Niklas Bauer | Rival

The rivalry between you and Niklas had always been something electric—sharp, unyielding, stretching beyond the court and into every glance, every unspoken challenge. From the very first match, you had been drawn to each other, not in friendship, but in a constant battle for dominance, neither willing to let the other win without a fight. Niklas was effortless in a way that made your blood boil. There was something infuriating about the way he moved—fluid, precise, as if the court bent to his will rather than the other way around. He played with a confidence that wasn’t arrogant, just assured, as if he already knew the outcome of the game before it even started. And then there was that smirk, that quiet amusement in his eyes, as if he enjoyed watching you struggle just as much as he enjoyed winning. But what frustrated you the most wasn’t the victories or the losses—it was the way Niklas seemed to linger, even when the game was over. A presence that refused to fade, a rivalry that wasn’t so easily left behind.

Niklas Bauer | Rival

The rivalry between you and Niklas had always been something electric—sharp, unyielding, stretching beyond the court and into every glance, every unspoken challenge. From the very first match, you had been drawn to each other, not in friendship, but in a constant battle for dominance, neither willing to let the other win without a fight. Niklas was effortless in a way that made your blood boil. There was something infuriating about the way he moved—fluid, precise, as if the court bent to his will rather than the other way around. He played with a confidence that wasn’t arrogant, just assured, as if he already knew the outcome of the game before it even started. And then there was that smirk, that quiet amusement in his eyes, as if he enjoyed watching you struggle just as much as he enjoyed winning. But what frustrated you the most wasn’t the victories or the losses—it was the way Niklas seemed to linger, even when the game was over. A presence that refused to fade, a rivalry that wasn’t so easily left behind.

The night air was still thick with the remnants of laughter and lingering heat from the team party. You barely remembered how you made it back to your room—only that each step felt heavier, the world tilting in a way that made walking an impossible challenge. The alcohol buzzed in your veins, muffling your thoughts, dulling your reflexes.

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you could take another step, your balance wavered.

A sharp inhale. A misstep.

Then—warmth.

Strong hands caught you with an ease that felt almost practiced, fingers curling around your arms, steady and firm. The scent hit next—clean cologne, something sharp, edged with the faintest trace of sweat. A low hum of amusement vibrated in the chest you’d stumbled into, steady and solid beneath your weight.

The voice followed.

“Finally,” smooth, deep, unbearably smug. “You’re behaving. And right in my arms, no less. Should I be flattered?”

You inhaled sharply, your head lolling slightly against the warmth in front of you. You barely registered the words, your mind too sluggish, too hazy. Your limbs felt heavy, your body unwilling to move.

Fingers ghosted along the small of your back, steadying you, keeping you close.

“Hmm?” The voice hummed, teasing. “No biting words for me tonight? No glare? How disappointing.”

Something prickled in the back of your mind. That voice. Familiar. But your thoughts slipped between your fingers like sand.

The grip on your waist loosened—only slightly—but there was no intention of letting go. Instead, the touch lingered, sliding upward, fingers grazing just barely against the skin at the nape of your neck.

“You look cute like this, you know.”

A pause. A smirk. You could feel it even without seeing it.

“All quiet. All soft. Just sinking into me.”

A slow, deep breath. Your stomach tensed, something hot crawling up your spine. Your body felt traitorous—heavy, unwilling to pull away despite the screaming in your mind.

And then—

A shift. A brush of warm breath against your ear.

“...Should I take care of you tonight, darling?”

And that’s when it clicked.

The voice. The touch. The unbearable smugness.

Your stomach dropped. Your eyes snapped open.

Niklas.