of carnality that was music to the girls' ears.

Their eyes remained closed, lost in the aftermath of their orgasms. The feel of the men's tongues on their sensitive skin was almost too much, a sensation that had them trembling with the promise of another climax. Winter felt a mouth close around her clit, the suction so intense she thought she might pass out.

Karina's body was a wreck, but the feeling of the man's tongue in her pussy had her squirting once again. Her hips bucked, her legs shaking as she was pushed over the edge. The warmth of her squirt sprayed the sheets, soaking the man's face. He didn't pull away, instead lapping it up eagerly, savoring the taste of her.

Winter felt the same intense pressure building within her, the man's mouth on her clit sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She could feel her pussy contracting around his fingers, the muscles clenching as she approached climax. And then, with a cry that was equal parts pleasure and pain, she squirted again, her body spasming as the orgasm ripped through her.

The men took a step back, their cocks finally spent. They looked at each other, a silent nod passing between them. They had pushed the girls to the brink, had seen them squirt and come more times than they could count.

Karina's eyes were wide and white, her pupils blown with pleasure. Her mouth hung open, a silent scream trapped inside her throat. Her legs were spread so wide, her pussy and ass gaping obscenely. The cum flowed out of her in a steady stream, a river of white that painted the bed beneath her.

Winter lay beside her, equally ravished. Her body quivered, her eyes rolled back in her head, showing only the white of her sclera. Her mouth was a perfect 'O', her tongue lolling out as if in a state of perpetual orgasm. The men's cum trickled from her pussy and ass, a reminder of the unimaginable fullness she had just experienced.

Their legs were splayed wide open, muscles too weak to hold any semblance of modesty. The sight of their gaping pussies and assholes, both coated in a thick layer of cum, was almost surreal. The men had stretched them to their limits, and now they lay there, utterly spent, their bodies a canvas of lust and desire.

One of the men stepped forward, his phone in hand. He paused for a moment, admiring the artistry of their spent forms. Then, with a smirk that was both predatory and satisfied, he began to snap photos. The flashes illuminated the room, capturing every intimate detail of the scene. The idols' faces were a mix of agony and ecstasy, their eyes glazed over with the aftermath of their countless orgasms.

Karina felt the coldness of the air against her exposed pussy, the sensation sending shivers down her spine. She was too tired to protest, too lost in the haze of pleasure to do anything but lie there and accept whatever came next. Winter's body trembled beside her, each flash of the camera's light highlighting the sweat that glistened on her skin.

The man took photo after photo, capturing every intimate detail of their spent forms. The images would serve as a memento of the night, a secret that would bind them together in a way nothing else could. They were no longer just members of aespa; they were participants in an unspeakable ritual that had claimed them body and soul.

[jaythes1mp]

Shallow

Yandere Batfam x Merfolk Reader ♧romantic♣︎

Aquaman, Aqualad, Mera, and any other underwater hero’s and creatures don’t exist in this.

||-→ I tried to make each pov a different style of writing ||

There was something so captivatingly beautiful about observing the humans from below the surface, as they went about their daily lives, traversing the Metro-Narrows Bridge. The elders had always warned you to keep your distance from the world above, but you couldn't resist sneaking glances at the peculiar, moving metal boxes zooming across the streets, or the striking figures donning vibrant spandex who soared through the skies at night.

The bridge, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, cast an ethereal light across the water of the river. This sight, enhanced by the night, would always catch your attention, especially when they appeared. Moving in and out of the shadows, darting around or simply standing on the railing, lost in their own worlds.

You had grown fond of observing them as they soared through the night sky, reminiscent of the graceful movements of swans. Their elegance was effortless, seemingly defying gravity as they traversed the air. It was in those moments, watching the sky people glide past, that you were struck by the rawness of their beauty.

You never dared to come too close to the surface during the day, the haunting tales from your pod serving as a constant reminder of the horrors that existed above the water. But the night was a different story; it’s when you were more willing to take risks. The darkness provided the perfect cover, shrouding you in obscurity as the humans slept.

Though you supposed that the real reason you continued to venture up to the surface was because it was the time that they emerged, gliding through the air and gracefully traversing the buildings. Their shadows, illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, seemed to dance in perfect harmony with the night. Always seeming to captivate your attention in a way that no underwater creatures could.

However, on this particular night, you noticed something out of the ordinary. One of the usually lively land creatures was sluggish and listless, moving with none of the fluid grace that you had come to admire. A deep crimson liquid seeped through the fabric of his suit, spattering across the spandex and staining it a dark, ominous hue.

You cautiously approached the surface, swimming closer than you had ever dared to before. Slowly, you emerged, peering just above the water's edge.

You couldn’t see the human clearly, obscured as he was by the sizable drop between the bridge and the water below, but the scent he carried was undeniable. There was something utterly alluring about his aroma. It was a stark contrast to the familiar scents of salt and oil you were used to underwater. You haven't come across anything even remotely similar to it before.

The land dweller was undeniably beautiful.

A loud crash shattered the silence, jolting your attention back to reality. Your gills flared out in alarm, and in your surprise, the soft bioluminescent glow of your tail dimmed down, a natural response to the potential threat.

You backed away, submerging yourself down into the safety that the depths of the water provided. Your gaze fixating on the figure in the distance, decorated in his familiarly vibrant red and yellow attire. This one hastily making his way to the blue-clad human's side, concern decorated across his face, his actions imbued with urgency. Mask torn from his face.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your back from the scene unfolding above, releasing a flurry of bubbles that rose to the surface. Your pods stern warnings echoing in your mind, a constant reminder of the dangers that lay in the world above.

You make it no more than fifteen feet before a thunderous splash shatters the silence, the seawaters ripples rolling across your skin and triggering an involuntary shiver, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your tail instinctively sprung into action, propelling you back with a rapid, powerful flick.

With a sudden movement, your arms encircled the man's sinking frame, securing a firm grip on his sides. Your eyes widening in shock at the contact, your webbed fingers digging into his flesh, anchoring him in place.

For a moment, you paused, studying him. Your eyes absorbing every little detail. From the man's soft, almost spongy flesh under your touch, how soft and almost squishy his land dwelling arms were, how they seemed to just give way to the touch of your webbed fingers. Then to the way the baby blue suit of his that clung to him, was torn and tattered, ripping away underwater. Your gaze lingering on the deep red liquid seeping out of his torso, staining his skin and leaving a trail of ominous scarlet. And then, your gaze travelled to the two bizarre, elongated limbs extending from his waist. A stark contrast to the streamlined grace of your own tail.

His lips parted, releasing a stream of bubbles, each one ascending to the surface before vanishing from sight. You watched as his body suddenly went limp in your arms, reminding you of the dire situation you had inadvertently involved yourself in. With a powerful flick of your tail, you swiftly propelled yourself to the surface, bringing him up so that he could breathe. Your gills flared out, working overtime to filter oxygen from the water while you waited, your hearts hammering in your chest.

When the human made no attempt to improve, limp and unresponsive, you couldn't suppress the deep hiss that escaped from the back of your throat. Your grip tightening around his frame, your tail coiled tighter around his legs, an attempt to stabilise and bring some form of response from him. Your eyes grew large in desperation as you shook him back and forth, each movement growing more frantic with the passing seconds.

You directed your attention to the deep red liquid that was oozing out of his abdomen, its thick, almost oily consistency spreading out in little waves around you in the water. Coming out in shallow pulses. You tilted your head slightly, noting that the fluid's flow didn't seem natural. It felt wrong, a gut feeling of sorts. You hastily reached for the pouch tethered to your hip, pulling out a woven bundle of seaweed and a salve prepared by the elders of your pod.

You delicately began to layer the salve over the gaping wound, taking care to press the woven seaweed into the lesion. The salve, a rich green and purple, had a cooling effect as it made contact with the human's skin. A crucial aspect due to its high iodine content, which helps to close the large gash. As the ointment came into contact with the blood, it began to congeal and bind the tissue together, halting the bleeding.

However, you were acutely aware of the human, who remained unresponsive. His chest, which should've been rising and falling with each inhale, lay still. A sudden panic clutched at your hearts, threatening to overwhelm you. You weren't sure what the proper human anatomy was, but it was abundantly clear that he needed to breathe.

You placed a webbed hand on his chest, the flesh there surprisingly firm. You pushed down, then up again, attempting to mimic the breathing motions you had seen him and others do. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pleaded for him to respond, a silent mantra running through your head. With urgency, you placed a firm grip on the back of his neck, tilting his head back, the gills on your neck flaring out to pull in as much oxygen as they could. Your tail coiling tightly around his waist to keep him afloat.

Despite the pressure you exerted, there was no response from him. His chest remained still, no signs of life. Your breath hitched at the sight, a sense of desperate desperation washing over you. You were frantically trying to keep his head tilted back while the water was washing over his face, the cool liquid creating small ripples that mirrored the urgency of the moment. His body remained motionless, unresponsive to your frantic attempts. You could feel the pressure building in your own chest, your gills working overtime to extract oxygen.

In a final, desperate attempt, you lean in closer, positioning yourself to allow your webbed fingers to forcibly pry open his parted lips. You took in a deep breath and expelled it through the opening, pushing every ounce of air you could manage into his unresponsive lungs.

You repeated the action multiple times, exerting every ounce of effort to force air into his trachea. Each breath, heavy and laboured. You finally pulled back, allowing yourself a moment of respite. Your breaths came out ragged and sharp, a stark contrast to the steady, undisturbed water around you.

As he remains unresponsive, his body frighteningly limp, your body goes slack, a wave of disappointment washing over you. Reluctantly, you release your grip on him and let him go, his body now floating eerily close to yours. You close your eyes tight, trying to swallow the lump in your throat that was rapidly forming.

You flinch at the sudden and unexpected contact, your eyes fluttering open. An alarmed hiss escaped once again through your lips, more out of surprise than anything else. Just as you were about to submerge yourself underwater, a firm hand grasped your shoulder, its grip strong and unwavering.

"Y-you're...alive.", you stuttered out, a mixture of disbelief and awe laced in your raspy voice. The hand on your shoulder felt firm and real, a stark contrast to the nightmarish scenario you had just been a part of.

“Nightwing?” Red Robin's voice cuts through the quiet night, bouncing off the empty alleyways. Frustrated, he takes off his comms, readjusting them to try again for the sixth time in the last ten minutes.

"Dick, come in," he practically growls out, tapping on his device with a little more force than necessary.

“Where the hell are you?” he mutters, staring up at the tall buildings. Dick’s always late, but this was getting ridiculous. With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms as he waits.

A low, familiar voice crackles on the other end of the comms. “Stalker.”

Tim rolls his eyes, recognising the voice immediately. It was too late in the night to put up with him. “Jason.” he sighs, “What do you want. Have you heard from Dick?”

“Not a word.” The response is curt, and the annoyance in Jason’s voice is obvious. He rarely joined in their patrols, preferring to stick to his own methods of dealing with things.

Tim lets out a frustrated huff, tapping his fingers impatiently against his arm. Of course Dick would pick now to go radio silent.

He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment to let out a frustrated groan. He was stressed enough as it is, none of this was helping.

“You’re patrolling the Narrows?” Jason’s voice breaks through Tim’s thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He looks around, taking in the surroundings with a frown. The Narrows was never a good place to be alone.

“Yeah.” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the shadows. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know, Dick’s nowhere to be seen. In or out of uniform.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and Tim can practically hear the smirk in Jason’s voice.

“Need backup?” he offers, amusement clear in his tone. The elder boy mocking him.

Tim scowls, shaking his head even if he knew Jason couldn’t see him. “No.” he replies curtly. “I’m not a child, I can handle this myself.”

“Sure, kid.” Jason’s response is just as dismissive. “I’ll come check on you in a bit anyway. Make sure you haven’t gotten your ass kicked.”

Tim’s scowl deepens at Jason’s reply, not appreciating the offer of help — or the nickname. “I don’t need a babysitter.” he grumbles. “I’m going to find Dick, and I don’t need your help.”

There’s a pause, and Tim can practically hear the eye roll from Jason. “Whatever you say, Replacement. I’ll be there soon.”

“No—” Before Tim can protest, the comms go silent. Damn it, Jason.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, biting at the inside of his cheek. The last person he needed to see right now was Jason. The last time he’d come face to face with the man, things didn’t go so well.

Tim grits his teeth and pushes himself off of the wall. He had better things to do than get into a fight with his older brother. Like finding his other older brother.

With a huff, Tim starts walking, making his way through the narrow alleys of the Narrows. It’s quiet, eerily so, and his instincts are on high alert.

Everything feels off. The air is still, and he can’t shake the feeling of being watched. His breath stutters in his chest, but he pushes the feeling down. He had work to do.

“Dick?” he calls out, his headset’s blinking green light signalling the message going through. He glances around cautiously as he moves. “Nightwing, come in. Can you hear me?”

There’s no response, and Tim tries again. Nothing but static. His shoulders tense, the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t like Dick. The man was always on top of communication.

Tim continues forward, his footsteps quick and light. He keeps his eyes scanning the shadows around him, but the silence is deafening. Where the hell is he?

A muffled crunch breaks the silence, and the boy freezes, his breath hitching. It was faint, coming from somewhere off the alley in front of him. His heart rate quickens, and he carefully shifts on his feet, trying to pinpoint the source.

There was something across the street. Someone.

Tim squints, his eyes trying to make out what it was. It was too dark to tell. Damn it, why can’t Dick be here to deal with this..

He’s too used to working in a team, having the security of someone else there to watch his back. The someone’s in question usually being Batman or Nightwing.

He steels himself, slipping into a fighting stance and taking slow steps forward. He can’t let his guard down, not now.

As he moves, the shape across the street shifts. It’s still far away, but from the size and height, he could tell it was definitely a figure.

His comms device beeps, startling the boy and nearly causing him to stumble. He quickly scrabbles to check it, hoping for some sort of answer or communication.

“Red.” Jason’s voice comes through, static breaking up some of the message. The device was clearly reaching a limit. “Can you hear me? Dick’s in trouble.” The voice, as crackling as it was over the broken comms, sounded dishevelled and panted. Jason rarely called for help.

With a final glance at the figure across the street, Tim’s eyes flicker back down to the comms in his hand. Jason found him.

“Where are you?” he asks, not wasting a second as he sets off at a sprint. He didn’t care what kind of trouble Nightwing had gotten into, he just needed to get there.

“Don’t worry about me. Get to Metro-Narrows Bridge.”

The urgency in Jason’s voice has Tim’s heartbeat racing. He doesn’t question it, just continues sprinting. He knew the bridge, and knew it was far.

“...” he grits his teeth. “I’m on my way.”

Tim hits the wall with a pained gasp, eyes squeezed shut as he doubles over coughing at the impact. His vision swims. Shit.

He lets out a sharp gasp, the breath knocked out of him as he’s smashed against the hard bricks. The pain doesn’t have time to register, as his mind is sent into a panicked frenzy.

He sucks in a low breath, trying to clear his head and figure out what the hell just happened. There’s a shuffle of feet, and the distinct sound of metal being unsheathed.

The attack was too precise, too sudden. He grunts, trying to push himself back away from the wall, but a large hand keeps him pinned.

His head finally stops swirling, and he can focus on the large figure in front of him. Not good.

He’s a towering wall of a man, arms bigger than Tim’s head. He’s muscular, clearly built like a brawler. The metal that had unsheathed was a knife, the sharp, gleaming blade being held firmly in the man’s large hand.

“No more running.” the man growls, his other hand still keeping Tim pinned against the wall.

Tim glared up at him.

He’s been in situations similar to this before. He’s fought and won against opponents bigger than him, more experienced than him. He needed to stay calm, and assess the situation.

With a pained grunt, he pushes against the man’s arm, struggling to break free. The man just leans closer, his breath hot in Tim’s face.

The smell of smoke and old alcohol fills Tim’s nose, making him want to retch as the man sneers at him. “Struggle all you want, kid.” he drawls. “You’re coming with me one way or another..” Tim clenches his jaw.

He analyses the situation quickly. His equipment was in his belt, but pinned tight against the wall left him with very little mobility. He had to find a way to get away swiftly, before the man could do him any serious harm.

Tim’s mind races, trying to work out a way to get himself out of this. He’s too close quarters to the man, and any attempt to get away would lead to him getting a knife in his gut.

The man’s grip tightens, making him gasp as the knife is held closer to his skin. His eyes darted around, searching for anything useful. He would have to time this right. “Stop squirmin.’” The man’s gruff voice rang out.

Tim ignores him, grunting as he struggles against the hand pinning him. There had to be something he could use to—

A gleam of something metal catches his eye, and he glances down, spotting a metal pipe sticking out of an open garbage bin. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough.

Tim takes in a shallow breath, his mind racing for a second. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, trying to keep the man talking and distracted.

“Don’t try any shit, sidekick.” He tightened his hold on the boy, using his other hand to get out a walkie-talkie from the pouch on his chest.

Sidekick? Tim’s teeth gritted, a spark of anger flaring up in the back of his mind. He wasn’t just a sidekick.

Tim’s eyes glance down again at the pipe, trying to calculate his next move. He watched as the man brought the walkie-talkie up to his mouth, his heart rate increasing as he prepared to act.

“I got a bird out here,” the man grunted into the device, keeping his eyes fixed on Tim. “Found him in the-“

He barely had time to react before Tim acted. With a sudden burst of strength, he jerks forward, wrenching himself free from the man’s grip. He immediately drops down, grabbing the metal pipe and brandishing it like a weapon. Flinging it into the man’s hand that held the radio. The impact caused him to drop it, as he let out a cry of pain, stumbling back.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He quickly used the momentary opening of shock and pain to his advantage, striking the man hard in the stomach with the pipe. The man grunted, his hand instinctively going to where he’d been hit.

He wasn’t about to give the thug any time to recover. He brought up a leg and kicked out fast, nailing him hard in the knee. The man yelled out again, staggering back.

He raged, stumbling forward and landing one hard punch against Tim’s face.

The younger boy’s head snapped to the side from the hit, the force of it knocking his mask askew, cracking and splitting as he reeled back. His vision swims from the impact, but he can taste the distinct taste of blood in his mouth.

He stumbled back, bringing a hand up to his face and cursing, blood seeping down his face.

His head hurt. A lot. That one hit had left him dizzy, and his cheek stung like hell.

The pain is enough to clear his mind though, and he refocuses on the man in front of him. His lip is split, and his cheek feels like it’s on fire. His mask hangs half off of his face.

Tim grits his teeth, glaring at the man with a new found fire in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let some random thug take him out.

The perpetrator lets out a huff, spitting out a glob of blood onto the floor next to him. An ugly sneer plastered his face, and he stepped forward, reaching down for the knife that had been discarded on the ground. “You little shit.” he spat. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

His eyes flickered down to the knife held flimsily in his hand. He needed to get out of this. The man was bigger and definitely stronger, but obviously nowhere near as experienced as Tim was. He’s surprised that the thug had even managed to get in a decent hit to his face.

His mind is too preoccupied, caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts, and he fails to notice the man’s approach until the moment he's already upon him. The thug's fury makes him careless and ill-prepared, the sound of his stumbling footsteps betraying his presence due to the injury on his knee.

Tim quickly raises his arm instinctively, attempting to shield himself as the man’s towering frame comes charging at him. He’s tackled to the ground in a single swift move, the impact crushing his ribs against the concrete floor.

His back hits the ground, the air getting knocked out of him for the second time that night. The man’s weight pinned him to the ground, the air leaving his lungs in a loud gasp as he struggled.

The man had the knife clutched in his hand, the gleam of the blade reflecting the lights of the city as it was raised up, aimed to strike.

Drake nearly sneered at the sight. He’s an amateur. Over confident in himself and relying solely on force.

Tim’s eyes darkened, his glare locked on the man above him. He was not going to be defeated by some two-bit mugger.

He kicked out at the man, aiming for his still injured knee. The man grunted as he took the kick, shifting off balance for just a second.

It was enough of an opening for Tim to react. He pushed up on the man, using the momentum to roll them both over, switching their positions and taking the top. He wasted no time in smashing the man’s head against the ground, knocking him out stone cold. Blood pooling down against the pavement.

He paused, breathing heavily as he stared down at the man. His lip stung as blood still trickled down his face, the adrenaline in his system beginning to wear off.

Tim sat there for a moment, letting out a hiss of pain as he lifted a hand and gently touched his split lip. He gingerly moved his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he felt the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his face.

Dick was still in trouble. That was the thought at the front of his mind, the reason he was out here and why he had to get to that bridge.

With a wince, Tim pushed himself up, staggering for a moment as a wave of nausea passed over him. He was pretty sure he’d developed a minor concussion from being thrown into the wall.

Everything ached, and his body was screaming at him to just stay down. He ignored it. Nightwing was his priority.

He swayed for a moment, his vision going white around the edges as his head spun, before he managed to stay standing and start moving again.

He didn’t think, he just ran.

He’s still panting as his feet hit the concrete, his body protesting the movement. The nausea from his concussion was becoming very real, and he had to stop to take a deep breath to steady himself.

Fuck, he was going to throw up, wasn’t he?

Tim bit his tongue and started running again, forcing himself to push on and ignore the pain. He had to keep moving.

The cold, night air hurt his lungs, but he didn’t stop. Not even as the pain from the beating began to make itself known with each hard footstep against the concrete. He had to get to the bridge.

He kept going at a brutal pace, ignoring how his vision swam and how every breath he took just made him feel like he needed to puke.

He’s not sure how long he had ran, his mind focused entirely on just moving. One foot in front of the other, he just kept going.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed the bridge in the distance. His eyes widening, watching Dick stagger back against the railings edge.

Tim stumbled for a moment, but pushed himself back up, keeping himself moving forward. He could barely see straight, but nothing else mattered. Nightwing’s tall and dark silhouette was leant against the night light of the bridge. Even from a distance, he could see the blood on Dicks skin, staining the side of his face, his suit’s front ripped open, a large gash in his abdomen pooling out onto the ground.

Tim’s speed quickens, every muscle in his body crying in protest but he continues on. All he could focus on was the sight of Nightwing. In the low light, he could see Dick’s shoulders moving with each heavy breath, looking seconds away from collapsing.

In a desperate attempt to save his mentor, Tim lunges forward and grabs onto Dick's arm. However, the fabric of the torn and damaged suit simply tears further under the force, causing Dick to slip free from Tim's grasp and fall into the dark, ominous water below.

"NO—!" The cry escapes Tim's mouth in a choked rush, the sound filled with anguish and fear. With a desperate burst of energy, he lunges forward, his hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to cling to Dick's suit, to anything that would keep him from falling.

But it was too late. He was too late.

His heart hammers frantically against his chest as he gazes down into the dark depths below, his eyes wide and searching desperately for even a glimpse of Dick in the river's deep murky water.

His breath hitches, a silent sob wracking his frame as he slumps over the edge of the bridge, his hands shaking as he brings them up to his face. His blood-slick fingers thread through his hair, his eyes wide as they stay fixed on the dark water where Dick had fallen.

The sound of a vehicle approaching in the distance catches his ears, but he doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't turn to see who it is or check to see if it's a threat. He just keeps staring down into the water, the sound of the river below the only thing he can hear over his panicked breathing.

Jason came to a crashing halt at the side of the bridge, the panicked urgency in his voice clear. He stumbled off his bike, nearly falling as he yelled out.

"Where is he--” His hollow eyes darted around at their surroundings. "WHERE IS HE?!"

Dick.

Tim's eyes widened as Nightwing's head broke the surface of the water, his body floating limp against the current. He's alive.

His shoulders tense as he quickly scrambles to his feet, his body protesting in pain with each movement.

The relief he feels is quickly drowned out, however, as he notices the large bioluminescent tail wrapped around his older brother's lower half, keeping him from crashing with the harsh currents. 

Jason quickly approached the bridges railing, his heavy boots thudding loudly against the concrete, his heart racing thunderously against his chest, deep sapphire eyes following Tim's wide gaze down into the water. As he saw the sight in front of him, his eyes widened in disbelief.

He gripped the rough stone ledge, leaning over to get a better look at his brother. "What the fuck is that?" The older boys voice cuts through the ringing in Drake's ears.

Tim couldn't respond, his eyes glued on the large tail, his jaw slack. He took in the sight of the long powerful appendage wrapped around his brother's waist. It was beautiful. The long black scales seemed to glow a soft purple even in the dim moon’s light, as if the creature attached was glowing itself. The bioluminescence was something that one could only describe as ethereal.

Tim's heart raced as he took a step closer to the edge of the bridge, his eyes darting around, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. He couldn't believe his eyes. Neither of them could.

Tim's mind reeled, trying to comprehend what they were seeing. His heart was pounding, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to process the situation. He knew that he should be scared. His mouth was dry, his tongue felt heavy and thick as he finally managed to speak, his voice low and shaky. "I..I don't know." He croaked. 

A ragged breath escaped his lips as the sea creature met his gaze.

He was frozen as he locked eyes with the creature. His mouth went dry, everything around him seemed to disappear into the background. The only thing he could focus on was the deep piercing eyes peering up from the darkness of the river.

Everything about the creature was attractive – its long shimmering scales, bioluminescent glow, and even the large dorsal fin along its spine.

The flutter of the creature's gills when its eyes met theirs didn’t go unnoticed by the brothers. Jason's lips parted into as much of a smirk as it could given the situation.

The Mer's features slowly disappeared under the surface, as it made a sudden exit. Both of the boys' eyes flicked towards the water, but the sudden gasping from their elder brother drew their attention away once more. 

Dick was struggling, coughing up water as he attempted to pull himself up and out of the water. His large hand was grasping desperately to the creature's shoulder, as he pulled himself up.

Tim's heart leapt into his throat as he watched Dick gasping for air, his body shivering as he struggled to grapple himself out of the water. He was so focused on his older brother's struggles that he almost missed the flicker of glowing purple as the creature’s tail disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Tim moved forward to help Dick, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to see Jason with a grimace on his face.

"What are we going to do?" Tim asked, his voice filled with worry.

Their conversation was cut short, however, as Dick's coughing subsided, replaced by a strangled gasp for air, his eyes wide and frantic. 

"I'm fine," he rasped, his hands trembling as he tried to pull himself up onto the bridge, his body shaking violently. His sharp ocean eyes focused on the crushed seaweed-looking salve used to treat his wounds.

Tim was about to respond when they heard a shuffling from the water, the faint sound of something scratching against the concrete. Tim's gaze snapped down to the water, his heart starting to pound against his chest.

Jason had already stepped back and drawn his weapon, his eyes fixed on a spot in the water a few feet below them. The sound of sloshing water echoed around them again, the dim light from the moon making it difficult to see anything except the faint bioluminescence.

And then, you were gone.

This is the result of the poll -> link.

Don’t judge my random fighting scene with Tim I was trying something out🦖🦖

All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged!

I rewrote everything, so I apologise that this took so long to come out💚

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Eldritch Ex-Husband ///////

Your now ex-husband is incredibly surprised when the authorities are dispatched to your new house when he enters. Thinking nothing of it he broke the knob of your new home, thinking after all that time talking with the judge over some foreign topic you’d both be settling into the new place. Turns out this ‘divorce’-thing and ‘restraining order’-stuff meant something after all. That he couldn’t be with you and the baby.

“Wait, the dee - force means I don’t get to come home? What–?”

“Sir, if you give me trouble it’ll only hurt your chances of seeing your kid more.”

“Wait I can’t see him? (Y/n)! (Y/n)-honey, please!”

“Sir, please put your hands behind your back.”

The only reason he doesn’t suck their brains out through their noses fight more is because he’s so devastated as he thinks about how in the dark he is about cruel-human-practices. Only now does it register that when you were oh-so cutely crying about leaving, you weren’t talking about a late night run to the store to satisfy your cravings. That the word he had dismissed as something you wanted to buy was actually an action. An action that meant he’d be deprived of the most important person in his life.

“Hello?”

“......I did not understand before….but I understand now.”

“Kilton? You know a restraining order extends to calls, right?”

“IM nOt LetTInG yOu go—”

Click.

“Creep.”

As he reluctantly uses the resources proposed to him, to argue for custody he has time to think about when you first mentioned the word. But the more he replays those heavenly moments with you he realizes how often your brow was scrunched and a vein was popping from that kissable forehead. It’s then that your ex-husband begins to realize just how little he was actually listening to you. Ashamed, he’s realized that while he finds all your actions absolutely irresistible it didn’t mean you were happy. And he really had no one to blame but himself.

“Hello this is Kilton (L/n) if you have a message leave it at the tone….beep.”

“Hey I hope I got the right number but I need your help with the baby….there’s stuff going on that I have no idea how to deal with. I won’t call the police or tell anyone..I just need….some help. And you're the only one who can give it to me.”

“OF COURSE i’LL BE RIGht oVER!”

“Wait you never set up your voicemai—”

When you left your husband, you were tired of being so confused all the time. Your husband, your best friend was keeping you in the dark for a long time now. Starting from the occasionally odd behavior you’d witness him do, that he’d brush off as if it were nothing. Like the doors in the house that have begun to open to alternate dimensions (that’s what you believe but your husband will not explain in any way) ignoring your concerns and calling you being ‘silly.’ It was annoying but you hadn’t died yet so it wasn’t that bad…until you got pregnant.

“How can this be?”

“Yippee I told you, that one took!”

“No, I literally can’t.”

“Of course, you can babe, you already are look at your little bump.”

“No like I literally can’t have children, this is unbelievable.”

Whether you physically can and were vigilant in prevention or you physically should not be able to conceive matters not. You are pregnant. Or you were. And while dealing with the intense hormones and birthing pains and gravity-defying phenomena happening in your home, your ex-husband would explain nothing. Doing nothing but smile wistfully at you while you demanded to know why the fridge was inching closer every time you turned the corner. Any sane person could only handle so much of his pretend assurances that you were just losing your mind. 

But hindsight 20/20 you should’ve known you couldn’t get rid of your eldritch ex-husband with your eldritch baby. 

“Hey you left the door unlocked, so I let myself in. Babe, you can’t be doing that it’s really unsa–the furniture doesn’t look at all like it did before.”

“Of course it doesn’t! Because your son has decided to rearrange it with his humming!” 

“That’s not a hum, Love. He’s singing a hymn of Utter Chaos–”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS MAKE HIM STOP.”

As you suspected the root of all the inexplicable happenings in your life were because of your ex-husband and by extension the little bundle that has been doing all sorts of things a normal baby shouldn’t. Like humming the ‘utter chaos song’ or making supplies float over to you while changing him or how at the end of his bath the water turns red and evaporates in an echo of screams. It’s just a little alarming.

“Where is the baby?”

“In that other dimension.”

“Excuse me?”

“Isn’t that something familiar to you? Every now and then he just goes into this other dimension that let’s his laugh morph the walls a little.”

“Oh my. That’s new for me too.”

Surprisingly despite your husband’s now-confirmed-eldritch-heritage he’s not an exact expert on everything his son does. Apparently no one from his world/dimension/atternate plane of existence does everything your son does and is blissfully writing off as something from your side of the family. He’ll shrug and use the opportunity to listen to you list the observations you’ve made about your darling offspring and maybe compliment you on your vigilance as a new unfortunately single parent. Don’t worry it won’t be that way for long!

“So the blood water thing. It happens whenever he interacts with water.”

“Oh I know that one it’s an old habit of mine, for storing water for later!”

“What about the metal-eating?”

“Metal eating? With no teeth? Beats me must have gotten a taste from all those utensils you’re so fond of. By the way parenthood looks good on you have I told you that?”

As he becomes more of a constant presence in your home, there's a startling change in your baby boy’s behavior. It doesn’t stop but it’s a lot less destructive. Finally, you could have the delivery crew enter the yard without them being swallowed by the portal to your son’s crib. Finally, you can afford to have a couple-hour meet and greet with your family without anyone inexplicably sprouting horns. So reluctantly you let him back into your life with very specific conditions.

“You can’t stay the night.”

“Aww but aren’t you worried about me going home in the dark?”

“I know you’re not just some helpless human, so no. Second rule no kissing or lovey dovey things with me.”

“Got it. So vague I can work with that.”

“And finally–”

“EEEKK! WHAT DID HE DO TO MY BABY!?”

“Oh guess someone’s up from their nap.”

“I’ll distract her with a ring to her doorbell, you change back the dog.”

“As always, please try to turn down her invites for dinner this time. I don’t think I can spare her if she upsets him again.”

“No promises!”

Kilton realizes that what he has with you doesn’t mean he’s equally let back into your life, especially since so many other couples ailed by this (dee)force co-parent more or less the same so he’s got his work cut out for him. He’ll have to finally get over his listening issue while worming his way back into your heart! And don’t worry he definitely will!

[soulrox]

No Fly Zone

DPxDC #29

Conner has taken to flying around high above the world, just drifting where the winds take him. He uses this time to just live in the moment and take in the natural beauty of the world.

As he's floating, he hears the distinct sound of music and screaming fans. He slowly pays more attention to the music, a strong female voice is belting out lyrics to a song that resonates with him.

Pinpointing the location the sound is coming from to a small town a few clicks west of where he is. He immediately moves to watch and listen in person. He has to know who is playing and if all their songs are as good as this current one.

The concert is taking place in a park with a completely open area to stand and listen. The concert is packed with teens and young adults. A typical concert, in Conner's opinion. He decides to fly further to the back of the crowd to watch. Conner doesn't really pay attention to the crowd and is focused on the band and the singer. Completely missing several eyebrow-raising things.

"Hey, flying guy! You can't watch from there please move to the designated area for flyers," A man with gravity-defying white hair and piercing green eyes flying near him says while gesturing to an area more to the left of the stage, where several people were flying and enjoying the concert. Most are glowing faintly, and some of them, concernedly, are semi-transparent. "Or you can keep on moving."

"Ah, sorry I was flying around, then heard this music and had to see who it is… So, umm, who is playing? I really love what I've heard so far." The two of them move away from the crowd.

"She's Ember McClain, the best musician from the Realms. As long as you're not here to start anything, you're good."

"Why are you the security here?" Conner purposely tilted his sunglasses, looking him up and down. Thinking to himself that this scrawny twink can't pack that much of a punch.

"Yes, I am. Even before that comment, I could tell you aren't from here if you don't recognize me." the cute twink laughs a little, "I'm Phantom! Manager of this whole thing and security. Making sure Ember sticks to the rules and making sure everyone else is too. This time no one tries to mind-control anyone."

Concerning comments shelved for later. "It seems I'm also unknown if I have to introduce myself. But for a cutie like you, I'll give you anything." Wink, "I'm Superboy, call me Kon. Can I ask more about you? Like, if you have a number I can have?"

Phantom blushes "Danny…..I don't just give my information or number out to some rando. That is lesson one of being a hero. As I'm sure you "Superboy" know this."

"Okay then, tell me more about this band, and you can tell me more about yourself at dinner after."

Conner reappears at the Young Justice base several hours after he normally would, with several bags full of Ember merch. Signed copies of the albums, posters, shirts, and even a water bottle. He gives a shirt to every YJ member. His phone is full of selfies and videos from the concert and after, as well as the number of a very cute boy, with a date set for Friday night.

[hrtwayne]

Hot to Go! | Leah Williamson

Pairing: Leah Williamson x Attacking Midfielder!Reader

Summary: Where Leah has a crush on the team's new attacking midfielder.

Note: English is not my first language.

Warning: Sexual Tension and Leah Being Completely Oblivious!

Masterlist | Women's Football Masterlist

Leah Williamson had always been known for her discipline and dedication. As the Captain of Arsenal, she was the role model to follow, both on and off the field. Her mornings at the training center were almost always the same: arriving before the others, quickly changing her clothes, and starting her warm-up while the sun had barely risen. It was a routine she had mastered, a ritual that kept her focused. But on that Friday morning, something—or someone—completely disrupted the course of her routine.

When Leah entered the locker room, her backpack already on her shoulders and a cup of coffee in hand, she could hardly believe what she saw. Y/n, the new Spanish midfield signing, was there, with her back turned to Leah, her hair loose and cascading down her back. The training shirt was hanging on a nearby hook, and Y/n seemed completely at ease, as if the locker room were her second home. Leah stopped at the door, as if she had bumped into an invisible wall. Her eyes fixed on the scene, and for a moment, she felt her world come to a halt.

The defender swallowed hard, her lips suddenly dry and her cheeks beginning to burn, turning a shade of red she couldn’t control. Leah tried to look away, but she seemed hypnotized by the sight of her new teammate. It was then that Y/n cleared her throat, and Leah blinked several times, as if waking from a dream.

"Everything alright, Captain?" Y/n asked, her voice still hoarse from recent sleep. She turned slowly, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side, a playful smile on her lips. "Your face is a little red."

Leah felt her heart race, as if she had just run a marathon. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, but she knew she had already been caught red-handed. And the worst—or perhaps the best—part was that Y/n seemed completely amused by the situation.

"I... I'm fine," Leah finally managed to say, her voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. "I just... didn’t expect to see anyone here so early."

Y/n let out a soft chuckle, a sound that sent a shiver down Leah’s spine. The midfielder stepped closer, passing by the captain with a lightness that seemed almost choreographed. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and Leah couldn’t decide whether she wanted to run away or stay there forever.

Next time, try to be a little more subtle, Captain," Y/n murmured, her voice smooth as silk. "My eyes are up here."

Leah stood frozen, watching as Y/n grabbed her training shirt and put it on with a naturalness that left the defender even more breathless. When Y/n finally left the locker room, Leah let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. She leaned against the wall, feeling her legs slightly shaky.

"What’s happening to me?" Leah thought, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She had already admitted to herself that she felt an attraction to Y/n from the first time she saw her train. The way Y/n moved on the field, her confidence, her easy smile—it had all left Leah completely fascinated. But now, that morning in the locker room, had brought everything to the surface in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

As Leah finally began to change, her mind couldn’t stop reliving the moment. She knew she needed to maintain professionalism—after all, they were teammates, and Y/n was the new signing. But something about that morning had changed, and Leah wasn’t sure if she knew how to handle it.

When Leah finally left the locker room, already dressed and ready for training, she saw Y/n on the field, warming up with a lightness that seemed to defy gravity. The captain took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task ahead. But deep down, she knew that morning wouldn’t be as ordinary as she had expected.

And maybe, just maybe, Leah didn’t want it to be.

[iniquitousyearning]

tom riddle. | this is your punishment

PAIRING: tom riddle x fem!reader

SUMMARY: prefect tom riddle catches you breaking the rules again, and this time decides to provide a different type of punishment he’s certain you won’t soon forget.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

TAGS: 18+, SMUT MDNI, dubcon (entirely consensual), dom!tom, brat!reader, BDSM (light), intense humiliation kink, sexual punishment/ forced orgasm, inappropriate use of magic/spells, clit-stim orgasm, begging.

You had thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes to dance with disaster. Thirty minutes to dodge destruction. Thirty minutes to descend into the depths of the library, infiltrate the restricted section, slip the book on occlumency you clandestinely borrowed back into its rightful place, and ascend back to your dormitory before the harbinger of your nightmares—Head Prefect Tom Riddle—emerges from the prefects' bathroom and winds his way back down to the dungeons.

Thirty minutes felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat. The weight of impending doom pressing down on your chest as you crept through the darkened corridors, each shadow a lurking menace, each creak of the ancient floorboards a deafening scream that could betray your presence.

And though the stakes were disastrously high, you weren't entirely worried; you knew Tom Riddle's schedule as intimately as the lines on your palm, and he was nothing if not a creature of habit. But of course, there was always the chance. The slim, terrifying possibility that he might deviate from his usual routine. And being caught by him was the absolute last thing you needed right now.

Every second felt like a blade poised above your head, ready to drop at the slightest misstep. It was no secret that Tom Riddle had it out for you. By now, it was practically etched into the very stones of Hogwarts, a fact as immutable as gravity. Everywhere you went, every step you took, he was always there—watching, waiting, eager to catch you in some transgression.

The relentless scrutiny was exhausting. The number of detentions you'd served was staggering, the punishments you'd endured endless. Not to mention the droning, entirely condescending lectures and disappointed yet gleeful stares he always made sure to give you as he personally hauled you to Dumbledores office.

It was all bullshit, and certainly had nothing to do with your frequent rule-breaking or constant sneaking around. No, of course not. You most definitely never toed the line. You were as innocent as they come. As pure as the driven snow. In your mind it all boiled down to the fact that Tom Riddle had it out for you, plain and fucking simple. A personal vendetta written into the fabrication of his identity.

Because even if he did. Even if he did somehow manage to track you and uncover your clandestine activities by just being the perceptive cunning bastard that he is, there are certain things that simply defy logic. Some occurrences that just don't add up.

There are just some instances that can't be explained, save for the simplest conclusion: Tom Riddle has been inside your mind for months.

And that was precisely why you sought out the book on Occlumency—you needed it. Needed to learn how to block Tom out because if he wanted to play mind games, you were determined to play better. You were determined to keep up.

You knew Tom took pleasure in continually getting one step ahead of you, and as much as it utterly ticked you off—perhaps a twisted part of you enjoyed being caught by him—savoured the banter you shared including his threats that next time he'd take matters into his own hands, since even Dumbledore was growing tired of your antics. Perhaps you revelled in provoking him, in defying him like no other student dared, relishing the thrill of the chase.

Perhaps you simply loved to hate him. Because he was always so goddamn good at everything, always in control. It was maddening, intoxicating, and you couldn't deny the rush it gave you. His perfection was a thorn in your side, and yet, you craved it, sought it out like a moth to a flame, even if you'd never admit it.

Not to yourself, and most definitely not to him.

As the night droned on, you managed to make it to the library unscathed, slipping into the restricted section unseen. Everything was going according to plan, not a soul around to forsake you. And yet, just as you slipped the book back onto its origin shelf, you heard a distant yet distinct voice, accompanied by the determined clacking of perfectly polished dress shoes.

"—ah, yes. I believe I informed him that I would have an answer by tomorrow evening."

That voice. You could never fucking mistake it.

"—well, yes, Mr.Riddle—but he said—"

"No matter." The footsteps ceased. "You'll both await my determination until tomorrow's eve. Continue pressing and I will see to make you wait two more."

The bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill over onto the floor beneath you. His arrogance had always been a towering monument, casting shadows that seemed to suffocate all reason. Sure, he was the brightest star in the firmament, undeniably brilliant with features rivaling the gods themselves—chiseled jawline, captivating dark eyes—practically born to bask in his own glory.

Yet, for all his outward perfection, his self-assurance bordered on the verge of the grotesque.

"—yes, o-of course, Mr. Riddle..." you stifled a distasteful scoff. You weren't sure how that individual was even standing with such lack of spine. "—t-thank you, sir."

You didn't stick around to hear a response or the lack thereof. The voices were far enough to keep you breathing but close enough to damn near make you faint because you knew he was most likely just outside the iron gates. You couldn't afford to ponder the improbability of his presence or the surrealness of your predicament. You had to move—deeper, further out of sight.

Which was going perfectly well until you rounded a corner with a little too much intensity and collided directly into a small round table. The sharp screech of wood against wood cutting through the thick silence like a blade, echoing ominously in the vast, dim library. Panic seized you, every nerve electrified, as if the table's cry had been your own.

And it was roughly ten devastating seconds after this that you heard the creak of the iron gates opening behind you, and those same polished footsteps drawing forward with haste.

Fucking hell.

You'd spent enough time in the Forbidden Forest to know how to keep your calm, to know how to effectively avoid being noticed—how to silence your footsteps and slip around obstacles without leaving a trace, how to mask your scent with earth and leaves, how to blend into the shadows to avoid becoming prey to the creatures that lurk in the depths. Yet, the only predator you'd never been able to successfully evade was the one you were currently running from.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

A shadow that clung to you, a hunter whose senses were always sharper, whose instincts were always keener. No matter how well you hid, he always seemed to find you, as if he could sense the very beat of your heart.

Tonight—to your naive surprise, was no different.

"Think you can hide from me, do you?" Tom's voice slithered through the narrow gap between the shelves, smooth and dark as midnight. "Not quite stealthy enough, I'm afraid."

You pressed your back against the cold wood, trying to steady your breathing, but his words seemed to wrap around your throat, squeezing the air out of your lungs and replacing it with something dizzying.

"Why don't you come out, little snake?" He purred, his footsteps drawing closer, each one a death knell. "We both know how this game ends."

Little snake. Two words that rooted you to the spot. It was impossible, inconceivable that he could know it was you. Yet the nickname, the venomous familiarity of it, left no room for doubt.

You slipped around the corner, the two of you making calculated moves like chess pieces. Your board was one of evasion, his one of domination. The gates were in clear view now as you paused to determine his position, silently mapping the space between here and there, certain that if you ran fast enough you could make it—if you moved quietly enough he wouldn't know which direction you were heading.

"You're only making this worse for yourself, darling." Arrogance so thick you weren't sure how he wasn't choking on it. And as much as you detested it, something about it sparked heat between your thighs. "You know I always win."

With the desperation of a cornered, wounded animal, you decided you were done playing and began making a silent yet brisk path toward the gates. You knew you could get about three shelves deep before you needed to take cover again. The silence was deafening, urging you to move faster.

And just as you were about to reach your next hiding spot, just about to duck back in between the shelves, a sudden sensation of pressure coiled around your ankle, cementing you to the spot.

"What the f-"

It was as if the very air had turned to iron, suffocating you with its weight. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared down, disbelief flooding your senses. The once innocuous carpet beneath your feet now glowed with enchantment, its fibres twisting and contorting, snaking around your ankles and climbing steadily up your calves.

"There she is." It was an echo from behind you, deep vocal inflection choking you with its pride. "Always so deliciously predictable.”

The fibres wound tightly around your upper calves, constricting tighter against your leggings as you squirmed, struggling to free yourself. Tom appeared beside you with a leisurely saunter, his smirk so smug it seemed almost tangible.

Your frustration bubbled over into a groan of disbelief. "You charmed the fucking carpet?"

"Of course," Tom replied. "Why do things the hard way when magic can do it for you?" He stepped closer, his eyes roaming over you, drinking in your entirety, running the tip of his wand up your arm. "You should know, little snake, I always find a way to catch my prey."

You watched as two dark eyes dipped low, lingering over the thickness of your thighs, fighting against the tendrils of the enchanted carpet that had now crawled tightly around them. You certainly felt like captured prey, tangled in a web of his making, awaiting his next move—and he certainly didn't miss how tantalizingly prepared for him you were, like a gift waiting to be unravelled.

"Impressive, Riddle—you've really outdone yourself this time," you spat the words through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to smack his wand away, battling the unwanted heat pooling in your core. It was the way he was looking at you. The way you wanted him to keep doing it. "Guess you can add 'carpet tamer' to your long list of accolades now, huh?"

Tom huffed, a glint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes as he forced them up to meet yours. The corners of his lips curled upward in a smirk, every pore radiating control. He looked at you as though you were a puzzle he had already solved, a game he had already won.

"Now now, darling, no need to be so dramatic." His free hand reached up and grasped your jaw, kinking your neck back as he stepped closer to you. "Though, I think 'little fucking brat tamer' might be the more notable achievement to add to the list."

Your stomach leapt, your teeth sinking into your tongue for a moment as you fought to gather your sanity. Your defiance was draining like sand in an hourglass.

"Hm." You huffed, the grip on your jaw firm as steel. "Quite the mouthful."

"So I've been told," he shot back, his eyes glinting like shards of glass under the dim light. "You'd know all about mouthfuls, wouldn't you?"

"You fucking wish." You hoped he did.

His smirk deepened, his fingers digging into your skin like iron claws. You could tell he was amused by you, as though you'd just delivered the punchline of the century, as though you were the world's most revered stand-up comedian. It was maddeningly infuriating and dangerously captivating all at once.

"Still wielding that weapon of a tongue, even when you've so clearly lost." He remarked with a click of his own tongue, releasing his grip on your jaw. Stepping back, his eyes devoured the sight of his spell tangled around your thighs. You caught the tension in his jaw before his eyes snapped back to yours. "Tell me, little snake, do you know why I admire this spell so much?"

Your gaze remained fixed on him, anticipation crawling over your skin like a colony of ants as he scrutinized you. You offer him a shake of your head, a scowl etched deep on your features. "Can't read your mind, Riddle. Not everyone is a skilled Legilimens like yourself."

Tom's chuckle rang out, swallowed by the thick tension in the air, suffusing the oxygen you desperately tried to gulp down. He moved to circle you, and you felt his presence looming behind you, his body brushing against yours like a whisper in the wind. One hand found your hip, however softly, as though he was reluctant to touch you.

"It's a very versatile spell, darling," he dismissed your sass, his voice stripped of all emotion as his lips hovered closer to your ear. "The best part being...I know exactly how to manipulate it to get you to listen."

Words withered on your tongue, attitude wilting in your lungs, and oxygen fleeing from your veins—never to return. Tom's looming presence behind you was enough to make your chest constrict, but his words—his words were a different beast altogether. In the countless times he's caught you, never once did you imagine yourself here, like this, with him.

And never once did you imagine yourself enjoying it this fucking much.

"One might describe it as remarkably adaptable, catering to a multitude of desires..." his hand floated away from your hip, his fingers subtly dancing—the coils responding to his ministrations and slithering higher up your thighs. "And you, little brat, have a plethora of desires at this moment, do you not?"

Your jaw nearly smacked the floor as you watched him command the spell without the aid of his wand. You felt your stomach twist into an iron knot, something heating your blood to flame. Perhaps you underestimated him, perhaps you-

"F-fuck-" you gasped as the charmed fibres slithered between your thighs, coiling higher and higher, wrapping around your waist and ensnaring your arms at your sides. The pressure on your cunt sent your head reeling, your entire body quivering. "Tom...what..."

You know Tom is just beaming with satisfaction, the tremor in your voice eliciting a low growl from deep within him as his hold on your hip resumes, his lips teasing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"Speak up, little doll, articulate your thoughts," he murmured, his words dripping with cunning like poison. "I know you possess an abundance of them."

You suppress a groan, squirming in a futile attempt to free your wrists, to move against the relentless hold. The heat of Tom's presence behind you has your senses in a frenzy. Your head spinning, your body silently yearning for more. You despise how much you're enjoying this, whatever this even is.

You whimper, lids fluttering. "This...this isn't fair..."

"Neither is disobeying the rules every fucking chance you get—but here we are," his hand brushed against your thigh, fingertips barely grazing, his voice drifting further from your ear. "You should understand, this is all your own doing...the charm merely responds to your desires, adapting to fulfill them.”

That insufferable bastard. The list of descriptors you'd use to paint his portrait would stretch longer than the very library you're standing in, and then some. Every time you think you've unraveled his mysteries, he unveils another layer that exposes just how brilliantly twisted he truly is. How charming. How intoxicating.

You loathe him, relish in despising every fiber of his being. Yet you can't deny the fact that he outmaneuvered you, in the most tantalizing manner imaginable.

But still, you attempt to deny it. "That's...that's not..."

He muses. "Isn't it?"

Tom withdraws his hand from your thigh, and almost immediately, you ache for its return, the absence of his touch leaving you yearning. Caught off guard by the tendrils of the charm exerting pressure against your core, teasing over your clit, you squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip to stifle any sounds.

"It appears you have a penchant for challenging me..." his voice is a certain murmur. "It seems the charm knows precisely why.”

All the smugness of a deity himself, a walking, talking colossus among mere mortals. As inevitable as the sunrise each morning. It made you want to bare your teeth at him, but instead, all you could manage was a groan, struggling against the pleasure his charm inflicted upon you.

"I'm not quite certain what you would deem a fitting punishment..." he continues, voice as deep as the depths of your desire. As dark as an all encompassing black hole. "—given the countless ones you've endured in the past months, which have clearly taught you nothing."

You groan again, your head bowing as you gaze down at the tendrils of the enchantment, ensnaring you in the clutches of a man with teeth of diamonds, fingers like razor-sharp claws. It'd been a relentless dance of dominance between you for years, a battle of wills that always seems to end in his favor.

You despise how he effortlessly wields his power over you. How he has so easily read between the lines of your story—knowing precisely the effect he has on your body, knowing exactly what you crave.

You fight back a moan. "Mmmff—fuck..you..."

Tom maneuvers his mouth to your ear, his presence pressing against you from behind, the ghost of his breath caresses your skin as he whispers;

"You wish you could."

Beautiful, insufferable bastard.

"Fuck," you huff through gritted teeth, sweat gathering behind your neck, fingernails biting into your palms as you clench your fists, still battling against the overwhelming pleasure. "Get out of my head.."

You feel a low chuckle resonate against your back, its vibrations stirring something primal within you, his fingers grazing against your side.

"Do you truly believe this is mere manipulation, little snake?" Tom's touch begins to ascend, feather-light and elusive, barely registering against your clothes as he presses closer behind you. "I am intimately acquainted with your desires, darling. I've been privy to them for months." You can almost taste the smugness in his voice. "The truth is fairly simple—you crave me, and you despise yourself for it."

Tom takes a deliberate step back, circling around to stand before you, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. Your breath comes in rapid gasps, your skin flushed with desire, and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him. You yearn for more of him, yet you resist acknowledging it, even to yourself.

It's as though he can see your thoughts, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in. "You'd go to any lengths to avoid admitting it, wouldn't you?"

"Gods—" he's right, and you hate him for it. “Mmmf.”

Tom hums softly, his lips barely suppressing a smirk as he steps closer to you. He reaches up, his fingertips brushing against your skin as he tilts your chin, compelling you to meet his gaze.

"How about we try a simple question?" His dark eyes bore into yours, their depths ablaze with a devilish glint. "Do you wish it to stop?"

You're rendered speechless. The egotistic side of you wants you to say yes—while the other, larger part is consumed with an insatiable hunger for more, for him. The charm swirls over your clit, applying increased pressure against your leggings, causing you to bite down on your bottom lip again to stifle a desperate moan. You couldn't answer him if you tried.

Tom's eyes roam over your face, not willing to miss a thing. "Use your words...tell me what you need..."

The sensation against your clit intensifies further, as if dancing to the rhythm of his words. You can feel his gaze boring into you as the heat between your thighs surges, and you realize you're on the brink of climax. And Tom knows it.

"Fuck..." your hips twitch involuntarily—torn between craving more friction and fleeing from it—your mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. Tom brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, his gaze fixed on his own movements, and you feel yourself unraveling, succumbing to the scorching intensity of his eyes—two dark pools of permanent ink. "Tom...please..."

His grip tightens. His jaw clenches. "Say it."

Shame courses through your veins, searing your skin like molten lava, the prickling sensation drowning you. You're on the verge of climaxing from an enchanted carpet, a manifestation of his spell, and the humiliation threatens to consume you.

"I need you-" you gasp, the words tumbling from your lips in a pitiful plea, desperation sinking its claws into your soul. So close...too close. "Please—please, I—I don't want to cum from this—I..."

Oh, but you do. You most certainly fucking do though the mere thought of admitting it feels like a dagger twisting in your gut. Tom's eyes glint with amusement, his head cocked slightly as he regards you with a faux expression of pity, as artificial as the plastic plants in the common room.

"I've truly made a mess of you, haven't I?" His hand glides down from your face, tracing a path along your neck, lightly grazing over your collarbone. "Tell me what you want from me."

Gods, you ache to strike him—yet crave to kiss him and cry out his name with equal fervour. Your defiance lies shattered, a broken relic at your feet.

You peer up at him, pleading. "Please, Tom, please touch me—I need you..."

A smirk toys at his lips, his fingers slipping under your jaw once more to hold you steady as he leans in closer.

"Touch you?" His voice is like a loaded gun, his fingers the bullets—intent cocked and ready to annihilate, but instead he taunts you, keeps you on edge, pressing the barrel against your temple just to see the look in your eyes. "You want me, the man you so madly fucking detest, to touch you."

You lack the strength to command him to go to hell, but oh, how you wish you did. Just to witness his reaction, to see what he’d do next. Despite his appalling self-assurance, you can see behind the mask—see how he is genuinely taken aback by your submission, as though he never expected you to surrender, to confess your desire for him.

"Tom, please..." you beg, trembling with anticipation, your impending climax a rapidly swelling tide. "I want you...I want you to make me cum—you-you win."

Tom pulls back from your ear to regard you, his gaze fully focused this time. He takes in the sight of you—trembling, panting, wide-eyed before him—his expression conveying complete contentment in simply observing you as you struggle to persuade him to touch you.

That familiar taunting grin lingers upon his lips, uncontainable, and you know he's relishing this moment far too much.

"I know," he says softly, his thumb tracing your jawline as his hand falls to your neck. "I always do, don't I, little doll..."

His voice drifts over you like smoke, thick and intoxicating, wrapping around you in a dizzying embrace. The intensity of the charm wavers slightly, granting you a momentary reprieve to catch your breath as Tom leans in, so close that you can feel his exhales caressing your lips. Your head spins, every sense overwhelmed by his presence.

"But you deserve this—" he continues, his voice a rumble like thunder through your veins. "—you deserve to be humiliated like this, to break for me without my hands ever touching you." His mouth hovers just millimeters from yours, taunting you with its nearness. "This is your punishment, little doll...and you're going to take it."

The pleasure between your thighs swells once more as the charm resumes its sinuous movements and you can't suppress the moan that escapes your lips, mingling with the groan of utter frustration. All you can do is stare at him.

Tom hums, amused. "Because you revel in it, don't you? Being a little disobedient brat..."

Your eyes glaze over, your pulse soaring as Tom's breath once again brushes against your parted lips. The ache for him is almost unbearable, as if he's injected something into your veins, rendering you unable to function without him. It's maddening, in the most exquisite way imaginable.

"You're-ohh-fuck.." your voice comes out as a moan, low and breathy, the words trailing off as the charm adds pressure to your clit, stars dancing at the edges of your vision. "Gods..."

"There we go, just as I like you,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your jaw. "Unable to unleash that pretty little mouth. Perfectly shattered for me."

You clench around nothing, yearning to scoff. "Mmmf—never..."

Tom chuckles at your feeble attempt at defiance, though the sound carries a hollow, half-hearted quality. You both know you've passed the point of return. His fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, until his palm cradles your face, his thumb brushing gently across your lips.

"Is that so?" He murmurs softly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Well then, go ahead...let that pretty mouth run wild...prove that your defiance is more than just an act..."

The way he wields his power has you teetering on the brink of madness, and you despise the fact that you've revelled in every torturous moment of it. You long to snap back, to wield your tongue, to curse him—anything to grasp onto even a shred of control. But every fucking word is a struggle, every moment not focused on your breathing is an achievement.

You squeeze your eyes shut, channeling all the energy you have left. "You...you're such an...arrogant—mmf—I...I hate you..."

"Mhm. You hate me." He cooes. "And yet, here you are..." his voice is as soft as feathers, as warm as the morning sun, the unmistakable taunt laced within. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, slipping between your teeth. "...falling apart for a mere spell, begging for me, for my touch..."

You feel Tom's thumb pressing against your tongue as you whimper. You attempt to speak, to convey something, but instead, you find yourself instinctively sucking lightly against his thumb in response.

"Mm." Tom's brow lifts slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. He seems pleased with your reaction. "A much better use for that mouth."

You're beyond caring about the way he's taunting you, how he's systematically humiliated and debased you, stripping away every ounce of defiance without ever even touching your skin. Tremors wrack your body from the overwhelming sensations, rendering coherent thought nearly impossible.

Your head lolls to the side, constrained by his hand, as waves of pleasure crash over you, your climax approaching rapidly and dangerously.

"Fuck-I'm..." you manage to squeak, his thumb still nestled in your mouth. "Mmmf-"

Tom's eyes darken with satisfaction as he watches you unravel, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, a silent command for you to keep sucking. The enchantment continues its relentless assault—tightening around you, swirling over your clit and amplifying the pleasure until it's almost unbearable.

"Go on," he murmurs, his voice a blend of silk and steel. "Let go for me. Show me just how much you need this."

Your body trembles violently, your muscles tensing as the climax rips through you. You can't hold back the moan that escapes around his thumb, your entire being consumed by the intensity of the release that you've desperately fought off for so long. Tom's grip on your jaw tightens, keeping you in place, ensuring you can't escape the exquisite torment he's orchestrated.

"There it is," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Perfectly broken, just for me."

Your eyes are squeezed shut so tightly it's almost painful, his thumb buried in your mouth muffling any sounds of pleasure that threaten to escape. The evidence of your desire pools between your thighs, your embarrassment stripping you raw as you slowly begin to return to reality, the spell gradually losing its grip around you.

You struggle to find your breath, your thoughts, your sanity, but Tom doesn't grant you much reprieve before he's tugging your head back towards his, forcing you to focus on him.

"You should see yourself." He withdraws his thumb from your mouth, trailing the remnants of saliva over your cheek as he assesses you. "You're a vision."

You try to summon the strength to argue, to reclaim some semblance of defiance, but the attempt dies in your throat, unable to comprehend the fact that those words sounded like a fucking compliment. Your body is trembling with the aftershocks of your climax, and you can only manage a soft whimper. He looks at you as if you are his masterpiece, perfectly crafted and beautifully ruined.

"Remember this, little snake," he whispers, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Remember how easily I can break you. How much you crave it."

You exhale slowly as you feel the charm dissipate, the carpet settling back into its rightful place at your feet. Tom's hand falls away from your face, but the tension between you remains palpable, neither of you daring to make a move.

"And as for the book," he adds, his eyes flashing to the bookshelf behind you, the one home to the Occlumency text you borrowed. "You may want to keep it. You're not nearly as skilled as you think you are."

And with that, he smooths out his uniform and strides past you without a second glance.

thank you to my babies @doremimosasol and @pizzaapeteer for proofreading this. means the world to me🖤

[lazy-ahh]

CHAOS LIKES COMPANY. A.K.A I LIKE YOU

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x (vigilante) male reader

you always imagined your grand exit would be more dramatic - maybe a hail of gunfire, a building collapsing in slow motion, at least a decent fucking punchline. instead you're testing a theory: if you disappear now, will mark grayson (your idiot, your disaster, the love of your shitty life) even notice? were you gonna be a tragic loss that haunted him forever, or the weird stain on the couch he learned to ignore?

this is for you MM (mohawk mark) anon! hope you enjoyed this one <3

you’re standing on a rooftop, the city sprawled out beneath you like a toy set some rich kid smashed in a tantrum. the wind’s tugging at your hair, the strands whipping across your face like it’s personally offended by your existence. not that you mind—gives you that "tragically windswept" look, and hey, maybe the audience is into that.

"nice view, huh?" you say, grinning at no one in particular. "seriously, take a screenshot or something. this is prime wallpaper material."

mark—mohawk mark, because this universe just had to make him extra—lands beside you with a thud that cracks the concrete under his boots. his black-and-blue suit is all "look at me, i’m edgier than the original", complete with that ridiculous "i" logo stretching down to his knees like it’s trying to escape. his mohawk’s practically defying gravity (and common sense), and the bags under his eyes make him look like he hasn’t slept since the invention of energy drinks.

"who the hell are you talking to?" he asks, squinting like he’s trying to spot your imaginary friends.

"the audience," you say, like it’s obvious. "you know, the people watching our lives like some messed-up reality show? hi guys, love ya, don’t forget to leave a like and reblog."

"the… what?" his nose scrunches up, and oh, that’s adorable.

"don’t worry about it." you wave a hand. "they’re cool. mostly. some of them probably ship us already—oh, and spoiler alert, they’re gonna love the angst fest coming up."

mark blinks. "what does that even—you know what, never mind." he shakes his head, but you can tell he feels it—that weird shift in the air when you break the fourth wall like it’s made of wet paper. he doesn’t see them, but he knows something’s off, like the universe just glitched for a second.

"you’re weird," he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it. just that same fond exasperation he’s had since you were kids throwing rocks at mailboxes (okay, you threw rocks—mark just watched and panicked, because back then, he was a "rules" kind of guy. boring).

"and you’re rocking a haircut that screams ‘i got into a fight with a lawnmower and lost’," you shoot back, reaching out to flick his mohawk. he swats your hand away, but he’s grinning now, all sharp edges and "i could kill you but i won’t (today)" energy.

"shut up," he says, but it’s half-hearted. then, quieter: "you’re the only one who gets to say shit like that and live."

and oh, that stings a little, doesn’t it? because you’ve known each other forever—since back when he was just mark, not invincible, not this version of him with blood under his fingernails and a smile that’s too wide to be sane. you know him better than anyone, even when he’s pretending he doesn’t care.

and yeah, maybe you’re a little (a lot) in love with him. maybe you’ve always been.

"lucky me," you say, forcing a smirk. "guess that means i’m special."

"guess it does," he says, and for a second, his eyes flicker with something almost soft.

(too bad you won’t be around long enough to enjoy it. because let’s be real—this is mark’s story, and in every universe, the best friend always dies. you’ve read the comics. you know how this ends. but hey, at least you’ll go out in style, right? saving this idiot’s life like some tragic, self-sacrificing idiot. classic.)

"so," mark cracks his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet before chaos, his fingers flexing like he's already imagining them wrapped around someone's throat. his grin is all teeth, too wide, too eager—the kind that makes normal people back up slowly and call the cops. his boot taps impatiently against the rooftop ledge, vibrating with barely-contained violence. "wanna go wreck some bad guys?"

you sigh, dramatic and long-suffering, like he’s just asked you to help him move a couch instead of commit several felonies. "oh, sweetie," you drawl, flipping a knife between your fingers just to watch the way his eyes track it—hungry, amused. "i was already doing that. you’re just late to the party." you tilt your head toward the alley below, where a bunch of armed goons are currently trying (and failing) to look intimidating. "see? they even brought balloons."

mark rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck, but before he can fire back some half-assed insult, he’s already leaping off the roof, arms spread like he’s embracing the inevitable chaos. you don’t even hesitate—just tuck your weapons back and dive after him, the wind screaming in your ears.

(you always follow. you always will. that's how you'll die, remember?)

the fight starts before your feet even hit the ground.

you land in a roll, coming up with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, already firing before the first thug even registers you’re there. the bullet takes him in the knee—"oops, guess you won’t be running anymore. well, not on that leg, anyway."

mark, meanwhile, doesn’t bother with weapons. he is the weapon. he plows into a guy twice his size like a freight train, sending him flying through a storefront window. glass shatters, the guy screams, and mark just laughs, kicking him in the ribs hard enough to crack bone. "aw, what’s wrong?" he taunts, tilting his head. "thought you were tough?"

one of the half-conscious goons on the pavement groans, dragging himself up on trembling elbows. his face is a mess of blood and regret as he glares up at you through one swollen eye. "what the fuck?" he slurs, spitting out a broken tooth. "i thought you guys were supposed to be heroes- AGH!"

your boot connects with his family jewels before he can finish that thought - a picture-perfect punt right to the baby factory, the twig and berries, the ol' troublepuffs. his voice cracks into a shrill, eunuch-like squeal as he folds like a lawn chair, hands cupped protectively over his now-useless crown jewels. "heroes?" you echo, tilting your head with mock sympathy as he dry-heaves onto the asphalt. "aw, cupcake. we're the guys your mom warned you about."

a bat comes swinging at your head from the blindside - amateur hour. you duck without even looking, feeling the whoosh of air ruffle your hair as you pivot and sink your combat knife deep into the guy's meaty thigh. he screams like a banshee as you twist the blade, feeling tendon grind against steel. "shhh, it's okay," you coo, patting his sweaty cheek with your free hand while he trembles. "you're doing great for someone with the fighting skills of a concussed koala."

then - classic move incoming - another meathead charges you with a crowbar raised high. is this also a reference to the author's other fictional crush? you sidestep like a matador, snatching his wrist mid-swing and using his momentum to yank him face-first into your rising knee. the satisfying crunch of cartilage tells you his nose just became abstract art. as he wheezes through the blood bubbling from his nostrils, you grab a fistful of his greasy hair and introduce his forehead to the nearest car hood. DING. "and that's the dinner bell!" you announce as he slumps to the pavement. "congrats, you just failed villainy 101. solid d-minus for the effort."

another shrill scream tears through the alleyway, high-pitched and desperate enough to make you pause mid-swing. you glance over your shoulder just in time to see mark - your personal hurricane of violence - plant his boots against the pavement, grip some poor 6'2 bastard by the waistband of his jeans, and heave. the guy goes airborne with a comical yelp, flipping ass-over-teakettle before crashing windshield-first onto a parked sedan. glass explodes outward in a glittering shower, the car alarm immediately wailing like a wounded animal.

"ohoho," you purr, letting your (new) bloodstained bat rest against your shoulder as you backpedal toward the nearest brick wall. you prop yourself against it, crossing your ankles with deliberate casualness as you watch mark work. the way his muscles flex under that skintight suit should be illegal. the way his mohawk bobs with each brutal movement? downright obscene.

mark doesn't even pause for breath before stomping toward the next threat, those unfairly thick thighs straining against his suit with each step - god, the way that fabric clings to him should be classified as a war crime. his fingers curl around a dented street sign, biceps flexing obscenely as he wrenches it free from the concrete with a screech of protesting metal. when he swings, it's with the practiced ease of a major league slugger, his whole body twisting in a way that makes his ass look absolutely sinful in that skin-tight suit - and then the aluminum connects with some mobster's jaw in a spray of saliva and enamel, three pearly whites skittering across the asphalt like tiny dice.

you swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. it's ridiculous how good he looks like this - all coiled violence and barely-contained power, his mohawk sticking up in every direction like he just rolled out of bed (your bed, preferably). the way his shoulders bunch under the fabric when he lifts the sign again, the way his thighs flex as he plants his feet - christ, you could write poetry about those thighs.

but then something tightens in your chest, sharp and sudden, stealing the breath from your lungs. you turn to glare at no one in particular, pointing an accusing finger. "woah woah woah, hey! don't you dare. i know what you're going to write in the next paragraph and i swear to god-"

because one day - soon - you won't be here to see this. won't be here to watch the way the streetlights catch the sweat on mark's neck, or the way his nose scrunches up when he's trying not to laugh at your shitty jokes. one day, you'll just be... gone. and mark will keep fighting, keep living, with some other poor bastard at his side who isn't you.

the thought hits you like a punch to the gut. fuck...

(you hope, when it happens, it's quick. you hope it's saving his stupid, reckless life. you hope he misses you, just a little.)

"homerun!" you crow as you look back at mark, pushing off the wall to deliver slow, sarcastic applause, trying to erase your negative thoughts. no need for allat when you're still alive and breathing, right? one of your gloves comes away sticky with someone else's blood. "ten outta ten for form, but i'm deducting points for lack of showmanship. where's the flair, grayson?"

"shut up," mark growls through gritted teeth, but the way his lips twitch betrays him. he chucks the ruined sign aside like trash before lunging for his next victim - some meathead who clearly skipped neck day. mark's fingers close around the guy's throat, lifting him clean off his feet until their faces are level. the thug's sneakers scrabble against empty air, his face blooming an impressive shade of eggplant as mark just... watches. his head tilts slightly, eyes dark with something between scientific curiosity and outright glee. it's the same look kids get when they poke dead things with sticks.

you whistle low through your teeth, nudging an unconscious goon with your toe. "y'know most heroes don't commit felonies on the daily. pretty sure throttling dudes counts as excessive force."

"we're not most heroes," mark snarls, finally dropping the gasping thug in a heap. he wipes his palms on his thighs, leaving smears of red across the blue fabric. "and i literally saw what you did to those guys back there," he jerks his chin toward the alley mouth where four bodies lay in increasingly creative positions, "so don't even start, hypocrite."

your grin stretches wide enough to hurt. he's got you there. while mark was playing fast and loose with the geneva suggestions, you'd been busy turning a switchblade into a modern art installation in someone's shoulder socket.

"touche, mohawk," you concede, flipping your bat in a lazy arc. "but in my defense?" the aluminum cracks against the skull of some sneaky bastard trying to flank mark. the guy folds like a lawn chair. "my felonies have panache."

mark's answering laugh is all teeth and no remorse. the sirens wailing in the distance mean it's time to bounce, but neither of you move just yet. not when there's still blood in the air and that electric hum of violence buzzing under your skin.

(and if your eyes linger on the way mark's chest heaves, on the wild light in his eyes - well. that's between you and the audience. you can't judge him, can you? perverts.)

luckily for the two of you, the universe apparently decided this shit-show wasn't over yet, with one final act left. with a running start, you plant one boot against the side of a overflowing dumpster and push off, tucking into a neat flip that would make any olympic gymnast weep with envy. you land in a crouch behind two meatheads who clearly skipped villain orientation day - their matching "we do crime" energy is almost cute in its patheticness.

the first guy telegraphs his punch like he's sending smoke signals. you catch his fist mid-swing, twisting his wrist in one fluid motion until the bone gives with an audible snap. his scream is high enough to shatter glass. "dude," you sigh, shaking your head as he crumples to his knees, "you gotta warm up first. this is just sad. i'm embarrassed for you."

his buddy takes this moment to make a terrible life choice, fumbling a glock from his waistband. the barrel wavers wildly as he tries to aim.

you blink. "oh, rude."

the gunshot cracks through the alley, but you're already moving - twisting sideways just enough that the bullet parts your hair like a fucked-up comb. before the echo even fades, your knife is airborne, burying itself to the hilt in the guy's shoulder with a meaty thunk. his shriek is music to your ears as the gun clatters to the pavement. you saunter over, planting a boot on his chest for leverage as you yank your blade free. "thanks for the target practice," you muse, wiping the blood on his shirt before he passes out. "tell your friends."

meanwhile, mark has apparently decided physics are optional. you turn just in time to see him grab some poor bastard by the belt and collar, muscles straining under his suit as he heaves - the guy goes sailing through the air like a ragdoll, crashing through a fruit stand in an explosion of splintered wood and flying oranges. before the first body even stops rolling, mark's already pivoted to grab another thug, launching him ass-first into a trash can with enough force to dent the metal. the clang echoes down the alley like a demented church bell.

"having fun?" you call, spinning your pistol around your finger before slotting a fresh magazine home with practiced ease. the click of it seating is downright pornographic.

"shut up," mark pants for the umpteenth time, but there's no heat behind it - just that breathless, unhinged laughter that makes your stomach do funny things. he grabs the last guy by his collar, hauling him up until they're nose-to-nose. for a heartbeat, they just stare at each other - then mark slams their foreheads together with a crunch that would make a butcher wince. the guy's nose practically explodes in a crimson spray, his eyes rolling back as he collapses in a boneless heap.

suddenly, it's quiet.

the aftermath looks like a tornado hit a butcher shop - bodies strewn about like broken dolls, glass glittering amidst pools of darkening blood, the distant wail of sirens growing steadily closer. mark's chest heaves with each breath, his knuckles split and dripping onto the pavement. his mohawk's gone full hedgehog mode, sticking up in every direction, and there's a smear of someone else's blood across his cheekbone that you have the sudden, overwhelming urge to lick off. weird. last you checked, you were a picky eater.

when he turns to look at you, his eyes are alive - pupils blown wide with adrenaline, that manic grin still tugging at his lips. it's terrifying. it's beautiful. it's so mark that your chest aches with it. so mark that you can literally feel the blood in your veins start to make its way down.

"so," you say, holstering your gun with a flourish, "same time tomorrow?"

mark scoffs, rolling his shoulders as he turns to leave. but he doesn't check if you're following - doesn't need to.

(you always do.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"i feel like i'm going crazy. like my brain's been stuffed with cotton and set on fire at the same time." you stare at the water-stained ceiling talking to no one in particular, fingers digging into your pillow hard enough to tear seams. the eyebags under your eyes have gotten so dark they look like bruises (at least now you and mark match, his from violence, yours from... whatever this is). your hair's a disheveled mess, strands sticking to your forehead after days of bedrotting and only wearing t-shirts and sweatpants. you need to do your laundry soon, you were about to run out of t-shirts and sweatpants from your closet. you can feel death crouched at the foot of your bed like a stray cat waiting to be let in. "i'm literally about to die and what do i do? play fucking martyr instead of just... just..." your voice cracks as you press the heels of your hands against your burning eyes.

this was supposed to be some noble gesture - giving mark a trial run at life without you. you'd dove into the plan half-delirious, imagining how he'd come pounding on your door by sundown, all wild-eyed and vibrating with barely-contained panic. he'd drag you out of bed by your ankle, that adorable angry crease between his brows as he yelled about how you can't just disappear for hours, how he'd torn the city apart looking for you, how maybe - just maybe - he'd been a little more brutal than usual with the criminals today because what if something had happened to you and -

except that's not what happened.

three days. seventy-two hours of radio silence. the notifications on your phone have tapered off to nothing. you keep checking it like a pathetic loser, thumb smearing fingerprints across the cracked screen as you scroll through increasingly distant messages:

sidehoe #1 🐈💨 2:43 AM

we both know you don't got other sidehoes, so why is there a number next to my nickname??

manwhore <3

why would i tell you who the others are? you'd just kill them anyway, so i gotta keep the huzz safe, you feel me?

and don't worry, marky, you'll always be number 1 in my heart <33

sidehoe #1 🐈💨 7:58 AM

oh shut up

8:02 AM

okay when i said shut up, i didn't mean literally

8:15 AM

you alive?

9:29 AM

you haven't watched the tiktoks i sent yet watch them or you're going to get it tonight

9:31 AM

when i said you're going to get it tonight i meant i'm going to grab you by the throat and glue your phone screen to your eyes or sexual intercourse don't even make fun of me for calling it that whichever one gets you to answer my fucking messages

8:16 PM

whatever

"it's like..." you rasp to the empty room, throat raw from disuse. "like when you stop texting your boyfriend first to see how long it takes him to notice you're gone. except you're the idiot who breaks after five minutes because the silence makes your chest hurt, while he's just... fine." you let your phone clatter to the floor, screen-up so you can watch it stay dark. "fuck. that doesn't even make sense. i fucking hate myself."

outside your window, the city keeps turning. somewhere out there, mark's probably elbow-deep in someone's ribcage, not even realizing there's a you-shaped hole in the world. the thought makes you laugh - a wet, broken sound that turns into a sob halfway through. you roll over and bury your face in the pillow that stopped smelling like him days ago.

(you always knew you'd die for him. you just never thought you'd have to watch him stop needing you first.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

that suffocating dread finally lifts one night - not because it's gone, but because you've grown too tired to carry it anymore. it had clung to your ribs like tar for days, weighing down every breath no matter how many shitty jokes you cracked or how many bad decisions you made. hiding in your room didn't help either, the walls pressing closer each day like they knew what was coming. part of you wondered if the danger was you all along, if you'd somehow become the villain in this story. but no - you know how this ends. you've always known. you'll die saving that reckless, mohawked idiot who still doesn't realize you're in love with him.

after your first proper shower in days (the water scalding your skin pink), you crack open another soda and watch the bubbles fizz against the can's rim. the carbonation burns your throat as you gulp it down, the sugar rush doing nothing to steady your hands as you strap on your gear. your suit smells like old blood and gunpowder when you shrug it on, the familiar weight of weapons settling against your thighs as you step out into the night.

you take your usual patrol route - yours and mark's route, the one where he always complains about stopping for hot dogs but eats three anyway. every shadow makes your pulse jump, half-hoping you won't see him, half-terrified this might be your last chance if you do. the city stretches below you, all glittering lights and oblivious crowds. it looks peaceful from up here. you almost feel peaceful after finally accepting that you only have a few pages left before your book ends. (liar.)

"but of course," you murmur to no one in particular, gloved fingers tightening around the rooftop's edge, "you've got different plans for me, right?" the wind doesn't answer. then -

a rush of air colder than the night itself. the scent of leather and that cheap citrus body wash mark refuses to stop using.

"where the fuck have you been?" his voice loud like a gunshot, raw with something between rage and devastation. you don't turn. can't. the city lights blur beneath you as you focus on keeping your breathing even. "i said," mark snarls, closer now, "where the fuck have you been, you stupid son of a bitch-"

"you've been doing fine without me." your mask hits the concrete with a dull thud when you pull it off. the smile you force feels like a death rattle. "see? proof you won't completely lose it when something does happen to me-"

"will you fucking quit that?" mark's boots scuff against concrete as he storms forward. when you finally turn, his face is a mess of anger and fear, eyes glassy under the moonlight. "you always - fuck - you always talk like you've got one foot in the grave. why do you keep talking like that? are you- " his breath hitches, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to shake you or hold you or both, "are you planning on killing yourself?"

the laugh that tears from your throat sounds alien even to you. "what? no, i'm not-"

"stop lying!" mark's shout echoes off the rooftops, his composure shattering as tears finally spill over. your chest caves in at the sight - mark never cries, not even when he's bleeding out in some alleyway. his hands find yours with desperate urgency, calloused fingers trembling as they squeeze yours hard enough to bruise. "just... stop. if you're hurting, tell me. am i - " his voice breaks, "am i really not someone you can trust with this?"

he drags your joined hands up, pressing your knuckles to his forehead like a prayer. his breath brushes your wrists as he leans into the contact, hot against your skin. when he speaks again, it's so quiet the wind almost steals it: "i might be a disaster, but i fucking care. so please... let me in."

the dam breaks.

"i'm sorry," the words spill out in a broken whisper, saltwater dripping off your chin as tears carve hot paths down your wind-chapped cheeks. "god, mark, i'm so fucking sorry."

your hands slip from his trembling grip, moving on instinct as you drag him into the tightest embrace your battered body can manage. one hand finds its way between his shoulder blades, fingers spreading wide over the familiar topography of his suit's fabric as you rub slow, grounding circles into the knotted muscles beneath. the other settles at the dip of his waist, thumb tracing absentminded patterns against the curve of his hip through the thin material - that same spot you've secretly ached to touch for years, now warm and solid under your palm.

his breathing hitches when you pull him closer, his forehead coming to rest heavily against your shoulder as his hands fist in the back of your jacket like you might vanish if he lets go. (and he's almost right.) the scent of his shampoo mixes with gunpowder and copper as you tuck your face into the mess of his mohawk, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear when you murmur another apology into the space between you.

but it wasn't enough to just whisper apologies into his skin, not when you still hadn't told him the crushing truth - that soon you'd be nothing more than another ghost haunting his memories.

his breath is warm against your neck as you hold him, his heartbeat thundering against your chest in a rhythm you've memorized through countless battles. you let your fingers card through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, smiling faintly when he shivers at the touch. "hey audience," you murmur silently against mark's shoulder, your voice barely a thought, "funny how i can take a bullet without flinching, but can't say three stupid little words to the guy who actually gives a shit if i live or die, huh?"

mark shifts in your arms, his calloused palm sliding up to cradle the back of your head like you're something precious. the moonlight paints silver and blue along the curve of his cheekbone when he tilts his face up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight. you press your forehead to his instead, breathing him in - the citrus of his shampoo, the iron tang of blood from split knuckles, the unmistakable scent that's just mark. your thumb traces the arch of his cheekbone, wiping away tear tracks you pretend not to notice.

(you don't say i love you. but when his lips brush yours in something too soft to be a kiss and too tender to be an accident, you think maybe he knows anyway.)

OH MY GOD 4.5k WORDS??? THIS MIGHT BE THE LONGEST ONE-SHOT I'VE EVER WRITTEN, and honestly... i think i might have cooked with this one-

[deeplyshalllow]

Classic Fiyeraba fic recommendations

So, with the new movie coming out, I've seen a lot of requests here for people to write Fiyeraba particularly happy Shiz era stuff, and like guys, guys, I did not spend my formative teen years in the Wicked fanfiction.net section for people to act like the amazing fics there don't even exist.

So here is my list of the fics and authors so great that I remember it over a decade later

Obviously, given we have never had a situation before where people know act 1 but not act 2, there will be spoilers and act 2 stuff in a bunch of these, but please check them out.

(a few of the authors I know are still around tumblr I've tagged, but feel free to tell me if you want me to take it off).

Authors in no particular order:

Tiggy the Hopeless Romantic - Honestly just read anything this woman wrote, I think if anyone said Fiyeraba fanfic this would be the first name I think of - bonus that a lot of the stuff is easily digestible fluffy oneshots

Merina Thropp @merinathropp on Tumblr - Writes beautifully, I remember getting very excited when she uploaded new fic. I particularly remember her Fiyero's Shiz era twitter fic and her extended As Long As You're Mine fic

HC247 @a-partofthenarrative on Tumblr - Writes such lovely fluff and I think double digits on alaym fics! Particularly remember her Once Upon a Kiss series and Masquerade. She mostly writes POTO stuff now but I see occasionally get an alert in my inbox from her.

alinaandalion - another fantastic Fiyeraba writer (god there are so many) I particularly remember her for her A Drop in the Bucket series, which are a lovely series of Fiyeraba oneshots.

CrazyBeagle - one of the people on the Wicked section who has made the transition to real life friend. But I knew her for her fics before we became friends. To Feel is post musical fic which is a lovely realistic continuation of Fiyeraba's journey. Unlimited is a modern retelling of Wicked which I really enjoy though I have been told multiple times it will never be updated no matter how much I threaten.

Scandalacious Intentions @scandalaciousintentions on Tumblr - Candy is the other Wicked friend who has become an irl friend (and I am most certainly the only person who still calls her Candy). She is much better known for her Tonks/Lupin stuff, but I always loved what she wrote for Wicked. Witchy Woman was her first Wicked fic I still very much enjoy it.

Girlscout4ever wrote ever so beautifully. Cheap Rented Room is such a fantastic expanded ALAYM.

ElphabaROCKS - wrote a lot of very good Fiyeraba fluff

Vinkanwildflowerqueen @vinkunwildflowerqueen on Tumblr - I imagine a lot of you know her already as she is still writing! She writes a lot of very good Fiyeraba au fics

Fermantoso - one of the funniest writers in the section! Chasing Elphie is the one I remember best, au but funny and sweet.

Danderson - slightly more bookverse than a lot of the other writers here but still great fics!

Kaylle - There are Nights, is always the one people (including me) remember as it's one of the most beautiful pieces of fanfiction on the Wicked section, but all of her work is lovely.

Lost Ozian - Well known for her humour, The Fiyero User Manual springs immediately to mind, my favourite is actually her serious au fic Different

Me - debated whether to add this, but I was also part of the section back in the day, and I know people enjoyed my fics too, though God knows I've improve my writing in the last decade and a half - in terms of Fiyeraba my strongest were probably A Moment and Living. Perfect Together is unquestionably the best fic I wrote for Wicked, although it's more Flinda.

Individual Fics:

Like a Swan on a Lake - this fic was actually well after my time but I happened to read it and I love love love it! AU of Fiyero if both girls defied gravity together and it does such a good job of showing his intelligence

Broccoli - I remember this one being very sweet Shiz era Fiyeraba

According to Plan - funny fic, fun twist ending

Sincerely, an annoyed Shiz student - not strickly Fiyeraba but you should read it. It is a very fun parody.

It's a long way to fall - This was actually the fic I created a fanfic account for, because I hadn't realised you could anonymous review! A fun arranged marriage AU

Please, please add to this list if you have other recs, mine are about 10 years out of date. Also apologies if I've missed any out as there's so many good ones and it is 2am.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁  ! ⺌ . ⸺  NPE! 

PART ONE! | Volume I

Synopsis; "So, you’re an alien, huh?" Yeah, sure, maybe you’re a little... different. But honestly, who isn’t? The earthlings think you’re weird? Nope. It’s just that they’re a bunch of clueless humans, totally missing the point. You, on the other hand, have a higher calling. A mission to discover the meaning of life—you know, the whole ‘why am I here, and what am I supposed to be doing’ thing. Simple, right?

Except, uh... there’s a small hiccup. You don’t even know what species you are, because someone forgot to leave the alien instruction manual. Oops. So, while you’re out there doing some random side gig (you know, the one that might help you find out more about your roots and, oh yeah, pay the rent), you accidentally get tangled up in the lives of two earthlings.

Of course, you swear to protect them because, well, you kind of owe them. Maybe. Or maybe not. Who’s to say? Either way, your purpose might get a little... distracted. But hey, priorities, right?

Pairing ── Dan Da Dan x Alien! Fem/Neutral? Reader.

Content. MDNI ── Manga Spoilers, Violence/Death, Blood, Invasion of Privacy, Invasion of Mind, Abduction, Kidnapping, Angst, Murder, Disturbing Content, Corruption, Isolation,Paranoia, Manipulation, Unintended Time Travel Mishaps, Alien Romance Tropes, Sudden Existential Crises, Unexplained Tentacle Appearances, Turbo Granny's Sass, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Gravity-Defying Physics, Psychic Overload, Ambiguous Yōkai Allegiances, Excessive Hair-Related Powers, Sudden Dance Battles in Crisis, Outdated Alien Fashion Choices, Malfunctioning Spacecraft Humor, Intense Staring Contests, Time-Dilated Cliffhangers, Overwhelming Amounts of Sparkles, Overwhelming Amounts of Sparkles, Polyamory, LGBTQ+ Content, ¿Gender-fluid or Non-binary Character? (Not with respect to pronouns, but to their genitals xd), Unconventional Relationship Dynamics, Consent Issues in Alien Interactions, Mind-altering Love Spells, Extreme Jealousy, Existential Dilemmas on Love and Identity, Mind-Controlling Aliens.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— Oh my god, how did this happen 😱 sorry to everyone (@flwes & @redberrysstuff) who saw the incomplete story, I feel SO embarrassed. Ugh, I swear, autocorrect and my clumsiness are going to kill me one of these days. :"(( But seriously, I promise the full version is coming, just give me a second to fix it.

"Idiot! Moron! Squid! Tuna!" Momo Ayase shouted from the ground, her face flushed with rage as she watched her now ex-boyfriend walk away with that annoying mix of guilt and annoyance in his eyes. "Never call me again!"

"Momo? Are you okay? Or should I sign up for the next round of sea insults?" asked a familiar voice behind her.

Momo turned around, still frowning, but the sight disarmed her a bit. There was Y/n Seigai, with that carefree energy that always seemed straight out of a movie. She wore a short plaid skirt and a white blouse that highlighted her figure, complemented by long socks and platform shoes with a puma print that screamed confidence. Her makeup was simple yet striking, enough to make anyone turn to look at her. And, as always, she had something in her hand: this time, a frozen yogurt popsicle that she licked absently as if nothing in the world could disturb her calm.

"Late again, huh?" Momo huffed, crossing her arms and standing up, her gaze as severe as a frustrated mother.

"What? Was that a 'thank you for coming to the rescue, Y/n'? Because if so, your tone needs a little work," Y/n replied with a cheeky smile, making an exaggerated gesture to offer her a lick of her popsicle. "Want some? Frozen yogurt cures broken hearts. It's science."

"I don't want your stupid popsicle, idiot! And stop changing the subject! You're late to school again! Do you know how many times I've been asked why you can't arrive on time? I feel like your babysitter!"

Y/n theatrically sighed, placing a hand on her chest as if Momo had wounded her pride. "Oh, Momo. Always so responsible, so punctual... except when you decide to sleep in on Mondays. Remember last Monday? Because I do; you were running out with a toast in your mouth."

Momo opened her mouth to retort but quickly shut it, blushing a little. "That was different! And don’t change the subject!"

"Okay, okay, sorry, mom," Y/n said with a mischievous smile, raising her hands in a sign of surrender. "But in my defense, it's not my fault that the coffee at that corner is so good it makes me lose track of time."

"You have a watch on your wrist, Y/n! And a phone with alarms! ALARMS!"

"Well, my alarms and I have a complicated relationship..." Y/n murmured as she took another lick of the popsicle.

Momo couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh, although her lips curled slightly into a smile. That was the dynamic with Y/n: serious and responsible when necessary but with enough chaotic moments to drive her crazy. And even though sometimes she wanted to give her a good lecture, she couldn't deny that Y/n always knew how to lift her spirits, even on days like today.

"Come on, Momo. Let's get to class. I promise we'll make it before the bell rings... probably," Y/n said, offering her the popsicle as a peace gesture.

"Probably isn’t good enough! And I don’t want your silly popsicle," Momo shot back, but she couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as they started walking together.

As they crossed the school gates, Momo and Y/n couldn’t help but draw attention. They were, without a doubt, a striking pair: Momo, with her natural charisma and perfectly polished gyaru style, walked with purpose while continuing to rant about her now ex-boyfriend; Y/n, on the other hand, exuded a magnetic nonchalance, her skirt swaying with each step and a yogurt popsicle still in her hand, as if school were just another runway in her day.

"And then he has the nerve to say I’m playing hard to get! Can you believe it?" Momo gestured dramatically, as if still arguing with her ex.

"Mm-hmm," Y/n murmured, not stopping her slow lick of the popsicle. "Sounds like someone needs a 'How Not to Be an Idiot' manual. Should I mail him one?"

"Not even that! He’d probably lose it, like he loses all common sense," Momo shot back, rolling her eyes.

As they made their way down the hallway, students stepped aside to let them pass—some admiring their style, others whispering comments among themselves. Momo was so engrossed in her complaints she barely noticed the stares. Y/n, however, threw the occasional wink or offered a carefree smile, as if she were used to being the center of attention.

"Can you stop flirting with the entire hallway? I’m having a crisis here!" Momo snapped, giving her a light nudge.

"Flirting? I’m just being friendly. But if you want all my attention, Momo, you only have to ask," Y/n replied with a mischievous grin.

"God, you’re unbearable!"

Finally, they reached their classroom, where their other two friends, Miko and Muko, were waiting.

Miko was seated by the window, her small bow perfectly in place and her uniform impeccable, though always with her personal touch. Her beige sweater and loosely tied ribbon gave her a relaxed vibe, but her bright smile showed she was ready for a day full of energy.

Muko, in contrast, was impossible to ignore. Her tan skin stood out against her blonde hair styled into pigtails, and the manba makeup she wore proudly added a bold edge to her look. Her uniform followed the same pattern as the other girls', but on her, everything seemed a bit more daring—from the slightly oversized sweater to the way her loose socks fell perfectly over her sandals.

"Wow! Took you long enough," Miko said with a smile as she saw them walk in. "I thought you’d actually be on time today."

"Tell that to Miss 'Coffee is More Important Than Punctuality,'" Momo replied, giving Y/n an accusatory look.

"Me? I arrived just in time to make this spectacular entrance," Y/n said, spinning dramatically before flopping into her seat.

"Jealous, Miko?" Muko chimed in as she adjusted one of her pigtails. "They walk in, and the whole hallway stares. People only look at us when Miko shouts something ridiculous."

"Hey! That was one time," Miko retorted, crossing her arms with feigned indignation.

Momo let out a sigh, but a smile began to form on her lips. Being with them was always like this: chaotic, fun, and somehow reassuring.

"Alright, girls, now that we’re all here, I need advice. How do you get over an idiot who just wants you to pay for everything and only cares about sleeping with you?"

"Easy," Y/n said, raising her popsicle as if it were a trophy. "You get over him by being yourself: brighter, more fabulous, and completely out of his league. Like always, Momo."

"Amen," added Muko, lifting her phone for a quick selfie with Miko, who automatically struck a pose.

Momo rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. Yes, her group was a mess in its own way, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

"Okay, seriously, what happened? Why are you so upset? We know it’s not because of Y/n, because when you’re mad at her, you yell louder than a megaphone," Miko said, raising an eyebrow with that teasing attitude she always had when she wanted to get under Momo’s skin.

Momo let out a heavy sigh and flopped onto the desk. "Nothing... that idiot dumped me, and then I started insulting him... using fish names."

Y/n, who was lounging back in her chair with her feet on the desk as if she were at home, couldn’t hold back a laugh. "Fish names. Like ‘Tuna’ and ‘Squid’. Because I’m sure that hurt his feelings a lot. Wow, Momo, terrifying. Do you really think that’s going to change his mind?"

"Ha, I’m dying," Muko said, testing a bit of her makeup while laughing. "Fish names aren’t insults, Momo. What were you expecting, ‘Shark’ or ‘Piranha’? Now those might be scary!"

Momo frowned, looking at her friends as if they were aliens. "You’re supposed to comfort me! He was my first boyfriend! My first, girls!" Momo waved her hands dramatically, as if she had lost something truly valuable.

Muko looked at her with a mix of sympathy and exasperation. "We told you to forget about him, Momo. It was obvious he wasn’t worth it."

Y/n nodded with mock seriousness, though her eyes still sparkled with amusement. "Yeah, can you remind me what was supposed to be so great about him? Was it the guy who always wore shirts two sizes too small? Or was it his talent for making you feel bad every time you talked about your dreams?"

"It’s just... he looked like Ken Takakura," Momo replied, as if it were an irrefutable justification, throwing her hands up as if there were nothing more to say.

The three friends sighed in unison, a sound so synchronized it could have been rehearsed.

"There she goes again..." Muko muttered, shaking her head and placing a hand on her forehead in a dramatic pose.

"Ugh, here we go," Miko said, glancing at Y/n and raising an eyebrow. "The story of the guy who ‘looked like’ Ken Takakura. Momo, are you sure you don’t have a poster of him at home?"

"She doesn’t just have a poster, let me tell you," Y/n said, remembering the time she stayed over at Momo’s house while her grandmother was away for a few days.

Y/n, who had just finished her popsicle and was now grinning mockingly at the others, tossed the stick out the window with perfect precision. "Here we go with your nonsense again, Momo. First it was ‘Ken Takakura,’ then it’ll be ‘Tom Cruise,’ and next you’ll tell me you fell for some guy who looks like an anime character. Stop idealizing guys, seriously."

Momo shot her a glare. "It’s not the same, Y/n! Ken Takakura is an icon, a real man!"

"Yeah, a movie man probably under contract with boredom, because guys like him don’t exist in real life," Y/n said, striking a dramatic pose as she crossed her arms.

Momo shrugged. "I don’t know what it is about him… but there’s something, I swear."

"What he has is that he’s in movies, not real life," Miko replied with a somewhat philosophical tone, as if she’d just imparted a profound truth about reality.

"So what, huh!? I like tough guys, like Ken Takakura!" Momo shouted, raising her hand as if she’d just made a worldwide announcement about her love for cinematic men.

Miko and Muko exchanged glances and, with almost perfect synchronization, replied, "Momo, we’ve got a surprise for you… those men are extinct."

Momo immediately dropped her head, as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her. Her shoulders slumped, and her smile vanished in an instant. "What? Extinct? That can’t be true!" she muttered, as if she’d just taken a direct hit to the heart.

"Sorry, Momo," Miko said with a mischievous smile. "Men like that don’t exist anymore. All we’ve got now are guys in sweatpants with cat wallpapers on their phones."

Momo let out a deep sigh, an exaggerated expression of sorrow crossing her face. "So what?! What am I supposed to do with my life? Settle for guys who don’t even know what a good hairstyle is?!"

With the theatrics worthy of a telenovela star, Momo stood from her seat, leaving the others watching as she exited the classroom as if she’d just lost the most important battle of her life.

"Did what we said hurt her feelings?" Miko asked, a faint smile on her face, though she already knew the answer.

"No," Y/n replied, standing up without looking back, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and concern. "It hurt because it’s true."

Momo, on the verge of stepping into the hallway, didn’t notice Y/n following her. As Y/n caught up, she saw Momo walking with slumped shoulders, as if she were on a farewell mission for her love life.

Y/n walked up to her side and, with a playful smile, nudged her shoulder lightly. "Come on, Momo, don’t be like that. There are still guys out there who aren’t complete disasters."

Momo gave her a sad look. "I don’t know, Y/n. Maybe tough guys are just a fantasy. Like Ken Takakura. A legend of the past!"

"Well, if you ask me, the real tough guy is standing right here!" Y/n said, pointing a thumb at herself with a cheeky grin. "Forgot about us? We’re the tough ones now."

Momo glanced at her sideways, a flicker of humor returning to her eyes. "The problem is I don’t have time for girls who make bad jokes."

Y/n followed her, chuckling softly. "I’m the best company you could ask for, and I’ll prove it!"

The two walked down the hallway, leaving the classroom behind, Momo still a little down but starting to relax, with Y/n beside her as always—joking, stylish, and promising that there was always something better than a movie fantasy.

"Let’s go, Momo," Y/n said with a sly smile. "Tough guys may not exist anymore, but we’re unstoppable!"

Momo couldn’t help but smile, even if just a little. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad after all.

As Momo and Y/n passed by the nearest classroom, they couldn’t help but notice a group of boys throwing paper balls at a smaller, scrawnier boy with a hairstyle clearly modeled after Nobita from Doraemon.

Momo frowned immediately, spotting the bullying behavior. Y/n tensed beside her. Both of them hated bullies, and they weren’t about to stand by and do nothing.

One of the boys, grinning stupidly, picked up a paper ball and said loudly, "Stick a magnet in it! That’s gotta hurt!"

As he prepared to throw it, now with a magnet inside, a shadow loomed over him. Turning around, he found Momo sitting in front of him, her expression unimpressed. Behind him, Y/n stood with her arms crossed, her gaze so intense it could’ve melted anything in its path.

"Hey," Momo asked, looking at the boy with a mix of curiosity and disapproval. "What are you reading?"

"Uh… this…" the boy stammered, glancing nervously between the bullies and the girls.

The boys throwing the paper balls didn’t seem to realize what was happening. They turned back to their antics, ignoring the two girls who weren’t about to stay quiet.

Momo quickly stood up, shooting the bullies one last look. "What a bunch of idiots," she said, rolling her eyes. "It’s like this world is full of losers."

Y/n sighed, observing the chaos with a smile that hid something deeper. She was about to leave with Momo until her eyes caught the title of the magazine the boy was reading.

"The Occult," she read aloud, raising an intrigued eyebrow and smiling faintly. "Interesting…" she murmured before stepping toward Momo, leaving the minor chaos of the classroom behind.

"Come on, Momo," Y/n teased as she walked alongside her. "You look like you just had to pay taxes or something. Relax."

"You’d feel the same way if you were surrounded by idiots!" Momo snapped, crossing her arms indignantly.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice thundered behind them:

"MOMO AYASE! Y/N SEIGAI!"

"Huh? Now what?" Momo said, turning around with a frown.

It was the nerd from earlier. He was running toward them with all his might, gasping for breath as if he’d just escaped a marathon. When he reached them, he stopped so abruptly he almost fell over.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE!" he shouted, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

"What?" Y/n asked, visibly confused, glancing at Momo with a raised eyebrow.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE!" he repeated, louder this time, with an oddly intense conviction. "That’s the only reason someone like you would talk to someone like me!"

Momo blinked slowly and then let out an exaggerated sigh. "You’ve already said that. Can you switch up your dialogue? You sound like a broken record."

Y/n put a hand to her face, muttering, "Have you lost your mind? Where did you even get that crazy idea?"

The boy looked at them with desperate eyes, as if he was about to reveal some cosmic secret. "I’m talking about this!" he exclaimed, pulling something out as if presenting irrefutable proof.

Both girls tilted their heads simultaneously, trying to figure out what he was holding.

"Is that... a magazine?" Momo asked, squinting.

"Yes! A limited edition of The Occult! I know you’re into this because I saw how you looked at it earlier! President Obama has already been to Mars! This is the full story of the Pegasus Project! You’re into the paranormal!"

Momo closed her eyes and ran a hand over her forehead, clearly trying to summon some patience. "Look, genius, we’re not planning to be your best friends or start a paranormal book club with you. We don’t believe in UFOs or aliens."

"They’re not UFOs, they’re UAPs! Unidentified Aerial Phenomena!" the boy yelled enthusiastically, holding up the magazine like it was some sacred manifesto.

He began talking again, with a passion that seemed endless. Y/n listened with a half-smile, entertained by the chaos he brought with him. But soon, she felt Momo’s hand squeeze hers—a clear sign: Momo was about to lose her temper.

And then, she exploded.

"WOULD YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?! MY HEART’S BEEN BROKEN, AND I’M NOT IN THE MOOD! AND YOU’RE SO ANNOYING WITH YOUR NERD STORIES THAT NOBODY CARES ABOUT, OKAY?! THAT’S WHY YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS!"

The boy froze, his mouth open and his eyes wide like saucers. Even Y/n, who was used to Momo’s outbursts, raised an eyebrow. "Ouch. Low blow," she murmured, mostly to herself.

Still fuming like a volcano, Momo pointed at the boy. "Don’t even think about talking to us again! Let’s go, Y/n!"

But Y/n didn’t move. She looked at the boy with some pity, her eyes softening. She stepped toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey... she didn’t mean it, okay? She’s upset because she had a bad day. Don’t take it to heart," she said calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

Momo stopped and turned around, clearly picking up on Y/n’s accusatory tone even though she hadn’t said anything else. With an exasperated sigh, she rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine! I’m sorry, dude! I went too far. Happy now?"

She picked up the magazine that had fallen to the floor and handed it back to the boy, though her lips were still pursed. "But don’t get excited. I don’t believe in aliens. I’m more into ghosts and spirits, got it?"

Out of nowhere, the boy started laughing—not a polite chuckle, but a full-on belly laugh that echoed down the hallway.

"Don’t tell me you actually believe in spirits," he said, still laughing as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

Momo froze, her frown deeper than ever. "Are you making fun of me?!" she shouted, stepping toward him with clenched fists.

Before anyone could react, the two launched into a heated argument. Momo insisted that spirits were real, while the boy passionately defended his UAPs. Y/n, stuck between them like a referee in a wrestling match, glanced toward the hallway. There stood Miko and Muko, watching the scene with amused smiles as they whispered to each other.

"These two are hopeless," Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling her patience wear thin.

Finally, she snapped.

"ENOUGH! YOU’RE DRIVING ME CRAZY!" she yelled, pushing them apart with a hand on each shoulder. Her voice was so loud that even Miko and Muko stopped laughing to peek in with curiosity.

"Here’s the deal," Y/n said, crossing her arms authoritatively. "If Momo proves that spirits exist, you’ll become her personal errand boy. But if you prove that UFOs—sorry, UAPs—are real, then she’ll be your errand girl."

Both of them stared at her in disbelief.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" they shouted in unison, their faces a mix of shock and panic.

Y/n smirked, her tone daring as if she’d just announced the rules of a reality show. "It’s a bet. Take it or leave it."

Momo opened her mouth to protest but then glanced at the boy with a competitive glint in her eyes. "Errand boy, huh? That doesn’t sound too bad."

The boy blinked, clearly trying to process what had just happened. Finally, he raised his chin, determined. "Fine! But get ready to carry my stuff when I win."

Momo narrowed her eyes. "Me? Carry your stuff? Dream on, loser!"

From the hallway, Miko and Muko started laughing again.

"This is gonna be good," Miko said.

"I’m definitely not missing this," Muko added.

Y/n sighed, looking at the two challengers with exhaustion. "Great, now you’re both committed. But if you waste my time, I swear both of you will end up being my errand boys!"

They both nodded, though they still exchanged defiant glares. Y/n couldn’t help but smile. This was either going to be very interesting… or completely chaotic.

⊹ ・・───・・・・───・・ ⊹

"What is this place?! I’M GONNA DIE OF FEAR!" screamed Momo, clinging to you like a lifeline in the middle of the ocean. Her grip was so tight that you seriously considered whether you’d pass out from lack of air or from the creepy atmosphere of the hospital.

"Relax, Momo," you sighed, trying to wiggle free while scanning the surroundings. Nagi University Hospital didn’t disappoint: graffiti-covered walls, broken windows, dark hallways, and that classic feeling that something was watching you from the shadows. "Though… yeah, this place is pretty unsettling."

"UNSETTLING?! THIS IS STRAIGHT OUT OF A HORROR MOVIE!" Momo shrieked, practically climbing on top of you.

On the other end of the phone, the guy sounded thrilled. "Stop whining! Nagi Hospital is one of the prime spots for UFO sightings! They say if you’re on the rooftop, you get abducted!"

"What’s abduction?" Momo whispered in your ear.

"It’s when aliens kidnap you and experiment on your body," you whispered back.

"Hey, genius, why the rooftop?" you asked, frowning as you tried to keep Momo at a reasonable distance. "What does the rooftop have to do with UFOs?"

"Because UFOs can’t land in the basement, OBVIOUSLY!" he replied triumphantly, as if he’d just solved a universal mystery.

"Are you kidding me…? WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND BUILDS A HOSPITAL WHERE YOU GET ABDUCTED?!" shouted Momo, clearly on the verge of throwing the phone out the window.

"And who in their right mind goes willingly to an abandoned hospital for fun? Oh, wait... you two."

"THAT’S IT!" Momo yelled, red with indignation, and if you hadn’t stopped her, she probably would’ve smashed the phone against the nearest wall.

"Okay, okay, enough, both of you!" you interrupted, rubbing your temples. "Listen, Nobita of the UFO fandom, you focus on your tunnel and tell us if you see anything weird. We’ll try not to die or get abducted, deal?"

"Perfect! And record everything! This could change history!" he said excitedly, as if already drafting his speech for NASA.

"Sure, sure. If aliens take me, I’ll make sure to Facetime you," you muttered as Momo tugged at your arm.

"YOU GO FIRST! I’M NOT GOING ALONE!" Momo demanded, pointing at the dark hallway leading to the rusty elevator.

"Me first? I’d rather we just go home and call it a day. We’ve done enough for one evening."

Momo huffed but then crossed her arms and stared at the floor, thoughtful. "If we leave now, that idiot’s gonna laugh at us all week."

"What do you prefer? Him laughing at us, or us getting abducted? Because I know where my priorities lie, and aliens don’t make the top 10."

There was a brief silence as you both weighed your options. Finally, Momo sighed dramatically, like she’d just decided to climb a mountain. "Fine, but if anything weird happens, you handle it. I’m just gonna scream and run, deal?"

"I wouldn’t expect anything less from you," you replied with a tired smile as the two of you ventured into the dark hallway. The echo of your footsteps bounced off the empty walls, while the guy on the other end of the phone kept rambling about "electromagnetic phenomena and alien microwaves."

"By the way!" said the guy, as if he had just remembered something. "If you see strange lights, don’t get close. They’re a sign of imminent abduction."

"Great," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "Anything else we should know before we get abducted?"

"Yeah, if you get abducted, ask them how they travel faster than light. I’m really interested in that!"

"WHAT KIND OF PSYCHOPATH THINKS ABOUT THAT AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!" Momo screamed, and this time, you couldn’t help but laugh. At least the strange humor was helping to calm the terror a little.

"Hey, kid, let’s be honest... you’ve never seen a UFO in your life, have you?" Momo asked, crossing her arms and looking at him with a mix of disdain and curiosity.

The guy adjusted his glasses, clearly offended. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT REGRESSIVE HYPNOSIS IS?"

"DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT!" Momo snapped, pointing at him with an accusing finger. "I asked you something very simple."

He raised a finger, completely ignoring her while striking a dramatic pose. "THE QUESTION ISN’T WHETHER I’VE SEEN A UFO..."

"Uh-huh, sure," murmured Y/n, rolling their eyes.

"WHAT MATTERS ARE THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE THEORY!" he continued, in such a serious tone that it sounded like he was giving a lecture on astrophysics.

Momo sighed, clearly losing patience. "Again with your nonsense, oh my god. Don’t you ever get tired? Or do you recharge with solar batteries?"

"THIS ISN’T NONSENSE! IT'S SCIENCE! IT’S TRUE!" he protested, with an almost comical intensity.

"Yeah, sure. And how’s it going there, huh? Anything interesting besides your ‘theories’?" Momo said, looking around with feigned indifference as she tried to change the subject.

"I’VE ARRIVED... TOO SHY... SHY... TO THIS MYSTERIOUS PLACE..." the guy shouted on the phone, his voice echoing in the dark, damp tunnel. "WELL... NOW IT'S TIME TO PROVE IT!"

Momo frowned, not as convinced by his enthusiasm. "Please, do you really think this place is special? It’s all dark and super creepy!"

"YOU’RE SCARED! YOU KEEP TALKING ABOUT THE INTERNET, HAVEN’T YOU EVER SEEN A GHOST?!" the guy yelled, his voice strangely echoing in the tunnel.

"Not at all," Momo replied with a nervous laugh, though her gaze darkened a little.

"WHAT WAS THAT RANT ABOUT EARLIER?!" she shouted, pointing at the phone. "TAKE BACK EVERYTHING YOU SAID! How can you believe in spirits if you've never even seen one?"

"What's so strange about that?" Momo shot back, crossing her arms. She lowered her voice a bit before continuing: "I told you... my grandmother is a medium. She raised me because... well, because I don’t have parents."

There was a brief silence. Even the guy on the phone seemed to be lost for words. Y/n looked at Momo, noticing an expression they rarely saw on their friend: nostalgia mixed with sadness.

"I didn’t know..." murmured the guy on the other end of the line.

"Yeah," Momo continued, trying to appear indifferent. "My parents died when I was little. So my grandmother took care of me. But of course, my grandmother wasn’t a normal person. She always talked about spirits, spells, energies. Before going to school, she’d make me do a ritual to protect me from ‘bad vibes’ or something like that. And if I didn’t do it, she’d get mad at me."

"And did you do it?" Y/n asked with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Momo sighed. "At first, I had no choice. But... it was horrible. The other kids would laugh at me. Even the guy I liked... one day he saw me doing one of those rituals and, well, he thought I was an idiot. From that moment on, he started avoiding me. It was the worst."

"That sounds tough," Y/n commented, with a more serious tone.

"Yeah, it was," Momo admitted, shrugging. "I got really angry with my grandmother for that. I think I even said things I shouldn’t have. I felt really alone. But... now that I think about it, it wasn’t so much the ritual that bothered me. It was seeing how they laughed at my family, how they didn’t understand what it meant to us."

"It must have been hard," Y/n said.

"It was," Momo repeated, looking down. "I didn’t regain trust in my grandmother until recently. I realized that, even though her ideas were strange, she did it because she wanted to protect me. And... well, it's all I have left of my family. So, even though it’s frustrating sometimes... I guess I understand her."

The guy on the other end of the phone cleared his throat, breaking the mood. "Well... I don’t know much about spirits, but your grandmother sounds... interesting."

Momo laughed a little. "That’s a polite way to put it. But yeah, she is."

"My grandmother..." Momo began, her gaze fixed on the darkness of the hospital, as if she were speaking more to herself than to anyone else. "Her work as a medium... I don’t know if it’s real. I’ve never seen a spirit. Never. I don’t even know if my grandmother can really perceive them. But you know something? I don’t care. Because, at the end of the day, she raised me alone. She accepted me as her family, even when I didn’t understand anything she did or said. And, in some way, I believe in her."

There was a silence in the group. Even the guy on the phone seemed to have fallen silent for a moment, as if Momo’s words had struck him.

"That’s why I believe in spirits," she continued. "Not because I’ve seen them, but because I believe in my grandmother. And that’s enough for me."

Y/n looked at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. It was rare to hear Momo speak so sentimentally, but somehow, the sincerity of her words hit like a punch to the chest.

"And you?" Momo asked, turning back to the phone. "Why do you believe in aliens, huh?"

"That... that’s different," the guy replied, somewhat uncomfortable. "You don’t have to see something to know it exists. There’s evidence, theories, data..."

Momo let out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, sure. Evidence and theories. But tell me something, genius: have you ever seen an alien with your own eyes?"

"Well... no," he admitted, somewhat hesitantly.

"Then what makes you different from me? Why do you assume that yours is more real than mine?"

"Because it’s science," he quickly responded, defensively.

"Science?" Momo raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You call science looking at forums on the internet and reading conspiracy theories from people who’ve probably never left their basement?"

"It’s not the same!" he exclaimed, clearly frustrated.

Y/n decided to intervene before the conversation turned into an argument. "Okay, okay, both of you, calm down. Look, I think Momo has a point. But you do too, mysterious guy. At the end of the day, if you like something, you don’t need reasons to believe in it, right?"

They both fell silent, though their expressions showed they still had a lot to say.

"By the way," Momo added, slightly changing the subject, "you talk about aliens like you know everything about them, but... you have the voice of someone who doesn’t leave the house much, am I wrong?"

"What are you implying?" he asked, clearly offended.

"That you probably haven’t talked to another person in months, other than us on the phone," she replied with a teasing smile.

"That’s not true!"

"Uh-huh, sure."

Y/n chuckled softly while observing their dynamic. Even though they argued constantly, there was something strangely entertaining about their interactions.

"Anyway," Momo said, returning to the previous topic, "I don’t know if aliens exist, but one thing I’m sure of: we don’t need evidence to believe in what matters to us. That includes my grandmother... and I guess your aliens too."

"I guess you’re right," the guy admitted, in a somewhat resigned tone.

"Of course I am," she responded confidently.

"Well," Y/n interrupted, looking around, "before we continue to philosophize, can we just focus on not dying here? Because this place still gives me the creeps."

"I'll second that motion," Momo added, adjusting her hair. "Come on, Y/n. And you, kiddo, keep looking for your evidence. We'll do our thing."

"Don't forget to record something if you see a spirit!" he replied.

"Sure, and if we see an alien, we'll introduce you to it in person," Momo replied sarcastically as she walked with Y/n into the darkness of the hospital.

The boy moved slowly through the tunnel, his flashlight wobbling with each step. The place was dark, damp, and had a strange smell, as if time had stopped there. The echoes of his footsteps made him think he wasn't alone, although he tried to convince himself otherwise.

Suddenly, something stopped him.  A few feet in front of him, a figure appeared out of nowhere.

It was an old woman, hunched over, dressed in worn clothes and a hat that looked like it was from another era. Her face was covered in deep wrinkles, but what stood out the most was her twisted, almost grotesque smile.

“What the…?” he muttered, trying to back away.

The old woman looked up, and her eyes shone with an unnatural intensity.

The old woman took a step forward. “I’ll let you suck my… tits,” she said with a twisted grimace, “if you let me suck your dick.”

“WHAT?!” the boy shouted, jumping back. His flashlight shook in his hand, and, in his panic, his phone almost slipped from his grasp.

“Momo! Y/n! It’s a ghost!” he shouted into the phone, although he didn’t know if they were still on the line.

From the other side of the tunnel, Momo looked up, irritated.  “What is this idiot saying now?”

The boy ran as fast as he could, not daring to look back. Each step echoed like a drum in the tunnel, and his panting was deafening.

“This can’t be happening!” he shouted, stumbling slightly but staying on his feet. “It’s just an old exit! YES, THAT’S WHAT IT HAS TO BE!”

He reached his bike, parked at the entrance to the tunnel, and began to wobble as he tried to mount it. His hands shook so badly that he could barely grip the handlebars. “Come on, come on, come on!” he muttered frantically as he tried to pedal.

At that moment, the cell phone in his pocket rang again. It was Momo. With clumsy hands, he pulled out the phone and answered, still panting.

“AYASE! THAT THING IS FOLLOWING ME!”

“Don’t stop, you idiot!” Momo shouted from the other end of the line. “If it catches up with you, you’re done for!”  “It’s the curse of the Old Turbo! If you lose the race against her, she curses you!”

“WHAT!? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME BEFORE!?”

“Because I didn’t think anyone would be idiotic enough to provoke her!”

The boy looked back as he pedaled, and his blood ran cold. The old woman wasn’t running… she was floating towards him, with terrifying speed.

“NOOOO!” he shouted, pedaling even harder.

“Don’t look back!” Momo exclaimed, almost hysterical. “Just keep pedaling!”

Suddenly, the tunnel was filled with a strange echo.

Momo, who was still shouting into the phone, noticed something strange. “Hey, wait a minute! Y/n?”

The silence on the other side made her stop. She turned her head and realized that Y/n was no longer there.

“Y/n!? Where are you?!”  he screamed, looking around in panic.

The boy’s cell phone began to crackle with static, and the call was abruptly cut off. He was now alone, the echo of the Turbo Old Lady’s laughter filling the tunnel as he pedaled madly towards the exit.

Momo, still holding his own cell phone, felt a chill run down his spine. “This isn’t right… Y/n? Answer!”

Momo made his way down the hallway, the light from his flashlight shaking with each step he took. The air seemed colder with each meter, and darkness enveloped everything around him. “Y/n? Are you there? Please answer…” he muttered, gripping his cell phone tightly.

Suddenly, a strange sound echoed in the distance. Footsteps.

Momo stopped dead in his tracks, his breathing quickening. “Boy? Is that you? Answer!”

But what emerged from the shadows wasn’t Y/n.  They were three tall figures, oddly proportioned. They wore human clothing: buttoned-up shirts with collars, tucked neatly into their pants. The pockets of their shirts were filled with small items, such as pens and a notebook sticking out of one of them. They wore perfectly fitted belts and shiny shoes, as if they had just left an office meeting.

Their heads, however, were anything but human.

They looked like grotesque humanoid masks: expressionless faces with motionless eyes and thin mouths that curved unnaturally. Their movements were stiff, but their eyes followed her with chilling precision.

Momo took a step back, her body trembling. “Who… what are you guys?” she stammered, trying to maintain her composure.

One of them took a step forward, his head tilting slightly, as if he were studying her. Momo didn’t wait any longer.  She turned on her heel and began running down the tunnel, quickly dialing Y/n’s number on her cell phone.

“Y/n! Please answer! There are some weird guys here and—!”

She couldn’t finish. One of the men appeared out of nowhere, blocking her way. Momo screamed and backed away, but she collided with something hard. She quickly turned around and found another one of them, who had appeared behind her without making the slightest noise.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, throwing the flashlight at one of them in a desperate attempt to escape. The flashlight bounced harmlessly off his chest, and he showed no reaction.

Before she could do anything else, she felt an icy pressure on her arm. One of the men had grabbed her, his grip firm but inexplicably cold. “No, no, no! Let me go!”

The cell phone fell from her hands and hit the ground, illuminating for a moment the expressionless face of one of the men.  “Y/n! Help!” was the last thing she managed to scream before she was dragged into the darkness of the tunnel.

The phone was left there, illuminating an empty, cold hallway. In the distance, the echo of the men’s footsteps carrying her away could be heard, but soon, even that sound disappeared.

⊹ ・・───・・・・ ───  ⊹

Momo opened her eyes in shock and confusion. The room was cold, with metallic walls illuminated by bluish lights, and in front of her were three disturbing-looking figures. With elongated heads, greyish skin and large, dark eyes, they looked like something straight out of a science fiction movie. One of them stepped forward and spoke in a monotonous, metallic voice:

"Greetings, human. We are Serpoians. We are called that because we come from the planet Serpo."

"Aliens?" Momo frowned in disbelief. Her mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. However, the evidence was undeniable: she was facing something that surpassed any logical explanation.

"Do not be afraid," another of the Serpoians continued with inhuman calm. "We are a peaceful species."

Momo, far from calming down, gritted her teeth. Her eyes frantically scanned the room as she tugged at the restraints holding her wrists.  “Peaceful? Nice guys don’t kidnap girls! Where are my clothes?”

One of the aliens pointed to a nearby table where his clothes lay, in tatters. “Your belongings were handled with care. The damage was… accidental.”

“Accidental?! This isn’t cheap! You’re going to pay for this! And I demand that you return me to my home right now!” he shouted, his voice filling the room.

Despite his protests, the Serpoians seemed immune to his fury. “Our species is entirely male,” one explained in a mechanical tone, as if he were reciting a lesson. “For millennia, we have reproduced through cloning, but this has led to the loss of our emotions and genetic diversity. We seek to regain our biological capabilities… using your genetic code.”

“My what?” Momo looked at them with a mix of confusion and disgust. “You’re completely insane! I will not be a part of your Frankenstein experiments!”

Before she could say anything else, the sound of a sliding door interrupted the tension. A tall, sleek figure strode into the room. His futuristic suit gleamed in the light, form-fitting and full of metallic detailing. His face was hidden behind a sleek helmet that reflected his surroundings like a liquid mirror. His presence was imposing.

“Where is my payment?” he demanded in a firm, authoritative voice.

The Serpoians turned to her. One of them held up a black suitcase. “Here you go. However, it is less than agreed. You delivered late.”

The woman crossed her arms, her posture conveying palpable disdain. “My mentor accepts no excuses. Neither do I. This deal was for a larger sum.”

“The delay justifies the reduction,” one of the aliens replied coldly.

The woman clicked her tongue, visibly upset. Meanwhile, Momo, though still terrified, could not take her eyes off the newcomer.  There was something in her voice, in the way she moved… Something that felt strangely familiar.

Her eyes widened as she connected the pieces. “Y/n?” she muttered, almost breathless.

The woman stopped. Slowly, she turned her head towards Momo. Although the helmet still obscured her face, the slight shift in her posture made her discomfort clear.

The room fell into a tense silence following Y/n’s words. Momo stared at her in disbelief, her lips trembling as tears threatened to fall.

“What are you doing here, Y/n? What is this? Why are you with them?” she asked with a mix of rage and desperation.

Y/n let out an audible sigh, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s not personal, Momo. It’s just work. You… were the target. I was paid to bring them what they needed. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Momo raised her voice, her tears finally overflowing. “Is that what I am to you? A job? We were supposed to be friends! I was supposed to be able to trust you!”

Y/n’s helmet reflected the cold lights of the room, hiding any emotion that might have been on her face. But the stiffness of her shoulders gave her away. She tried to stand her ground, looking at Momo from a distance. “This isn’t about you or us, Momo. It’s about… surviving. You don’t understand how my world works. No one survives without making sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices?! Is that what I am to you? One more sacrifice to keep you going?” Momo screamed, struggling against the restraints that kept her immobilized. “You were my friend, Y/n! I trusted you like no one else! I always thought you would understand me!”  But here you are, giving me away like I'm... like I'm a thing!”

Momo's words hit like a hammer. For a moment, Y/n stood still, unable to respond. Something in Momo's voice, in the broken sincerity of her words, touched her heart.

“Do you remember what you told me when you picked me up that night?” Momo continued between sobs. “You said that no matter what, you'd be there for me. That friends never betray each other. And look at you now... giving me away like I'm worthless.”

The tension in the room was almost palpable. Even the Serpoians fell silent, watching the confrontation.

Y/n lowered her head slightly, her voice sounding lower, almost unsure. “It's not that simple, Momo... I—”

“Don't give me excuses!” Momo interrupted her, her voice cracking. “Look at me! Tell me that all of this is worth it!  “Tell me you’re okay with what you’re doing!”

Y/n stood still for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. Then, she took a step back, clenching her fists at her sides. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, barely audible. Without another word, she turned to the Serpoians. “The deal is done. I’m leaving.”

“Y/n!” Momo screamed, her voice filled with desperation. “Please! Don’t leave me here! Please don’t do this to me!”

But Y/n didn’t stop. She headed for the door without looking back, her bright figure disappearing into the dimness of the hallway. Just before the door closed, Momo, her voice cracking, let out one last scream that echoed in the silence:

“I would never have done this to you, Y/n! Never!”

The echo of her words hung in the air, and for an instant, Y/n stood on the other side of the door.  Her shoulders shook slightly, but she didn’t turn around. With a quick movement, she disappeared, leaving Momo alone, her sobs filling the room as the Serpoians turned their attention back to her.

“Why…?” Momo whispered through her tears. “Why did you do this to me?”

The Serpoians had run out of patience. One of them approached with cold, calculated movements, a strange humming sound emanating from his device.

“Let us prepare to extract the necessary organs. Your resistance is irrelevant,” one declared in a metallic voice.

Momo struggled uselessly against the restraints, her face drenched in tears. “Get away from me! You cannot do this!”

The alien lifted the probe, slowly bringing it closer to Momo. “We will begin the procedure now.”

Suddenly, the sound of a ringtone broke through the air, Momo’s mobile phone began to vibrate on the nearby table. The Serpoians paused, staring at it curiously.

“External interruptions are not acceptable,” one of them said, reaching out a hand to take the device.

Before she could touch it, the phone’s screen lit up in a deep red.  A deep vibration filled the room, and suddenly, a figure emerged from the screen: Y/n, holding a strangely designed pistol.

“Did I interrupt something again?” she asked in an icy tone, pointing directly at the Serpoians.

Beside her, staggering, appeared the boy possessed by Turbo Granny. His body was bent at impossible angles, and his eyes shone with a mix of fear and rage.

“Ayase!” Ken shouted, struggling to stay on his feet as Turbo Granny seemed to control his movements.

The aliens took a step back, observing the scene with a mix of shock and wariness.

“How did you get in here again, Agent Jean Jacket?” one of the Serpoians demanded, raising his hands in a defensive stance.

Y/n let out a dry laugh, though her gaze remained fixed on them. “Let’s just say I have my ways.”

Momo, still trapped in the chair, stared at Y/n in disbelief and rage. “Now you decide to show up?! After everything you did?!”

“This doesn’t change anything, Momo,” Y/n said without looking at her, her voice strained. “This is still not personal.”

“Please don’t give me that again!” Momo screamed, tears sliding down her cheeks.

For an instant, Y/n hesitated, but didn’t respond. Instead, she pulled the trigger on her gun, firing a beam that struck one of the Serpoians, knocking it to the ground.

Turbo Granny, controlling Ken, let out a terrifying shriek and launched herself at another alien, biting it ferociously on the torso.

“Momo, take cover!” Y/n screamed as the remaining aliens began to respond to the attack, their suits glowing as they prepared to fight back.

“I can’t! I’m tied up!” Momo screamed in desperation, pulling at the straps with all her might.

Ken screamed in desperation, his body still fighting against Turbo Granny’s possession. Tears fell from his eyes as the words filled the room, his voice cracked from years of repressed pain.

“No matter how many times I called you, you never came!” He exclaimed, fists clenched, body tense under Granny’s control.  “There I was bullied by children, ignored by aliens… children paid me to beat them up!”

Ken’s words were desperate, but the fury and pain seemed to give him the strength to keep fighting. “My life sucked! And no one cared if I was alive or dead… but (Y/n) and Miss Ayase were the only ones who stood up for me! So get your filthy hands off her!”

At that moment, a spark of control seemed to surge within him. His body trembled, but his mind struggled to take back the reins, preparing to attack. Anger fueled him, his will finally regaining some strength.

Momo, from her position, screamed in desperation, unable to do anything but watch as the fight raged. “Hidden-kun! Do it! We need you!”

But amidst the chaos, the aliens began to move, aware of the growing threat Ken posed. One of them, still reeling from Turbo Granny’s impact, gave an order. “Get those humans! They won’t let this end well!”

The tension rose, but the worst seemed yet to come. A Serpoian, with cold, calculated movements, approached Momo, holding her by the shoulders tightly. “If you don’t give us what we ask for, you’ll regret it,” he said in a monotone voice, while his companion watched Ken, who was still trying to break free from Granny’s influence.

“Gross!” one of the other aliens commented, watching the scene become more and more chaotic.

Momo looked at Ken, fighting against his own body, knowing that control was fragile. “Ken! Don’t give up! You can do it!” he shouted, his voice filled with desperation.

“Enough of all this!”  The voice, firm and full of power, boomed through the room.

It was Y/n. Her presence was imposing, the helmet reflecting the light from the screens, but behind it, her expression was determined.

“I won’t let them hurt you anymore, Momo!” she said, as she raised her gun towards the Serpoians.

One of them tried to react, but a direct shot to his torso stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Hmm?”

Momo briefly looked away at Ken, but soon returned her focus to Turbo Granny, whose teeth were still piercing her calf.

“I’ll eat your cock!”

“What?” Y/n stepped back, horrified, but still trying to understand the situation.

“I… it’s not me! It’s Turbo Granny!”

“Are you really the only ones who can save me?” Momo thought, as her eyes focused on Ken. The situation was becoming more and more chaotic.

The alien and Momo watched the conflict in silence. Finally, the alien turned his gaze to Momo, noticing the chaos between the humans. “Now I will begin with the excitement.”

He extended his hand over Momo, who closed her eyes, feeling a growing pressure. Her face twisted in disgust as, for a moment, she thought she could no longer get out of this situation. It was then that, in her mind, an image from her childhood began to emerge: an important memory of her grandmother.

“Release your chi.”

“I don’t want to...”

Momo, as a little girl, found herself at the entrance of her grandmother’s house, long before she met you or Ken.

“The other kids always make fun of me for that. I look stupid.” Momo explained to the older woman, as her grandmother knelt in front of her with a calm smile.

“No, it’s not like that… When you release your chi, you will never get hurt or sick.  It will also help you keep evil away.” Grandma placed her hands gently on Momo’s shoulders, before taking her small hands firmly.

“Now, tense your abdominal muscles and imagine your chi rising from the top of your head.”

Momo, with effort, tried to follow the directions. Immediately, a painful memory flashed through her: the children laughing at her when she tried to do that pose.

“I hate it! I won’t do it again!” Momo screamed, shaking her head as her eyes widened in fury.

Her grandmother, still patient, held out her hand, asking for calm. “Momo! Wait!”

“I hate you, Grandma! You’re an imposter!”

That moment of anger made the memory flash through her mind in a distorted way. However, deep down, Momo knew she didn’t hate her grandmother. She only felt ashamed, something she was now beginning to understand.

Then, he began to imagine his grandmother’s words, remembering the technique she had taught him. As he visualized the flow of her chi, something inside him triggered, and, in that instant, the chair containing her broke under her energy.

The fight between Ken and Momo stopped at the same time, both of them staring in amazement as Momo began to levitate.

“What?! She never said she had psychic powers!” Ken exclaimed, his eyes wide as Momo floated.

With a slight bend in her legs, Momo raised her hands, looking at the two men around her in surprise. “I… I didn’t know I had them either.”

The alien who had tried to attack extended his hands towards Momo, but she, now fully focused, stared at him. “My psychokinesis is being repelled by a higher force. What’s going on? Maybe the human’s brain waves were overloaded, allowing her to access her chakra.”

Momo, fascinated by the piece of metal floating above her hand, turned her gaze towards the alien with a determined smile. “She’s not an impostor! My grandmother is a genuine medium! Thank you, Grandma!”

Meanwhile, the boy tried to bite Y/n and in the process, ripped off her helmet, revealing Y/n’s pastel blue skin and the dark blue glowing antennae emerging from her head.

She tried to defend herself, trying not to shoot him with her gun, but he scratched her skin, making fissures that healed automatically.

Momo stood up and, with her newly acquired powers, launched a powerful kick at the alien. However, he raised his arm and stopped her with force. “Now I have the power to face these monsters! And make them fly!” Momo shouted, full of determination.

With a last effort, she kicked the alien, sending him through the walls. The explosion that followed was deafening, and the lights in the room began to flicker violently.

Momo screamed as she felt her body collapse, as she watched the destruction falling around her. “We are inside a real UFO!” she exclaimed, surprised, looking around for Y/n and Ken, and finding them on the ground fighting, she was horrified. “(Y/n)! Occult-kun!”

Swiftly, Momo approached Granny Turbo. Suddenly, her body began to glow with a clear light, while her hair flowed wildly. At that moment, the curse that weighed on Ken disappeared.

Suddenly, the room darkened, turning red. Before them, Granny Turbo appeared, her gaze fixed and malicious. “Who the hell are you two?” she said, her voice cold and challenging.

Turbo Granny curled her fingers, causing Ken to pull away from Y/n, his body arching as a painful gurgle came from his lips. Momo watched, eyes wide, recoiling slightly as she saw how Ken was still under Granny’s control. “Granny is out of her body!” she exclaimed, alarmed. “But he is still under her curse!”

“This child belongs to me,” Turbo Granny said with a mocking smile. “As long as I have him, the curse will not be lifted.  I can't stay here for long, but if you want me to free him, go to the tunnel. If you want to fight me, come to me. Damn classless bitches!”

“Who are you calling a bitch, you filthy old woman?! Give him his penis back!” Momo shouted at the ghost that was walking away.

Y/n, seeing Momo so worried and determined, quickly approached her and, with unexpected strength, lifted her into her arms. Momo blushed at feeling so close to her, her cheeks turning red as she couldn't help but look down, avoiding Y/n's eyes, which were shining with determination.

“Don't worry! We're going to get out of here,” Y/n said firmly, beginning to quickly climb the walls of the UFO with the agility of an expert. Momo clung to her, the warmth of her body comforting her, but her mind was filled with chaos. In her chest, a strange feeling was born, something she had never felt before.

Ken, still disoriented from the curse and the explosion, was on the ground, slowly recovering. Y/n, still moving, lifted him up with one hand, placing him on her back as she continued to ascend.

“Come on, Ken! You have to get up, we have to go now!” Y/n shouted, and Ken, his eyes still somewhat clouded, nodded weakly.

The room was crumbling around them, and a dark energy filled the air. The walls were beginning to shake violently, and the lights flickered desperately. Momo, her face still flushed from the closeness to Y/n, looked down as they ascended, unable to stop her heart from beating faster than normal. What was this strange feeling that was invading her?

Suddenly, a loud boom shook the UFO, and a gigantic explosion went off behind them. The walls began to give way, and the ship seemed to be on the verge of total destruction. Y/n, not losing her cool, leapt forward, bringing Momo and Ken with her in her leap, escaping just before the UFO exploded into a ball of fire.

With a deafening bang, the UFO disintegrated behind them, and in the air, Y/n, Momo, and Ken flew through space, jumping out of the ship's reach, completely safe but on the verge of despair.

Momo hugged Y/n tightly, no longer caring about the blush, as the wind whipped at them, and Ken's body rested on Y/n's back.  The scene was chaotic, but it had all happened so fast, and the only thought running through Momo's mind was how she felt so strangely calm in Y/n's arms, as the ship crumbled behind them.

"Are we safe?" Ken asked, his voice weak, as he watched the distance between them and the exploding ship.

"Yes," Y/n answered, without hesitation. "We're safe... for now."

But as they floated in the air, Momo couldn't help but wonder how they could have survived all of that. And even more so, how her feelings towards Y/n seemed to have changed in a matter of seconds, and what it all meant to her.

⊹ ・・───・・・・ ───  ⊹

Near Kamigoe Prefecture, a curious pastel-green being walked casually through the crowded streets of the city. It had the appearance of a puppy dog, though its size, its long antennae that glowed faintly in the daylight, and its tail that swung like a whip of jelly made it clear that it was no ordinary dog. In one hand it held a burrito wrapped in silver paper, and in the other, a large soda that made gurgling sounds with each step.

The little alien eagerly bit into the burrito, spilling some of the sauce on the ground. It paused for a moment, sucking its fingers before continuing to walk. Its attitude was that of someone who belonged there, though it didn’t bother to hide the strangeness of its appearance. People watched it in awe, but the alien seemed immune to the curious glances.

“Mom, look! A puppy!” exclaimed a little girl with braids, pointing at it with joy.

The being stopped dead in its tracks, its ears (or what seemed to be ears) perking up at the sound. It slowly turned its head towards the little girl, its eyes shining like a pair of tiny green suns. “Who are you calling a puppy, kid!?” it shrieked in a high-pitched voice with an accent that seemed to be from another planet… literally.

The little girl’s mother froze, tugging on her daughter’s hand as she tried to process what had just happened.

“Speak, Mom! The puppy is speaking!” the excited little girl shouted, tugging on her mother’s arm.

The alien, offended, snorted and raised his donkey towards the little girl, as if it were some sort of weapon. “Hey, on my planet, insulting someone by calling them a puppy is a declaration of war, you know? But I’m too busy today to respond to your taunts.”

The mother, now completely terrified, dragged her daughter away from the little being, muttering something about “moving to the country.”  The alien pup shook his head as he took a long sip of his soda, producing a clattering sound that drew even more stares.

“Humans…” he muttered tiredly, his antennae twitching in slight annoyance. “You can’t just walk around town without someone mistaking you for a pet.”

He continued on his way, dodging the crowd with surprising agility for someone with a burrito and a soda in his hands. Every so often, he would stop in front of a store to admire some product, though he quickly grew bored and kept moving.

A man in a suit saw him pass by and frowned. “Is that… a dog in a costume?”

“I’m not a dog!” the alien shouted without even turning around. “And stop looking at me like that or I’ll throw my burrito in your face!”

The threat seemed to have an effect, and the man walked away muttering something about “needing more coffee.”

The little creature finally reached the entrance to the town, where the lights were beginning to fade and the shops were turning into open fields. It stopped and looked out at the horizon, its antennae leaning forward as if it were sensing something. It took a last sip of its soda, letting out a loud burp that echoed through the air.

“Fine…” it said, wiping its mouth with the back of its hand. “Now I just need to find that damn ship before someone else calls me a puppy.”

He continued walking towards the end of the city, his half-eaten burrito still in his hand. Behind him lay a line of perplexed humans, and ahead of him a fate awaited him that, as always, would be anything but boring.

The little alien continued to walk with a sure step, enjoying his half-finished burrito, when suddenly, his antennae began to vibrate intensely. A slight buzzing sound went through his head, as if he had tuned into a distant frequency. His expression tensed, and his eyes, which used to shine with indifference, now narrowed with seriousness.

“What the…?” he muttered, looking around as if searching for the source of the phenomenon. His antennae continued to vibrate, and the buzzing sound grew higher. Then, looking up, he saw it.

In the distance, a thick column of black smoke rose from the old university hospital, followed by an explosion that lit up the sky as if it were a misplaced fireworks display.  The alien dropped his soda, which slowly rolled to a stop in a sewer.

“No way!” he screamed, bringing his hands to his antennae as if trying to stop the humming. He looked back at the hospital, frowning in a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/n did it again?!”

The small being began to walk faster, then trotted, muttering under his breath. “I told you not to go soft on the merchandise! But no, you always have to play the heroine, dammit!”

He paused for a moment, as if he had remembered something, and shook his head in frustration. “And you sure left a mess behind, like always! By all the rings of Saturn, you’re really going to listen to me this time!”

With one last glance at the burning hospital, he let out an annoyed growl.  “I hope you at least saved something valuable, because if not…”

The little alien ran off on his short legs, leaving his donkey forgotten on the ground. His pastel green silhouette was lost in the shadows, while the smoke from the hospital covered the horizon, promising chaos and answers in the distance.

A/N ── Oh, hey, it's me again.

First off, let me tell you something: I'm in love with Dandadan. Seriously, I can't even explain how much I was hooked on this series from the moment I found out how it went. It was like a cosmic crush. Each chapter left me more hooked, more obsessed, and obviously I couldn't resist. I ended up buying the ENTIRE manga set that was available so far. I literally couldn't wait to find out what was going to happen with Momo after those last chapters that left me with my heart in my throat. This series is pure magic and chaos, and I can't get over it.

Now, let's talk about my baby, or Y/n. Let me tell you that her spacesuit is directly inspired by Smart Lady from a Japanese series (if you know which one, you're one of mine). I wanted something that screams alien but with style, and I feel like I nailed it... sort of. But, here comes the kicker: her personality is still not well defined. She's a mess, I admit. But that's the whole idea. Because she's an undercover alien, her personality changes depending on the environment she's in. It's like she's constantly adapting to fit in, but at the same time, that lack of consistency is part of her identity. Existential drama at its finest!

And here comes the tricky but interesting part: the character doesn't have a defined gender. Visually, she could pass for a woman, and she identifies as a woman because that's how she feels, but here's the plot twist: she has no defined genitals. Yes, you read that right. She's neither biologically male nor female. She's something beyond that, something that she may not even fully understand. For now, she treats herself as a woman because that's what feels most comfortable and natural to her earthly experience, but... does it really matter? I want to explore how that ambiguity affects her, how it influences the way she sees herself and her interactions with others. It's a key part of her story that I hope to develop little by little.

Oh, and regarding the technical chaos... I know this first part had its problems. It was published by itself, the dialogues were poorly arranged, it was very long, blah, blah, blah. But now, it's all well and good. I think.

[b3ach-bunn7]

STILL LOVE YOU

You, a senior at Jujutsu high, are just trying to enjoy your last year in your schools theatre team. And then Gojo gets cast at your lead and love interest, and everything takes a turn for the worse

Highschool au, (one sided) enemies to lovers, slight nsfw, sooo theatrey

—————————————————————————

Gojo Satoru is the annoying kind of person that’s good at everything.

And you wish you were being dramatic, but you are unfortunately not. You’ve seen him dominate a basketball court in the gym, and your whole school has seen him winning awards for always being top of the class. He’s popular, too. Probably due to skin that is so unfairly clear for a teenager, and the fact that he looks good enough to be a model. You think he might actually be one. He’s rich enough to have his family pay him into a Versace show. 

Everyone loves Gojo, but the thing that makes you hate him most is that, of all the talents in the world, Gojo had to have the voice of an angel.

It’s no secret that you’re a theatre kid. You accept that title with pride, and you’ve never been embarrassed of it. Of course, you’ve considerably calmed down from your younger years, which you are kind of embarrassed by. You doubt anyone would ever find the videos of you horribly singing defying gravity on YouTube now, though. You’re a senior and you know the social suicide it is to be too outwardly obsessed with anything.

But theatre was your safe space. You were good at it and you loved the little community you’d built up with all your fellow castmates. Every year the school would put on a show and you were in every one, and for the past two years, your seniority above the younger students made sure you always got a part. It did also help you were quite a good singer. If you were being modest. It’s also your last year before you’re off to college, so you need to make sure this year is your best.

You knew everyone too. All the tech guys, the estate managers that set up the stage every year, and every single person who auditions. Which is why you have not a single clue why Gojo is currently talking to the head of drama at the front of the hall.

You cross your arms and scowl. There is absolutely no reason for him to be in here, in your safe space. You nudge Choso’s arm and he looks up from his phone. He’s one of the tech guys, and also your best friend, but he always comes to rehearsals to keep you company.

“What?”

“Why is he here?” You mutter, and Choso turns towards the front.

“Why is who here?”

“Gojo. Doesn’t he interfere enough in this school? Now he has to be here? Theatre is mine, Choso.”

He tilts his head a little. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“It does in my head.” You sigh and sit down. The plastic chairs of the auditorium stick to your thighs and you pull your school skirt down and huff. 

The show this year is Grease. So not only is this definitely your year, because you think you might burn this school down if you don’t get Sandy, but you need it to be perfect. The only problem is is that the theatre lovers at Jujutsu High are quite limited. That, and Yuta, the usual lead for these sorts of things, has taken to sport this year, so if a guy like Gojo auditions there's no way he won't get Danny. You tell Choso as much and he snorts a laugh.

“Is that what’s got you so annoyed?”

“Yes. Don't say it like it's stupid.”

Choso hums. His attention is back on his phone, where his fingers swipe leisurely on Subway Surfers. “It kind of is.”

“Imagine if- If Gojo suddenly barged into your tech room and started doing all the lights for the show.”

“I’d be grateful for the help.”

You shove his shoulder and he tuts as he hits a train. “Hey.”

“It’s just so annoying. Isn’t there a test for him to ace or a basketball court to bother?” You mutter.

Gojo is smiling brightly at Mrs Jones, the head of drama, a strict lady who always favoured the drama kids. Something you’ve never minded. You love the private smiles and soft voice she just saves for you guys. So you have no idea why she’s looking at Gojo like he’s hung the stars. It can’t be good.

“The boys and girls audition separately, so I won't even see his.” You shake your head. “I’ll just be bombarded with it when the cast list drops. And if he gets the lead I’ll crash out.”

“Oh, however will you survive.” He deadpans.

“I might not.”

Choso chuckles. “Why do you even hate him so much?”

You watch as Gojo bows, writing his name down on the audition list. He saunters over to his equally attractive friend, Geto, and gets clapped on the back. 

“I don’t know. He’s- He’s annoying. So good at everything. Drama is mine.”

“Ah.” Choso nods understandingly. “It’s jealousy.”

“Shut up and play your game.”

.

You were right. You were right that he’d get the lead and you were right that it would fill you with insurmountable rage.

“You see this? Oh my god. He got Danny!” You yell.

The halls bustle with students rushing to class, but you're rooted right in front of the information board. You’ve dropped your backpack on the floor in your rage, and you snatch it up and hoist it onto your shoulder. Choso leans forward to look at the sheet. He points to the line where your name is written in bold.

“Yeah, but you got Sandy!” He smiles encouragingly.

“Yeah, duh. I sang ‘Hopelessly Devoted’ perfectly.”

Choso rolls his eyes. “So modest, too.”

You smile sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry.”

It’s okay. You can live with this. You guess it’s not that much of a big deal. At least with a guy like Gojo on the cast, the show will get more sales, more publicity. He’s got enough little fangirls that will be dying to see him in even a slightly romantic role that you’re sure this year the show will be sold out. Though you’re unsure how that bone white hair will work on a greaser.

Maybe you’re just dramatic. It’s sort of built into your genetic code. Maybe this will be fun, meeting new people and all that. You rub at your eyes.

“It’s fine. It can’t be that bad. I-”

“Hey! Sandy!”

You turn at the sound of a voice you’ve never spoken to. Gojo is taller than he looks when he bounds over and stands right in front of you, bright blue eyes peering at your over tinted sunglasses.

“Congrats on getting the lead.” He grins. “Excited to be my lover?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Yeah, scratch that. This guy is insufferable.

“We’re indoors. Take the sunglasses off.” You drawl, and walk off, dragging Choso behind you.

.

You wish that had been the last time you spoke to Gojo. But instead, you start seeing him every single week.

Your annoyance only grows as he starts to frequent the places you usually hold so dear to you more and more. On Mondays you meet up in Mrs Bergman’s room to practise the songs in the show. She’s your favourite music teacher, young and excited about everything she does. It turns out he does have an amazing voice. Which he loves to make known with the litany of very unnecessary riffs he loves to use while signing. You can see him snicker whenever your voice falters slightly or you miss a note, and all it does is piss you off more. 

And then you see him on Wednesday and Thursdays after school, where you and the rest of the cast rehearse all together. You have two months until the show, a fact Mrs Jones doesn’t hesitate to remind you all of every second of every day. And he gets on so well with all the cast and the teachers. He brings snacks on the days where things run too long and he is always happy and smiling. You want to throttle him.

You sigh heavily and drop your bag down on the floor. The backstage of your school's little auditorium isn’t too big, but you’ve claimed a far corner for yourself. It's a small rickety table and a chair stolen from the audience but you call it home. You pull out your water and take a sip. You should probably start warming up but you just got out of a chemistry exam and your brain hurts. You need a few minutes to yourself.

“Hey, Sandy.” You cringe as two arms come to rest on your shoulders. “How’s my beautiful costar doing today?”

You shrug him off. “Your beautiful costar wants you to kindly fuck off.”

Gojo pouts, pulling up a chair beside you. He sits too close and you can smell the heady scent of expensive cologne. He’s unbuttoned the first three buttons of the school assigned white button-ups, and he pushes his sleeves up his forearms. The black sunglasses he can't seem to live without are pushed up on his head, white hairs falling around them.

“That’s not very nice.”

“Good thing I wasn't trying to be.”

He laughs loudly, and you roll your eyes. The worst part about Gojo is for all your anger towards him he just seems to find you hilarious. “Why are you here? Don’t you have to run lines, or something?” You snap. Your much needed break has ended suddenly, so you take to pulling out your script.

“Yeah, I was thinking we could run lines together.”

You pause where you were digging in your bag. “What?”

Gojo leans an elbow on the table. “Run lines with me, baby. It’ll be fun.” “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, okay. Just- I don’t know anyone else in the show.”

You look at him incredulously. “You don't know me! We have literally never spoken before!”

Gojo looks slightly offended. “Rude. Who have you been talking to for the past month of rehearsals?”

You falter slightly. You shake your head. “That’s not talking, that's- That’s rehearsing. Something completely different.”

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Right. Okay, fine. Can we start talking then? We’re practically friends anyways.”

You scoff a laugh. “That’s bold of you to say. It takes a lot for me to tolerate the presence of you and those stupid glasses.”

Gojo pouts once more. He slips the glasses off his head and twirls them between long, slender fingers. “Hey. I have sensitive eyes.”

He blinks rapidly, bright blue, and you raise an eyebrow. 

“I don’t care.”

“You will.” He singsongs and you wave him away.

.

It’s been a week. That's all you need to learn that Gojo Satoru is a very persistent person.

He waits at your locker after class. He uses that charming nature to make the guy you’re supposed to sit with in history move two rows over so Gojo can pester you as easily as he’d like from right next to you. He interrupts your lunches in the cafeteria with your friends, he is just everywhere.

And all so that you’ll run lines with him, and practise outside of your scheduled times. It’s dumb. It’s annoying. You have no idea why he wants it so bad. Maybe he takes pride in how frustrated you get at his insistence. You and Gojo had never even spoken once before all this, so his eagerness to become friends is just weird.

It’s even weirder when he's dressed like a greaser.

“Come on, sweetcheeks. The show is in like, a month and a half. Don’t you want to practise summer nights?”

You cover your mouth, struggling to stifle your laughter. Today is one of your first dress rehearsals. He’s got a leather jacket on and his hair has been slicked back with way too much gel. “You look so fucking stupid.” You giggle and Gojo slumps.

“Right.” He smoothes the side of his head and you watch as a strand of crispy hair curls around his face. “I look hot as fuck.”

It is kind of working on him. But you will never tell him that.

“Sure.”

“Like you look any better.” He mumbles.

You think you look cute. The long yellow maxi skirt and matching cardigan looks good. Your hair is still not styled but you're sure the ponytail will suit you.

“I do look better. I look cute.”

Gojo looks you up and down. “I can agree with that.”

You scowl. “Pervert.”

You’re saved from hearing a response because Miss Jones calls for attention at the front of the room. Luckily for Gojo and unluckily for you, today is the day to run over summer nights. Mrs Jones directs the freshmen she's chosen as her assistant for this show to prep the stage. You warm up, practise some runs, and then you see it out of the corner of your eyes.

Gojo is chatting up MeiMei. At least that’s what it looks like from where you’re standing. She’s leaning against one of the fake cardboard cars in the back of the set and he is standing with his arms crossed, a stupid half smile on his face as he makes her laugh. Gojo is not that funny. She giggles again and nudges his shoulder. You watch her hand linger and slide down his arm, resting on his bicep. Is this a porno? You’re in school for god's sake. He catches your eye and you turn away before you can see his reaction.

You suppose that’s just how Gojo is. It’s not a surprise to anyone that he’s flirting with MeiMei. Gojo flirts with everyone and everything. He’s the kind of person that knows exactly what he’s doing, how alluring he is, and does it regardless. It’s rude. Really. The way he can call you cute and then make MeiMei look like he just proposed to her.

You hate him. 

“Alright! Gojo and Y/N, please head to the front of the stage. We’re going from Act 2 scene 4.” Mrs Jones yells from the front of the room.

You all shuffle into position. Gojo clears his throat.

“You ready, Sandy?” He whispers, raising an eyebrow at you.

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up. Stop calling me that.” You whisper as loudly as you can.

Gojo falters a little, and you watch as, for maybe the first time ever, a little flicker of annoyance crosses his features.

“What’s up with you?” He questions and you brush him off.

You adjust the waistband of your skirt. You’re a good actress. You can put aside your anger to portray the perfect in love teenage girl. 

Or at least you thought you could. 

It turns out it’s much harder when the person you’re supposed to be in love with is who you’re so angry at. Your lines feel stilted and your voice sounds off. All your failed acting just makes you even more frustrated. You’re supposed to be good at this. And it makes it worse that everyone can notice it around you. It takes three runs before Mrs Jones stands from her seat at the front, script flying in the air as she shakes her head.

“No, okay, what is going on with you two?” She snaps. “You look like you hate each other!”

“It’s not my fault! It’s her!” Gojo points at you and you scowl.

“It’s not my fault, it’s so hard to work with him!”

“Me? You're the one with the mood swings!”

“Alright!” Mrs Jones' voice booms across the room. You both shut up immediately.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what has gotten into you two today, but you’re both done. I’m going to call this a one off and practise some other scenes today. You two go sit down and get over whatever petty squabbles you’re in.”

You nod tersely and storm off the stage. You snatch up your uniform and huff your way over to the changing room. Changing room is a stretch. It’s actually an old storage closet you all use because the toilets are way across the school and none of you could be bothered to walk all the way there. You prop your shoe in the corner of the door. This room doesn't open from the inside for whatever weird reason, so you have to remember to leave it open so you can actually get out. You start pulling out your uniform when you hear the door creak open behind you.

You turn quickly and watch Gojo stride in.

“We need to talk.”

You watch as he kicks your shoe out the way. Lets the door start swinging shut. You reach forward, quickly, but you know you’ll be too late.

“Wait, Gojo, don’t-”

The door clicks shut and you groan. Gojo looks at you, confused.

“What?”

“The door. It doesn’t open from inside, which means I am now stuck in here with you.”

Gojo frowns. “You. What- Why do you say it like that? What did I ever do to you?” He asks, incredulous.

“No. We are not having this conversation.”

“Why?” He steps forward, and you frown. “We need to settle your little one-sided beef now.”

You frown. The room is small, empty apart from shelves stacked with toilet paper and old junk you think should probably be thrown out. You back hits the only table in the room. You feel slightly cornered with the way Gojo is staring you down,

“It’s not one-sided, I-”

“Oh, but it is.” He laughs. “You hate me, Sandy. And I don't hate you back. That sounds pretty one sided to me.” 

You furrow your brows. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I will if you’re being stupid. You’re going to ruin the show over this.”

You push past him and walk to the door. You rattle the doorknob and curse under your breath.

“Think it’s locked.”

“Oh, shut up!” You yell. “You just think you’re so much better than everyone!”

“I kind of am.”

You groan, frustrated. “See? You’re so-”

“Confident? Charming?”

You throw the school shirt that’s still in your hand at him. He catches it easily. 

“So vain. It’s so annoying!” You breathe heavily.

Gojo studies you carefully. He takes one large step towards you, and you try to back up but you just hit the door. The room is small and every time you try to back away from him you’re remind of that fact.

“You know, I don’t think you hate me.”

Gojo looks smug. He crosses his arms and the leather jacket stretches over his arms. The light above you two is small and barely illuminates the room, but it seems like his eyes are lighting up as they stare you down, lips tilted into a smirk.

“What?”

“I said-“

“I heard what you said.” You snap. “I very much do hate you.”

Gojo tilts his head. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.”

You feel anger flare up in your chest. “You’re wrong.”

Gojo scoffs. “I’m never wrong.” He takes another step closer. You’d wish this interaction could’ve happened when you and Gojo are not dressed like you’ve just stepped out of the seventies. You swallow roughly and his eyes dart to the lines of your throat that sinks beneath the collar of your shirt.

“I’m very smart. And I’m also very attentive.” He says.

“And you’re also very up your own ass.”

He doesn’t reply to that. Just takes one little step closer.

“I saw you looking at me and MeiMei. You looked really angry, you know.” He nods and you shake your head. He drags out his syllables, his voice deeper and softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“No. I wasn’t angry, I was. I was- grossed out. You two were practically humping on the stage.” 

Gojo laughs. “We weren't humping. Maybe you should’ve been looking a little closer.” He murmurs and you push past him.

But there's nowhere to go. Just a locked door and you and him behind it. Your phone is sitting uselessly back in the auditorium and Gojo makes no move to phone for help, so you also assume he’s done the same. You rub at your eyes and you hear Gojo sigh behind you.

“So. How are we going to fix this?” He asks and you shrug.

“I don’t know. I guess we just wait out for someone to come looking for us. Choso probably-”

Gojo holds up a hand to stop you. “Not that.” 

There's a hint of impatience in his voice and when you turn back around he’s somehow shrugged off his leather coat and tossed it on the floor without you noticing. He’s starting to piss you off. Much more than he usually does.

“Fix what?”

“Your undying affection and lust for me?”

He says those words, those stupid and completely ridiculous words, with so much sincerity and seriousness that it takes a second for them to really sink in. And when they do, your mouth gapes and his grins and you shake your head furiously.

“What? You- You have lost your mind!” You yell, and he places a hand on his heart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not mad or anything, baby, I’m really flattered. It’s just getting in the way of the show, and all so, we should probably sort this out now.”

You have never met anyone so overconfident in your whole life. There he is, standing in front of you like he’s the best thing that ever happened to you. There with his hair that's sticking up where the gel has lost its hold, blinking bright white lashes at you that curve over blue eyes that you think can read your mind. And he licks his lips, lips that are plump and always glossy. Sort of always so kissable, if you’re being completely honest.

Okay. You don’t know where that thought came from. Because you don’t like Gojo. You hate him and his smooth, pitch-perfect voice that’s always running loops around your head. Especially that stupid accent he’s been trying to convince Mrs Jones to let him use for the play. It makes you laugh. He makes you laugh.

Oh God. Do you like Gojo? No. You don’t. You can’t. More out of principle sake. You’ve sort of spent the last few weeks running your mouth about him to Choso, so you might have to hate him so you can stand on business. 

You realise you’ve been quiet for too long. You open your mouth to say something but you honestly have no idea what.

“Are you thinking about me? Is that why you’re so quiet?”

“Fuck you, Gojo.” He tilts his head to the side. “Really? You want me to?”

“I-“ Your face heats. “What?”

“You’ve been saying that a lot, you know.” 

Gojo takes the glasses out of his shirt and tosses them on the table in the back. They clatter as they hit it and you jolt a little at the noise. 

You don’t know if you want Gojo to fuck you. It’s really hot in here and you wish the collar of your shirt wasn’t so pressing into your throat and you wish Gojo wasn’t looking at you like that. It’s not how he was looking at MeiMei on the stage or anyone else you’d seen him flirt with. It looks hungry, and yet satisfied like he knows he's about to get what he wants.

“You wanna kiss me so bad that it makes you look stupid, Y/N.” He reaches close enough that he grabs two of your hands in his own. Hands that are bigger and warmer than yours. If you weren’t so dazed by this whole situation you’d push him off. He smiles at you softly.

“Don’t think I haven't noticed. It's cute. Watching you act all mad at me always. I think it's a whole lot of unresolved sexual tension.”

Your face is burning up. You try and tug your hands out of his but he tightens his grip and pulls you closer. Your chest bumps against his, and you look up. Has he always been this tall?

“It’s not unresolved tension.”

“So you don’t want me to kiss you?”

You bite your bottom lip. Gojo’s eyes follow the action. 

You have two options here. You could slap Gojo in his smug face and spend however long it takes for someone to find you two in awkward stilted silence. Or. You could take him up on his offer. Pass the time. Maybe answer the very quiet, very incessant voice in the back of your head that has in fact been thirsting over Gojo for the past two months.

“Fine. Do it and then shut up.”

His hand curls around your cheek and lifts you up. He leans in, close enough that his lips brush against yours as he speaks. “You nervous?” He whispers.

“I thought I said shut up.” You whisper back and he grins.

Gojo presses his lips against yours. He’s so tender with you. So soft as he pushes closer, his other hand squeezing your waist. His lips are as smooth as they look and he bites your bottom one and licks into your mouth. He tastes like mint and the too sweet milkshakes they sell in the cafeteria and you lean in closer. You think it would be smarter to pull back and away because you’re already starting to regret this. But then Gojo’s hand slides up your waist and over your chest and you whine in the back of your throat as your mind goes blank.

He smirks. “Love those noises you make, baby.” His lips and red and bitten as he presses them on your chin, your neck, fingers clumsily unbuttoning your shirt.

“Stop, Gojo.”

“Satoru. Call me Satoru.” He utters, licking the mark he sucks into the valley of your chest.

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingertips push your shirt open. Your bra is lacy and pink and Gojo raises his eyebrows.

“All this for me?” He slaps the elastic against his skin and you wince.

“Gojo-”

“Satoru.” He scolds as he bites down on the top of your breast.

“Satoru, please.” You whimper, hand grabbing his hair and pulling him back.

Gojo smiles, boyish and handsome as he presses a kiss to the red mark he left behind. 

“You're so pretty, you know. I love it when you get all mad at me. I love it when you stare at me all the time.”

“I don’t stare at you, Satoru.”

He groans. “And the way you say my name. I could fuck you right here.” He kisses your neck once more.

“I’ve said your name like twice-”

“Say it more.”

“And I am not fucking you in a storage room closet.” You pull him back once more and he places one more hasty kiss on your lips.

He pouts. You’re sure you look a mess. Your shirt is unbuttoned and your bra lopsided where Gojo had been toying with the fabric. Your hair is ruffled just like his and you wonder if your lips looked as kissed out as his does.

“Boring. Would’ve made it real good for you.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. It’s not that you don’t want to. Because judging by the coil of need in your stomach and the embarrassing wet patch you're sure is on your underwear, you are not having sex at school.. Not only could anyone walk in, but your own head wouldn’t ever forgive you for it.

You take to fixing yourself up. Gojo leans against the wall and watches you. After you button up your shirt and smooth your hair down, you turn to him.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

He hums. “You love it.”

“No. You’re not even my type.”

“You kissed me like I am.”

You huff, busying yourself with packing up your uniform. You’ll just go home in this little get up. You are not getting changed in front of that horny man. You turn around, and prop yourself against the table. You keep the distance between the two of you because you’re not sure you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself otherwise.

“So. We really aren’t hooking up in here?” He mumbles.

You shake your head. “But. We can hook up later? At mine maybe?” He asks hopefully.

You feel your face heat. You shrug. And then you nod. Gojo grins widely, digging into his pocket.

“Perfect. Here, give me your number.” He slips his phone into your hand and you gape at the device.

You wave it in the air. “You had this the whole time? And you didn’t call someone to let us out?” Gojo has the decency to look a little apologetic. He shrugs. “Yeah, well. This place makes for a good confession room. You might not have kissed me if I did this in the auditorium. Close proximity, and everything” He explains, and you shove his shoulder.

“Dickhead.”

“Yeah, the dickhead you just made out with.”

--------------------------------------------------------

guys icl this wholeeee fic was me projecting my theatre kid dreams.. and my love for gojo and his overconfidence idk its kinda sexy...

also i love that all my fics r just enemies ot lovers like YESS give me that tension

and i WILL be writing a pt 2 where they get down and dirty.. the only reason its not in this fic is because this was already 5k words..

HOPE U ALL ENJOYED BBYS!!

PART TWO

[whatifitis]

♡ So American - FC 43 ♡

Summary: You and Franco celebrate Thanksgiving together for the first time and Franco nearly gags when he sees American Thanksgiving dishes

Author's Note: this is so ass so I’m sorry 😭 feedback is always appreciated

WC: 2296

CW: american reader 😲, fluff, thanksgiving food, wicked mentions, more overuse of song lyrics

You and Franco had been together for the better part of the year, about 7 months. Thanksgiving was coming up and, on the same weekend F1 would be racing in Qatar, not allowing Franco to be with you on Thanksgiving day, which was honestly a disappointment to the both of you. However, after moving around some plans, the two of you managed to pick a date that worked for everyone to be in your hometown to celebrate the holiday, before Franco had to go off and be a star (and an icon).

To say you were excited was an understatement. It was not only your first time having a boyfriend, but having a boyfriend during the holidays. You were excited to create new memories with Franco and show him how you celebrate the holidays in America.

Your family typically divides the work for the food every year and this time you were in charge of making the sweet potato and marshmallow dish, something you knew was gonna throw Franco into a whirl about. Your boyfriend enjoys making fun of some American dishes and you don’t mind because it’s fun and you can see how some of them are strange.

You two were in your apartment the morning of Thanksgiving dinner. You got ready for the day and decided it would be best to change into your outfit after you’ve cooked. You settled on wearing one of Franco’s shirts and a pair of his shorts for now. You then decided to head to the kitchen to prepare your dish, Franco trailing behind you like a puppy.

“You look pretty wearing my clothes.” Franco complimented.

You deadpanned to Franco with an emotionless face asking, “do I not look pretty any other time? Is this the only time I look pretty?”

Franco’s face turned red and he was panicking, “I- no, no, amor. Thats- that’s not what I-“

“I’m kidding, love. Relax, looked like you almost shit yourself then.” you laughed.

Franco took a breath of relief and just smiled at your antics, “ha ha, so funny.”

As you pulled out the ingredients you’d be needing, Franco watched in confusion.

“Amor, what- what are you making? You have sweet potatoes, marshmallows, and pecans on the table. Is it all for one dish? No, right?” he questions, cocking his head to the side.

“It is for one dish. I’m making a sweet potato casserole!” you exclaim excitedly, knowing it was one of your favorite dishes and you can only have it during Thanksgiving.

“Eugh. No, amor. No.”, you watch as Franco makes a face of disgust, “Why?”

“It’s good, baby. I promise. When it’s all baked together with the seasonings, it tastes like heaven.” you think, displaying a picture of the dish in your mind.

Franco all but side eyes to your response, “I thought I tasted like heaven…” he pouts.

“Sweet potato casserole tastes better, babe. Sorry.” you flash a toothy smile.

“Ay dios mio. Is this what I’m marrying into?” Franco jokes, dropping head into his hands.

“Ehm! I beg your finest pardon?! Where the fuck is my ring?”, wiggling your ring finger at him, “Don’t joke about marriage, bitch. Or I’ll start doing the ending riff of Defying Gravity all day long.”

“Ay no, por favor, no. As much as I love your singing, amor. I can’t listen to any songs from Wicked right now. It’s all you’ve been playing the past month! Please, anything but Wicked, anything!” Franco pleads with you.

“Fine. Your funeral though.” you say, carrying on with your cooking.

“Que?”

“Nada”

Franco is left speechless, but you carry on with your actions.

After plopping onto a chair and pouting, Franco got curious, “Amor, can you tell me what Thanksgiving is? I know you give thanks, but why?”.

“Well, in school we were taught that years ago, around this time, the pilgrims and Native Americans came together to share a meal and be peaceful with one another. They basically celebrated a successful harvest but with most of American history, there’s some lies. But Americans really don’t care about history. It’s just a day where most of us don’t have to work and an excuse to stuff our faces with food that’s really bad for us.”

“That’s….nice.”

“I can feel the judgement from here.”

“I’m not judging, just learning.” he smiles cheekily, “but in all honesty, your reality is so different from mine. In Argentina we don’t have this holiday and strange foods, but I want to learn all about your crazy American traditions if it means I get to be by your side. I go where you go.”

“I go where you got too.” you say, still blushing from his words.

“Maybe ‘I go where you go’ can be our ‘always’.”

You tried to suppress your laugh and threw a few marshmallows at his response, “You’re done. You’re done. I cannot believe you just quoted The Fault In Our Stars.”

He’s giggling to himself and it’s one of your favorite things in the world. It’s just not fair of him to be so cute and funny. If he keeps this shit up, you swore you were gonna marry him.

-=+=-

During the drive to your parents house for dinner, you and Franco listened to music. As passenger princess, Franco had control of the aux and he played a playlist he had made when you two first started dating. He knew that sharing music was sort of a love language of yours so he saved all the ones you had mentioned at times or the songs he would always find on repeat when you were around.

It was a peaceful drive, that is until No Good Deed from Wicked came on. As soon as the opening chords started, Franco knew there was no stopping you. He watched as you put on a one woman performance for him, and him only. Yes, it was from Wicked but he couldn’t lie. If you’re the one singing, he didn’t mind the constant sound.

He was also thankful it wasn’t Defying Gravity or else you would’ve been asking for a broom to hold. He also knew you would’ve fucked up your voice a bit if you attempted Cynthia Erivo’s riff.

The two of you arrived at your parents house and were warmly welcomed by the rest of your family. Though the house was already decorated in Christmas decor, the feeling of Thanksgiving was flowing through the air. Your dad already had the (American) football game

playing on the tv, calling Franco over to once again try and convert him into a fan.

You watched as your boyfriend was practically dragged away from you, laughing as he mouthed the words ‘help me’. Your dad adored Franco and your Franco loved hanging with your dad. As they went on to do their antics, you walked to the kitchen, setting down the dish you had prepared and began to help your mom finish up some cooking.

“So,” your mom starts, “how are you and Franco?”

You couldn’t help but smile, you’re glad she brought him up first because you can never have a conversation if it’s not about him.

“We’re good. When he found out that he was able to make it to dinner, he was so excited. He’d immediately asked me a million questions on whether he should bring something or not as a gift. But I told him to not worry about it, there’s enough food and drinks so we didn’t need anything.”

“He’s a sweet boy. I’m glad you found him, he’s brought back a light in you that I haven’t seen in a long time.”

You looked up at your mom and almost burst into tears. You didn’t know that color was coming back to you. Before any tears spilled, Franco walked into the kitchen and went straight to you. When you were close enough, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close and kissing your hair.

“Do you guys need any help?” he’d asked you guys.

“I don’t think we need any help here but you know what I need help with?” you aunt asks, raising a cheeky eyebrow at Franco, “I need help dancing to this song.”

You watched as your aunt grabbed Franco's hand and pulled him away from you to dance with him. The two danced and swayed to the music as the rest of you laughed and cheered them on. You’re glad your family gets along with Franco well.

Music, laughter, and chatter filled the air, along with the savory and sweet smells of the food that was almost ready to eat. Once everything was cooked, your mother, aunt, and yourself began to set the table with the silverware and make the table look as beautiful as can be. As if they could sense that everything was ready, Franco, your father, uncles, aunts and cousins joined you at the table.

As each of you began to take your seats, Franco was almost split in half. Everyone wanted to be seated next to him. You were all for sharing but Franco was yours. As long as you got to sit on one side of Franco, no heads would roll and peace would prosper.

In the end, one of your cousins ended up sitting on the other side of Franco, ready to bombard the poor boy with questions about racing and F1.

Before digging into the food, everyone had to give thanks and say what they were grateful for. Most of your family said the typical stuff like thankful for having a happy, loving family and having a roof over their head. That was until it was your cousin’s turn…

“This year, I’m grateful that Logan was dropped from Williams and that Franco was able to have that seat. My best buddy is a F1 driver now. But R.I.P. Logan, my American king. Also R.I.P. Sebastian Vettel, you would’ve loved Franco. Anyways, who's next?” your cousin clapped his hands, looking around the table.

Crickets could be heard from the silence.

Franco, thankfully, moved the conversation forward and said his thanks. “Well, ehm. I think I have a lot to be thankful for this year. I’m thankful for my opportunity to drive in F1, and even though I don’t know where I’ll be next year, I’m still happy I got this chance. I’m also super grateful for y/n. We only met this year but she’s still amazing and has been there for me through a lot. And I’m also grateful for having been invited to join you guys today and that you guys are so cool and welcoming, so thank you.”

Everyone basically awed at Franco and his little speech. Meanwhile you were on the verge of tears. You’d never known love like this and you couldn’t believe he chose you. He was like a poem that you wished you’d written.

After some deep breaths from you, everyone began to dig into the food, well, everyone except for Franco. The boy was absolutely lost, he didn’t know what half the stuff was and he wasn’t sure how to go about anything. You took it upon yourself to start his plate for him so that he could familiarize himself with some of the foods and not get overwhelmed.

When you set his plate down in front of him again, he looked at the plate confused and then turned to you, silently asking you to tell him what everything was.

“You’ve got some ham, sweet potato casserole, green beans, and mashed potatoes to start. I know you like all those even if you haven’t tried some yet. From here you can work your way around the dishes on the table.” you smile.

“Gracias, amor. I really am grateful for you and all that you do.”

“Tell me, lover. How grateful are you?” you cheekily ask.

With a wink, Franco replies, “I’ll show you after dinner.”

-=+=-

“The only thing I will be showing you if anything is my shit because I am so full.” Franco tells you as he settles himself on the couch.

The whole family had wrapped up dinner and finished off the night with some dessert. Now some of the family were chatting over some drinks to end the night.

“Please don’t.” you tell Franco.

“Ok, I wasn’t actually planning on showing you my shit. Ay dios.” states as he rolls his head to rest on the back of the couch.

You take a seat next to Franco, resting your head on his shoulder, his arm instinctively wrapping around you. His other arm reached for your hands and held them close. You swore his hands were so warm that they made hell seem cold.

You really were grateful for him. The two of you had been through some tough times so early into your relationship. There were times where you wondered if it was meant to be and if it would all work out. You’d even tried to push him away at some point, believing his life would be easier if you weren’t there to drag him down. But he stayed. There have been moments where you’ve been mean to him, times where you were so depressed that you would stay in bed all day and didn’t move. Days where you didn’t respond to his texts or calls because you couldn’t. But despite all that, he’s still here.

You’ve burned so many bridges in your life. You’ve made the same mistakes over and over but now you know you did one thing right. You love Franco with everything you have and he’s the person you trust the most. He knows you better than you know yourself most of the time. Even when you lose your mind, he’s still yours.

[knavcsblade]

haiiii! i love you works sm and i was wondering if i could request a subby!transfem!arle x f!reader oneshot wherein we ride her to oblivion? it’s totally fine if you dont wanna^^ but if you do, thank you sm!

surrender.

+18.

cw: transfem sub!arlecchino x reader. praise. dom arle turned sub. choking, if you squint.

wc: 2.0k

summary: arlecchino is awfully exhausted, so you help her unwind.

a/n: well, this was interesting to write… it’s hard for me to see arle as a sub, so i gave it a little twist, i guess... also hi! i'm back

Morning, afternoon, evening—they all blurred into the same dreadful hell for Arlecchino. Whether it was the moon or the sun high in the sky, it didn’t matter. She always found herself stuck in drawn-out journeys across Teyvat to carry out her missions.

Yes, her job as a Harbinger was practically her entire life. But if she were to be realistic, she was still human despite the powers she wielded and took pride in. It all managed to leave her drained. Weary. She would be lying if she said it didn’t drive her mad every now and then.

And here she was, after months away, dragging herself into her private study at the House. Her limbs felt like lead, every step a silent battle against gravity which threatened to pull her down. It wasn’t physical exhaustion she felt, no. She had the endurance of a warrior forged in battle. But she felt hollowed-out. Depleted beyond the bodily sense.

As Arlecchino sank into the plush material of the artfully designed chair behind her desk, which sighed and dipped beneath her weight, her shoulders slumped. She was home, at last.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going like this—but she always did, out of habit more than will.

Her mind buzzed with static, thoughts coming slow and disjointed as she analyzed her performance back in a distant nation. But then, as if on cue, the door creaked open.

Her expression remained sober as you stepped inside. It was as calculating as that of a predator sizing up their prey, as it usually was. It belied the fact that she felt like a limbless creature at the moment. The sight of anyone, including yourself, interrupting her vulnerable musings… It wasn’t something she enjoyed much.

“Is there a reason you’re awake at this hour?” She asked after a stretched-out silence that threatened to consume the room.

“I was waiting for you.”

The statement made her eyebrow arch. She hadn’t exactly informed you of her arrival. Perhaps it was your own intuition that had led you to stay up, as if somehow you knew she would be returning that night.

To clear any impending questions she saw coming her way as you opened your mouth, she spoke again. Her voice was rough, unusually so as she interrupted you. “I’m doing fine.”

She gauged a singular reaction from you. A long exhale. She could already see the gears turning in your head, the way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other like you wanted to protest.

Which you did.

“Are you, now?” You asked, quiet concern lacing those three words.

Arlecchino already knew you weren’t the easiest person to deceive. No, not at all. Somehow you managed to see past her dismissals and refusals like they were nothing more than a fragile wall of glass blocking your path. As much as it served to infuriate her, it was a nice change of pace.

She studied you for some time. Those red crosses examined every last inch of skin your robe exposed, her forefinger tapping a staccato rhythm on her crossed leg. She took in the sight of blemishes, scars, and tender flesh silently. You were a pretty little thing. If she hadn’t felt so jaded, she would’ve given you what her body was already aching for.

When she met your gaze once more, her eyes narrowed. It was an imperceptible thing, barely a twitch of her eyelids. She still was unused to the way you didn’t mind defying her so brazenly. “It seems you are quite… observant,” she remarked. “I lied. I’m fatigued.”

You nodded at her admissal, already feeling triumphant deep down. As much as you wished to celebrate this win, since Arlecchino oddly revealed such things, you couldn’t. Not when you could now see it.

The woman had stamina for days—years, even. Seeing her there, sitting on her chair, gave you pause. You saw the way her eyes hooded slightly, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed like her throat was dry, the way her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

You now knew you had a duty to care for her, just as she had been caring for you for months. As unconventional as this relationship of yours was, it wouldn’t be one-sided.

“I see,” you eventually said, your bare feet already beginning to lead you towards her.

She watched, transfixed, as the silky fabric rode up your thighs with each step. She was beyond caring for being discreet. As if she hadn’t had you moaning and writhing beneath her before. As if she hadn’t felt every ounce of your being under her palms and tongue in lazy mornings. There was no point in hiding her desire, and there never had been.

Once you gently guided her legs to unfold so you could straddle them, she snapped out of her daze. Your weight pressing down on her made it so her eyes flicked back to your face, all just to take in your lightly determined expression.

This was new.

Arlecchino always took the reins. She always guided, always led. This position is compromising, she thought, but she didn’t find it in herself to stop you. As uncharted as the territory was, she… liked it. As much as she could really like anything.

“What is this about?” She breathed out, her darkened hands finding their spot on the armrests of the chair the moment she felt that well-known stirring in her tailored pants.

Maybe she’d lost herself in the moment an awful lot. The tiredness she felt seeping into the back of her mind, adding the unexpected surge of want, produced a heavy cocktail in which she slowly began to drown. If you had given her an answer, she wouldn't have heard.

Not even the warmth of your hands pressed on her chest broke her out of it. Time blurred and warped right before her very eyes, and the throbbing ache she felt due to your closeness was more like a distant discomfort she couldn’t—didn’t—want to shake.

It wasn’t like anything she had experienced before. Every second of your open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin of her neck was divine in its own right. It was reverent. It was all she needed and never thought she’d deserve.

And then, the sudden heat enveloping her cock hit her like a stampede.

She blinked back the remnants of her trance. She could see your barely covered body, the way your robe had fallen open to reveal the tantalizing form she had worshipped inside and out several times. She saw it in a new light now.

She took in the valley of your breasts—which she had trailed her hand through like clockwork whenever she found enough time in her schedule—. The sight of your abdomen. The way in which your pussy engulfed her length and didn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon.

The faint glow of red her eyes cast upon your features only made you look more like sin and temptation rather than the human she had grown strangely fond of. And now, Arlecchino’s usually calm heart stammered in her chest for some unknown reason, like a caged bird flapping its wings and hoping to fly away.

“Don’t worry,” you murmured, voice filtering through her ears like a purr that sent a shiver down her spine. “I’ll take care of you.”

Then you moved, and her composure shattered to pieces.

The first roll of your hips was her undoing. She gasped, softly. It was barely audible to those without keen ears, but you heard it. You always did. It was as rewarding as a soft breeze on a warm summer afternoon.

As soon as your soft hands cupped her jaw just to close the distance, you gauged another reaction. A quick whimper. It was a brand new sound. A perfect, needy sound that sent a rush of desire coursing through your veins.

Arlecchino, on her end, was dissipating. She melted against your lips like ice cream under the scorching sun, like wax that sat too close to the flames and didn’t mind burning. The taste of that sweetness in your tongue was almost like an aphrodisiac to a woman like her—a sip for the parched.

Every delicious noise that escaped from her mouth, you swallowed it greedily. You bounced on her lap leisurely, which would’ve made her lose her patience on a regular day, but this wasn’t one. This was otherworldly. The feeling of your delicate fingers around her throat didn’t feel like a threat, but like the caress it truly was.

Once you picked up the pace, she moaned. Once. Twice. Then she was fully letting go. Then she was looking at the spot in which you two became one and let her hands fly to grip your hips. It was usually the controlling gesture she would give when in the throes of passion, but it was different this once. It was more relaxed.

“You’re beautiful.”

The suddenness of the comment made her gasp. Had she ever been called that? Had she ever been seen in such a vulnerable state, but didn’t feel like fighting?

She held you close, but didn’t lead. She surrendered beneath you and let you do as you pleased, because she was enjoying it. Because she could feel the knots she carried along with herself every day slowly untangling.

So there she was, eyes half-lidded as she watched her cock disappearing inside you with each movement, throwing her head back from time to time as the tip rubbed deliciously against your velvety walls. All you had to do was watch and stroke her pulse point with the pad of your thumb.

Each and every clenching sensation around her shaft made her nails dig into the flesh of your hips, merely as an instinctive reaction. She heaved, her vision blurry as she focused on the way your tits bounced so close to her face. She reached out, of course, strong hand cupping the swell of one of them before you grabbed her wrist and guided it back to your hip.

She was stunned for a beat. How dare you? She always touched. Always grabbed. But, oh my. This was thrilling. You were almost lucky she hadn’t the energy to protest.

She wouldn’t have, either way.

Even as you smirked down at her and then bit your lip to stifle a moan. Even as you leaned in to capture her lips in a searing kiss without permission once more. She held onto the pillowy globes of your ass and allowed you to suck on her tongue. If anything, it drew a sharp exhale from her.

Before Arlecchino even knew it, the usually silent study was filled with the sound of moans, deep breaths, and the creaking of the chair beneath your combined weight. She felt drops of sweat dripping from her temples and down her face, all just for them to disappear somewhere between where your palm met her neck and the column of her throat.

Then your movements grew erratic as your thighs trembled against hers, and she was already feeling like a live wire ready to snap. The coiled tension in her belly was almost unbearable, and so was yours.

All it took was just another roll of your hips. Just one singular movement that drew a sharp cry from the depths of your chest and a shaky moan from Arlecchino. Then you were spasming on top of her, and her cock sprung free from the tight grip of your cunt just for it to spurt thick ropes of cum.

Now you were fully drenched in more ways than one. Your body jerked in the aftershocks of an all-consuming orgasm that dripped onto the fabric of her pants, and her own fluids cascaded slowly down your abdomen.

It was an awfully erotic picture she wished to capture and never forget.

“Was this… your attempt at looking after me?” She breathlessly asked after a long pause.

You chuckled as your eyes flicked down to take in the mess you had created together. “Yes.”

She hummed. “Well… Nicely done.”