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lrithill · 2 days ago

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Nightmare on Clown Street (Pt. 3: Happily Settled)

Hi everyone!

This is the third and final installment of Nightmare on Clown Street.

I want to thank everyone who’s followed the story, left likes or comments — it makes me really happy to know that, at the very least, I managed to make someone smile with this paranoid little fever dream.

This shit gets really wild. It’s definitely been an emotional ride, and I’m super proud of how it all ends.

(Though... a bonus track might be coming, considering how the episode wraps up — wink wink — it’s way too juicy to just leave it there. Hehehe.)

Hope you enjoy the chapter — and requests are always open for me!

Word count: 11,000 words (but it reads fast — it's pure action)

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual assault and rape, blood, fights, mild sexual content, sexual humor, butt slapping, involuntary boner, humiliation, religious symbolism, weapons, unconventional weapons, zombies, mutilation, distress, despair, funny food.

Here you got the 2 other chapters.

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/776929905368825856/nightmare-on-clown-street-pt1-the-prospective?source=share (Part 1)

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/777377407333171200/nightmare-on-clown-street-pt2-the-real-state?source=share (Part 2)

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*Inside the Church, before the disaster*

A bandaged-handed James, a barefoot Trujilda, and a serene Marian speak with the nun who was on duty at the church that fateful day.

—Sister Beatrice, please… You have to help us! —James pleads, hands clasped together as if hoping for a miracle—. By divine power, we are lost!

James lamented, utterly at the mercy of evil, and really, at the mercy of everything. Powerlessness had been his loyal companion all day long.

Trujilda was holding Marian in her arms, still with her face painted—neither Marian nor James had dared to touch her for fear of angering the demon, or whatever that dark entity was.

—Sister Beatrice. —Trujilda insists—. What can we do? Or what can you do? No one is better than you at handling this kind of calamity… no one but you can exorcise our daughter!!! —she is just short of pulling her own hair—. You have the divine power, the gift that God granted you… NO INFERNAL CREATURE IS STRONGER THAN THAT!!!

CLANG

The sister silences them with her bell, not even sparing them a glance.

—Shhh—she finally breaks her silence.

She was deeply serious, her wise eyes moving over the miserable souls in front of her.

Her perfectly pristine black habit fluttered solemnly in the breeze.

A long, heavy, and voluminous rosary adorned her waist like a belt.

She decides to ignore James and Trujilda’s desperate pleas and walks straight toward Marian—the bearer of the curse.

Trujilda lets her down so the nun can attend to her.

Sister Beatrice looms over the child, gazing at her with an almost sorrowful expression.

—Oh… Daughter… —she said with compassion.

—WHAT—Trujilda shouts.

CLANG

Sister Beatrice silences her again with a strike of her bell.

—Child… —she continues—. You had the dream, didn’t you? —she explains—. You carried the power of fire. And you emerged from the frozen waters.

“James, are you understanding a damn thing this woman is saying? The only thing I want to burn is myself,” Trujilda whispers in his ear.

“Seems like there’s not a single normal person in this place, damn it” he mutters back.

—Listen, Sister—James gets serious—. The coldest bath my daughter’s ever taken is at the beach. —he chuckles at his own joke—. We’re here because just a few hours ago, a man… well, a sorcerer of the dark arts, marked her as part of his cult.

—Exactly—Trujilda confirms—. So if you could do us the favor of helping, we’d be VERY grateful, and we’d be VERY happy to leave as soon as possible. —Trujilda smiles like the Cheshire cat from Alice and nods.

—A man did this to her? —She pulls away, Sister Beatrice’s expression softens.

She studies Marian’s face, grabs her chin, and drags her finger across her cheek, smearing the paint in the process.

—Well, would you look at that? The paint job turned out pretty nice, kid —she says like a granny.

—See, Dad? She likes it too! —Marian sticks out her tongue, mocking him.

James slaps a hand over his face in frustration.

—Alright, I’ve had enough of being mocked for today… Are you messing with us, Sister?! —he glares at her, defiant.

In response, the nun rolls up the sleeves of her habit, revealing some impressively toned arms.

Her expression, serious as an inquisitor.

James doesn’t even want to imagine what it would feel like to take a bell strike to the head from this woman—she looks more than capable. He immediately backs down.

—Y-you’re v-very strong, Sister… —he stammers, attempting to flatter the horseman of the apocalypse.

—It’s all from prayer: 3x15 reps of Hail Marys in the morning; and, Our Father, to failure. —she finishes with a bicep flex.

“If my hand wasn’t bandaged, I swear…” James grumbles under his breath.

—Do you think I’m deaf, you insolent? —inhales deeply.

—No… no… Sorry Sister… —James excuses himself pathetically.

She raises the bell aggressively above her head in a movement that surpasses the speed of light.

James clenches his teeth, closing his eyes… The worst part? He doesn’t even try to dodge the fake blow. It’s like he’s already accepted his fate.

Sister Beatrice chuckles.

—Even Jesus would bully with this misguided soul. —the nun laughs confidently.

Then, she takes a deep breath, regaining her composure.

—Your daughter was not chosen, fortunately. —she explains.

—Thank God… Wait, what does that mean? —Trujilda asks, nervous.

—The devil painted in white likes to play, yes… but he wouldn’t have let you escape so easily if she were an angel.

—THE DEVIL PAINTED IN WHITE?! —James and Trujilda scream in unison.

They cling to each other, and Trujilda blows her nose into James’ shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

—What have we done to deserve this? —James cries—. Our poor daughter…

—I’m fine, Dad.

—NO!

Trujilda now turns to Sister Beatrice.

—Do you think I might be cursed too, Sister? —Trujilda blurts out, showing her fingers—. He licked my fingers, I still feel like my body’s been violated… he even held me in his arms. Do I have leprosy? LOOK! —her eye twitches… both eyes, actually.

—Pfff, child, worse things happened to me at the abbey’s summer camp. And here I am, almost 90 years old. —she dismisses it.

—Sister, for someone who’s almost 90, you’re as well-preserved as a can of tomato soup. —Trujilda remarks, astonished.

—That’s what going to mass does to you. Stand - kneel - amen - stand - kneel - amen... 1,2,3…1,2,3…1,2,3…

Trujilda crosses herself —Amen—.

—Oh please, you’re the one complaining? —James snaps back—. The white-painted devil dug his claws into my hand, I even had to bandage it, for God’s sake!!! —he shows his wrapped hand to Sister Beatrice—. It feels like the bones in my fingers are turning into knives, cutting me from the inside out. —his expression is one of sheer terror.

The Sister examines him.

—Mmmmm… That’s arthritis, son. —she rolls her eyes so hard they almost reach Christ himself.

CLANG

—Now I’m the painted devil girl, Daddy, hahaha— Marian grins.

—You have to do something, Sister Beatrice— James drops to his knees.

—The truth is… I feel his presence within you. In fact… I feel it drawing near and near.—her voice echoes through the church walls—. It’s almost upon us… —she finishes.

—-------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Bruna, Art, and you on the road:

—AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH

HONK HONK HONK HONK —Art's mouth puffed up like dogs hanging out the car window.

—-------------------------------------------

—HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! —Trujilda nearly faints. James catches her in his arms.

—You will protect us, don’t you, Sister Beatrice? —James begs, while holding his wife.

—The devil was once God’s greatest angel... If the fallen angel rises, who am I to stand on his way? I AM NOTHING BUT THE BELL THAT RINGS IN HIS NAME…

CLANG

—If you wish to be saved—she announces—. Then God must test your worth.

CLANG

Sister Beatrice walks steadily toward the church doors with the confidence of someone who’s personally headbutted the devil. She gestures for the miserable family to follow.

They do—barely able to keep up.

—God gave me these legs to defeat evil, and I’ll run up the damn walls if I have to. MOVE, THE BEAST IS RIGHT BEHIND US!

James and Trujilda whisper to each other, breathless.

—Holy crap, this lady’s on turbo! —James pants—. She’s got the divine power stored in her calves!

—I don’t know if I should join a gym or a convent— Trujilda wheezes, trying to keep up.

Sister Beatrice comes to an abrupt halt at the church entrance. She looks over her shoulder with a confident smile, then blows a kiss to the sky dramatically, like claiming the very gods.

The sky darkens instantly. The sun is swallowed by clouds.

For a moment, it even looks like the moon tries to eclipse the sun—moved by nothing but Sister Beatrice’s unshakeable faith.

—At the convent, we pray hard… and hit harder. —She cracked her knuckles into a fist.

CLANG

Without another word, the nun slams the doors open.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Judgment has begun.

Right beside the entrance, sitting on the ground, there’s a homeless man.

Wrapped in rags, with silver hair so long it looks like a pigeon condo, his sun-worn skin and glassy eyes tell a thousand stories of life on the street.

In his lap rests a cardboard sign that reads: “Help me.”

—Feed the man— Sister Beatrice commands.

CLANG

—Let’s get to it. —the vagabond spits, not even pretending to care.

James, Trujilda, and Marian exchange glances.

Sister Beatrice slams her bell against the ground like a monkey.

CLANG.

—God is testing you. —she declares firmly.

Silence.

James rummages through his pockets and pulls out... an empty gum wrapper.

—Does this count? —he asks and wrinkles his nose

CLANG.

—Are you seriously trying to bribe God with trash? —Sister Beatrice glares at him.

—For God's sake, James! —Trujilda shoves him—. Don’t you have anything else?

James digs deeper quickly.

—I’ve got… a penny, an expired movie ticket, and… half a broken ibuprofen. —His mouth curls sideways, revealing his lower teeth…awkward.

—Why don’t you just hand me your toupee while you’re at it, genius? —the vagabond raises an eyebrow—. Brother, this is an insult even to a stray dog…

Trujilda, panicking, looks inside her purse and pulls out… her broken high heels, a used lipstick, and a half-bitten stocking (she chews them to relieve stress).

—TAKE THIS OFFERING. —she offers it like a sacrifice.

The vagabong dumps her offering onto the ground.

—The alley cats will be forever grateful to you, sister. —he smiles sarcastically.

Sister Beatrice covers her eyes with one hand, in absolute disappointment, as if she had just witnessed Christ himself stumble under the weight of the cross.

—But mom… —Marian tugs on her blouse—. You’ve got some chocolate bars back there.

—WHAT? NO, NO, NO. —Trujilda backs up against the wall, trying to cover her butt—. These kids… always clowning around, hahaha… —laughs nervously.

—You’re not fooling anyone, woman. Just a bite, come on… —the vagabond says with scorn.

—Those bars were bought for you, Marian! —she says, indignant—. And with our own money! —Trujilda nods frantically—. If they’d been a gift, that’d be different!

—Even Judas wasn’t this stingy. —the vagabond rolls his eyes.

—You’re beyond salvation— Sister Beatrice looks at them like she’s staring at Pontius Pilate himself.

—And you, child? —the vagabond asks Marian, without expectations.

Marian pulls a notebook out of her backpack.

—I can make you a paper plane… —she says sweetly, and folds one—. Look.

She throws it. It crashes immediately onto the floor.

—It flies like a pigeon throwing itself off a third-floor balcony, dear. —the vagabond mutters, deadpan.

Sister Beatrice sighs with the weight of a thousand disappointments.

—I expected nothing… and I’m still disappointed. —he says, rolling his eyes.

James crosses his arms.

—Look, sir… we’ve just moved houses, fled for our lives, I don’t even know if I’m gonna make it… I need a doctor —he shows his poorly bandaged hand to his face—. When exactly do you think we had time to stop and buy a sandwich?

Then James remembers… there’s a sandwich in his pocket (he saved it for later). Slowly, he slips his hand into his jacket and feels it.

“Maybe just a tiny bite…” he thinks.

But then he notices the bread’s already a bit stale… and instead of giving it to the poor man, he decides not to share it because “he’s not going to enjoy it enough”

—We are literally being chased by the white-painted demon! —James blurts out before his intrusive thoughts win, and he unconsciously pulls out the sandwich.

The vagabond raises his eyebrows in surprise.

—Oh!! So you’ve met my boy—he says with genuine joy—. How’s he doing? Still not brushing his teeth? We’ve got a bet going on who can last the longest without brushing. —He grins, revealing a set of teeth that look like he just devoured three packs of Oreos and a bowl of lentils.

Trujilda bends over, gagging into his ripped stocking before throwing up. She throws it near a trash pile, and a cat nearby also vomits.

—Is he your friend? —Marian’s eyes light up.

—IS HE HIS FRIEND?! —James whips around to Sister Beatrice, demanding answers.

—I simply tolerate him… unlike you. —the vagabond scoffed, with disdain.

Sister Beatrice massaged his forehead with her fingers, on the verge of snapping

—If none of you have anything to offer God’s servant… I will be forced to pass judgment. —Sister Beatrice declares.

The vagabond nods, supporting Sister Beatrice’s words.

—SIR! OUR DAUGHTER IS POSSESSED! —Trujilda shrieks.

—The only one possessed here is you, lady. —and then he looks at James—. Are you sure you're running from the right demon? —he sideyes his wife.

Trujilda is so offended that, if she could, her head would be doing full 360º head spins.

—Look, I get it… —he continues—. The demon, the possession, blah blah blah… but damn, you people are miserable. —He drops his head in his fist, radiating apathy.

Sister Beatrice sighs and shakes her head.

CLANG

—You have failed the test.

James and Trujilda stare at each other, utterly dumbfounded.

—WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE FAILED?!

The nun turns away indignantly.

—Didn’t you just beg for God’s mercy a few minutes ago? How do you expect mercy if you don’t even have a shred of compassion? —she points to the lying homeless man.

—Unforgivable. —the vagabond says, shaking his head in disapproval.

James stammers, unable to come up with a response.

He turns to his wife, desperate.

—Honey, how do we fix this?!

—I mean… maybe we can get him something later… —she replies.

The vagabond lets out a laugh of sheer disbelief.

—Oh, sure. Either you pay for my retirement, or don’t bother. —He brushed the words away with a flick of his hand

Sister Beatrice sighs, rubbing her temple.

—There’s nothing more to say. You are condemned.

—WHAT!?

—I said, you are condemned.

—Isn’t there, like… a Plan B? —James tries to negotiate.

—Plan B was feeding the man.

Trujilda presses her hands against her face.

—God, I want to set myself on fire RIGHT NOW.

James inflates his chest like a pigeon.

—Trujilda, listen to me… This is bullshit! —James shouts, completely furious—. There is no God, there is no Devil, and these two scammers are just messing with us. You enjoy our suffering, huh? —he says, referring to them—. Well, guess what? You’re both gonna burn in hell! —James lets out a deranged laugh—. Trujilda, Marian, we’re getting in the car and we’re leaving. YES, YES, YES… AND IF THE DEVIL REALLY EXISTS, LET HIM STOP ME FROM GETTING INTO THAT CAR!

BOOOOOOMM

He doesn’t get to finish before James' beloved vanilla-colored Beetle, suddenly, bursts into a massive fireball.

A towering tongue of fire rose into the cloudy sky—just like the tongues of flame that hovered over the apostles’ heads on Pentecost.

A blazing, red-hot flare –like a dying poenix–, that, to the family’s terrified eyes, definitely had a clown face.

James dropped to his knees—so hard—that he probably ripped his pants… in the back.

Prrrrrrc…

He clutched his head with both hands.

—MY CAAAAAAR!!! —he screamed to the heavens, just in case God was listening.

He stood up and ran, Trujilda and Marian following close behind toward their fiery destiny.

The vagabond watched them run off. Then, with a shrug, he reached under his mane of hair and pulled out… a sandwich bigger than his own head.

He bit into it with pure satisfaction.

—Bunch of idiots.

He proceeded to pull a bottle of wine from his coat and raised it in a toast to the empty air.

—God bless these morons.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chaos reigned.

A thick cloud of smoke and dust blanketed the landscape, making it nearly impossible to see anything. Glowing embers floated in the air—beautifully and deadly—burning the lungs and skin on contact.

James, Trujilda, and Marian held hands to avoid getting separated, slowly pushing forward through the choking haze, waiting for it to clear.

—I see something! —Trujilda announced—. A figure!

—Careful, it could be anything —James replied, fearing the worst.

The silhouette comes running toward them.

James assumes a defensive stance—the majestic “bald eagle with hippo on crack variation” pose.

The smoke clears just enough to reveal the mysterious figure and it’s…

—Bruna?! —Trujilda can’t believe her eyes—. What are you doing here?!

—Guys, for the love of God, you have no idea what I’ve been through… —she says, panting.

—Oh please, tell us? —James laughs—. I guarantee whatever happened to you doesn’t beat our nightmare.

—I literally almost died. —she begins—. I have driven downhill at over 180 km/h—

—I’m the hero of this story. —James cuts her off, silencing her mouth with his finger—. Stop trying to steal the spotlight.

—YOU?! Allow me to list all the heroic things I’ve done that you haven’t: I tried to rescue a hostage… I drove with a psychopath hanging off my car, I—

—A PSYCHOPATH HANGIN OFF YOUR CAR?! —James and Trujilda shout in unison, horrified.

—The clown you told me about over the phone. —she replies—. I only got here because you told me about him.

—Is he here? —Marian asks, a little too excited, a smile creeping onto her face.

—TELL ME YOU KILLED HIM! TELL ME YOU BLEW HIM TO HELL! —James screams.

—Blew him up? Yeah. But that bastard landed just fine. —she clenches her fist in frustration—. That dude’s good… way better than me.

—NO… NO… NO… NOOOOOOO— James cries out—. THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING.

—HE’S THE DEVIL—Trujilda grabs Bruna by the shoulders—. Sister Beatrice told us so at the church…

—I don’t know that who that Beatrice is, but honestly? I don’t want to meet any more new people today… —she sighs, tired.

—She’s good, she’s gonna help us when that freak shows up —James starts hyping himself up—. There’s six of us now, against two of them… they won’t stand a chance.

—Six? Who’s the sixth? —Bruna asks.

—The homeless guy, he’s with us too… WHETHER HE LIKES IT OR NOT. —fist clenched in fury.

HONK HONK

Everyone jumps.

The fog finally clears completely, revealing the silhouettes of the really main characters in this story.

You’re leaning against his chest, safe in the shelter of his presence.

Art removes his sunglasses and pulls down his hoodie, revealing his blood-streaked face—his own blood, to everyone's surprise–. He grins from ear to ear –his three new friends have returned.

He greets them with his signature wave, fingers fluttering. Bruna had delivered him exactly where he wanted to be.

“Should I tip her for the ride?” he wondered.

You’re terrified. You don’t know how this is going to play out, you don’t know what Art’s plan is—but you do know he loves intrigue. And best of all, you know he’s going to win.

—STAY BACK —James orders.

Art pulls an exaggerated “scared” face, lifting both fists to his cheeks like a little girl. As if James had actually intimidated him.

—Oh, so you’re still laughing at me, huh… Well, just so you know, now we’ve got the cornerstone… the one who, with the power of God, is going to destroy you. —James says confidently, a smug half-smile on his face.

To this, Art raises a hand to his brow, pretending to scan the horizon like he’s looking for this so-called Goliath they’re referring to.

Then he glances at you, frowning. He strokes his chin, fingers tapping dramatically as if deep in thought.

“Who the hell is this Messiah they’re talking about?”

—Art… I really don’t like this… What if… What if it’s Sienna? What if it’s a warrior angel? —you grip his hand tightly, knowing how serious that would be.

Art feels the way you squeeze his hand, and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently. Trying to calm you down, telling you without words: “it’s going to be okay”..

He looks at you with one eyebrow raised, then flicks his eyes toward the family, and back at you —with a condescending air— as if saying:

“Do you seriously think these people are a threat?”

CLANG

Art goes on alert, waiting for the mist to reveal the source of the bell.

—HA HA HA! THERE SHE IS! —James tastes victory on his tongue—. LONG LIVE CHRIST THE KING!

CLANG

Art scans the fog, his eyes darting rapidly from side to side.

CLANG

Finally, she appears. That unmistakable cloak, that face carved from stone, those cold, her all-knowing eyes locking onto Art.

Art meets her gaze. His smile spreads, revealing bloody teeth. His pupils dilate like a predator’s.

You glance at Art with uncertainty—when suddenly… he dashes away from you at full speed.

Sister Beatrice also charges toward Art, her veil whipping behind her in the wind, the burning ashes scorching her clothes.

Bell in hand.

Everyone holds their breath.

James lowers his thumb like a Roman emperor demanding death in the coliseum.

“Something has to happen. He’s always one step ahead”, you think.

The collision between these two forces of nature is imminent.

Art’s hands are raised in attack position, ready to grab that old woman by the head and slam her skull into the ground, splattering her brains across the ground.

Sister Beatrice charged at full speed, her eyes shut, her feet moving so fast it looked like she was levitating.

Her right hand was clenched into a fist, with only her index and middle fingers raised—possibly casting some divine miracle to shield her during the fight. At the same time, she whispered a prayer.

James dropped to his knees, trembling with emotion.

—SHE IS GOD’S CHOSEN ONE! THIS IS THE END OF YOUR REIGN, CLOWN! —he shouts at the top of his lungs

Everything had been decided.

The immovable force was finally meeting the unstoppable force.

The trumpets of the apocalypse echoed.

Fire rained from the sky.

The serpent against the Lamb of God.

Two weapons of mass destruction about to collide in a supernova of light and devastation, obliterating everything within a 50-meter radius.

And…

And then…

Let there be light

CLAP

And there was light.

HIGH-FIVE.

Only the wind stirred the dust and embers around them.

Bruna blinked three times, trying to process what she had just witnessed. James stood there, mouth agape, his brain shutting down like an old Windows PC.

—WHAT. —James couldn’t comprehend—. Wh-what was that? —He quietly put away the sandwich he had been enjoying (because, honestly, what better moment to have a snack than while witnessing your enemy’s destruction?).

—Wait, wait, wait… WHAT?! —Trujilda is absolutely dumbfounded—. James… fix this! QUICK!

Art and Beatrice pull each other into a tight hug, loudly slapping each other’s backs multiple times.

HONK—Art greets her.

CLANG—Beatrice responds.

Art claps his hands together, excited.

He gestures for you to come closer. Without hesitation, you do.

—Oh! So now you’ve got a girlfriend, huh, you rascal? —Sister Beatrice pokes him playfully in the chest.

Art grins and shrugs, moving on his heels side to side—putting on his best innocent little boy face—before puckering his lips in an exaggerated kiss, as if to say: “Who could resist this face?”

You give him a kiss on the cheek.

Art immediately puts on a shocked expression, as if you’d done something inappropriate. Then, without warning, he smacks your ass.

CLAP

The sound echoes through the entire arena.

—ART!

He simply points at you with his thumb, shaking his head while rolling his eyes toward the sky.

"I can’t take her anywhere."

—What I have to deal with… —you say, though you’re obviously joking.

—I feel for you— Sister Beatrice sympathizes, but for the first time, she actually laughs.

You introduce yourselves properly.

—Art, what the hell is this?! —you ask, still shocked.

To which Art responds by raising a hand to his ear in the shape of a phone —thumb and pinky out— and wiggling it, as if saying:

“I’ve got my contacts.” He winks at you.

He then starts mimicking a phone call while staring at James, mouthing the words like he’s talking to him through an imaginary line:

“Yes, yes, hello, yep, the alliance is confirmed. Uh-huh, everything’s in order. Kisses, bye.”

And ends it with a comical hang-up gesture.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dust cloud finally clears completely, and now everyone can see each other’s faces.

The sun has been completely swallowed by the cluster of clouds summoned by Sister Beatrice. Streaks of lightning—like glowing arteries—are visible in the sky, followed by deafening thunder.

A thunderstorm is approaching.

And storms? They're good friends with black magic—harbingers of the supernatural.

The only light illuminating the combat arena now is the fire from James’ car explosion, which—unlike Bruna’s car—is still burning and only growing more monstrous by the minute.

—I’M CALLING THE POLICE! —Bruna yells, phone in hand.

—YOU SHOULD CALL THE POLICE ON YOURSELF, YOU NEARLY KIDNAPPED ME! —you shout from a distance.

Bruna starts dialing the police.

Just as she’s about to press the green call button—

WHAM

James slaps the phone out of her hand and immediately stomps on it.

—If you’re gonna call the cops, do it to report me… ‘CAUSE I’M ABOUT TO KILL THESE BASTARDS! —James beats his chest like a gorilla—. YOU CAN WALK OUT OF JAIL, BUT NOT OUT OF THE CEMETERY. —He rips off his suit jacket and cracks his neck.

Bruna is speechless, staring at her shattered phone on the ground… and the gorilla-man standing in front of her.

Art is absolutely losing it, cracking up at James’ declaration.

He starts posing like he’s Mr. Olympia, showing off his “big and mighty” muscles to James (which he absolutely does not have). He flexes his spaghetti arms with such intensity that his face looks like he’s suffering from a severe case of constipation—but hey, it’s the effort that counts.

But when it comes to muscles? Sister Beatrice’s got the real deal.

She unleashes the massive rosary wrapped around her waist and wields it like a nunchaku with the skill of a seasoned ninja.

—ORAAAAA —she yells like she was just pulled straight out of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure.

She launches into a flying kick, and the momentum carries her into two more spinning air kicks.

She soars through the air like a peregrine falcon.

She lands on the ground at the same moment a lightning bolt strikes her, electrifying her rosary and infusing it with the power of the storm veil.

You and Art watch her from behind—”thank God she’s on our side”, you both thought.

Art is powerful too. But you? Not so much. He glances at you, thoughtful. Then he looks around… and gets an idea.

In an attempt to help you not look totally underleveled, Art picks up his "CIRCUS" sign that somehow survived the chaos, and hands it to you.

It has powers. (Good luck figuring out how to use them.)

Trujilda ties up her hair and removes the stiletto heels from her shoes, brandishing them like dual daggers—slay queen mode: activated.

Bruna enters her “main character energy” phase.

Marian hides behind a bush, as if she’s watching a live episode of Power Rangers.

Both sides stare each other down from opposite ends of the arena.

In one corner of the ring:

James, bare-knuckled and burning with righteous rage.

Bruna, with her iron will forged in fire.

Trujilda, wielding stilettos like dual vampire-slaying stakes–ready to taste blood.

In the other corner of the ring:

Art, with his raw, innate power. (He doesn’t need description)

Sister Beatrice, armed with her electric rosary and unshakable faith.

You, holding the “circus” sign –at least it’s 1 meter long, for the record–, but you look more like you’re headed to a flat-earther rally, to be honest. (That stupid “circus” message making you feel like a real clown).

(Art still has that absurd butcher knife in his back pocket from this morning, but seeing that James wants to go bare-fist, he decides to level the playing field—for dramatic tension, obviously.)

And the fight begins:

Sister Beatrice charges in first, moving like a ninja, flipping through the air like a holy hurricane.

She’s moving at the speed of light—doesn’t matter. Bruna has already mapped out her trajectory down to the last millimeter… even before she moved.

Intercepts her mid-air with a powerful leap. A brutal kick lands directly on Beatrice’s face.

Any normal human would have their jaw unhinged by a hit like that—but Sister Beatrice keeps her composure, face dead serious—even as Bruna’s foot presses into her cheek like a soccer player winding up for a kick straight out of Inazuma Eleven.

Without breaking expression, Sister Beatrice twists her neck like a ragdoll.

Bruna’s foot slides forward from the remaining momentum—

And with her electrified rosary, Beatrice whips it like a cowboy lasso, snaring Bruna’s leg with the speed of Jesus turning water into wine.

She spins Bruna mid-air and slams her into the ground, hard enough to make the pavement quake.

Bruna is flung into a pile of trash bins, pinned there.

Sister Beatrice dives after her like a bald eagle from heaven, arms stretched wide like the wings of a fallen angel, bare feet aimed squarely at Bruna’s skull…

—MOSES SPLITTED THE SEAS! AND I’M GONNA SPLIT YOUR HEAD IN TWO!

Just as she was about to deliver the final blow, Bruna smiles.

She turns.

And…

MEOW

A cat.

Bruna grabs it without hesitation off the ground and hurls it into Sister Beatrice’s face. Claws sink in. The nun screams. Her eagle vision—blinded.

Bruna spins out of the way just in time, watching as her opponent writhes on the ground, struggling to pry the beast off her face.

She shows no mercy—unleashing punches worthy of Mike Tyson. If it weren’t for the rabid cat tangled in Beatrice’s hair, she might’ve bitten an ear off too.

—Try peeling that cat off, mother Teressa—she spits.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elsewhere in the arena—there you are.

You see Art closing in on James. You’re not sure if you should help him…

When suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you spot Trujilda coming at you.

BAM!

She slams into your side, throwing you off balance.

Her hands—gripping her stiletto heels—swing toward you. She’s trying to stab you in a frenzied combo, an endless flurry of strikes, like she’s got infinite stamina.

She moves like an assassin, those sharp daggers aiming to pierce your flesh and kill you through sheer blood loss.

—THAT HOUSE IS GONNA BE OURS! —she screams, her teeth showing.

You stumble backward, dodging clumsily.

Her face isn’t even human anymore—it’s the face of a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth, like a starving, diseased vermin.

—I’M GONNA KILL YOU HA HA HA —she cackles—. I’M GONNA DESTROY YOU.

She raises both heels high above her head, preparing a fully charged overhead strike straight for your skull.

Now it’s clear.

The moment she lifts her arms, she leaves her chest completely exposed and—

BAM!

You slam the edge of the wooden sign into her ribs.

Trujilda spits blood and folds over, clutching her gut.

You seize the opportunity and strike her in the skull with the sign, dropping her to her knees.

You’re about to land another blow to keep her down, when she drives a stiletto heel straight into your foot with all her strength.

You scream in pain, trying to lift your foot—but it’s pinned to the floor, completely stuck.

With the other heel, she stabs you in the side of your thigh, making you bleed down your leg.

Trujilda stands up and goes right back on the attack—a hook from the right, followed by another from the left, over and over.

Several of those punches land—your blood spilling fast. . You stumble backward, and she stalks after you like a beast cornering its prey.

But then—you gather yourself.

You raise the sign and use it as a shield.

An attack comes from below—you deflect it.

Another from the left—you block it cleanly.

—I’M GONNA DESTROY YOUR STUPID SIGN! —she screams and spits blood in your face.

Her heels hit so hard they start puncturing the wood, splintering sharp fragments into the air.

The splinters dig into your fingers, pricking you, making them bleed—you won’t be able to hold this position much longer…

You need to attack.

Then, without warning, you shift the sign sideways, taking advantage of its aerodynamics in this position.

You smash the jagged edge right into Trujilda’s face.

You watch as splinters and her tears fly out of her eyes upon impact.

You don’t stop. With a swift backhand motion, you swing the sign again, striking her from the opposite side—another perfect blow, full of raw power.

This time, it’s not just tears flying—it’s teeth.

She spits blood but… for a brief moment… She smiles —that artificial smile, like a poorly made doll, with eyes nearly bulging out of her skull. Defiant. Still hungry for a fight.

You sense the advantage and push forward, winding up for a third strike—

But this time, Trujilda is ready.

Before you can land the next hit, she lunges at the sign, biting down on it like a velociraptor.

Her teeth sink into the wood, and with a violent shake of her head, she tears it from your hands, flinging it meters away.

Leaving you completely exposed.

She pounces on you.

You try to escape.

You run toward the sign, but you’re too late—she’s already leapt onto you like a wild snow leopard.

You crash to the ground in a whirlwind of heels, kicks, and fists.

You grab a handful of sand from the ground and hurl it into her face.

She inhales the sand, choking violently, as her eyes fill with grit, blinding her frenzied gaze.

She claws at her own face, screaming, scraping her skin raw with the sand, like an animal

Maybe that buys you some time.

But elsewhere in the arena—

The final battle is unfolding.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Art vs James

—NOTHING IS GOING TO SAVE YOU FROM THIS— James laughs, full of arrogance.

Art slowly turns around, raising an eyebrow, as if he seriously can’t believe this guy is talking to him. He points to himself, expression dripping with sarcasm:

"Mmmm… you talking to me? That was a good joke."

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, like he just heard the dumbest thing in the universe.

—When I knock your teeth out, we’ll see if you’re still laughing, asshole… —James grits his teeth—. You humiliated me in front of my wife and—

James stops mid-sentence.

His brain short-circuits at what he’s witnessing.

Art has turned around. His own arms are wrapped around his torso, mimicking someone making out with him—mocking the way he kissed Trujilda before.

Finally, he spins back around with a smirk, points at James with a single finger, and sticks his tongue out — mocking how pathetic he sounds.

—I’M GONNA TAKE YOU APART PIECE BY PIECE! SLOW ENOUGH FOR YOU TO FEEL EVERY SECOND, YOU PIECE OF SHIT… —James growls.

Art slaps his thigh in silent laughter dramatically —clearly amused.

James unwinds the bandage from his injured hand. His bones crack as he stretches it out, a dry, unsettling noise.

Art’s mouth forms a dramatically exaggerated 'O', then stretches into a mischievous grin.

And then—

RRRAAAHH

James rips open his shirt, revealing his bare chest (beer belly included), like some kind of tribal warrior preparing for battle. If he had a knife, he’d probably carve up his own pecs just to paint himself in his own blood.

Art’s pupils dart around, looking side to side, scanning for a hidden camera.

"Really, dude?"

—I’M RIGHT HERE! —James spreads his arms—. I WANT A REAL FIGHT! FIGHT ME LIKE A REAL MAN!

Art swallows hard.

He pretends to take off his pants, acting like he misunderstood James—as if to fight like a "real man" you have to strip down completely.

—OH! NO, NO —James covers his eyes with his hands—Just the upper body, god…

Art pulls a face like “ahh, of course,” and calmly buttons his pants back up.

It’s not that he has a problem stripping down, but the situation is so ridiculous he can’t help but laugh. Besides, he’s so pale that if he takes off his hoodie, he might blind everyone around him… this guy looks practically fluorescent.

He chuckles to himself, gestures to James with his finger as if to say “hold on a sec,” and starts undressing.

Out of habit, he glances at you—intending to turn this into an improvised striptease just for fun—

But then he notices you’re busy fighting for your life against Trujilda.

That concerns him a little bit.

He decides to get serious and wrap this up quickly.

Art pulls off his hoodie in one smooth motion, revealing his lean but moderately defined body.

For a brief second, he covers his nipples with his fingers, feigning shame—then immediately regains his battle composure.

He honks at James.

Honk? = "Fine?"

James gets cocky at the sight of Art’s slim figure—he doesn’t exactly look like a threat in a hand-to-hand fight.

*(Author’s note: Between you and me, Art is criminally hot and we would absolutely devour him head to toe. You know it. I know it.)*

James narrows his eyes.

—I’m not stupid… I know you have a knife. I saw it this morning. —points at his jeans.

Art rolls his eyes and mimics talking with his hand, opening and closing his fingers like a puppet—mocking James for running his mouth.

Slowly, he reaches into the back pocket of his pants…

And pulls out an absurdly large butcher knife.

(How the hell did that even fit in there!?)

He lets it drop to the ground with a loud—

CLANK

Art raises both palms, arching an eyebrow at James.

"Anything else, princess?"

—That’s it…— James grins, malice spreading across his face.

Art motions with his index finger.

"Come here."

James doesn’t need to be told twice. He lunges forward.

Art watches him approach, but he remains completely calm.

After all, he’s practically immortal—sure, he can feel pain, but at most, James might leave him with a couple of bruises before he knocks him out.

James throws a punch with everything he’s got, aiming straight for Art’s face.

But—Art moves with insulting speed.

PLAF!

His hand catches James’ fist mid-air, as effortlessly as a pro baseball player snatching a slow-pitched ball from a child.

James hears a crack.

—Shit…

Art twists his wrist —James’ immediate reaction is pure agony.

He doubles over, overwhelmed by the unexpected strength of Art, who’s now manhandling him like a ragdoll.

With his free hand, Art mimics a yawning gesture, as if this fight is boring him to death.

"Too easy."

James’ blood boils—if this guy wants to take a nap so badly, he’ll make sure to put him to sleep himself.

With his free hand, James swings a hook toward Art’s side, aiming below the ribs, straight at his organs.

But Art was already expecting it.

WHAM!

With his other hand, Art catches James’ second fist mid-air.

Art grins, watching him struggle completely immobilized—and without a second thought—

CRACK

Art slams his forehead into James’ skull with a dry, sickening thud.

A burst of pain explodes inside James’ head, and his vision flashes white.

If there’s one thing Art’s got, it’s a massive head (both, indeed)—that shit is like a bowling ball.

The bleeding is instant—blood gushes from James’ forehead, dripping down his nose and chin.

Art laughs—loud and unhinged—still holding James’ now completely useless fists.

—Oh, so that’s how we’re playing, huh? —he muttered under his breath.

James seizes the moment—he wraps his leg around Art’s knee, trapping him.

(Showing off those two Jiu-Jitsu classes he took.)

He pushes with his arms, trying to throw Art off balance—forcing him to let go, or risk falling to the ground.

And—

PAOW!

James headbutts Art right in the mouth.

Art is taller, so the impact smashes directly into his lips, splitting them open. Blood spurts.

—Who’s laughing now, dumbass? —James sneers.

But Art— Instead of spitting out the blood—

He licks it off his lips.

His pupils dilate—blood threads blooming in his eyes like shattered glass.

His sharp-toothed grin, now smeared with crimson, shows something more than just mockery and amusement.

Killer instinct.

The taste of blood awakens something feral inside him.

His gaze shifts, darkness spreads across his irises —fueled by the demon that lives within.

Art charges at James like a predator.

James doesn’t even have time to react before he’s slammed to the ground.

Art’s hands instantly reach for his neck, crushing his windpipe.

Choke—it’s the only thought in his mind.

James flails, throwing punches in every direction—desperate—writhing beneath Art.

But the force above him is inhuman — too strong, too ruthless, draining every ounce of his strength.

His lungs burn.

Art’s blood drips onto his face, thick streams sliding into James’ mouth, making him gag and making it even harder to breathe.

Art is determined — he’ll choke and crush until James’ neck looks like a vulture’s, until his nails puncture the trachea and shatter the cervical spine down to the bone.

His eyes no longer look human.

Not now.

He watches James’ face turn blue with satisfaction—and smiles.

But then…

Out of the corner of his vision—

He sees you, still fighting Trujilda.

And he remembers.

He remembers that you don’t want anyone to die.

The demonic glow in his pupils fades.

His hands release their grip.

Art’s eyes return to their usual color—green.

James is unconscious, breathing shallowly, but —he’s stable.

Art moves off of him, but remains seated on his body, exhaling deeply.

He finally relaxes, realizing James is still alive.

PLAP

He slaps him—maybe a little too hard…

PLAP

Another one, this time with the back of his hand—definitely too hard.

Art laughs, playing with his new toy.

—AGH!

With a violent jolt, James comes back to life— dragging in a desperate breath of oxygen.

Art gives him a thumbs-up and raises an eyebrow.

“You good?”

James barely nods, gasping for air.

Art gets up and turns around, admiring the chaos in front of him:

Bruna beating the crap out of an old lady who’s got a rabid cat tangled in her hair…

You, fending off Trujilda’s stilettos with a giant wooden sign…

He wipes a hand down his face, staring at the fucking daycare center unfolding before him.

“All this… just because I didn’t want to sleep on the couch.”

Art turns back around, giving James a soft, sarcastic clap, like “Well done, buddy. Not bad. You even made me sweat a little. Now go take care of your goddamn family and get the fuck out.”

Art turns around, and his eyes come face to face with a blade.

It flies straight for his neck.

Art turns just in time to dodge it—but not fast enough.

The blade slices his skin.

His jugular.

A jet of dark blood sprays out.

Art clutches his neck, trying to stop the bleeding.

His bare body gets immediately drenched in blood—the wound impossible to close.

His vision blurred.

—If you play dirty, then I’ll play dirty too... —James murmured, twirling Art’s butcher knife in his hand.

Art bared his teeth.

He should’ve seen this coming… He spared his life, and this is how James repays him—

With a knife to the throat, in cold blood.

“Bastard…” he thought.

Art staggered backward, retreating from the blade, feeling the flood of blood filling his lungs.

James walked toward Art, slow and deliberate.

—You are not gonna rest in peace, you are gonna rest in pieces… and then I’m gonna burn your body in the flames of my car. —He aims the knife at Art, already picturing where each cut will land, thirteen cuts exactly. No more. No less.

And then—

The ground trembled.

Cracks tore through the scorched battlefield, branching out like lightning beneath the burning wreckage of James’ car.

Deep fissures yawned open, splitting the earth with a thunderous groan — the world itself seemed to scream.

The fractures widened. A blinding, golden light surged from the abyss, as if heaven and hell had merged in molten brilliance.

Crimson and gold dust swirled upward in spirals, dancing like the ashes of forgotten gods.

James’ beloved car began to sink, slowly at first — then with sudden violence — swallowed by the earth's insatiable hunger, its maw opening like the jaws of some long-forgotten mythological beast.

The ground gave way beneath their feet, snapping the arena in two — twin islands adrift in chaos.

The roar of the earth echoed across the battlefield —

And somehow… It sounded like music.

A strange, sweet scent wafts up from the glowing chasm below.

“Gobble up your order, quick!

Before it runs away!

’Cause food's a little funny

At the Clown Café!”

Everyone stares downward, frozen in wide-eyed horror.

The ground is gone. Only nightmare remains.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elsewhere in the arena, Bruna’s luck runs out.

The ground collapses right under her, sending her plummeting straight into the void.

She lands on a tiny tea table.

—Mind your manners... Don’t forget the pinky... —whispers an old lady, who’s stirring her tea with a severed pinky finger—. HA HA HA.

Bruna jumps up instantly, totally disoriented.

She throws the tea in the old woman’s face, who just keeps laughing as it scalds her skin —bubbles rising across her flesh.

Bruna tries to climb the rocky wall, scrambling up. But just as she reaches the top...

MEOW

Sister Beatrice throws the same cat Bruna threw at her earlier.

(Revenge. Feline edition.)

Bruna screams in pain and falls with a thud.

Sister Beatrice dives into the pit after her, landing with flawless form.

She whips her electric rosary around Bruna’s neck like a lasso.

—Bad dog—Beatrice hisses—. That’s what you get for misbehaving,

She leaves Bruna chained to a pole like she’s a pet.

—AARRRGGGHHH!

Bruna growls and squirms, trying in vain to break free from the power of faith.

—God bless this disaster—she mutters.

CLANG

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marian rushes across the twisted arena, desperately trying to find her parents.

She watches as each of them runs off in opposite directions, unsure where to go—She starts to cry.

—Have you opened your present yet, sweetheart? —a woman’s voice drifts up from the pit—

Every child gets one. There is no telling what you may find! —her tone is warm and sweet.

—A present? —Marian asks.

—You never know what surprises are waiting... —the woman giggles— Art will be so happy to have you come play with the other children.

—Art?

—And, speaking of surprises, he might even let you ride his tricycle... He only shares it with his favorites—Her voice is pure sunshine—. And judging by your makeup, I can tell you must be very special.

The cloud of red dust clears, revealing the woman behind the sweet voice.

She’s dressed like a clown, wearing a blue dress, a matching hat, and purple striped tights. Her makeup is also blue, with a wide, painted smile.

She begins strumming a banjo and dances cheerfully to the music.

Marian doesn’t hesitate—she jumps.

She lands on a couch shaped like a mouth, complete with teeth and a tongue.

A little boy with balloons for eyeballs hands her the black makeup pencil her mother had taken away earlier.

—Thank you —she says.

The boy smiles and floats away, inflating his colored balloon-eyes as he rises.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the other side of the arena…

Trujilda pulls away from you in terror at the sudden “earthquake,” jumping onto a platform that breaks off without warning.

She tries to leap to solid ground but ends up dangling from the edge.

—JAMEEEEESSS! —she screams.

Trujilda dares a first glance into the hole.

And what she sees… gives her all the strength she needs to pull herself up.

Something was approaching her foot…

A writhing mass of corpses—or is it a single creature?—twisting together in a tangled mess of charred children. Arms, legs, heads everywhere, like puzzle pieces forced to fit together.

—AAAAAAAAAAAAH! —she screams, a shriek so high-pitched it could shatter glass.

She finally scrambles up on her own, frantic, searching for James and Marian, terrified they might’ve fallen into this cursed pit.

But her eyes land on something else.

She now finds herself on Art’s side. His body covered in blood from the hemorrhage James caused—and the sight almost makes her vomit.

—Looks like my coward of a husband isn’t such a coward after all—she chuckles—.

Gave you what you deserved, you freak.

But Art isn’t listening.

The ground has split open between him and James, leaving a deep abyss between them.

Which, thankfully, saved him from more machete attacks.

But…

Who’s going to save you now?

Because James has just landed safely on your side of the battlefield.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James staggers, but regains his balance just in time to turn toward you.

You take a step back as you see the shirtless man wielding a machete.

—Well, well, well… —he mutters, wiping the blood from his forehead with the back of his hand—. Look what we have here... Miss Clown herself. —he says, twirling the machete—

Nothing personal, but if your boyfriend wants to play with my stuff… I’ll play with his.---His eyes darken.

He licks his lips. That predator grin spreads across his face.

Art, still on the other side of the fissure, keeps pressure on his neck with both hands—blood slipping between his fingers.

He’s helpless…

But not helpless enough not to react when he sees James approaching you with obvious intent.

Art’s eyes blaze with fury.

—Well, well… from Arthur the Charmer to Arthur the Nearly Headless—Trujilda mocks Art, walking toward him with cocky steps— What trick are you gonna pull now?

Art doesn’t let her finish the sentence—

ZAS

He grabs her by the hair.

He shoves her face into his armpit, pressing hard, muffling her irritating voice into silence.

—jhafdoisnhd—she mumbles into his skin.

She tries to hit Art’s chest, but her arms go limp. Her screams fade. She collapses at his feet.

(Chloroform. The best deodorant. Approved by Art.)

Art turns his attention back to James—and you.

His brain calculating like a computer.

James steps toward you, crushing the wooden sign you were using as a shield.

You're standing dangerously close to the edge of the abyss.

—And you know what the best part is? —he says, looking at you— That when this is over, that clown will have to live knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. —He smiles, remembering how James himself couldn’t stop Art with Trujilda. —HOW IRONIC, RIGHT?! —he shouts over to Art.

You take a step back, your stomach turning from the way he looks at you.

The danger is thick in the air, like a knife pressing against your skin.

You know you can’t beat him in strength.

You know Art is too far away to save you...

—No… don’t come any closer —your voice comes out weak.

James laughs.

His shadow swallows you as he takes another step forward.

—Is that all you’ve got? Fear? —he tilts his head, pretending to pity you—. Don’t look at me like that… I just want Artie to know how it feels. And if I remember right… that true love kiss? That was your idea, you bitch. —he spits, and charges toward you.

Your hands shake, sweat making your clothes cling to your skin.

A chill runs down your spine as James lifts his hand, like he’s about to touch you.

On the other side of the abyss, Art stands frozen, out of options.

The gap is several meters wide—

He has no way to reach you…

Wait.

No way?

His eyes flash.

“What if…”

He could reach you… in part?

Without hesitation, he drives his fingers into the wound on his neck in one brutal motion, tearing the flesh apart—widening it, more and more.

He grits his teeth in pain—

But it’s the only way.

With most of the tissue now separated, he grabs his own head with both hands—

And starts to pull upward...

Pull...

Pull…

And then…

SHRUAAACK

He rips his own head off.

The flesh tears completely apart, and a fountain of dark blood bursts from Art’s neck like an oil geyser.

Art’s body holds his severed head above his shoulders.

His long, muscular esophagus, still attached to the head, drips blood like a cursed tentacle.

With one hand, Art’s body lifts his own head—. And with the strength of a professional pitcher, he hurls it in your direction.

Art’s head soars through the air, tongue flapping out like a dog sticking its head out of a car window.

HONK!

Art’s body calls for your attention.

You turn instinctively.

You see something flying toward you—strange, fast, impossible to process—until it lands in your arms with a solid, wet THUD.

Art looks at you.

You look at him.

He gives you his best smile and winks.

—WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! —James freezes in place.

Still holding the head, you notice Art wiggle his esophagus, swinging like a handle.

And you understand perfectly.

—Don’t worry... I’ll aim for the squishy parts—you tell Art, analyzing James’ body—So, basically... all of it. —you laugh.

Art’s eyes light up—he loves seeing you so ready to beat the living hell out of James.

—You gave me your head... I’ll give you some head after this. —you whisper to him with a wicked smile—.A fair trade.

Art’s mouth drops open in shock—then he grins devilishly, his esophagus wagging like a happy puppy’s tail.

You grip the esophagus tight, wielding Art’s head like a medieval mace.

James can’t believe what he’s seeing—Is that woman seriously swinging her boyfriend’s severed head as a weapon?

(That’s relationship goals).

James steps back, but it’s too late.

—WHAT THE FU—

BAM!

You slam Art’s head into his face with all your strength. James yells in pain and stumbles backward.

—Our relationship is as solid as my boyfriend’s skull —you laugh.

BAM!

Another hit—this time to the gut. James doubles over, gasping for air.

Art’s skull is shockingly heavy. Hard as a rock. It’s like swinging a wrecking ball—one that won’t stop staring at you with that shit-eating grin.

James lifts his head, nose broken, eyes swelling.

He weakly raises the machete, trying to aim it at your body.

But you’re faster.

—Catch! —you call out to your boyfriend / weapon.

Art opens his mouth—And you swing him forward, never letting go of his esophagus.

His teeth sink into the blade of the machete—like a pit bull—just before James can swing it.

You yank the esophagus—And Art brings the machete back to you.

You catch it with your free hand, consider using it… but it’s not worth it. So you casually toss it aside, far away.

—This can't be real…THIS CAN’T BE HAPP—

BAM!

You shut him up with another skull-slam to the temple.

James drops to his knees, spitting blood, his nose broken. He has no time to react.

—We’re the perfect couple, James —you say triumphantly—The dream team. The dynamic duo.

Art smiles — then immediately makes a skeptical face, like—

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s gonna be living on aspirin tomorrow.”

But whatever—this is way too fun for him.

You lift Art’s head and plant a passionate kiss on his lips, tongues dancing, right in front of James’ horrified, disgusted face.

Art’s esophagus coils around your leg, which might be a sign of affection—maybe even sexy—

but, well… it’s still an esophagus.

(You don’t care. You love it. You’d swallow his entire digestive system if he asked—deeper, wetter, messier).

—HOW THE HELL DOES A SEVERED HEAD HAVE A BETTER SEX LIFE THAN ME?! —James pulls at his hair. —I HAVE ALL MY LIMBS AND LOW STANDARDS!

—–––––––––––––––––––––––––

Meanwhile, on the other side of the arena—Art’s body wobbles a little, arms hanging loose by his sides, awaiting commands from a brain that’s… not there. It stays upright, only reacts and moves through sheer muscle memory—Basically functioning like a zombie.

A puppet of nerves and instinct.

Until he detects movement.

Specifically—Trujilda, stirring at his feet. Still loopy from the chloroform, groggy and mumbling nonsense.

She grabs onto Art’s legs clumsily, trying to find something to help her stand. Her small hands, with long nails scraping against Art’s skin… similar to yours…

Instantly, his body associates this with one thing.

"Woman."

And, naturally, he does exactly what any brainless man does the moment he registers the presence of “woman”.

He sits down.

Grabs Trujilda.

And puts her across his lap, in the classic “old-school dad punishment” position.

CLAP

The sound of a spanking echoes through the air.

—Aaahh—Trujilda moans, still high as a kite.

CLAP… CLAP

Art’s body keeps spanking her, completely unbothered. He moves like a machine, showing no reaction. Just following his natural impulse, spanking with mindless dedication.

His body moves on instinct—muscle memory at its finest. He’s far too used to your rhythm.

Trujilda keeps moaning, babbling, drooling, her body flopping around like a ragdoll over Art’s lap.

And, obviously, let’s not pretend—He has an erection.

—–––––––––––––––––––––––––

Trujilda’s moans and the sound of spanking reach your ears.

—Oh! Oops… Did you see that, James? —you tease, pointing at them—Looks like your wife is finally finishing what she started. —you laugh—. All it took was a little alone time with Artie, and she threw herself at him. Guess she really wanted it all along, huh? —you love messing with him.

Art and you burst out laughing.

—I’m jealous now, I want a turn too… —you whisper into Art’s ear.

Art wiggles his eyebrows —twice— already picturing all the filthy things he’s going to do to your ass later.

—TRUJILDA, STOP MOANING LIKE A DOG IN HEAT, FOR FUCK’S SAKE! —James yells, his face so red it looks like he’s about to explode, the vein on his forehead bulging like a damn river—. STOP HIM! —he orders you.

Art and you exchange looks.

Both of you raising a single eyebrow, completely baffled by James’ request.

—HIM?! —you reply sarcastically— She’s the one throwing her ass in his face… —you glance down at Art’s head in your hands— Uh… well, technically, in his neck.

Art bursts out laughing.

You’ve had your fun.---It’s time to end James’ suffering.

You take control of the situation.

You walk toward James, smiling, swinging Art’s head like a weapon at your side onze more.

—No… No… No… —James pleads—. We’ll leave, I swear!

—And where exactly do you think you’re going? —you ask.

—We’ll move far, far away from here… —he laughs nervously, still backing away, trembling.

—That’s what I like to hear… —you continue walking.

—We won’t tell a soul. We’ll leave you alone forever; just let as go, please… this stays between us. —he lifts his pinky in a pinky promise.

—That’s what I want to hear. —You nod—. Now, you’re gonna grab your family… and you’re gonna get the hell out of here.

—YES! YES! Absolutely! —he clutches his chest, dramatically—.Thank you… Oh, thank you!

Art sticks out his tongue mocking how pathetic he sounds.

—See how soft he gets when he’s put in his place, babe? He’s basically a chihuahua. —you say to Art.

You both laugh.

James, taking advantage of your momentary distraction—

Runs.

But oh… James.

God has other plans.

In the blink of an eye, James finds himself falling off the cliff.

PLAF

He plummets into the cursed abyss, as if he had tripped over something invisible.

—AAAAAAHHHHH—he falls like a cartoon character.

He tumbles down dramatically.

—AAAAAHHHHH—he keeps screaming, even though he’s already on the ground...

Well… more like inside a pot.

—SPECIAL DISH! —a sausage-faced chef spins around, multiple arms holding different kitchen utensils (Knives, a blender, salt, a frying pan with boiling oil).

—You can’t make an omelet…—his egg-faced assistant mutters—, without BREAKING a few eggs. —crushes two eggs in his fist, yolk and shell dripping between his fingers.

—Ugh… Another one? — says an obese clown in the kitchen—. Well, at least this one looks juicy.

—TRUJILDAAAAA! —James wails like a little bitch, realizing his fate.

Meanwhile, back on solid ground— the most effortlessly cool man in the universe lies calm.

—Idiot... —the vagabond mutters.

He was perfectly camouflaged with his ragged coat and wild hair—If not for the smell of food and wine, he’d be completely undetectable.

He had been hiding in the bushes, tripping James at the perfect moment.

—Hey, Art… You still going through with our bet of not brushing teeth? —he says.

Art stares at him in silence, then smiles—very, very slowly. His smile shines… but for all the wrong reasons.

—That’s my boy. —He pops a mint into his mouth and…—Ha ha ha! You fell for it! —He spits the mint out—.YEEEAH!

You have no idea who this guy is. And frankly, you don’t care.

Art and you exchange looks.

Art blows a raspberry at James in the pit, emphasizing the ridiculousness of the situation.

"What a way to go."

You glance at Art’s body on the other side of the abyss.

Trujilda has gotten up and is now fleeing from the headless body, which is desperately trying to hug her and grind up against her like a needy dog.

Eventually, it gets tired of chasing her— So it just kicks her in the ass, sending her flying face-first into the Clown Café.

—JAMEEESSS! —she screams.

She lands in a swimming pool full of cereal.

A child with pure white eyes emerges, grinning.

—Look! I found a balloon shaped like a snake! —he says.

Trujilda forces a disgusted smile.

The balloon immediately morphs into a real snake and lunges at her.

—JAAAAMEEESGLUGLUGLU— she gurgles, sinking into the milk mid-scream.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You turn to Art’s body, which is standing there, literally like a headless chicken. Just existing. He's standing there, not knowing what to do, staring into nothing, thinking about… nothing, of course.

Art gestures with his pupils toward the "CIRCUS" sign on the ground. Somehow, it looks brand new.

You crouch down to pick it up and hold it in your arms.

—Should I throw it at him? —you ask.

Art nods, moving his pupils up and down.

You throw the sign at Art’s body—like a boomerang. The body senses the movement and catches it automatically when it hits the ground.

It disappears…

—Wait… what? —you mutter, wondering where it went.

And then—it appears right next to you.

—Ooooh! So that’s what it was for.—you laugh… but you still have no idea how he did it.

Art rolls his eyes:

“Of course, girl…”

The hole suddenly closes— just as fast as it had opened.

For a moment, it almost sounds like it burps. It seems to have accepted its sacrifice. And now, it’s satisfied.

You approach Art’s body, about to reattach his head, but you realize—yeah, you’re gonna need duct tape for this one.

You hand his own head back to him. He holds it at belly level, like he’s cradling a bag of potatoes.

—Mmmmmm, hey Art— you ask your boyfriend’s severed head— What do you think is gonna happen to them down there?

Art furrows his brows.

He rests a hand on his chin and makes a deep thinking face—as if to say:

"I’ll think about it later."

—Guess you could say they’re finally… happily settled? —you laugh at your own joke.

Art’s body does a little happy hop, clearly approving.

It enthusiastically nods Art’s head up and down—let’s be real, if his stomach were still connected, he would’ve thrown up at least three times tonight.

His pupils swirl around in their sockets like a cartoon character.

You decide to take his head back into your arms, cradling it like a baby.

You kiss him on the lips.

Instantly, his body reacts.

A —very prominent bulge—, forms in his pants.

—Oh! He felt the kiss! —Art never ceases to amaze you.

You can’t help but glance at his decapitated body–which, let’s not forget, is still shirtless.

—Damn, you look sexy like this —you murmur, licking your lips.

Your hand trails down his abs, appreciating every inch of his lean muscles—but you stop right before reaching his very obvious boner —it twitches.

Art blushes.

He definitely felt that.

“There’s clearly a connection between you two,” you think, smirking.

—Time to go home, guys, —you announce—. It’s late, and we deserve some rest. This has been one hell of a ride.

And with that, you, and both halves of your boyfriend, walk back home to your sweet little haven.

One hand holding Art’s body’s hand, the other hand holding his head.

—I love you so much, Art. —you sigh, full of affection.

His body lifts your hand to his lips to kiss your hand, just like he always does when you tell him you love him.

Of course, this time… there is no head above his shoulders. No lips to kiss your hand.

—I get it, —you tell his head, chuckling—.This is proof that you love me with your heart, mind, and body.

Art flutters his lashes, smiling.

"You make me lose my head," he thinks, laughing to himself.

Without a doubt, no one would ever set foot on Clown Street again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you liked it.

And yes — Sister Beatrice and the vagabond are the Clown Café characters from Terrifier 2.

If Damien’s not gonna develop his characters… then I will.

If I ever end up making Chapter 4 (wink wink), I apologize in advance, because that's gonna be so deliciously nasty, in the best way possible.

Here you got the 2 other chapters:

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/776929905368825856/nightmare-on-clown-street-pt1-the-prospective?source=share (Part 1)

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/777377407333171200/nightmare-on-clown-street-pt2-the-real-state?source=share (Part 2)

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seohyunsfavorite · 8 months ago

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Simon is just so big and muscular (tree trunk thighs..), like the size difference is just mind boggling, and he’s not gentle either, like if you’re looking for a gentle giant, thats not him

He’ll put you in a headlock while fucking you from behind, and that’s probably when he’ll try to be a bit gentle cause he’s trying so hard to fight the urge to snap your neck

Not that he’d want to hurt you like that but all those years in the field it’s just muscle memory!!

#simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost cod smut #headlock #god please make this man real so he can do this to me #cod smut #seohyunsfavorite #seohyunsfavoriteramblez ೀ⋆｡#im not sure #so #dead dove do not eat

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themyscirah · 1 year ago

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Started thinking about the Amanda Waller + Ben Turner relationship again.... fuck, I'm gonna need a minute

#I JUST- SHDIAUDJSHDSHEYEYRYRYRY guys. guys #i know none of you see my vision and thats okay. i will make you see my vision. i will force you to see my vision. i will-#like jesus fucking christ oh my god. its so interesting and gives me so many emotions and just!!!#i know im not making sense bc none of my moots are sui sq fans and also like half of the content fucking me up specifically here is in my #head because i cant stop thinking about my absolute power fix it au but like!!!!!!!#also the fact i have a fix it for a comic that isnt out yet is so funny to me. its literally fucking real though. god knows we need it #may my own content carry me through the dark times (extreme villain waller arc)#anyways this fucks me up so bad you dont even know. someday ill actually explain it #dc hire me to write a suicide squad ongoing PLEASE. i could do it so good it would be so fucking good dc PLEASE 😭😭😭😭😭😭#also like this isnt me shipping them btw. like 110% not that. just to clarify.#i wouldnt even call it a friendship bc like. theyre not friends really. he has the most equal dynamic with her i would say but it still isnt #equal. shes v much his boss even though they have an understanding and respect there #like she believes and trusts in him much more than anybody really even himself. like she sees the good man and the leader even when he #doesnt. but she isnt nice about it. and there is a lot of conflict between them when there needs to be #like as much as ben is “wallers man”--the team leader she wanted from the beginning before rick flagg pushed his way in #ben i would say is still a very moral person even when lost and unsure of himself and his goodness (which is like one of his main things)#like i feel like while amanda can lean very into a “the ends justify the means” mindset in her worse moments and do bad things to get #herself out of a corner ben has like a deep and meaningful understanding of how the choices of your methods and how you act can weigh on you #like even though he was brainwashed and whatnot (thats still the story right? i cant remember) he holds a lot of guilt and baggage over his #actions and i think is able to temper amanda's worse tendencies in terms of that by calling her out when he recognizes that behavior #idk. i just really think that amanda waller and the suicide squad as a whole has lost its way without a more moral authority presence there.#like someone who can call her out and keep them more on track. which i really thing ben is and could be #i just very much am interested in their dynamic and how that would look like as equals and how i think they could help each other.#which ofc is what my wip is about and revolves around #blah #sui sq

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scarameownya · 1 month ago

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tags ran out so im continuing it here JAJSJSDJJD

on a second thought i should have tagged this as nsfw before the tags ran out 💀

#GRANDMA LOST HER SON AND DAUGHTER IN LAW... STOP IT STOP I DONT WANNA GET EMOTIONAL JAIL JAIL FOR YOU

#"grandma filled the roles so well even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled out" thats its im stealing your brain this is actually insane writing and wording IM IN LOVE

#NO NO NOT HIM REGRETTING NOT BEING TO HELP HER AS A CHILD NOBONONOON

#AND HER DEATH HELLO ?!?!?! ok and ik u didnt intended for it to be but id like to think him brushing off people's remarks

#are somewhat in a way him grieving cause hes knows all of it and in a way because he knows his child self could not reciprocate all of it

#DO NOT TORTURE ME MORE WITH HIM READING HIS PARENTS LETTER AND FUCKING CRYING RIV I WILL KILL YOU HELLO IM ?!?@?@?@?#?@#*×*

#ALSO AUAGAHAHAHA I LOVE THEIR BANTER SO MUCH OMFGGGGGGGG THE FACT THAT HE HAS SOMEONE TO SHARE AND CALL A HOME WITH AUGAHSHSHD

#als his thought process during the smut scene... :[[ poor lil brain boy.. he's literally so happy at how you are so perfect for him

#and just how whole you made him feel... wahhh :"[[[[ riv should get her device taken away signing a petition rn //lh

#THE LETTER AT THE END ?!?!?! OMFG HAITHAM YOU CHEESY ASS //POS ALL POS HES JUST SO ?!?!?! SO ?!?@@??!

#seeing haitham this gentle is insane omfg riv i love love LOVE your version of him so much-- lowkey got me blushing at it like-- STOP

#ALL IN ALL HELLO ?!?!?! THIS IS INCREDIBLE IM LITERALLY SO HOOKED IN EVERY WORDS AND THEYRE ALL SO WELL WRITTEN

#eating your brain i need that nutrients PLS I JUST ?!?!?! I JUST LOVE THIS SO MUCH OMFG UAHSUAHDHSDHDHFHDH

#what if i die for just liking this too much-- IM SORRY BUT JUST ?!?!? EVERYTHING FLOW SO SMOOTHLY AND AND ITS SO NATURAL AND I JUST LOVE SEEING IT PLAYED OUT FROM START TO FINISH

#whens the wedding this should be at 28 ill be waiting //lh

like a lotus in spring, you are mine to bloom — ft. alhaitham

synopsis: at twenty one, you’re just a girl he meets as he trains for the role of scribe. at twenty four, you’ve become everything he loves in this world. after three years of knowing you and nearly two and a half decades of life, alhaitham finally realizes why his father left letters for his mother instead of just saying the words outloud

❤︎ word count: 7.7k words — we find ourselves here in the same old situation again, i see LOL pls give it a chance though!! plssss

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; 18+ content — not suitable for minors ; not proof read ; strangers to friends to lovers ; mutual pining but not at the same time for a bit (he falls first <3) ; jealous alhaitham ; hinted drunk sex ; getting together + love confessions ; alhaitham character story spoilers + references to his grandmother and parents ; semi-clothed unprotected sex ; no prep ; some nipple play ; creampie ; the cringiest love letter at the end LOL

❤︎ comments: guys every time i write alhaitham it’s so corny and cheesy but . he is my fav genshin guy of all time i deserve to be allowed this okay

TWENTY ONE.

You’re still a student when you first meet Alhaitham. (Not a student for much longer, but a student all the same. With a little luck on your side and good graces from your darshan’s sage on your thesis, you’re expected to graduate in just a few short months.)

You don’t have the best first meet. In fact, your impression of Alhaitham starts off entirely on the wrong foot.

He’s newly graduated, just freshly rewarded a degree for his (impressive) efforts, and is now well on his way to training for the role of scribe—you heard he was offered far more prestigious roles, but for some reason, a genius like him settled for a role like that. You try not to judge. People have their passions, after all, and if that’s what he wants to do, well…who are you to make comments? (But amongst a school that only houses the brilliant, Alhaitham is, very undoubtedly, a standout. It’s hard to stand out in a school filled with only the best minds, but he manages to do so with ease. Sometimes, you’re almost jealous. You can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t aim a little higher than he does.)

He trains in the house of Daena. His first order of training is to fact-check ordinance drafts using books so he can better get the hang of drafting them himself in the future. You’re also in the House of Daena to find the last book for your thesis—after weeks of begging, you’re finally granted access to the restricted section to find it.

And you do. Except your palm meets warm skin instead of the cold leather cover of a book. You pause, glancing up as sharp, teal eyes meet your gaze, staring at you expectantly as if you should be the one letting go. But you need this book. It’s the final research element to finish your thesis, and you’d like to be done with it. End of story. No matter how devastatingly handsome the man (because he is handsome, you’ll admit at least that much), you will not be handing over the last, final key to your academic freedom.

“Um, excuse me,” you say politely, “I was kind of reaching for that.”

“As was I,” he says, staring at you with a bored, almost uncaring expression. Your eyes narrow. “Now, if you’d please kindly take your hand off of mine.”

“I believe it should be you taking your hand off of mine,” you correct, huffing as you add stubbornly, “I reached for it first.”

He blinks at you, bland and a little irritated, as he points out, “Your hand is on top of mine, which means I reached the book first.”

Well.

Maybe if you were feeling particularly patient, you’d be inclined to admit that, yes, he does have a point. But stubbornness, combined with pure exhaustion, has you at your wit's end, and if you have to play the role of a difficult student, then so be it. You’re pretty sure you need it more, and you’re probably a much speedier reader anyway. You’ll have it done and returned in no time.

This guy, on the other hand…he doesn’t look too bright. You’re not willing to take your chances and let him walk off with a book that you might never see again.

“I started reaching for it first,” you scowl, “you just sped up your hand once you saw me. I should get it.”

“Unlikely,” he scoffs, “I didn’t even see you. Although,” he gives you a once over with his eyes, making you feel uncomfortably seen under his judging gaze, “I suppose you were a bit easy to miss.”

You gape at him. “Just what does that mean?”

“It means,” he smirks, taking the opportunity to grab the book as you stand in shock, “that I got here first.”

“Hey!” You glare at him, seeing red for a moment. What a perfectly good waste of a perfectly handsome face—and such an awful attitude coupled with his ridiculously smug grin couldn’t make for a worse combination. But, before you can even say anything, the book is being pressed back into your hands.

“You seem like you want it more than I do, though,” he hums, “I suppose I can let you have it. It’s a bit outdated for this ordinance, anyway.” With that, he saunters off. You push down the soft flutter in your heart for a moment and force yourself to hope you’ll never see him again. (Faintly, you hope your wishes don’t come true—but you refuse to admit it to yourself.)

Unfortunately (and fortunately at the same time) for you, you do see him again. Many, many times, in fact. When he works in the House of Daena as often as he does, and you like to spend all your free time there to study if you can, you’re both bound to run into each other often. Very often.

And sometimes, it’s quite literally running into him.

“Oof,” you hiss, staggering backward and hitting your head against the bookshelf behind you as you bump into a sturdy figure. You drop the books in your hand, blinking before reaching to rub your read as you start to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t see you—oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” he says, looking mildly entertained. Alhaitham is everywhere. Everywhere. You can’t escape him if you try, and now, you can’t even avoid him in your own personal space. “Although, I think I should be the one apologizing this time. I was too busy reading to pay attention. This section is usually empty at this time.”

“How often are you in here to know what section is empty at what time?” You raise a brow.

“Too often to be considered good for my well-being,” he says dryly, sighing in misery. You crack a smile at that. Oddly enough, so does he—you don’t think you’ve ever heard someone say they’ve seen Alhaitham smile. It must be a rare sight that only you, and perhaps a very few others, can say they’ve witnessed. “I was just about to take a break to buy a coffee—I’ll bring one back for you, too, to make up for the cranial damage I’ve supplied.”

“A most wonderful idea,” you perk up instantly, “I love when I get to drain the wallet of a man.”

He gives you an amused look at that. And somehow, bringing you a coffee along with his own during his breaks is a habit that seems to stick for a long, long while after that.

────────────────────────

TWENTY TWO.

Alhaitham’s feelings are hurt. Not a lot of words tend to do that—he’s been blessed with thick skin and an unbothered attitude to a fault, sometimes. But something about today, for some odd reason, hurts his feelings.

Your words to the waiter who took your order keep ringing in his head.

Oh goodness, no, we are definitely not dating!

Most people mistake you and Alhaitham for a pair of lovers rather than a pair of friends. It’s just the way things go when a man and a woman are seen together for extended periods of time over and over. It doesn’t help that Alhaitham doesn’t really have any friends. He had one before you, but…well, things are complicated now. Far too complicated to think about it more than necessary. He has you, and that’s enough. But the matter still stands that most people tend to assume that something blossoms between the two of you that isn’t just friendly.

He was starting to think it was true himself, too. He knows it’s true from his end, at least. But you say those words with such a sure, definitive tone that it almost sounds like you’re offended by the notion of being seen as his girlfriend. And sure, he would be disappointed—he’s no liar—if you didn’t feel romantically for him, but he’d understand. It’s not something you can help. But you brush off the idea like it’s an anomaly of sorts in the universe for someone like you and someone like Alhaitham to be a couple. It hurts his feelings. More than it should.

(He knows deep down, in the depths of his heart, that you don’t mean it that way. You never would. But irrationality is but one of many feelings that bloom when it comes to romance.)

Alhaitham knows from a young age he’s different than most kids his age. This fact doesn’t change as he gets older. He’s brighter than most of his peers—which is certainly saying something because Sumeru is a nation filled with enough sharp minds, it’s as though brilliance were the average trait. People don’t typically like Alhaitham (which is fine by him, he doesn’t like most of them, either. They mostly don’t meet his standards). The kids don’t play with him in the parks that Grandmother would leave him at while she shopped around at the market, and they don’t sit with him on his one and only day at the Akademiya when he is but an elementary scholar. It never bothered him. He preferred reading under the trees and self-learning at home, anyway. When he’s older and enrolled in the Akademiya full-time, they don’t prefer to partner with him for projects for any other reason than simply being guaranteed a good grade, and they don’t spare him a glance when they all converse in groups outside of class. He never cared for freeloaders, anyway—he only trusts himself for projects, and he is at the Akademiya to learn, not make friends.

It’s not until he meets Kaveh does he consider the idea that friendships are meaningful enough to spare some effort into. But the end result of that only solidifies that he is best when in solitude.

But then he meets you. Some part of Alhaitham knows very early on that you would never be just a friend to him. If it was friendship that he craved, he would have looked for it elsewhere before running into you. Something about you from the very beginning makes him yearn for things much deeper than that. Things that remind him of his parents.

Friendship is fleeting. People at the Akademiya go their separate ways and meet new people. They fall out and have arguments. They grow up and grow apart and become different. But love blooms like the Kalpalata lotuses on a vine, timeless as time itself. It starts and never ends, one root stemming into more and more vines until they never stop growing.

Alhaitham has fallen in love with you. Logic tells him it’s only a recent development, but his heart has known this outcome would be brought about for a long, long time. And, in all truthfulness, your words have hurt his feelings.

And yet, he still loves you through it. He thinks that even if you crushed his feelings with a cold, indifferent smile, he would still love you through it.

A hand waves in front of his face, pulling him from his thoughts as you take a sip from your coffee. Puspa Cafe is not as busy at this hour, most people are in the middle of a work day, but Alhaitham is allowed to pick his lunch hour, and yours happens to be earlier than most.

“Sorry, I just have to ask—are…are you upset?” you ask gently, making him pause.

Yes.

“No,” he says simply, “why would I be?”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You were fine up until…I don’t know, a few minutes ago. Is something on your mind?”

You know him so well, he thinks. How could you not see how perfect the two of you are together?

“I’m simply concerned about your sugar intake is all,” he eyes the cold, iced drink in your hands with more syrups than he deems necessary. You always have a penchant for choosing the sweetest drink off the menu, and Alhaitham will never understand how your teeth don’t rot.

“Well, that’s very funny,” you roll your eyes, “because I was just thinking about how low on vitamin D you must be—do you ever leave your study to see the sun?”

He spares you a soft chuckle at that, shaking his head before taking a sip of his own coffee—hot and black and with two spoons of sugar. Simple, like how he prefers. You make a face at his drink as he sets it down.

“Have you ever thought about what you look for in a partner?” he asks suddenly, making you blink in shock for a moment. He flinches at his own forwardness just a tad.

“Umm, I suppose a little here and there…why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he shrugs, “just curious what your type was, that’s all. You’re painfully single, so I figured your taste was rather distinct.”

“Rude,” you scoff, rolling your eyes enough that he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re not suspicious. “Are you here just to poke fun at my choices today?”

Alhaitham should not be asking you this. Not when the answer so clearly is going to hurt his already very bruised feelings. Of course, your type won’t be him. And, of course, he is going to mourn your answer the second you give it, which is his own fault considering he’s the one who asked. (He has to wonder, for a moment, if this constitutes as an undiscovered hidden kink of his and whether or not he really just gets off on some unnecessary pain. Why else would he willingly subject himself to this?)

But, he’s caught off guard when you shrug and simply say, “I suppose someone who’s intelligent. I’d appreciate some good discussions. And…and maybe someone who’s kind, y’know? I would be rather sad if they were mean,” you pretend to sniffle dramatically.

“That’s…that’s it?” He tilts his head in equal parts shock and equal parts confusion.

“What did you expect me to look for in a partner?” You snort, “A three-story mansion? A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on?”

“Well, no,” he rolls his eyes, “Maybe something a bit less generic to narrow down your pool, I suppose, but if that’s your bar, so be it. There are far too many men who are intelligent and kind, you know.”

“Yes, but none of them show me any signs of interest,” you pout, “I must be undesirable or something.”

I desire you, he wants to say. He can’t quite find the courage to get the words out, though—and as if the universe has it completely out for him, the same waiter from earlier who is responsible for asking you the question that kills Alhaitham’s mood for the day comes back with the bill. And something else, too.

Something that kills his mood for the week.

His jaw clenches a tad when you flush at the note scribbled on a napkin for you, eyeing your flustered reaction while you read over the words: I get off at eight if you’d like to find me. You stare for a moment before you murmur, “Well, look at that. A sign of interest—it must be the Dendro Archon’s divine power.”

“The Divine have no say over who you fall for,” he insists.

“You don’t know that,” you hum thoughtfully, “The God of Wisdom knows her people better than anyone else, you know. I’d like to think she knows when love is bound for two people.”

You fold the napkin carefully and keep it in your pocket, and Alhaitham fishes out his mora pouch with stiff fingers. He leaves a very shoddy tip on the table before he exits after you.

────────────────────────

TWENTY THREE.

You wake up in his bed.

It’s a foggy memory, but you know you fucked Alhaitham after more sips of wine than you can count and one flirty comment too many. It happened in a blur last night, and you can’t say you’re surprised that it finally happened at all. Alhaitham is a man just like any other, and mingling pleasure with friendship is a normal thing to do. Falling under him on his mattress is not something you never had daydreams of—but the truth of the matter is that your daydreams don’t just stop with the bed.

They end with a toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. A mug next to his in the kitchen. Your shoes kicked off along with his at the entrance of a home. Your laughter and his bouncing off of the walls. A ring, maybe. One on your hand and one on his.

In your imagination, it starts with pleasure, but it ends with love.

Falling in love with Alhaitham is a peaceful ordeal. He’s dependable and inherently kind. Strong and impressively capable. Intelligent and objectively handsome. You’d bring him home to your mother and father, and they’d thank Lord Kusanali for smiling down upon their humble little family and their darling little daughter by sending such a divine man your way.

You don’t think you can pinpoint when exactly it is you started to love this boy, but you know loving him became as simple as breathing. You never thought about it. Never learned to do it. Never questioned it, even. You inhale the scent of his spicy, woody cologne and exhale the warm breath of your affections stored in your lungs. He lives somewhere nestled so deep in your ribcage that you think you’d have to crack each of them one after the other before you could pry him out.

You love Alhaitham. You think you know everything there is to know about loving him. You think you’d do it right—better than anyone else.

He only drinks his coffee when it’s piping hot, and his wine can never be one degree less than iced. He has dry hands, but he hates the feeling of lotion. He doesn’t like raw onions but he doesn’t mind them cooked. When the sun is in his eyes, he’s in a foul mood, but he enjoys napping under the warm rays, much like a cat. He laughs surprisingly boyishly from his belly if you manage to deliver a dry yet clever enough joke, and he clears his throat and gets a bit shy once he’s realized he’s let it out. He twirls his pen in his hand when he’s bored, and he only uses the kind with gel ink because they write smoother.

You love Alhaitham. For you, it’s always been him.

When you wake up to his bare, warm body next to yours, breathing peacefully with an arm thrown over your waist, you can’t help but selfishly wish he’d stay asleep all day. Just for a day. Just for the amount of time you get in between the sun’s departure and the moon’s arrival. Just so you can watch him exist in this moment where it’s you, him, and the liminal space between friends and lovers. Just so you can admire how beautiful he is without worrying about his eyes opening and the inevitable conversation of what you’re both doing is brought up.

People (like Kaveh, or Dehya, or Tighnari, or…anyone) tend to insist that Alhaitham loves you. It’s obvious, they say, just as obvious as your love for him. You never believe it. It’s not because he’s bad at love or because you’re bad for him. You think he’d make a good lover—contrary to popular belief, you don’t think Alhaitham is uninterested in intimacy or affection. And you think you’d make a good girlfriend—unlike other people, you understand him and like what you see.

But he doesn’t love you. That much is a fact you’ve long accepted. It’s not because you’re bad for him or because he’s incapable of feeling—but rather, it’s just that bitter, soul-crushing reality that you can’t help who you love and who you don’t. Alhaitham doesn’t love you—it’s not something either of you can really change. Because if he did, he’d waste no time. He’d get to the heart of the matter and quit dancing around the issue.

It’s just the kind of guy that he is.

So, because this is your first and likely last time seeing him this way, you slowly reach over and brush a few strands of messy, unruly bedhead from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and warm under your palm, much more delicate to the touch than you anticipated from how chiseled his features are. Your thumb gently brushes along the slant of his cheekbone, eyes softening at how he lets out a puff of air as he sleeps.

“Morning,” he says hoarsely, eyes still closed and making you jolt in surprise. He lets out a quiet, sleepy chuckle that would make you melt if not for the way your heart still pounds from the shock.

“You’re awake?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding before finally cracking an eye open. “For a while now.”

“Why pretend to sleep then, you creep?” You scoff, glaring at him as he sits up slightly and glances at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. No part of him seems to be shocked about you being nude in his bed. Or the fact that you’re even in his bed at all, nude or not.

“You’re the creep if we’re being technical here. It’s undoubtedly a little on the creepy side to study someone with such careful touches while they sleep.”

“That’s your main concern…?” You stare at him—and for lack of better words, you’re dumbfounded. You and Alhaitham have been friends for two years and counting. You’ve never once crossed the line or even toed at it to step beyond the border of anything more. And, yet, here you are. In his bed. Completely nude. He was lying there and felt your delicate touch along his skin, felt you act like a lover and not a friend on a quiet, intimate morning when in fact, you both should be shamefully avoiding each other’s eyes in a moment that’s anything but intimate as you leave.

He makes no move to ask you to leave or even question why you’re still here. You make no move to really leave—it’s not like you want to.

“What should my main concern be, then?” he looks at you expectantly, like he really doesn’t know.

“Oh, I don’t know, Alhaitham—shouldn’t you be a little more panicked by the idea that I’ve trespassed into your bed and seen you…bare?”

“Well, to be fair, you didn’t trespass. I let you in—and also, to be fair, I saw the same for you, too, so we’re even.”

“You’re oddly calm about this,” you hiss. “This doesn’t bother you even a little? That things might change?”

He looks at you funny—like you’ve just told him a joke that hardly makes sense but makes him want to laugh anyway. “You’re too brilliant to be this dense,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’m quite open to the idea of change.”

You take offense to the first part enough to completely miss the second part of his statement.

“I am not dense,” you huff, “I’m incredibly bright. I’ll have to send you my thesis sometime.”

“No need,” he responds through a low hum. He pulls you closer, flush against his chest. Bare skin on skin. Intimate skin, at that. You shiver for a moment as his warm, large hand wanders lower and lower before stopping just at the small of your back, rubbing slow circles at the dimple where your spine ends. “I’ve read it plenty of times. It was very insightful.”

“Well, in that case, you should know not to insult my intelligence—”

“If you don’t notice my affection for you, I’m afraid you might not be as observant as I initially thought.”

You pause. Your heart flutters. Then it feels like it decays. Your eyes widen a fraction. Then they feel like they need to be squeezed shut for fear of tears. You feel your fingers twitch to reach for him. And yet they stiffen in distrust.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper. Because you don’t.

You really fucking don’t. You thought you knew. His feelings and how to read them. His thoughts and how his mind works. Every little quirk of his and how he approaches every damn thing in this world. You thought you knew.

Now you feel like you don’t know much of anything, especially not what he means right in this moment.

“You don’t?” He whispers, hand moving to grab your wrist and bring it to his cheek so his lips can brush along the delicate lines of your palm prints. (If he was brave, he’d tell you that his destiny and yours are written in those very lines. Maybe someday he’ll build the courage.)

“No,” you say through a shaky whisper. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. Just like you love me.” He says it so plainly, that you almost feel like it's a dry, cruel joke. (You know him a little better than that, though, to know he’d never.)

“How do you know I love you?” you challenge just because it’s all you have left to cling to—easy, instant denial.

He laughs. Soft. Quiet. Melodic. So fucking sweet. “I’m too smart to act dense,” Alhaitham teases. And then, for a moment, his eyes soften enough that they almost look vulnerable. “And only someone who loves me could deal with my… peculiarities. Though, I will admit, it took me quite a while to reach this conclusion. You made me work for it.”

“If you’ve known all along—”

“Not all along,” he corrects, “like I said, it took me a while to come to this conclusion. But once I did, it was rather obvious.”

You scowl with a finger prodding into his chest, eyes misty with relief and the faintest traces of agitation, “Well, regardless, why haven’t you said something all this time? Obviously, I wasn’t as aware as you seem to be, so the least you could have done is spared me the pining and heartbreak of wondering if you’d ever look at me—”

“I wanted to make sure I could offer you a peaceful life first,” he says gently. You blink. He smiles, eyeing something in the distance—you don’t quite catch it, but you think it might be the old, worn-out stack of envelopes sitting on his desk.

“What?”

“When you’re with me,” he whispers, leaning in so that his lips brush over yours, “I can lead a peaceful life. I wanted to make sure I could give you the same.”

“And what does that consist of?” you raise a brow.

“Well,” he murmurs, pecking the corner of your mouth, “A stable job with a generous income, which I now have. A fixed schedule, which I have also negotiated. A proper home to house the both of us, which you are comfortably laying in. And…” he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest where his heart is beating erratically, “A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on, which I have dedicatedly worked to add to my physique for you.”

“Haitham!” you squeal, shoving him away with a horrified shriek as he laughs with a wide grin. You don’t even know why he still remembers that comment to poke fun at it, but you suppose that is the tragedy of falling for a prodigious scholar. His mind is sharp. And so is his memory. “Enough!”

“Okay, okay,” he grins smugly. “I want us to lead a peaceful life.”

“There’s not a lot of peace I am counting on with you.”

“I will elect to ignore that statement,” he says dryly, “But that’s why I waited this long,” he buries his face into your neck, nose pressing into the skin as he inhales, “I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer, though. Won’t you accept my frugal attempt at a serene life with you?”

“Perhaps I can make do,” you fight back a stupid grin.

He smiles into your neck. You can feel it. You can practically see it. You hope you’ll grow old with it, too.

“Then I suppose I’m forever indebted to your graciousness, my love.”

────────────────────────

TWENTY FOUR.

When Alhaitham was eight, Grandmother told him the story of how his parents had fallen in love. It was a typical love story, he thought at the time—nothing overly special or unique. A simple, sweet bond between two people who became friends and something more along the way.

What stood out were the letters. Not very much at first, but with time, he’d realized how special they were.

Grandmother handed him the letters with a soft, melancholy look in her eyes that made him realize he hadn’t just lost his father and mother. She had lost her son and daughter-in-law. Alhaitham felt the absence of his parents often. It was hard not to at that age—he didn’t have a father to throw a ball to or tag along with to the market. He didn’t have a mother to hum him a melody or make his favorite dish for dinner. But Grandmother filled the gaps in those places well enough that even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled between the cracks.

But he was no son. Not a proper one for her at her age, anyway. She raised him like he was her own, but she grew older every day, and he didn’t grow fast enough to keep up. He couldn’t take care of her in her old age the way his father would have. He couldn’t do much besides bring the vegetables for her to cut or set the table while she cooked. He couldn’t offer her the mora when she went to the market or carry too many of the heavy bags while they walked home. He couldn’t let her rest in her old age too much because, regardless of how mature and bright he was for his age, Alhaitham was just a child. Her child, nonetheless—Grandmother didn’t let him forget that fact. But a child.

When she died, he arranged the funeral alone. He didn’t cry throughout the whole ordeal. Her old colleagues from way back in her Akademiya days came, as did some of his parents’ old acquaintances. No one he knew too familiarly, though—no one who really mattered when they clasped his shoulder and told him to hang in there.

She was a good woman. He knew that already.

She was very intelligent. A very obvious fact.

She was exceptionally kind. A rather unsurprising observation.

She loved very deeply. Well. That one stung—as true as it might have been.

He remembers it so vividly still. How he had walked home alone after it all. How he had taken off his tie (a very poorly tied tie, at that—Grandmother had always helped him before) and silently entered his room.

It wasn’t until he had eyed his desk that finally, it all sank in. The notes—the ones his father had so carefully written his mother while they were still just starting to fall in love, sat there as if waiting for him. He read them one by one, just like he had so many times before. He didn’t realize he’d started crying until a rivulet of his sorrow landed from his cheek to the page, staining the paper a darker shade of heartache.

Alone.

That’s all Alhaitham had ever been since the tender age of four. At least, that’s what people had always thought—but he’d never felt the sorrow people tended to feel for him. Not having a father and mother was okay. Hard at times, but okay. Grandmother had been everything he needed. More than what he needed, in fact.

Grandmother was everything. And she had left him just the same way his parents had. He’d cried that night—alone in a house that was nothing more than just a house. Not a home, not a place where he could return to and look forward to it. Not a place where love was waiting for him to shelter him as soon as he came back from the cruel, outside world.

Grandmother was gone. Mother and father had left so long ago. But they all had each other—in whatever world they’d crossed to, they’d had each other.

He remembers it all so vividly still. How he’d read his father’s words, and for the first time in all his life, he’d craved it. What his parents had.

To my love, my soul, my heart. I am yours, always.

He wondered that night, through teary and blurry eyes, if love like that would ever find him. If he’d one day be able to call someone his love, soul, and heart.

He thinks now, as you laugh with your head tilted forward and a tweezer in hand while sitting on his lap, that he can.

“Hold still, you,” comes your teasing remark, “you said this would be nothing. Now look at you.”

“You’re being too harsh,” he grumbles, pouting slightly. With a smile, you bend your neck down and press a soft kiss to his jutted lips, humming before pressing an extra one to the corner of his mouth for good measure. (And yes, the grand sage—acting, you can almost hear him correct in your own head—can pout. He is rather frequent at curling those lips of his in your presence when he wants something, in fact. Or when he is teased too much. Something about you brings about a side of him that is much less stoic and far more dramatized.)

“You can just admit it hurts, you know,” you say through an amused snort.

“It won’t hurt if you just do it right.”

“I’m an expert at tweezing eyebrows,” you huff, “I do mine all the time. And I would know that it hurts.”

“It can’t be that painful,” he clicks his teeth, “just be gentle.”

“I cannot gently pull out a hair from your follicle, Haitham—I don’t know what you want me to—hey!”

He grabs the tweezers from your hand and pulls you close, hugging you tight enough that his nose digs into your skin a bit as he buries it into your neck. It’s Saturday. His first out of two days off for the week—standard scribe work weeks are nine to five on weekdays, and he very much appreciates his weekends away from the bustling, lively Akademiya nonsense.

Saturday happens to be your day off, too.

“Where is Kaveh?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. He raises a brow, eyeing the suspicious movement of your fingers.

“Working with a client in Aaru Village. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening. Why am I not enough company for you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” you roll your eyes, and this time, your hands wander under his shirt, palms slowly dragging along his chiseled, planed abdomen while he shivers slightly under your touch. “I was just asking if…”

“If…?” he urges you to continue.

You know he knows. But, for the sake of indulging his smug, teasing little game, you huff and push his shirt up to expose his chest before murmuring, “If we would be interrupted or not. I don’t fancy such awkward run-ins with your roommate.”

“Our roommate,” he corrects, “this is your home, too.”

“Yes,” you smile, brushing your palms over his pectorals, watching as he stiffens when you graze along his nipples, “I suppose it is.”

“Well, he’s not here. And he won’t be, so kiss me,” he demands through a breathy whisper. You do. You kiss him instantly—because kissing Alhaitham is what you do best. When he’s happy, sad, angry, distressed, or just plain tired, kissing him is how you know him the most. When your breaths exchange and your life force and his mingle to become one, singular unit.

You sigh into his mouth, letting his hands cradle your jaw and tilt your head to better meet his mouth, all while your hands still explore his upper half. He moans under your touch, cock springing to life slowly below you through his pants. You angle your hips forward, inching higher up his lap to drag your crotch along his and help the erection grow against the friction.

“Fuck,” he hisses, hard and heavy between his legs in no time.

“Haitham,” you breathe, feeling that familiar ache build between your own thighs.

You kiss him like that for a bit. Messy, deep, sloppy, and so, so slow. With all the time in the world. Languid strokes of your tongue against his as he rolls his hips up from underneath you, dragging his clothed, bulging cock against your dripping cunt. The fabric separates you, rudely so, and it’s not long until you both grow tired of it.

“Off,” you whine, tugging at his pants, “off, off, off!”

“So demanding,” he chuckles, pecking your nose sweetly before he lifts his hips, letting you slide off his sweatpants. “Satisfied?”

“Yes,” you beam, “You always give me what I want. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

His gaze darkens at that—not for any other reason than it makes him so incredibly filled with lust when you speak to him like that. So spoiled and happy about it because it’s him. Him. You’re happy that it’s him. And he’s happy that it’s you.

You don’t even bother undressing yourselves fully—he pulls down your own pants just enough to expose your pretty, leaking folds, and his hands wander under your shirt, where he almost short-circuits for a moment. Braless. Because you just love to drive him mad, he thinks. This much easy access to your soft, delicate breasts and the pert nipples that decorate them is enough to make him curse under his breath as his thumbs tease over them.

“You’re a tease.”

“For simply existing?” you gasp, making him crack a small grin.

“Yes,” he hums, “Your existence on its own teases me at all times. I’m afraid it drives me mad.”

You hum, reaching forward to gently take his hard, leaking cock into your hand and give a light, teasing squeeze. “Maybe my goal is to turn you completely into a lost cause.”

“Then,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch cushions while he breathes harshly, “then you’re definitely succeeding. Is that what you wished to hear?”

“Yes,” you whisper, kissing his jaw, “It is, actually.”

It doesn’t take long at all before Alhaitham has tossed you back against the couch, laughing as you shriek at the sudden change of position. You glare at him, fighting back your own chorus of giggles as he moves to hover over you, kissing and biting playfully along your cheeks.

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“Aw, so sweet,” you coo, “say that again.”

He rolls his eyes. His lips curl into the brightest grin at the same time. My love, my soul, my heart—the words are ingrained in his memory always. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you whisper.

He leans in for a soft, slow kiss as the tip of his leaking cock slides against your folds, tapping against your clit before rubbing along your entrance. You gasp, shuddering against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I could get used to this.”

“Sex on the couch? We can do that any time—”

“A weekend with just the two of us,” he groans, dropping his head to your neck as you laugh loudly. Bright. Airy. A sound the wind carries to him in his subconscious. He hears you even when you’re not there—even when you aren’t around, he searches for you.

“Oh,” you say playfully, “Yeah, I guess that’s nice too, isn’t it?”

“I’ll show you just how nice it’s about to be,” he hums. The tip of his thick, blunt head is pressed against your folds—you’re leaking just as much as he is. You slick, and his pre cum mix for a messy collision of arousal as he presses into you slowly, so carefully, you feel like you could break at any second with how he handles you.

He’s patient. When Alhaitham fucks you, he’s patient enough that you feel like his other half and not his means of pleasure. Like he fucks you for you and not for himself.

“More,” you insist, impatient as you add, “I can take it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he clicks his teeth, “I want to take my time feeling you.”

And he does. He rolls his hips slowly. So slowly, you feel delirious. It’s a painful, gradual build-up of pleasure that has you trying to roll your hips into him to meet him halfway, a pathetic attempt when he’s on top of you to press his weight down on you to keep you in place.

“Please, Haitham,” you whine, sweat shining across your sweet, pleasure-hazed face as he stares down at you, “Please more. I need it—need you. Need all of you.”

“You have all of me,” he groans, feeling the tight walls of your cunt squeeze around him, the squelching noise of his thick girth bullying into your folds in and out, in and out, in and out, driving him to the brink of insanity. “You’ve always had every piece of me.”

“I want more,” you hiss.

He lets out a breathy laugh that turns into a soft moan. “If that’s what you want.”

The next thing you know, two strong, muscled arms are grabbing your thighs and bringing them around his torso to wrap around him, and his large hands grab your hips and pull, practically manhandling you deeper onto his cock. You shudder, letting out a shrill, high-pitched gasp as he intrudes further into your cunt, nudging the head of his cock against your sweetest of spots and making your body tremble.

“Haitham,” you gasp, “Haitham, fuck—fuck, you feel so good. So deep—love when you fuck me like this.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, kissing in between your pretty little scrunched-up eyebrows, “I love fucking you like this, too. When you take me so well, squeeze so tight, and let me feel you like the good girl you are.”

His words make your folds squeeze around him, and fuck—he’s close. So fucking close, the pad of his rough, callused thumb meets your clit as he rubs circles, trying to bring you to the edge before he goes plummeting himself.

“‘M close—almost…almost there,” you pant.

“Me too, baby,” he groans. He slams into you, skin slapping against skin and the glistening sheen of it mixing your sweat together. His mouth parts with pretty, low sounds of his pleasure, and your face twists with the devastating rush of yours.

Once. Twice. A third time, and you fall apart as he thrusts into you and presses the tip of his thick length against the spongey spot in the back of your walls.

“Haitham,” you gasp, legs tightening around him as your nails press crescent shapes into his back. “Fuck, I’m c-cumming…oh, Gods.”

“Good,” he gasps, and with one last roll of his desperate hips, he spills into you, too. A thick, sticky, familiar rush of heat fills your cunt, topes of cum painting you white within with every twitch of his aching cock. “Fuck—you feel so good. So perfect—you were made for me. Me.”

“You,” you whisper, breathless.

You let him shudder over you, fingers running through his hair as he finishes releasing his load into you before he slumps his wait over your body. It’s a small couch—decorative more than functional. (All thanks to Kaveh, of course.) But you don’t particularly care when you’re under him. It feels right all the same.

“We have the house to ourselves this weekend,” he reminds you after some time of catching your breaths. “So…so we can do this all you want.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes as you poke his forehead. “You’re obscene.”

“I’m romantic,” he corrects, “I just want to be with you and nothing else. Can’t blame a man when he’s been gifted such a beautiful sight before him.”

“And cheesy, too,” you huff.

He smiles. My love, my soul, my heart.

——————————

You wake up Monday morning to Alhaitham already gone—it’s rare that he’s ever up before you. He leaves the house just in time to make it to work exactly on the dot and not a moment sooner or a moment later. But, as is with any Akademiya position, there are quarterly meetings that even the scribe can’t avoid. You giggle at the image in your head of a grumpy Alhaitham carefully tiptoeing around the room as he miserably gets ready for an early morning of extra work, all while making sure he doesn’t wake you.

You yawn, sitting up to start your morning for your own day of work ahead—but it catches your eye before you can fully rise from bed, making you pause.

A note? No, you realize almost instantly. Not just a note—a letter.

To my love, my soul, my heart: Kalpalata lotuses will bloom soon. I forget how beautiful the world is sometimes, and I suppose it’s because I am always distracted by your beauty alone. Will you laugh as you read this? I suppose you might because even I must admit, it is a rather cliche thing to say. I can just picture your smile now, and I am certain I will have it memorized until my last breath. It’s easy to remember it so well when it’s all I see in my dreams. Have I told you how often I see you in them? It’s difficult to think that there was once a time in Sumeru when we did not dream. It seems like sleeping beside your body is no longer enough—your presence is required even in my slumber for me to truly be at peace. Perhaps when the lotuses bloom, we can take a trip to the deeper parts of the rainforest to catch a glimpse of a few. They say the vines are blessed by The Lord herself. I was never one to seek out the divine, but perhaps with a gift as sacred as you, I should take the time to thank Lady Kusanali for granting such brilliance to take bloom in my presence. Only, the difference is that here with you, there are no cliffs to climb or seasons to await. You are mine to bloom, always—my precious, beautiful lotus. Forever yours, Haitham ♡

ITS DONE. HAPPY LATE BDAY TO MY FIRST AND LONGEST LOVE. YOU MEAN EVERYTHING AND MORE TO MEEEEE

#OK FIRST OF ALL I WAS SO EXCITED TO SEE THIS FIC GOES LIVE YOU HAVE NO IDEA #SO HERE COMES MY THOUGHTS (im writing the tag as i read so i can give u my live reading cause holy shit)#for the twenty one section: OK FIRST OF ALL HELLO MEET UGLY ?!??!!? I THINK THIS IS MY FAV HAITHAM'S FIRST MEETING CAUSE #HOLY SHIT YEA ID HAVE A HEADACHE TALKING TO THIS MAN-- and the banter us so so natural and funny-- what a lil shit he is lol //pos #BUT I ALSO LIKE THE SET UP FOR READER'S CHARACTER ?!?!?! I JUST LOVE HOW SASSY AND STRAUGHTFORWARD #*straightforward* SHE IS LIKE HELLO YOU GO GIRL BOSS #btw running into him in the house of daina cause he works there is also such a fun“oh theyre going to be friends” lead up I LOVE THAT #the line “i love draining a man of his wallet” legit got me going “YES QUEEN DO IT SUCK HIM DRY” AT READER IM SO ?!?!?!? //POS #ITS JUST ONE OF MY FAV BANTER AJDJSJDJSJDJ #ok to the twenty two: i havent read 23 yet but i think this is my favourite out this fic #because the situation is just set up so incredibly well-- haitham being conflicted cause hes so obviously in love but he doesnt know (or #isnt willing to submit his conclusion of her liking him back yet + him being thick skinned and this affected him just show how smitten he i #ALSO WOW HE GOT GUTS-- I MEAN HE KNOWS HE HAS GUTS BUT WOW THAT WAS VERY STRAIGHTFORWARD BRAVO BRAIN BOY #reader is so fucking sassy im actually in love with her like-- ok so shes definitely in love but she cant help being sassy when he said #'thats it' LIKE MAN AJDJSJDJSJDJ also the waiter... whos the waiter actually he got rizz what the heck #“the waiter that ruined his whole day give him the bill and something that ruin his mood for week” IM LITERALLY SO OBSESSED WITH THIS LINE #GOD IDK WHY BUT THERE IS SOME WEIRD CATHARTIC SEEING UR FAV SO IN LOVE THAT THIS WOULD RUIN THEIR MOOD AJDJSJDJSJD #OK ONTO TWENTY 3: HELLO WHERE DID WE WAKE UP IN CAN YOU REPEAT THAT I WAS WALKING MY FISH ?!?!?!#ON HIS BED ??? IN HIS CHEST ??????????#drunk sex cure relationship i stg (i jest for legal reason ofc) BUT OMG READER'S POV AFTER 2 YEARS OF HAITHAM SUFFERING #but oh my god she is so so so sweet... sweetie he's so in love with you you need to be more confident sob #BUT ALSO THE SMALLEST OF DETAIL SHE RECALLED LIKE HELLO ?!?!?!?! WIFE MATERIAL HAITHAM YOU LUCKY BITCH #“praying lord kusanali for blessing their small humble family and daughter for such a devine man” IM SORRY BUT THIS WAS SO FUNNY TO ME FOR #SOME REASON LIKE-- asian parents im sorry but theyd be so happy for real 😭😭 BUT YES GIRL YOU ARE WIFE MATERIAL #HAITHAM OF ALL PPL FALL FOR U UR THE CHOSEN ONE-- also their dialogue... im so weak river what :[[#ITS ACTUALLY SO SWEET ?!?!?! him saying i love you finally while reader is here having a spiral... :[[[#AUSGHASHHAHS ok haitham u are forgiven please treat reader well :[[[ NO TWENTY 3 IS SO SWEET IM #ALSO HIM MAKING SURE THEY COULD HAVE A GOOD LIFE IM ?!?!?! I CANNOT BE THIS WEAK RIGHT #AND THE CHEST COMMENT ?? I ACTUALLY LOVE SASSY HAITHAM LIKE THIS-- he should be like this more riv im begging hes so entertaining like this #OK TWENTY 4 OMG: THE BEGINNING TALKING ABT HIS PARENTS' LOVE IM... LIL HAITHAM NO...

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blkkizzat · 7 months ago

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@ 𝙭𝙓𝘿𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙂𝙤𝙙69𝙓𝙭 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮...

AND GOD KNOWS I'M TRYIN', BUT THERE'S JUST NO USE IN DENYING... ❤︎︎︎︎ THE OTAKU IS MINE ❤︎︎

⏯︎︎ OTAKU!GOJO X BIMBO!READER SERIES

bunny, how on earth did you end up dating this huge otaku nerd? urgh, you actually like him and match his freak too? and he buys you what?! omg! what will your friends think?!

⏯︎︎ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘

𖦏 genre: college au

𖦏 ratings: 18+MDNI. unprotected, ecchi gojo, dubcon, cnc, bdsm, puppy play, public sex, creampies, spanking, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, edging, squirting, threesums, femdom, the ridiculous ass pervy pet names gojo gives you & reader is called 'bunny' in lieu of 'y/n'. each story will have warnings on its story page.

𖦏 pre register: comment to be tagged. i may not respond to everyone but rest assured if you comment you will be tagged!

𖦏 gamer's guide: all fics are listed in chronological order, but likely won't be written in chronological order. summaries subject to change slightly. they also will be written over time so please don't rush me for the next installment but feel free to ask me questions i love talking about this lil freak❤︎︎

⏯︎︎ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘:

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟏: ❝ DIGIMON—BUT MAKING U CUM IS MY REAL HOBBY! ❞

𖦏 your best friend gojo is a hopeless otaku virgin with zero rizz that's still obsessed with digimon—despite being a grown ass man. you're a slut who despite her best whoring efforts—can't cum. you'll take his v-card and he'll fix your broken pussy, deal? ⏯︎︎ plays: 13.3k

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟐: ❝ STICKS N' STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT CHAINS N' WHIPS EXCITE ME! ❞

𖦏 so now that you have a filthy rich boyfie who is completely obsessed with you and has moved you into his house, you're winning, right? or you will be at least— if can survive a trip to the sex dungeon. don't worry it's professionally sanitized after each use! ...what? that's not what you're worried about? oh... ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟑: ❝ AND ALL OF THAT WAS OKAY, CAUSE IT WAS IN A 3-WAY!❞

𖦏 the three of you: you, gojo and geto are like peas in a pod, especially since its summer! and if two of you start f*cking in that pod well its only natural that the third want to join in, right? besides, you both already want to f*ck him. just make sure your current boyfie doesn't get too jealous from how hard you are moaning on your other besties' joystick. your only his ecchi angel, remember? ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟒: ❝ IN THE BEDROOM I BE SCREAMIN', BUT OUTSIDE I KEEP IT QUIET—OR TRY TO AT LEAST!❞

𖦏 you can only keep your relationship underwraps from the rest of your friend group for so long. but you need to ease them into the idea first! although, when there's a yacht party for nanami's bday how is your uber clingy otaku boyfie supposed to keep his hands off of you when you're looking like the most perfect pervy princess in that itty bitty swimsuit? ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟓: ❝ YEAH, HE MY MAN, HE WAS NEVER YO TYPE! ❞

𖦏 school is back! thankfully you somehow manage to instill some kind of decency into your otaku boyfie over the summer so he can come across as normal enough to make his own friends. but did you do too good of a job? wait, he actually has a lil rizz now? you mean you aren't the only girl attracted to him anymore... hol'up! ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟔: ❝ MOVE IT UP, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT, OH—SWITCH IT UP LIKE NINTENDO! ❞

𖦏 hey, when did you become freaker than your otaku boyfie? so he caught you touching yourself to his femdom p0rn when he came back early from a business trip? yikes! now he wants to try it out with you? don't worry you will do a great job training your new play puppy boyfie! ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

⏯︎︎ 𝐃𝐋𝐂:

𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝐧𝐧𝐧: ❝PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ❞

𖦏 your loser otaku boyfie wants to take you to an anime convention and enter a couple's cosplay contest. you agree on one condition, he has to participate in No Nut November. Fair trade right? What could go wrong? ⏯︎︎ plays: 5079

⏯︎︎ 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒:

𖦏 soundtrack: [ x ] 𖦏 moodboards: [ lvl 1 ] 𖦏 amazing art by amazing readers: [ x ] 𖦏 faq/thirsts: [ x ]

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.︎︎

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seasprincess · 1 month ago

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Yapping

gf!reader x early seasons!Spencer ☆

In which your nerdy boyfriend won’t just stop talking. So you make him….

warnings: MDNI, sub!Spencer, handjob (m receiving), whiny Spencer, he’s a bit pathetic x

wc:811

♡₊˚ ・₊ ♪ ✧ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ♡₊˚ ・₊ ♪ ✧ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

After working for the past couple days on a hard case that took a lot out of you and the rest of the team. It’s a tough time sometimes. Wearing all of you out.

Apart from one genius who just won’t be quiet now that you two are home alone.

“A vast majority of unsubs have that MO.” He says before getting cut off by you placing your lips back on his. You’re sitting on his lap trying to just make out with him. And of course he’s speaking at a million miles per minute. Nothing out of the ordinary of course.

“They usually aren’t driven by-“ He’s cut off again, lips reconnecting making a sound that makes your cheeks flush. Why is he still talking? Sometimes this man cannot take a hint.

Your hands come up to his cheeks as you try pull him closer in the kiss but as soon as your lips leave his he’s back at it again.

“-The killing. They’re more interested in-“

Another kiss. Hand on his shirt pulling his chest towards yours, feeling him against you is just what you needed right now.

“They’re more interested in the body parts. So psychologically the-“ His voice goes up in a squeak at the end of his sentence when he feels your hand on his crotch.

“For the love of god Spencer. Please shut up.” You say as you close your eyes. Taking a breath. “I love you and your rambles but right now I need something else.”

Spencer freezes at your words and touch. His mind which was once preoccupied is now completely on you and only you. He takes a shaky breath as he suddenly snaps into reality.

You’re sitting on his lap, chest to chest kissing him. And what’s he doing? Rambling about a case that’s now solved.

He has a real life beautiful girl sitting on his lap and he’s being a nerd and yapping.

“Y-yeah. Sorry.” He says softly, voice catching in his throat. Finally understanding what you are wanting.

Yes you and him have done stuff before but every time he still acts like an innocent virgin boy who's never touched a woman.

“Good. Thank you.” You say as your lips reconnect with his. Moving slow and passionate against his. Just the way he likes, it makes him a mess.

As your tongue enters his mouth he lets out a little whine. He’s turning to puff in your hands by just a simple kiss. It’s pathetic. He knows it’s pathetic. But he knows you like that.

“Please.” He whines out against your lips as his hand finally touches you. Gently, not fully touching you. Too scared to do anything.

“Please what?” You say as your thumbs stroke his cheeks, smiling down at him before placing a kiss to his head. The poor boy beneath you is practically shaking beneath you with nerves and excitement.

“Touch me.” He manages to breathe out.

You don’t need to be told twice, hand darting to his pants zipper.

Spencer can feel your fingers working over the material that covers his cock. It twitches as he lets out another whine. The man has an IQ of 187 but when he’s with you, you’d never guess.

Your hands slip into his pants, palming him through his boxers with a smile on your face. You love making him feel good. Even if you’re not getting anything. Cause the noises and the way he is is enough for you.

“P-please.” He moans out all needy and worked up for you.

You kiss him again. He kisses you back with more strength this time. Showing you just how needy he is.

Your hands pull his pants and boxers down, him lifting his hips up to help you.

His cock is already leaking and aching for your touch. For any sense of relief as it’s all too much for the doctor.

Your hands wrap around his length before gently stroking up and down.

Spencer breaks the kiss as he moans. Looking down at your hand working on him. The sight makes his stomach tighten.

His head falls back against the couch as he grips the pillows, knuckles turning white as he breathes heavily.

“Oh-oh-“ He moans out again as you look up at him, kissing his lips again.

The noises that Spencer keeps making are drowned out in your mouth. And all you can do is smile.

Your hand speeds up and his brain malfunctions. The pleasure he’s feeling of your hand on his cock mixed with you kissing him is enough to put him in a coma.

“I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-“ He says quickly, the words leaving his mouth followed by a moan.

You just keep going. His cock twitching in your grip before he releases.

You simply just place another kiss on his lips as you smile.

a/n: not proof read. need him x

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jinwoosbabyboo · 2 months ago

Note

Just read your telling the LADS Men you're pregnant hcs and AAAA I loved it so muchhh. the boys r so silly. SOOO May I request LADS men when reader goes into labour when they're away? Sorry I just love chaos 🤭

The Baby is Coming!

Giving your lads man a call when you're going into labor while he's not with you. A/N: Hey nonnie I bet you thought I forgot about this request huh? I didn't sorry I took so long to finish it. Love you 🩵

Zayne

Calling Zaynes' office

Zayne: Dr. Zayne speaking Tara: It’s coming Zayne: What’s coming?

Fumbling noises from you snatching the phone from Tara

MC: Your big headed child Zayne my water just broke

Loud clattering noises on Zaynes' end

Zayne: I’m on my way home now MC: Tara is bringing me to the hospital just stay there Zayne: Right right … I'll report to labor and delivery MC: *groans in pain* Zayne: How bad is the pain MC: I’ll punch you in the nuts so you can experience it firsthand Zayne: I’ll let that one slide because I know it’s the contractions talking

Rafayel

MC: The twins are coming Rafayel: WHAT!? MC: YEA! Rafayel: They’re 3 weeks early MC: No shit sherlock *groans in pain* Rafayel: Tell them I said stop hurting mommy MC: Mommy is gonna curb stomp daddy if he isn’t here within the next 5 minutes Rafayel: Don’t worry your savior is on the way MC: You’re not funny hurry up Rafayel: Can’t you just cross your legs? MC: Nvm I’ll drive myself Rafayel: Okay okay I’m sorry I’m just freaking out MC: I have not one but two crotch goblins trying to rip me in half I need you to lock in or so help me God I will fry you up and serve you with a side of fries and extra tartar sauce you hear me? Rafayel: Yes ma’am

Xavier

Xavier: I have everything ready to read to your tummy tonight MC: You’ll be reading to our son instead Xavier: What do you mean? MC: My water broke while I was at Philos Xavier: Why are you there? MC: I was picking out the flowers I want in my hospital room *groans in pain* Xavier: I’m coming don't worry MC: You coming is what caused all of this but it's fine Jeremiah is driving me to the hospital now Xavier: ……does he drive better than me? MC: Xav please don’t piss me off right now……. Xavier: Right heading there now MC: Make sure you bring the baby bag Xavier: I have it ... unlike Jeremiah MC: NOT NOW!

Sylus

Sylus: I'm getting a distress call from Mephisto what's wrong? MC: The baby is coming Sylus: Is this another case of Braxton Hicks? MC: No its a case of amniotic fluid all over the damn kitchen floor Sylus: I'm on my way don’t move MC: *groaning in pain* I can barely do anything right now Sylus: Remember the breathing techniques MC: This is all your fault Sylus: I know Princess you can squeeze my hand as hard as you want MC: I’m gonna break it Sylus: Good luck with that MC: What did you just say? Sylus: I said I’m sure of that

Caleb

MC: Hey dumbass your big headed child is trying to tear me in two Caleb: Aww are they kicking too hard? MC: Caleb….. Caleb: Don’t tell me MC: Yes my water broke Caleb: Okay don’t worry I’m on my way stay on the phone with me MC: Gideon is already driving me to the hospital meet us there Caleb: ….. MC: You there? Caleb: Is he driving safe? MC: CALEB! Caleb: Right on my way! Uh real quick did you grab the baby bag? MC: Yes Caleb: Do you remember the breathing techniques? MC: Yes Caleb: Did you- MC: STOP WITH THE TWENTY ONE QUESTIONS BEFORE I HANG UP Caleb: Alright I'm done but just so you know you can scream at me all you want I don't mind MC: *Hangs up*

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sukunasluvrr · 2 months ago

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Nerd Gojo who was an absolute simp for you. The poor man so badly wanted to get his hands on you in some way, but he knew he wouldn’t have a chance. You were way out of his league. You, the popular girl who hung around people like Sukuna and Kenjaku and were always present in frat parties. Often ending up with a pillow between his legs and humping the poor fabric like a desperate dog while whimpering your name over and over again, leaving the sheet soiled with his sticky sperm and a hint of shame in his actions, how did he end up this down bad for you?? Nobody knew.

He’d often help you out with your studies and tests, often doing them for you after you bat your lashes prettily at him and asked him real nicely. It really didn’t take much to convince him, looking at you with puppy eyes and his glasses that sat so adorably on the bridge of his nose as he nods and mutters „of course..“ under his breath. But he couldn’t take it anymore, one day while you were in his dorm, him helping you with a project- he couldn’t help himself. He was already half hard because of your tits being in his sight and the smell of your perfume that invaded his senses. Looking at you with his usual puppy like stare as he took all the courage he had. “Can you… stay the night?” He asked almost in a hushed tone. You had to look twice to make sure you weren’t imagining this,

“You want me to stay the night?” You asked him, to make sure you didn’t just hear it wrong, but to your surprise, he nodded without hesitation, hands moving to your hips as he got onto his knees- actually begging for you

“Please… just give me this one night… I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, this night and the rest of our semesters… but I’m begging you, I just wanna feel you for once…“

He was so desperate… it was almost cute. And his offer was quite tempting, so you agreed and he practically grinned in excitement. Already pulling you to the bed and kissing over your skin in soft pecks, being so gentle with it, like you could break if he went to hard and rough on you. His hands big enough to cup both your breasts through your top as he started kneading the soft subtle flesh, small whimpers leaving him from the feeling as he made you lay back on his bed, straddling your hips and grinding lightly against you, feeling the imprint of his length pressing against you. He already felt big through the fabric and the man wasn’t even fully hard yet!! He was still gentle with you, constantly asking if you really want this to which you nodded and he kept going. Removing his glasses and putting them on the nightstand as he started undressing you, lips pressing against your neck. Getting your top and bra off with practiced ease, without even wasting another second his lips were kissing around your breasts, kissing the underside of one while the other was being teased by his hand, thumb circling around your nippe and lightly pinching it while his mouth worked on coating the other in his spit, tongue circling around it and softly sucking on it like he was worshipping your chest. Earning small sounds from your lips and your hand moving into his hair while he kept this up for a few minutes until you remembered his offer, softly pulling him off your chest

„You said you’ll let me do anything, right?“ your voice a little shaky and breathy from arousal, „and I wanna ride you, pretty“ and god you could see the wheels turning in his head as he made sense of your words. Hearts practically forming in his eyes as he nods eagerly, already sitting up to remove his clothes with shaky hands

„Yes!! Yes yes yes, anything for you“ the moment his clothes were off and he was left in his boxers with a obvious tent standing out, his hands were already on you again, your words seeming to having made him only 10 times more desperate and harder for you, pulling at your sweatpants to get them off of you and pulling you on top of him, eyebrows furrowed in a pathetic way and puppy eyes looking up at you

„do whatever you want to me… spit on me, use me like a stupid toy, I just want you… I need you“

His words so desperate and full of emotion as his hips started bucking up into yours, moaning at the stimulation to his sensitive clothed cock. Your hands finding way to to his chest for stability as you tried to get him to calm down, not even having gotten your panties off yet and the slick was smearing over your pussy lips almost uncomfortably

„ 'toru… calm down for a second, I’m not going anywhere“

You tried to reason with him, but your words went to blank ears while he kept grinding up against you, hands already starting to pull his boxers down and fingers pulling at the strings of your panties to get the flimsy fabric off your skin and get access to your sweet pussy, accidentally ripping the fabric and pulling it off, the moment he made eye contact with your glistened cunt he felt like he was in a dream, his movements stopping for once and hands parting your thighs a little more and pulling your closer to his hard and proud standing dick. Making you gasp for a second as you saw it, already knowing that the stretch would probably make your poor pussy remember him for the next few weeks. He of course noticed your stare, and he thought you were disappointed

„it’s not really that big… sorry to disa-„ the poor guy couldn’t even finish his words before you interrupted him

„NO! No, oh my god, you’re probably the biggest I’ve ever had“

And you could’ve sworn you saw a light twitch in his dick when he heard your words, a soft hint of red tinting his pale cheeks, watching as your hand moves around his cock to give a few pumps to it, watching and listening for his reactions while he gave the prettiest whimpers from himself, hips bucking into your hand for more, before he could get a word out, he watched you let a globe of spit drop onto his tip, making his lower stomach cave in a little from the sensation on his sensitive dick. Already starting to beg for more, eyes half lidded while he watched you tease his poor, already angry looking tip. Your hand smearing the salvia over his cock to lube him up a bit before you moved, hovering a little over him with your knees pressed into the mattress and your entrance teasing his tip, letting it slip in and out faintly but never truly sinking down on him, making him almost cry while he endured the sweet torture of your pussy. The feel of your slick hole against his sticky tip almost too much to bear, having spend weeks if not months imagining how it would feel while fisting his dick to the thought of you almost pathetically at night. And now he was so so close to getting what he wanted, to feeling the slick warm walls of your heat around his throbbing length. It took some encouragement to actually have you sink down on him, the stretch mean and making you hiss a little, earning a small look of concern from him, his hands moving to your hips and rubbing soft circles into your skin in an attempt to soothe you while you got used to the size of him inside of you. The moment you started moving your hips against him, he felt like he ascended to heaven. A small groan leaving him and head titling back into the pillows to focus on your hips working to bounce along his dick, not able to keep his own from thrusting up into you from below- weakly at first but picking up in pace and firmness the faster you got. His eyes fixated on your face to look at every crunch of your nose, brows and the part of your lips whole moans left your mouth, his moans and groans being heard along yours, as well as the undeniable sound of skin against skin and the soft squelches of your cunt working on his dick to milk his cum from him. His fingers still digging into your hips but not moving them to bring you out of rhythm. Each stroke of your warm cunt around his dick had his mouth gaping and slutty sounds escaping from it. Your slick already trickling down his length and coating his balls, surely leaving a mess on the sheets but neither of you cared when you were riding him so good. Trying to keep his eyes on you and watching your tits bounce, unable to resist but move his hands to cup the soft flesh and knead gently

„you’re so pretty sweetheart…“ he muttered under his breath, his voice sounding somewhat shaky along with his whines and moans of pleasure

„don’t wanna be without your pussy ever again… ngh- fuck…. Keep going“

It was embarrassing to say he got close already, having been hard ever since you were with him and being so needy for you he couldn’t control himself, a pathetic whine leaving and eyebrows furrowing as his eyes closed „mhhff…. I’m gonna cum…“ his words were barely heard by you, wing lost in your own world and almost in a trance while using his dick to get yourself off, but you weren’t gonna be cruel… how could you be cruel to the sweet, nerd guy, who collected comics and who actually knew something about female anatomy???

„Go on Baby… cum for me“ giving him the go ahead because you were close yourself. Working the both of you to the edge at the same time, moaning your name as he came with a thrust up into your cunt, hands pulling you down by your hips to keep your warm walls around his dick, feeling your inner walls throb around his spent cock while you came at the same time as him was even better, feeling like he was being killed by your tight heat- breath coming out in gasps and brain going blank. „Ohhh ffffucck“ was all he could mutter out, you still gave weak grinds of your hips against his, rising out your own pleasure before you came to a stop and slumped down against him, face against his chest and listening to his fast heartbeat. Keeping him seethed inside of you, too exhausted to have him pull out just yet. But.. to your shock, he was still hard. Barely even calmed down from his highs and already bucking into you again

„Mff, another round??“

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #gojo saturo #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader

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muqingslover · 1 month ago

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[ I've seen how Caleb is often described to be a sex god without any experience at every first time (and I eat it up) but I also think we should discuss the other side of it. Kinda of an addition to my previous post ]

Let's discuss virgin Caleb that since he hit puberty has been struggling with his own desires and when he finally received the green light from you it's like a dam was unleashed.

This man is BEYOND sensitive. And so damn needy too, to the point that greedy would be a much more suitable word for him.

He started having wet dreams about you after the first kiss and the walk of shame to the bathroom every morning to wash his boxers is very real.

He's got a leaking and painful boner every time you kiss him for a little too long and he can't get enough of the taste of your tongue on his.

Having you on his lap is both bliss and torture. He'd try to hide the fact he's hard the first few times, not wanting to scare or pressure you, but each time your hips pressed down against his boner he'd be rolling his eyes back into his head and forcing down a groan.

I'm a dry-humping truther and I firmly believe the first time he came with you was by rubbing himself against your leg like the dog he is while you two were making out.

Caleb is mortified about his first experience with a blow job and he wishes you'd forget such an embarrassing moment of him.

But in all honesty, it wasn't his fault. You offered out of nowhere, which left him no time to mentally prepare, and just by having you kneeling down in front of him with your hand wrapped around his cock had him gripping the edge of the desk behind him, to the point the wood creaked at the sheer pressure.

And when you licked along the precum that was dripping down his length and pushed your tongue against his swollen tip he came and he came hard. His cum coating your face, getting onto some parts of your hair and in your mouth.

It goes without saying that he spent the rest of the day apologizing, but the sight of you swallowing his cum that had gotten onto your lips made him dizzy and hard again.

I'm sure he'll be fantastic in bed eventually, but your first time is a mess. Literally. Caleb is so eager to explore the body he's desired for so long and to please you as much as you do to him.

Everywhere he can reach is littered with dark and very obvious hickeys.

He'd have your hands pinned next or above your head so you couldn't touch him otherwise he knows he won't last at all.

Though, all his efforts bear no fruit because the second this man bottoms out inside of your warm and tight insides he is cumming again.

His body would tremble as he held his entire weight on his forearms to not crush you and he bit down on his lips.

After switching condoms, you'd have to get on top while his shaky legs recover from his orgasm and oh gods he's really trying his fucking best right now.

He's panting against your neck when you roll your hips and cause a loud moan to escape his lips, followed by his strong arms wrapping around your middle like a bear hug as if to keep himself grounded. It's rather cute, really.

He'd come with you this time, if not a little before from you clenching around his cock and the sweet whimpers because he's oh so very sensitive.

His hands would feel up your thighs then shamelessly grab your ass while he looked up at you, loving the view of you on top of him and he's got the cockiest grin you've ever seen on his face.

Now we're talking about someone with YEARS of suppressed sexual desires so you better brace yourself because he's far from done.

Caleb would use the entire night to learn everything he possibly can about your body, besides what he already knew. Each sweet spot that make you cry so good for him and just how deep he can hit inside of you to have you gasping for more.

He's sloppy, he's desperate, he's pathetic and it's messy. He'd ask between shaky breaths and his tone is almost whiny "Does that good? I need you to talk to me sweetheart, c'mon."

"Tell me what you want and I'll do it. Teach me how to make you feel good."

"Can I go deeper? Fuck- Please? Please? you feel so good-"

"I can't stop— Just one more, I'll make it good for you too, please, gods please, I need more of you or I'll go insane."

Caleb is the type of pathetic loser that would get a nosebleed while he pounded into you for the nth time.

He'd kiss you when you showed concern, spit trickling down your chin as the taste of iron would spread on your tongue before he pulled away to admire the sight of you completely disheveled for him. Because of him.

He licks the few drops on your chest, the crimson smearing with the sweat glistening on your skin and leaving a trail that only added to the perverted satisfaction that you're his.

Almost every position is crossed off the list in a single night and he's willing to do anything you ask of him. You want to ride him again? He's sat. You want him to hit it from the back? He's got you on your hands and knees already. You want him to eat you out? Please, by all means take a seat on his face. You have complete control over everything that happens most of the time.

It's morning by the time you two pass out, or run out of condoms in the box honestly, but you can fully expect him to try something when he gets into the shower with you the next day. Hey, he's just helping you clean up like a good boyfriend should ;) .

#im losing my marbles #and im feral about it #but im free #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #caleb love and deepspace #lads caleb #caleb x reader #caleb smut #lads #lads smut #virgin caleb agenda

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darealsaltysam · 3 months ago

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some of my favorite lines of dialogue i've overheard in marvel rivals so far

(keep in mind these are all paraphrased im going off of memory cuz i never have the reflex to screenshot these as they happen oops)

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"I never had kids, but I did have the Avengers. Same thing." - Iron Man spawning in

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"One for me, one for Steven, one for Jake." - Moon Knight after getting a triple kill

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"Can you teach me some of your magic-?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I think you've had enough chaos already." - Loki & Scarlet Witch interaction

---------------------

"You have made your father proud, Wanda, my dear." - Magneto when assisting a Scarlet Witch with a kill

---------------------

"No one breaks a bargain with me twice."

"So I can do it once?" - Hela & Loki interaction

---------------------

"When I said "No More Mutants" you were who I meant, Logan." - Scarlet Witch after killing a Wolverine

---------------------

"How did you learn magic?"

"A place called Kamar-Taj."

"Oh so you weren't bitten by, like, a radioactive sorcerer?"

"[Extremely exasperated] Peter, please..." - Doctor Strange & Spiderman interaction

---------------------

"Leave real magic to the grown-ups, Ilyana." - Scarlet Witch killing a Magik

---------------------

"Nerd win!" - Bruce Banner if he gets a kill in his non-Hulk form

---------------------

"Are you fast enough to stop a bullet, if I shot you?"

"Well, you won't be able to. I already dismantled the inner-mechanisms of all of your guns."

"Wh- What?!"

"Now if you behave yourself I might fix them." - Punisher & Magneto interaction

---------------------

"So you can talk to rodents?"

"Tippy-Toe seems to think so!"

"Can you try and convince Rocket to clean his bunk?"

"There are some things even I can't do, I'm afraid." - Star-Lord and Squirrel Girl interaction

---------------------

"We sense great darkness and chaos within you, woman."

"You're one to talk, Venom."

"No, we... Find it strangely... Attractive."

"...Somehow, that made me want to save this universe less." - Venom & Scarlet Witch interaction

---------------------

"It's good to be fighting side by side again, like in the old days."

"Back when you used children as soldiers for your cause?"

"When you put it like that, you make me sound like a terrible father."

"For once, we agree on something." - Magneto & Scarlet Witch interaction

---------------------

"[in the sassiest tone you can imagine] Your GOD is SUFFERING!!!" - Loki taking damage

---------------------

[i also dont remember the exact dialogue but there IS one with rocket asking to buy bucky's arm. so yes we won there]

3K notes · View notes

inkdrinkerworld · 3 months ago

Note

same bday anon- i have a yelling req !!!

remus yelling at reader pre or post full moon and the other marauders don't say anything bc they're shocked, but reader thinks it's bc they agree? and then after a while they all make up and just cuddle<3 ofc if u don't wanna it's all good !!! ilysm baby !

I did it more along the lines of Remus having chronic pain than a werewolf thing :/ I hope that’s okay

You’re kneeling before Remus’ slouched body on the sofa, hand in his hair as you try to coax him to move.

“Remus, c’mon. You can’t lay like that, your bones will ache.”

You’re trying to get your ailing boyfriend to find a much more comfortable spot, his body sore and tired and the chill moving through the air wasn’t helping so much.

Sirius and James are in the kitchen- a bad idea but you’d wanted to try to coax Remus into some stretches and maybe a massage before they finished the potato and leek soup for supper.

“I can lay like this all I want, dove. It feels good.” There’s a snark in his tone, but you don’t let it get under your skin. You know how much pain he’s in when he has a flare up like this, so you brush his tone aside.

You run your hand down his cheeks, “Please Rem. I don’t want your knees to lock or your back to twinge.”

You’re as gentle as you can be, patient and understanding but you can see in your mind’s eye that way Remus wobbled and fell to the floor the last time his knees had locked.

“I’m a grown man damnit!” You flinch back from him as his tone shifts, your hand dropping from his face as you sit back on your heels on the floor. “If I want to fucking lay like this for the rest of the night I can.”

Remus’ outburst has gathered the attention of your other boyfriends, and you want terribly to respond to his words, but you can’t.

He sounds so upset and he’s so loud and you feel your chest constrict as you stare at him.

“I don’t need you hovering for gods sake! Go be a nuisance somewhere else.”

Remus speaks with such venom and he looks at you with just heat and anger in his eyes that it’s impossible not to believe this is how he really feed about you.

James and Sirius stay silent, shocked by Remus’ words just as you are- but their silence makes the shame burn hotter in your chest.

This is how they all feel about you.

“You don’t get to be mean just cause you’re hurting, Remus.” Is all you say as you stand, walking towards the front door when Sirius springs into action first.

“Poppet, where’re you headed?” He’s almost beaten you to the front door but your hand touches the handle first.

“I’m going for a walk. I want to stack stones by the river.” Sirius knows what it’s code for. You don’t want to say something mean back to Remus, you want to be kind even if he’s being an ass.

Sirius makes to grab your jumpers. “I’ll come with, you shouldn’t be alone.” You shake your head.

“You don’t have to pretend you care, Siri. It’s okay if you and Jamie agree with him. I just want to be alone.”

“Agree with him? Poppet we,” but you’re already out the door.

James glares at Remus who simply sinks into the sofa.

“You can be a real piece of work, Moony.” James says, hoisting his boyfriend out of the position he’d been in and stretching his legs long on the sofa instead of over its back.

Sirius moves to the living room again, “She was trying to help. Now she’s gone off to stack her stones when she should be tearing you a new one.”

Remus scrubs at his face, heat colouring his cheeks red. Sirius doesn’t let him off the hook. He can’t believe how callous Remus has been.

“Thinks me and James share your fuck off stupid sentiments when you don’t even believe what you said.”

James stops him from saying any more. “I’ll go look for her while you stay with him.”

Remus shakes his head, hissing as he stands; his knees shaky and weak. “I’ll go.” Sirius wants to stop him, but James knows if Remus doesn’t go do it now he’ll spend the entire time he’s home worrying himself sick and then won’t be able to face for days.

Sirius slaps his hands to his thighs, “Fuck off, we’ll all go. I’ll turn off the hob.”

They find you after you’ve already made four stacks of rocks, some with tiny rocks, some with huge slabs of stone.

Remus’ chest tightens as he spots you, your knees to your chest, toes wet from where you’re sat.

“Dove,” Remus starts to say as he stops right beside you. “I was an ass. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You just hum, looking at your stacks and trying to find more rocks for another pile.

“I hate when I can’t do the things I want because it’ll make me hurt and it was wrong of me to shout at you for just trying to look after me.”

You look at him when he crouched down, his knees cracking so loudly you’re worried he’ll topple over.

James steadies a hand on Remus’ back while Sirius procures a couple stones for you. His palm flat as he shows them to you, a little smile on his face when you take them.

“You said I was a nuisance.” Remus cringes as he heads the words back. He really can’t believe he’d been so mean to you.

“I didn’t mean it, dovey. The pain is no excuse.”

“Do you all think that?” You ask nervously, “You didn’t say anything when he said it.” You gnaw on your bottom lip, worrying it to all hell as you look between James and Sirius.

“You’re not a nuisance baby,” James says first, hurt that you’d even thought it was how they felt about you. “I know us not saying anything made things worse, but it was just shock; not how we feel.”

Sirius turns your face up to his, pinching your chin to keep your eyes on him. “You walked out before I could finish. None of us think you’re a nuisance, you’re the best damn thing that happened to us. Come home.”

Sirius is hard to have a stare off with, he doesn’t back down. But it isn’t that that does you in.

“Please dove. You can boss me around till the end of time, just come home and out of the cold.”

Remus sounds so chock full of remorse and when you look at him you find his eyes glassy. “Okay,” Sirius helps you stand, and you receive kisses from all three of them before you the river bed.

1K notes · View notes

this-is-tiny-mia · 16 days ago

Text

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot)

Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages. A/n: I don't really know what i'm doing here, i just got inspired and i was bored, i'm clearly not a professional fanfic writer, but i hope at least someone enjoys it. (ALSO ENGLISH IT'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO BARE WITH ME WITH GRAMMAR AND STUFF) Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Not really, use of y/n, maybe slow burn, cliff hanger cause i don't know if it's good enough to continue it.

Friday, January 10th

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files you asked for last Friday, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

…

Tuesday, January 14th

"Hi! This is Y/N again. I know you might be busy, but I just wanted to confirm if the files were okay. We also still have the last payment pending, so whenever you can, it’s fine! Have a nice day!"

Maybe it was too soon to think the client had run off with the files and didn’t want to pay, or maybe he was in trouble? Maybe he got mad that I texted his personal phone number? Anyway, it wasn’t unusual for clients to disappear, but this time, you were really looking forward to that last payment.

Your mom’s birthday was coming up, and you wanted to buy something nice for her for the first time—maybe even outdo your sister and prove you could buy her something special too. You were eager about it but tried to brush it off and focus on other clients who actually responded to emails and texts.

Then, your phone buzzed.

"Hey, I wasn’t going to answer these texts, but I’m pretty sure someone gave you the wrong number. I’m not waiting for files—sorry!"

"That explains a lot," you said to yourself, staring at your phone. Embarrassment crept in as you double-checked the number the client had sent in an earlier email. And there it was—one single digit off from the number you’d been texting. Still, why wasn’t the client answering their email?

Regardless, you had texted the wrong number and even asked for the final payment.

"Oh my god, I’m really, really sorry! I just double-checked, and yes, I made a mistake with the number. Again, I’m so sorry to bother you."

"It’s fine! Hope you find the real client and get your payment."

You facepalmed in your office and chuckled at yourself. It was embarrassing to think about the stranger receiving your out-of-context texts. Maybe they were busy too, and you’d just interrupted their day. Or maybe you were overthinking it.

After searching for that email again, you dialed the correct number carefully, double-checking each digit. Then you sent another message:

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files last week, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

Minutes later, the client responded. He apologized for falling behind on things, said he’d been busy, but confirmed he had received the files and planned to make the payment the next day.

Thank God.

You were always busy—navigating the challenges of freelancing and the whole "being your own boss" thing. Sometimes it meant being not just the social media marketer but also the accountant, admin team, planner, and much more.

"Everything alright?" Gwen asked, chuckling as she glanced at you. "You look a little stressed."

"It’s been a couple of stressful days," you replied. "But I’ll survive. You know I always do," you added with a smile.

Gwen was the fashion designer you shared the downtown office with. She was more experienced than you and ran her signature shop below the office, filled with beautiful, unique pieces. Thankfully, she was always a helping hand when you got stuck with an Excel sheet or needed advice on balancing work and life.

The next day was more of the same. Mid-month meant analyzing how the brands were doing—were they selling? Were they stagnant? Was there a new trend going viral? Or an upcoming holiday to leverage?

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your focus.

"I hope this isn’t weird, but did you get the right number? Or the payment? It felt like I was left on a cliffhanger."

You smiled at the text from the stranger who had received your initial messages.

"Not weird at all! I’d be curious too. And yes, I got the right number, and I think he’s paying me today!"

"Well, I’m glad! I wasn’t going to sleep without knowing how it ended."

"I’ll update you as soon as the payment comes through! lol."

Maybe it was odd to have a conversation with a stranger, but they didn’t even know who you were, so what did it matter?

"Please do. 🙏🏻"

You thought of that viral story about the grandma who accidentally texted a stranger and ended up inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner. But in your boring life, nothing like that could ever happen. You weren’t particularly chatty or extroverted in real life, but since they didn’t know who you were, what was the harm?

——-

"Update: The payment came in!!"

"Thank God! I’m happy for you, and it’s not even my money."

"Well, thank you for answering. Otherwise, I’d still be texting you about my lost payment."

"My pleasure. Is it okay if I ask what your job is? I’m curious—it’s my first time being a wrong number!"

"Is it weird to be texting a stranger who randomly asks about my job?" you asked Gwen, showing her the texts.

"What does that even mean?" she asked, confused.

"Have a look at this," you said, sliding your phone over. Gwen read the texts and smirked.

"He doesn’t even know who you are. He knows your name, but how many Y/Ns are there in London?" she said, trying to calm your overdramatic thoughts. "Or you could make up a funny, dramatic life and have fun for a few days—tell him you work in a strip club!"

You laughed softly but were tempted by the idea of harmless fun. What real danger could come from simple texts? He was the one who started asking questions, after all.

"I’m a digital marketing specialist."

"Sounds cool. I could never."

"What do you do, then?" you asked boldly.

"I own a small brand."

He technically wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Maybe it was too soon to reveal his real identity. If he even had contemplated that.

"'I own a small brand?' That’s it?" you muttered to yourself. Your life wasn’t that boring after all—or maybe it was, compared to his.

Recently, you've been haunted by questions about your career. Did you even love marketing? No. Did you know what you wanted to do? No.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"My name is Harry, by the way. Seems fair to tell you since I know yours."

"Nice to meet you, Harry."

You smiled at your phone, a soft, involuntary expression that you quickly brushed off. It wasn’t like you were getting attached or anything; it was just amusing. A stranger texting you was definitely the most interesting thing to happen that week. But after that, it went quiet. The conversation stopped, and you figured it was just one of those random, fleeting interactions life throws at you. Something to laugh about later with friends.

Two days later, though, your phone buzzed again. You assumed it was your mom or a group chat notification—certainly not Harry

“How did the week end for you? Any other wrong numbers?”

You blinked at the screen, taken by surprise but also oddly pleased.

“It ended pretty busy, but thank God it’s over. And no, no more wrong numbers, lol.”

“So, any weekend plans?”

How was it that this stranger, Harry, was better at keeping a conversation going than any guy you'd actually dated? It felt natural, like he genuinely wanted to talk to you, and for once, you didn’t feel like retreating into vague one-word answers.

“Nope, a bit of a boring life here. You?”

“Yeah, same.”

Okay, that was definitely a lie.

Your life was painfully average. You worked to pay rent, paid rent to keep a roof over your head, and that was it. Sure, there were good days and bad ones, clients who made you want to tear your hair out, and others who gave you glowing feedback that kept you going. But lately, when anyone asked, “What’s new?” or “What have you been up to?” your mind went blank. The truth felt too dull to say out loud.

Your love life? Also on pause. You’d had a long-term boyfriend once, but when his ambitions veered wildly away from your own, it fell apart. You didn’t hold any hard feelings, but dating apps weren’t exactly your thing, either. Deep down, you clung to the hope that someone would randomly appear in your life, the way they do in rom-coms—chocolates, flowers, and all. But you’d stopped expecting it a long time ago.

So why was a stranger, with nothing more than a name and a few texts, suddenly the most exciting part of your week? Maybe it was the mystery. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because it made you feel like you’d stepped out of your routine.

“Is it weird that I just kept on texting you? I feel like it is,” he texted again.

“A bit, but I’m enjoying it so far. It’s kind of fun, actually.”

“Ok, thank God we’re both weirdos, then. Are you based in London?”

And just like that, the fun felt like it came to a halt. He was asking for your location now. Sure, London was massive—1,572 km² of sprawling city—but your anxiety immediately perked up. Was this crossing a line? Did he want to track you down or something?

But then, the little mischievous devil on your shoulder chimed in. Relax, it’s harmless fun. It’s not like you two are actually going to meet, or like he’s going to know your exact address just because you said you lived in London.

The devil wins.

“Yes, I’m in London. You?”

Your turn, Harry man, you thought. And then, as if on cue, your brain jumped onto a rollercoaster of wild thoughts. Wait, what if he’s a 50-year-old? Or worse—a 15-year-old hormonal teen?! You shook your head. No, no, he’s a brand owner, you reminded yourself.

Was this fear of the unknown creeping in? Or... was it just pure curiosity?

“Yes, around Notting Hill.”

You stared at your phone, a bit shocked. Did he really just tell you his neighborhood? Was this man never taught about the dangers of sharing personal details with strangers?

Says the girl who keeps answering his texts.

“Cool,” you panic-texted back, immediately cringing at how abrupt it sounded.

A second later, another message from him popped up:

“You don’t have to tell me your neighborhood. I know it’s probably TMI. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

You blinked at the screen.

Wait, was he apologizing? For oversharing?

“It’s fine, but be careful, I might be a stalker. You never know 😉”

An emoji? Oh my god, did I just use an emoji?

You internally cringed, debating whether deleting the message was still an option. But his reply came quickly:

“I’m used to that.”

You stared at your phone, baffled. What? What does that even mean? Was he used to stalking people? Or being stalked? That didn’t even make sense. Had you missed some new meme or slang? Or was he just trying to sound cocky and mysterious? Either way, your brain was now racing, trying to decode mystery Harry man.

Harry, on the other hand, was staring at his phone, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over him. Shit, did that just give away who I am? He tried to reassure himself. Maybe not. It could pass as just a random response... right? But the doubt crept back in. Then again, if it’s just a random response, does that make me seem really weird? Ugh, why didn’t I think before typing? He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he waited for your reply, wondering if he’d managed to keep things casual—or accidentally made it more suspicious but as you never did he quickly types another thing

“Hey, can you help me with something?”

You stared at the message, your eyebrows furrowing. Whatever this is turning into, it’s really, REALLY weird, you thought. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful that he’d brushed off the whole stalking comment. Now he wanted help?

“I’m about to launch a new collection next month, and I need to choose four nail polish colors for a kit. Which ones would you pick?”

He sent a picture of a color sample sheet, words scribbled around it like, “Too bright?” “Love this one,” and “OUT.” The paper rested on a dark wood table, and you couldn’t help but notice his right hand in the frame, his nails painted in a sleek shade.

A man wearing nail polish? you thought, biting back a grin. What’s sexier than a guy with zero fragile masculinity?

STOP. Sexier? Seriously?

STOP. He’s a stranger.

“I would go with, the coral one at the top, the navy, the nude and the green”

“That’s literally what I was thinking. If they sell out it’s on you y/n”

“So I’ll be expecting a good commission then”

“Deal and thanks, by the way. For actually helping. I wasn’t sure you’d reply to that one.”

“No worries, it’s kind of nice having someone randomly text me about nail polish drama. Way better than client emails. Didn’t thought your business was about nail polishes though”

“Glad to be of service. Let me know if you ever need a second opinion on, I dunno, which shade of PowerPoint gray to use.”

“My saviour”

“That 's me. A true giver. Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you for now. But seriously, thanks again, Y/N.”

“No problem. Good luck with the collection!”

The conversation ends with more questions than answers about Harry—nail polishes? Why is this conversation flowing so effortlessly? It left you curious but not uneasy. Both of you felt like this wasn’t the last time you’d talk. It was a small, unexpected connection, one that neither of you was quite ready to let go of.

—-

Your mom’s birthday went on as planned. You were able to buy her a beautiful scarf from one of her favorite brands—pricey, yes, but it was your mom, so you didn’t mind splurging. And if you happened to overdo your sister this time? Well, that wasn’t the point, not entirely. But deep down, it felt good to prove to yourself that you could keep up, even if her success with her law firm always felt like a shadow hanging over you.

It had been five days since you and Harry last texted. It felt... normal. No stomach-wrecking nerves like the ones you got when talking to guys you were interested in. No overanalyzing if you’d been annoying, rude, or too eager. With Harry, it was different. Maybe it was because he was still mostly a stranger. Maybe because you weren’t trying to impress him. Or maybe because you knew deep down that, even if he didn’t reply again, it wouldn’t sting. At least for now.

After a few days of sporadic texting, Harry throws out an idea, the text that changed everything.

“Okay, hear me out: since we both don’t want to seem like stalkers, how about a deal? We get to ask one random question a day. Nothing creepy or too revealing. Just normal stuff. What do you think?”

You smirked at the screen. He’s trying to make it less weird? Bold of him to assume this isn’t already weird.

“Alright, but you go first”

“Fine. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Somewhere coastal. Like Brighton, maybe? I need the sea to remind me I’m alive.”

“Interesting choice. I’d go somewhere quiet, but still close to a city. Like, Italy?”

You paused for a second, feeling a little silly. He chose a whole other country, and you’d barely ventured two and a half hours away from London. Still, it was a start.

The daily questions continued, evolving from a simple game into something that felt more like a natural rhythm. Each question peeled back another layer of this stranger you were beginning to know better, even without ever seeing his face. You learned that Harry loved tea but hated coffee—how do you even function?—and that his favorite season was autumn. He found out you adored thunderstorms and had an irrational fear of elevators, thanks to a terrifying incident years ago when an elevator you were in nearly dropped two floors.

It wasn’t just the questions, though. There were moments in between: a blurry photo of an office corner from Harry, captioned, “My life in chaos”; a street view of Downtown that you sent, carefully avoiding any landmarks near your home. Then there was the fluffy golden retriever he’d spotted on his way to work—he couldn’t resist sharing it with you.

Before bed each night, you’d find yourself thinking for at least twenty minutes, trying to decide what to ask next. The game didn’t feel like a game anymore. It was something else, something steady and comforting. For now, there was no pressure to meet or cross any lines—just two strangers finding small joys in their shared curiosity. But now it felt refreshing and even exciting whenever his or your question popped up on the phone.

It was a rare Sunday sunny afternoon in London, and you found yourself strolling down the street. The shops buzzed with life, tourists snapping photos, and locals hurrying along with their errands. You were looking forward to reach that particularly small ice cream shop you loved. That’s when you saw it—a storefront with sleek, funky decor and the words Pleasing printed elegantly across the window. You slowed your pace, curiosity pulling you closer. The display was stunning: a lineup of nail polishes in perfectly curated colors. Coral. Navy. Nude. Green.

Your heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn’t be. This is just a coincidence.

You even felt silly for considering it. But for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the bottles neatly arranged under soft, flattering light. Your mind raced back to that conversation. Harry when he had asked for your opinion on nail polish colors. Coral, navy, nude, and green. The same exact shades in the window now.

It HAD to be a coincidence.

“Pleasing is huge…Harry is a huge pop star too” you thought to yourself, folding your arms as if to shield your thoughts from prying eyes. “There’s no way. It’s not like that Harry would just randomly text someone asking for nail polish advice. Or just to play a silly game of questions everyday”

But the seed of doubt was planted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking your trance. For a split second, you expected to see a message from him. But it was just a group chat notification—nothing exciting. You took a deep breath, willing your mind to behave. “Stop being ridiculous” you tought “He was probably just some regular guy with the same first name, with the same kind of business. Nothing more.”

Still, as you walked away from the shop, the memory of his texts lingered, trailing behind you like the shadow of a question you couldn’t quite answer. Was it possible? Could he have been the Harry all along? The thought was outrageous, yet your heart raced with the tiniest flicker of hope—or was it just pure curiosity? You slipped your phone out of your pocket, scrolling back through weeks of messages. One by one, you opened the pictures he had sent, your eyes scanning every corner, every detail, hoping for something—a slip-up, a clue, anything to confirm or dismiss the wild idea.

There was the photo of the nail polish color samples, laid out on a dark wooden table. You zoomed in on the edge of the frame. The faintest reflection of something metallic—jewelry? A ring? You’d noticed his hand before, polished nails and all, but now you studied it with new intent.

Then, there was the picture of a cat, curled up on a plush couch. The background caught your attention this time: the kind of sleek, minimalist decor that wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine. It could belong to anyone, really…but why did it suddenly seem so…familiar? Your finger hovered over the screen as you stared at his name in your contacts: Harry. Just Harry.

And yet, the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. You zoomed in on one last photo—the corner of his shoe peeking into the frame of a sunset he’d sent you. White Sambas. Completely ordinary. But the tiniest voice in the back of your mind whispered, or maybe not.

You locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket, your cheeks burning as if someone had caught you red-handed in your amateur sleuthing. “Get a grip,” you thought. “Even if it was him, he’d never admit it. And honestly, why would he have time to text a stranger?”

Still, the idea danced at the edge of your thoughts, impossible to ignore. As you walked away from the Pleasing shop, a small, secret smile tugged at your lips. Even if it was crazy, the idea was kind of…fun.

The easy back-and-forth continued for days, it was like a month by now, his messages feeling less like texts from a stranger and more like snippets of a conversation with someone familiar. You felt lighter, laughing more often, and somehow the world didn’t seem quite as dull as it did a few weeks ago.

Then, one night, came a new question:

“If you could pick one place to meet a stranger for the first time, where would it be?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this what I think it is?

Your heart jumped as you stared at the screen, the words blurring for a second. You thought for a moment, carefully choosing your response before typing: “A café. Casual, safe, easy to leave if they’re weird. Full of people, maybe near a police station if they’re a serial killer. You?”

His response came quicker than you expected.

“But if you could pick an estimated time to meet a stranger, how long would you wait to feel comfortable with it?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Nice try, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

Oh no. That wasn’t your stomach growling in hunger; those were butterflies. Actual, undeniable butterflies. Was it even possible to feel something for someone you had no idea what they looked like? What if he was totally different in person, the opposite of this charming, thoughtful guy behind the texts?

Harry had started calling you Tulip after you’d mentioned they were your favorite flowers, and somehow, it stuck. Now, every time he used it, it made you smile like a fool.

Maybe his question was just a throwaway comment, harmless banter before he said goodnight. Or... maybe it wasn’t.

----

One Friday morning, you found yourself buried in work at a café you liked to visit when you needed a break from your desk. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of quiet chatter helped you focus on a new project.You were mid-email when your phone buzzed.

“Today’s question: what’s your go-to coffee order?”

You smiled, grabbed your cup, and snapped a quick picture to attach to your reply. “An iced latte with oat milk. Drinking one right now.”

“Is that a café?”

“Yeah, it didn't feel like an office day today.”

Moments later, your phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.

“…I think I see you.”

Your heart stuttered. Wait. What? Your eyes flicked around the café with a mixture of curiosity and panic. Students were typing away on laptops, a few professionals were deep in email mode, and a couple laughed over their pastries at the next table. Everything seemed normal—except now you felt like you were being watched. You straightened in your seat, pretending to be calm while your mind raced. Another buzz.

“I don’t mean to freak you out, but… blue sweater, iced latte, corner seat by the window?”

Your stomach did a flip. That was definitely you. The serial killer theories came roaring back in your brain.

“Okay, very funny. That was just a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” You hit send, not sure if you wanted him to be joking or if you secretly hoped he was serious.

“No joke. I swear.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you set the phone down. You scanned the room more carefully now, eyes darting from one face to another. Was it the guy with the newspaper in the corner? The barista behind the counter? And then, you saw him.

A man near the door, half-hidden behind sunglasses and a black baseball cap, a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, holding a cup. He was leaning casually against the wall, phone in hand.

Holy fucking shit. No. No way. Your brain scrambled for logic. This was just a dream, right? Some random coincidence. But your phone buzzed again, yanking you back into reality.

“Disappointed?”

Your breath hitched. He’d sent the text just as you watched him tap his phone. And when your screen lit up, he glanced up—right at you.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was him. Harry. Your Harry. and Everyone's Harry Styles.

PART 2!!

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#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #hs fanfic #one shot harry styles #one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing

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woniverse-writes · 4 months ago

Text

Dancing with ENHA as their Secret-Girlfriend!Idol!Reader

summary: enha dancing with their secret significant other

word count: 4.2k

warnings: suggestive at times, not proofread, fem reader

Lee Hee Seung:

It was public knowledge that you and Heeseung were friends since you had trained together at one point

However it was NOT public knowledge that you two actually ended up becoming a couple after you both debuted

With that being said, fans were overjoyed any time you were seen together, always thinking your interactions were so cute and wholesome

One day a video of the two of you pre-debut got leaked

It was a clip of a practice video of you dancing to “Bonnie & Clyde” by DEAN

The choreography was good and you both danced well, but anyone watching could tell that the two young trainees were nervous to be dancing with each other

Fans of both groups thought the video was pure gold though since it showcased how much you’d both grown as performers, and the fact that it was another interaction between their favs

The video trended on social media for about a week or so before the chatter and excitement was redirected to a NEW dance practice video…

which just so happened to be of you and Heeseung recreating the choreography from so many years in full

It was a well filmed, high quality performance

The two of you had even gone the extra mile and re-recorded the song as a duet, making it a full cover

Any trace of the awkwardness from your trainees days had been nowhere to be found

You and heeseung were dripping confidence and sex appeal as you danced together

A majority of the dance was spent with the the two of you in close contact- his arms around your waist, your palms trailing down his chest, him hands tracing the outline of your body

you were practically in your own little bubble and that shit read very clearly on camera

Of course your fans went even more feral

Twitter was full of praise for your growth and everyone was saying how you and heeseung must be so much closer now than back then

(if only they knew just how close👀)

And of course there were some smart fans (that unfortunately probably got called delusional) who could sense the thick sexual tension between the two of you

✪ ‘Y’all- there is absolutely NO WAY these two aren’t fucking😭’ ✪ ‘I genuinely feel like i’m interrupting something’ ✪ ‘Heeseung… if you’re not gonna get to work please step aside so i can have my turn with y/n’

It definitely was added to every single “top kpop moments of 20XX” video and thread

And since you’re both evil-

You each had made casual posts on sns about the process after

‘Did engene enjoy our little throwback collab?’ and the bitch posted a mirror selfie of the two of you sweaty and half dressed🧍‍♀️

Park Jong Seong:

Jay always loved watching you dance

Tbh jay loved to watch you do anything- but dancing was one of his favorites

Any time you had a comeback, he always wanted you to teach him the choreography as soon as possible- whether it was cute, sexy, or fierce- that boy was gonna learn it

Which meant when the song actually dropped he’d be the first to make a tik tok with you every time

And of course the opposite rang true as well-

Whenever enhypen had a comeback you were the first to learn the new choreo

The tik toks are always so cute too-

Like- that’s your man so of course you’re gonna be cute with him lmao

It’s mostly because you know he gets flustered so easily when you tease him or flirt with him in front of the other members or staff

It’s especially hectic when your comeback schedules overlap because trust their will be new tik toks every other day

You guys got especially brave when enha was promoting “bite me”...

Instead of just doing the pre-chorus together and posting that like the others, you did the whole pre-chorus AND chorus… WITH THE PARTNER WORK

If fans weren’t already going feral over the boys dancing with partners before, they definitely lost their shit at your mini collab

✪ ‘Oh my god… there’s no way this is real’ ✪ ‘Jay… your hands are a little low there buddy😅’ ✪ ‘So they just casually covered half of ‘Bite Me’ on a random Thursday? Okay cool’ ✪ ‘THE WAY JAY LOOKS AT Y/N OMFG’

It actually took fans longer than expected to realize you were filming together even when your promotional schedules didn’t lineup, so of course rumors started eventually

However it seemed like your fans were just rolling with it since your interactions were fun an cute (they’ve been praying for a collab stage between your groups since debut)

There was one time you filmed with heeseung instead of Jay and it lowkey threw everyone for a loop

Was it intentional? Absolutely not! Well- maybe slightly

You and your members were curious to see if anyone would react- had your fans even noticed that you only ever film with Jay? (yes, they noticed it right away)

So you can imagine the comments when you posted of you and Heeseung doing the choreo for “brought the heat back”

✪ ‘Uhmmm?? What happened to your man???’ ✪ ‘Omg no mom and dad are fighting‘ ✪ ‘HEESEUNG PLZ TELL ME YOU CAN FIGHT BRO’ ✪ ‘Peace and love but where is Jay…”

Yeah… it gave y’all a good laugh

There have also been plenty of time where you’ve posted your own little dance covers without Jay, or even just danced to his songs casually on live while jamming out, which always excited fans of both groups

Basically his fans and yours know SOMETHING is going on between you two and for some reason no one really talks about it like you’d expect them to…

Sim Jae Yun:

You and jake had been invited to be part of an end-of-the-year collab stage

It was supposed to be a fun little performance between a few different male and female idols

At the time- the only people who knew about your relationship were your groupmates, meaning it was especially hard to see each other without getting caught

However when your manager gave you the news that you’d be collaborating with a few different idols, and that your boyfriend just so happened to be one of them, your heart started to race

You attended a meeting with your manager in which you were informed that you’d be working with Lee Isa, Kim Gaeul, Kang Minhee, Park Jisung, and of course Jake

The stage would have three parts- a section for the girls, a section for the boys, and then one where you all came together

The overall vibe was fun and flirty, and you’d each be partnered with someone

The second the idea of “partners” was introduced, you and jake immediately made (what you thought was subtle, but was definitely not) eye-contact

The meeting wrapped up and you were immediately conversing with you were manager, trying to subtly convey how you thought it would make most sense for you and Jake to be partners

Unbeknownst to you, Jake was doing the exact same thing

Luckily, it worked and both of your managers were able to get the two of you to be partners

You all began preparing immediately, and since some of the partner work was different for each pair you’d all broken off to learn separate bits of choreography

You and Jake had begun working on a few different combinations, since the song decisions hadn’t been entirely finalized yet

The first one you worked on was to “Invitation” by JUNNY and Gaeko, which totally fit the vibe of the overall stage concept

Except it was maybe a bit TOO flirty (or perhaps that was just you and Jake)

You were easily able to connect and play into the each other’s artistry

Your relationship had always been full of playful energy and putting a smile on the other person’s face, so dancing together just felt like another extension of that

The choreography was intense and fast, hitting every accent and ad-lib, requiring a lot of texture and groove

but after learning the steps and running it once or twice to get the moves down it felt like second nature, especially since all your charisma and stage presence was really just you having fun with your boyfriend

Lots of behind the scenes content was filmed and unfortunately… some got leaked to the public

Somehow yours and jake’s first dance practice got leaked, as well as Jisung and Isa’s and the video of yours, Gaeul, and Isa’s section

This was before anything was announced to let the public know a collab was even happening so fans were shocked on so many levels

✪ ‘We’ve got (your group), enhypen, ive, nct, stayc, and cravity members doing a collab?? Where did this even come from???’ ✪ ‘Gaeul, Y/n, and Isa dancing to “greedy” by Ariana Grande was not something i knew i needed- welcome back “wow thing” collab group’ ✪ ‘Jake and Y/n look like they’re having so much fun together i love them :(‘ ✪ ‘I feel like I've never seen Jake have this much fun while dancing! You can tell he really feels comfortable dancing with Y/n’ ✪ ‘The way they look at each other, oh i feel sick’

Unfortunately after that all the songs and choreography had to be changed :/

Park Sung Hoon:

Close by Nick Jonas

As the main dancer of your group, your company loves to highlight you any chance they get

This resulted in you doing frequent dance videos, collabing with other idols in order to reach outside your normal audience and hopefully attract some new fans

Sunghoon, ever the supportive boyfriend, makes sure you tell him every time a new video is going to be released so that he can have youtube open and ready for when it drops

texts you immediately after about how talented you are and how proud he is of you for taking on the challenges of choreographing and coming up with new ways to showcase your skills as a performer

Sometimes will just randomly pull up your videos and start watching them while y’all are hanging out

You had always told him beforehand who you’d be dancing with and he never expressed being bothered by any of your idol partners-

until he realized you yourself were picking them

You were sitting in his bed one day (watching one of your recent videos lol) when he suddenly looked up at you with the saddest puppy eyes ever

“How come you’ve never asked me to dance with you☹️”

Oh he’d be so pouty and sulky omg

You’d been expecting that question for a while honestly

“Baby I’d love to dance with you, but would your company let us?”

sunghoon hated that you had to be logical all the time, so he just rolled over to bury his face in your stomach, and groaned in despair

(This drama queen)

He eventually just wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted his head to rest his chin on your tummy, peering up at you

“Can we ask them tomorrow…”

You couldn’t stop the affectionate giggle that left you as you played with his hair and nodded softly

The next day, you talked to your manager first- proposing your next idea

Now you see- your manager loves sunghoon, your whole staff does really

They all think the two of you are perfect together, and would honestly probably announce you were official right this second if hybe let them

So it wasn’t a problem convincing your team to let you dance with your boyfriend

Of course that wasn’t exactly the case for Sunghoon’s team

It definitely made sense why they weren’t totally onboard with the idea- being worried about dating rumors and such- but you and hoon hadn’t had a single rumor involving each other up to that point!

They eventually caved and agreed, realizing it would be a good opportunity since all the other idols you had invited so far were all known as well-respected dancers in the industry

You ended up decided on going for a more intimate and contemporary vibe than you had done so far

“Close” by Nick Jonas and Tove Lo was the song you had agreed on using, having had already talked about choreographing to this song together just for fun at some point

You had worked with a choreographer from hybe, expressing your vision and showing some of the ideas you had, and the process went extremely smooth

The dance ended up being sensual and emotional, highlighting both of your skills as contemporary dancers

A good chunk of the choreography was spent with the two of you having very little physical contact, but being so close to each other that it delivered such a feeling a yearning

However, the last chorus totally changed the vibe

You two walked backward, facing away from each other, and right as you were about to bump into each other sunghoon abruptly turned around gripping your shoulder and whirling you to face him- leading to a sequence of quick spins and paired movements, finally breaking the pattern of avoiding physical contact

And the rest of the dance spent with you two practically glued together

The performance continued with sunghoon pulling you in toward him, you running your hands up his chest and neck and landing softly on his face before pulling him down to almost meet your lips

The two of you slowly walked together to the beat of the music until sunghoon’s back was hitting the wall

It came to an end with hoon sliding down into a seated position on the floor, leaning against the wall- you sliding down in sync, landing on his lap- his face still in your hands, his hands on your hips, foreheads leaned against each other’s

The choreography was so intimate that unfortunately hybe’s fears came true

The dating rumors were instantaneous…

✪ ‘This is such an unexpected pairing but it makes so much sense’ ✪ ‘Oh! My bad y’all i’ll just- i can just- uhm- lemme just leave the room and come back later’ ✪ ‘I know y/n said this performance was gonna be a bit different from her other’s but i didn’t think THIS is what she meant😭’ ✪ ‘Soooo, is this a safe space to say I wholeheartedly believe Y/nHoon is real?’ ✪ ‘Girl Y/nHoon BETTER be real after THAT’ ✪ 'the thoughts i'm thinking... i feel like my account would get suspended if i shared them👀'

And if that wasn’t enough to get them going, there was all the behind the scenes material as well

Both your company and hybe had released behind the scenes videos of the project, except they couldn’t have been more different

While the one posted to enhypen’s channel was mostly sunghoon being interviewed and shots of him practicing individually, with the occasional partner shot or interaction between you two

Your behind the scenes video had plenty of shots of you and hoon laughing and playfully bickering together

Clips of you finishing the choreography and falling against him, with him wrapping his arms around you and swaying back and forth circulated twitter immediately

There were plenty of other moments that had fans fawning over your relationship

Such as when you wrapped up filming and sunghoon slid his hands from your hips to fully wrap his arms around your waist and pull you down to lay on top of him on the ground

Let’s just say hybe had to release a statement pretty soon after that

Kim Seon Woo:

Sunoo and you always post together

vlogs, lives, story posts- you name it

Most fans never really thought anything of it since a majority of the time it was just you two shopping, trying new snacks, or talking about skincare

But there was also so much content you didn’t post

Like the countless couples tik tok trends that are sitting in your drafts (his favorite is the one where you put on lipstick and accidentally smudged it, then the camera turns to him covered in lipstick kiss marks)

But there are also surprisingly a lot of random dance videos you have of the two of you

Sometimes when you’re hanging out at one of your company’s studios you’ll just turn on a song and come up with fun random choreography

One of Sunoo’s favorites that you guys have come up with was to “Wildflower” by 5 seconds of summer

It was sensual and flirty, but still fun and cute- and the video conveys that perfectly with how much the two of you are giggling and clinging to each other

It started off really well! Both of you were locked in, hitting the snaps and beats perfectly, your expressions nothing short of perfect and professional

But the second it got to the chorus your smiles were overtaking your faces as you tried to stay focused on the choreography and not burst out laughing

You still danced the routine perfectly! There just came a point in the dance where neither of you could stop smiling at each other

By the final chorus you were fully teasing your giggly boyfriend by mouthing the words with an overly flirtatious expression while running your hands down his neck and chest, causing him to squeeze your waist and teasingly pull you into him making you burst out laughing, before finishing out the dance with the biggest smiles anyone has ever seen

You both often rewatch the video and your smiles end up being almost as big as the ones you had in the video

You were sitting with Sunoo one day and asked him if it was okay to post it to your personal account, and he excitedly agreed

However- for some reason you didn’t check to make sure you were on your private account instead of your groups account before you hit post, and without realizing, uploaded your choreography to your groups official instagram with the caption ‘me and my wildflower sunny baby☀️🌺’

It was only about 15 minutes later when sunoo was scrolling through his own instagram when he turned to you panicked

“Baby… you posted it on the wrong account”

“WHAT?????”

You immediately called your manager crying and freaking out, while sunoo called jungwon trying to explain the situation

Both your management teams came to the agreement that no one would say anything about the video unless it got severely out of hand

They thought it would be best to keep the video up to avoid suspicion, However, you did have to change the caption

Aside from the crazies, most fans were eating it up!

✪ ‘I love that they’re so comfortable with each other, this is so cute’ ✪ ‘Their smiles and giggles🥺’ ✪ ‘I feel like we never get to see sunoo’s dance abilities highlighted, so i’m honestly grateful that y/n shared this’ ✪ ‘Oh they’re so in love don’t even try to deny it’

Yang Jung Won:

You had been hinting to your fans about doing more dance content, but the last thing they expected was for a video of you and jungwon dancing to “two hands” by Tate McCrae to randomly show up on your groups youtube channel one day

The video was professionally recorded in a cool location and the two of you had on cool but comfortable outfits

Basically y’all looked cunty asf and everyone was losing their shit over it but we’ll come back to that

The choreography involved the two of you being in some sort of physical contact for almost the entire thing

And when you weren’t touching, you were face to face staring into each other’s soul

It was lowkey like you were leading the dance at times and jungwon was hypnotized by your movements (which let’s be honest, he totally was)

By the last chorus, you and your boyfriend were in full contact

Jungwon’s hands had pulled you in closely, your hands resting on his chest with his low on your back

There was a moment where you just sensually gazed into to each other’s eyes, caressing each other while you mouthed the words to the song

Jungwon leaned in closing his eyes, fully preparing to kiss you, but you teasingly turned your head back toward the camera right as your lips were about to meet, giving a flirtatious wink and smile

The turn caused jungwon’s lips to brush your neck, but the way it was captured by the camera made it hard to tell if he actually made contact with your skin

The rest of the dance consisted of one or both of you having your hands on the other without a break, never breaking the connection

There was even a part where you had your hand on your boyfriend’s face and he followed your movement, seemingly hypnotized by your touch

Jungwon’s hands quickly found their place on your hips shortly after

The dance finished with two posing- you in front of him, reaching behind to place your hand on the back of his neck, as he placed his hands on your hips

Won gently rubbed your hip as he waited for the director to call cut, ad when they did he collapsed against you, fully wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking his face into your neck

(That cute moment was captured and posted on your instagram story after the official video dropped)

Speaking of social media…

The thing is, both you and your boyfriend are chaotic and slightly evil, so the second the video dropped y’all were refreshing twitter to see people’s reactions

✪ ‘Oh okay so they’re a thing’ ✪ ‘Yang Jungwon and L/n Y/n… WHAT IS THIS????’ ✪ ‘So like- do y’all need a third or…’ ✪ ‘HIS LIPS WERE LITERALLY ON HER NECK I’M NOT CRAZY’ ✪ ‘Need whatever they’ve got goin on real bad’ ✪ ‘Jungwon heard the lyrics “your two hands on me at all times” and took that shit literally wow’ ✪ ‘Y/n turning to look at the camera right as won is about to kiss her… GIRL MOVE IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA KISS THAT BOY’ ✪ ‘The hand placement, oh i’m so fucked’ ✪ ‘L/n Y/n the woman you are…’ ✪ ‘The way Jungwon’s movements get obviously more desperate at the end of the choreography when Y/n has her hands on his face… WALK HIM LIKE A DOG MAMA😛’

You and Jungwon were giggling and saving posts were a good two hours

Nishimura Riki:

It wasn’t unusual for you and ni-ki to hang out in a practice room and just jam, coming up with random choreography combinations for fun

It also wasn’t a secret that the two of you knew each other and hung out, but most just assumed you were friends since you had also hung out with other members of enhypen before

However neither of you had ever posted anything together aside from mayne a couple of tik toks

So it came as a shock to his fans (and yours) when Ni-Ki went live, only for everyone to see him cozied up in one of hybe’s practice rooms with you

The live started with the two of you laying on the floor with the phone propped up against the mirror wall at the front of the room, just chatting and giggling over random stuff (losers in love)

In fact Riki was so chatty that fans were even starting to comment on it

‘The only time Riki has stopped giggling or yapping has been to listen intently to y/n..’

‘I swear these two are so chatty together, what's going on??’

Eventually you guys started getting antsy and decided to turn on some music and jam again

It was just some ciphering back and forth for a while until “pour up” by DEAN came on and you froze and made eye contact

“Should we do it?” Ni-Ki asked in regard to the choreography the two of you had come up with to the song earlier that week

“I mean… why not?” you shrugged with a mischievous smile

“It’s a little… risky- don’t you think?” he giggled while unconsciously moving closer to you, but you just giggled in return before starting the choreography while holding eye contact

He laughed a bit in shock, watching you dance for a few more seconds before joining in

By the time the chorus arrived the two of you were locked in, facing forward again toward the camera

It seemed like pretty tame choreography at first with a slightly sensual

Until the second verse came

You and Riki started crossing paths and interacting more within the choreography, showing off just how much chemistry you have together as dance partners

There were plenty of little moments with little flirtatious touches here and there but the connection was on full display by the last few seconds of the song, with Riki’s arm draped casually around your waist as the two of you swayed side to side

You pretended to walk off as the song ended, still feeling the vibe, but as soon as the next song started playing you screamed dramatically and fell to floor in a heap of embarrassment, leaving your boyfriend to laugh at you from behind

Ni-Ki walked past you back to the phone to check the comments and he noticed the viewer count has tripled since before you started dancing

✪ ‘They way they just casually match each others vibe like it’s nothing’ ✪ ‘So can we all agree we need more Y/n and Riki dance content??’ ✪ ‘I would 100% be asking “what are we?” after this…' ✪ ‘Y/n falling to the ground and screaming after, she’s so real’ ✪ ‘OMG LOOK AT HOW RED THEY ARE NOW AWWWW BABIES’

Neither of you could look at each other without giggling for the rest of the live

notes: hey y'all... i'm back (kinda)

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