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gurugirl · 5 months

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Sex Tutor II

Summary: It feels like you and Harry are looking for different things. You aren't cut out for casual and Harry doesn't have time to focus on a relationship. But feelings are complicated and Harry doesn't even know what he wants until he realizes he can't stop thinking about you.

A/N: Here she is! The final part! I hope y'all enjoy! Part I Here

Word Count: 13.375

Warning: smut, angst, fluff, praise kink, size kink (kind of)

. .

It was another round of disappointment with Gunther after the 2nd time. Not only because he was so unenthusiastic and he wouldn’t return the favor (still), but because you really couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. About how good it had been with him.

As you were going down on Gunther you kept sucking him in and it just didn’t feel the same. He smelled different, and not necessarily bad but it wasn’t as pleasant as it could have been. He’d definitely sprayed some kind of cologne on and you could taste the bitterness of it on your tongue. And he was kind of rough with you. Pressed the back of your head down and grunted once or twice. You even attempted to run your finger over the spot Harry showed you and he got all squicked out by it thinking you were trying to put it in his butthole. And that reaction had totally ruined the moment for you.

Just like the first time, you left his dorm and walked back to yours alone in the dark with nothing but your thoughts and a touch of disgust. You considered reaching out to Harry. He did mention to you that you could call him anytime. And you were left fully unsatisfied by Gunther. There was no part of you that didn’t believe Harry could satisfy you every which way.

You figured you’d call it quits with Gunther after that and maybe you’d contact Harry again. But to your surprise, he contacted you first.

H: How did it go with Gunther?

You were working on a paper at your desk when you saw his message. Of course, you stopped everything to respond.

Not great. He did cum, though. So I guess that’s good! lol

H: Did you also cum?

You swallowed and bit your lip as you felt your cheeks heat up at that question.

No.

It took a bit for him to respond. You weren’t sure if he was in the middle of something or if he didn’t have anything more to say, or maybe it was that he was thinking of how to word his response. And by then you had a hard time getting back into working on your paper so you called it quits for the day and decided to shower.

You kept wondering what was on Harry’s mind. Wondered if you should follow up with him. Ask him to see you again. And when you got out of your shower you had planned out a whole message to type out to him. You’d ask him for another lesson and see if he had any time. You’d be kind of putting yourself out there but Harry had been so nice and it was so good with him you hadn’t stopped thinking about that night.

But there was already a message from Harry waiting for you when you picked up your phone.

H: I think you should come over again. You didn’t get what you needed from him and I’ll happily make up for it. Show you what it’s supposed to be like.

You laid your phone down on your sink counter and grinned, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. Because yes! Yes, you’d go to his and let him take care of you. God, you’d love to give him another blow job too.

Only if you want. When were you thinking?

His response came faster than you expected.

H: Are you free tonight? Say 6 or so?

You weren’t technically free. You needed to finish your paper but fuck it. Harry would be worth a rushed final product.

That works for me : )

You met him at Maud’s like the first time. Only this time you bought his tea and a sandwich for him. He told you it wasn’t necessary but you felt like it was the least you could do. You walked back to his apartment together and told him about your paper that was due and he talked about his thesis. Harry was an interesting person. He wasn’t just eye candy, he had real depth. And he was kind.

“So why don’t you have a T.V.?” You asked as you sat on his couch and he plopped down next to you, drawing his arm over your shoulder.

“No time really. I’m telling you, I am almost always studying and doing coursework. Used to have one but it was too much of a distraction.”

You laughed, “And this isn’t a distraction?” You motioned your hand between yourself and Harry.

He shifted his seating and his hand moved from your shoulder to the side of your neck as he gently pulled at you, “Oh it’s a distraction all right. But this is the kind that’s worth it. Television has never been worth missing out on a good study sesh,” he laughed and you laid your palm on his chest.

“Well, I hope it’s worth it. Don’t feel like I’m all that amazing. Kind of ju–“

Your words were abruptly cut off with his mouth over yours. You let out a surprised squeak and Harry laughed against your lips, “Sorry… just want you, Y/n…”

You were a goner. You had never felt so sexy in your life as in that moment. Harry seemed quite ravenous and you didn’t know if it was because he was just horny in general or if it was because of you but the way he was licking at your mouth and touching your hip and moaning it felt a lot like he was simply into you. At least that’s what you were going to believe.

He got you into his bed again, your pants and sweater on the floor as he kissed your tummy. Your head was spinning, “Your lesson today,” he spoke between soft pecks over your skin, “Is to see how special you are. How you deserve to feel good. To be with someone who’s going to worship you…”

He hadn’t even touched your clit and it was already throbbing under your cotton panties. The man knew just what to say and you couldn’t help but melt into his mattress and moan his name.

You didn’t have much experience. But you knew one thing and that was that Harry was really really good. He pulled an orgasm from you like an expert, fingers tucked deep into your pussy with his tongue and lips sliding expertly over your sensitive clit. You could hardly even remember getting your clothes off but you didn’t forget his words as he pushed your thighs apart and nosed at your pussy, “So sweet, honey,” he looked up at you, “Can I call you honey?”

Honey. You didn’t mind. Of course not. He could call you whatever he wanted.

And when you finally came down from your orgasm, you shivered as he kept sucking on your clit. You tried pushing at his forehead and he hardly budged as he lifted his mouth from your pussy, “Relax. One more okay? Give me one more, honey?”

Fuck. You were not sure how you were going to survive this man.

When you were panting and sweating after your second orgasm Harry laid next to you and kissed your neck and told you how sweet and perfect you were. You tried returning the favor but he just shook his head and pulled your hand away from his obvious erection to kiss your knuckles, “This wasn’t about me tonight. Just for you, okay? I’m fine. Took care of myself before you came over anyway.”

“But you’re hard…”

“And I promise you that I’m fine. You deserve to be taken care of, Y/n. Don’t like how you’ve been neglected. Want you to just get what you need tonight.”

You stayed at Harry’s for another couple of hours. Just talking and laughing. It was like you two had always known one another. You learned a little about his childhood and you told him about yours. He was sweet and easy to talk to and you loved how he kept holding your hand and pinching your bottom lip as you’d talk. And when it was time to go he called you an Uber again, to which you protested, telling him that was unnecessary.

“It’s absolutely necessary. Don’t want anything to happen to you and this way I can watch the route and make sure you get where you need to go.”

It was like you were another person for the next week and a half. You were feeling quite confident and you ignored Gunther’s text to “hang out”. Harry made you feel like you deserved more. Even if you’d never have anything serious with Harry, he sure made you feel special.

But one night when you and your roommate were hanging out at a sorority house, you overheard something that made your stomach turn.

“You stayed the whole night?”

“Yep. He asked me to. Fucked me so good I almost couldn’t walk and he’s just so nice… I kind of thought he’d have me leave but he said he wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“What’s he like?”

“Well, everything about him is just…” the girl grinned and bit her lip with that dreamy, faraway look in her eye, “He’s so hot up close too. His body… holy shit, you should see this man’s body! But his dick… when I felt that thing inside of me, I was a dickmatized. He’s big and it’s just… perfect. But it’s not just that he’s got a big cock, he’s like… super nice and just knows how to orchestrate the whole experience. Talked me through it all, it was so sexy, and he knows what he’s doing.”

“And you’re gonna ask for another session?”

The girl nods, “Oh yeah. I already did. Well, the morning when I left he fucked me again and then ate me out and told me to call him if I ever needed anything. So I obviously called him…”

Harry wasn’t your boyfriend. He was a single man who had a reputation. He was known for this very thing. So why did it bother you? Why did it make you feel nauseated and jealous? You didn’t even get to have full-on sex with him. It was just oral sex both times, but it felt like you missed out in a way, not having the opportunity to have him like that. But perhaps it was better that you hadn’t had actual sex. Because your wandering thoughts and feelings were betraying your good senses. Images in your brain of you and Harry being a couple were silly. That was never going to happen. Maybe continuing to see Harry would be a bad idea after all. You were already feeling things for him that you shouldn’t be.

And, so, when Gunther called you again the day after you heard that story you decided to answer the call and give him yet another chance. He asked for another “date”. But this time you told him you wanted to actually go out somewhere first. Like on a real date. Maybe a change of scenery would be nice. Maybe the third time would be the charm, as they say. Perhaps if you gave him one more shot he’d redeem himself. Maybe you’d finally get what you were looking for all along.

So there you both were on a Saturday night at the bar with house music playing. You were readying yourself for another round of disappointment and being left unsatisfied when he refused to dance with you. The bar you two had gone to had a DJ every Saturday night and you thought it could be fun to have a couple of drinks, eat some bar food, and dance a bit. But Gunther didn’t want to get up off his stool and he went way beyond just a couple of drinks. You weren’t sure how many he had at that point but it had become clear that he just wanted to drink and get back to his room so he could get his dick sucked and send you on your way.

This time, however, there would be no blow job. You had already decided on Ubering back to your dorm alone afterward. You just had to figure out how to break it to Gunther first.

. .

Harry had been wondering about you since the last time he saw you. The nervous pretty girl who wound up being quite the breath of fresh air for him. He didn’t expect you to call him for another session but he kind of hoped you would. Or at least just a text to hang out. The last night he had you at his place he felt like you were an old friend. A hot friend who he wanted to bang, but a friend, someone he felt comfortable with who he could talk to all night. He was surprised at how easily the conversation flowed with you. And so it was kind of disappointing when you didn’t reach out to him again. He felt like maybe you weren’t that into him.

He even wound up having to cancel on someone he’d made plans with. He wasn’t sure he was ready to look at anyone else naked. He needed time to get his head on straight. Which just meant he was concerned he’d be thinking about you while he was with someone else. And that was something he refused to do with anyone; think about one person while being with another.

And now it was almost two weeks later and he was still thinking about you. Kept wanting to text you to ask how you were. To see if you wanted to just hang out. He figured if you wanted more you’d reach out. He didn’t want to assume you felt whatever it was he felt. He wasn’t even quite sure what he was feeling.

So when his friend invited him to go out for a few drinks he thought it would be a good opportunity to get his mind off of you so he decided why not? He didn’t often go out to drink. He didn’t have time for it, truth be told. But his buddy wanted to celebrate landing a big job and Harry said he could only hang out for a couple of hours because he had to be up early the following morning to study but he could use a couple of hours away from schoolwork to let loose a bit.

The bar was packed and the room was loud with music and an open dancefloor where people were dancing and flirting. He figured he’d go out and dance for a song or two after a couple of beers and then call it a night. As he was on his second pint he gazed around at the tables with girls in their short dresses and guys trying their hardest to impress and that’s when he spotted you. He felt his heart float up into his throat and then he narrowed in his sight to see who you were with. Gunther.

Harry had looked up this Gunther guy. He was easy to find. He was following you on Instagram and being that there weren’t many called Gunther he knew right away it was him. Why did he look him up? It was just another thing that had Harry a bit perplexed. Being someone on the path to becoming a sex therapist, one would think Harry had more of an idea of what was going on in his own head. But maybe it was more just a matter of whether or not he was ready to admit what he was feeling.

You appeared bored. Annoyed maybe. You had your chin propped in your hand and you were swirling your drink with a straw. Your eyes were focused on the dance floor and Gunther was looking a bit tipsy. He was staring at his phone. If Harry were there with you he’d have his whole attention on you. He wouldn’t even be thinking about his phone. Hell, he had his whole attention on you now and he wasn’t even there with you.

He wondered what it was you saw in Gunther. He knew the man wasn’t doing it for you. He could just see it in your posture. If you had been well fucked, or at least satisfied on some level, and given the attention you deserved your demeanor would have been different. Harry could do that for you. He’d seen how you responded to a good orgasm and how relaxed and confident you got when you were satisfied.

When he saw you sip the last of your drink and say something to your date, who didn’t even so much as give you a glance, you got up and made your way to the dancefloor when the new song came on.

Watching you sway and dance alone had Harry’s heart rhythm increasing. Your dress was riding up your legs and you had your arms raised and your eyes closed. It was clear you were just trying to enjoy your time whether or not Gunther was. He was glad you were dancing and doing your own thing.

“Who’s the girl?” Harry’s friend asked as two more guys joined them at the table.

“Y/n. A friend.”

“I bet. You gonna go be her friend again tonight?” Paul’s elbow teasingly poked at Harry’s arm.

Harry nodded, “You know what? Maybe I will. Looks like she could use some company.”

Leaving his beer behind at the table with his mates Harry scanned his eyes back towards Gunther who was still enmeshed in whatever was on his cell phone’s screen. He couldn’t believe the guy wasn’t watching you dance. You were a sight.

Harry wound his way through the crowd before he got close enough that he could get your attention. But your eyes were still closed as you sensually moved your hips and swayed to the beat. He began to dance, only a few feet in front of you as he watched you move and feel the music. He stepped in closer, glimpsing down over the skin on your neck and up to how your lips were slightly parted, a bit of sweat building at your brow line.

And when you finally opened your eyes to see the very man you’d had on your mind it came as quite the surprise. You blinked your lashes at him as he grinned down at you, “Harry?”

Your smile stretched over your face as you continued letting the music guide your movements and he took your hand, gently pulling you closer to breach the space between you, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you gazed up at him like you were in a dream. Was he really here? “What are you doing here?”

He laughed and moved his hand to your hip, “Came out with some friends,” he glanced toward the table where Gunther was still laser-focused on his phone, “I see you’ve come with someone as well.”

You followed his gaze and then looked back up at him, “Yeah. Was trying to give him one more shot.”

Harry’s big hand had a firm grip on your hip as you both moved away from the sight of Gunther, still dancing, “One more shot? You think he’s worth it?”

Shaking your head you laid your palm over his chest, “I don’t know. Just wanted to see.”

Harry let out a laugh and shook his head, “You think he’s gonna satisfy you? Or you think you’ll be left wanting once again?”

You felt your face warm up as you shook your head no and shrugged.

“Then why are you here with him, Y/n?”

You shrugged again and looked down at the collar of his shirt, “Just wanted to see if a night out would make it better.”

Harry pulled his free hand around the back of your hip and ducked his head down to your line of sight, “And look at him over there. Not paying you the attention you deserve. If it were me I’d be out here dancing with you and showing you off to everyone.”

You laughed, that smile he was searching for back on your face again, “You are technically out here dancing with me.”

“See? I say what I mean. You’re too special to waste your night with him. You planning on leaving here with him after?”

“Don’t think so. I mean look at him… he doesn’t care if I’m here or not. He probably just wants his blow job and he’s suffering through all this just to get his balls drained,” you laughed and covered your mouth with your free hand. You didn’t know what’d gotten into you saying that but you didn’t regret it when Harry let out a loud guffaw.

“It’s cause you’re so good, Y/n,” Harry ran his hand up your spine to wrap his fingers along the back of your neck, and he ducked his mouth close to your ear to speak, “You know that right? How good you are? Got me all flustered right now thinking about it. Don’t go back with him. He’s not worth it.”

Your eyes fluttered when you felt his warm breath on your ear and down your neck. You loved what he was saying to you but you also knew he was probably just being nice. Like he was to everyone. Like he had been to that girl he let stay over after you. While you were pining over him he was fucking another.

Not that you had any right to be jealous. There were no strings in this relationship.

“I think I’ll just get an Uber back to my place. That’s what I was planning anyway,” you turned in to respond to him.

Harry moved you to the rhythm slowly and the feel of his hands on you was exciting. But you didn’t want to get caught up in how it all felt because you knew you’d just get attached to him. He was so nice and so good and being with him had you feeling like you were special to him. Though, you knew the truth. You were just like everyone else.

Except that every time you looked into his eyes it was deep and there was a well of emotion or something that couldn’t just mean nothing. But maybe that was just you being the silly optimist that you were.

“Can’t believe he didn’t give you anything,” his gaze seared over your face, “Can’t believe he wouldn’t want to.”

You felt his hand gently squeeze the back of your neck and his heart was pumping healthily under your palm. He ducked down again, his voice vibrating off the shell of your ear and the heat of his body enveloping yours, “He’s missing out because you’re so sweet. Feel lucky I got to taste you and he never has. Might sound selfish but I hope you don’t let him.”

You panted when his lips grazed over your earlobe and then he planted a hot kiss to the skin just underneath, “Let me have you again. Come back to mine and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Want to taste you and feel, Y/n. Missed you…”

Your brain was blurry as he smudged his lips down your neck. Your skin pricked in delight at the cool air that hit every damp spot left behind by his mouth.

“What the fuck?”

Your little bubble burst when you heard Gunther’s voice. Harry kept his arm around your low back, continuing to hold you close.

“Dude… what is this?”

“It’s… Gunther this is Har–“

“I don’t care who he is. Why is he dancing with you and kissing you?”

“That’s a good question,” Harry responded, “You should have been out here with her but you were too interested in your phone to notice that someone else was enjoying her company and paying attention to her like she deserves.”

Gunther laughed and stumbled forward, trying to pry Harry’s hand from your waist, “Come on…”

“Go home, Gunther,” Harry moved you behind his back and stood tall to look down on your date.

Gunther looked at you, dumbfounded, “Is this guy for real?”

You nodded and grabbed onto Harry’s arm, “Yeah. You should leave and get some rest. I think you’ve had too much to drink. I’m sorry–“

“Don’t apologize to him. He should have been acting like your date.”

“So, you’re not coming back to my room with me? My roommate’s out all night, Y/n…”

Shaking your head you stepped next to Harry, “No. I’m not. I think I’m just gonna go home myself–“

Harry looked down at you, “You sure you want to go home?”

“Fine. This was a lame date, anyway,” Gunther laughed and pointed at you, “Don’t call me again.”

Rolling your eyes as your date walked off you looked back up at Harry who was still looking down at you with a confused expression, “You really don’t want to come with me?”

You swallowed and let go of his arm, “It’s not that… It’s just kind of complicated and a mess of things I don’t want to explain…”

Harry took your hand, “Try me.”

You shook your head as you both moved away from the crowd of swaying bodies, “This isn’t a therapy session, Harry. I have real feelings and I’m not cut out for casual like some people.”

He followed you toward your table where you had left your purse. You wanted to make sure you got it before anyone else did.

“What does that mean, Y/n? Talk to me.”

When you pulled your purse over your shoulder you shrugged as you looked up at him, “Come on Harry. You know what I mean. You and I are in different leagues. You are having fun and sleeping with all these people, which you’re totally allowed to do! And I barely have any experience and was even so desperate that I went out with Gunther again in hopes of some kind of connection–“

“Hey,” Harry softly grabbed your face and let the pads of his thumbs graze over your cheekbones, “You and me have a connection. And there are no leagues, Y/n… that’s something made up.”

You puffed out a laugh but you really wanted to melt into him, at his soft touch, “But we’re looking for different things, Harry. And that’s fine, really… I should go…” You began to walk toward the exit and Harry followed you out the doors.

The silence and the darkness outside were only tempered by the streetlights with the noise of a car passing and the bass of the music coming from inside the bar you’d just walked out of.

“I hope you don’t think I took your company for granted, Y/n. I really, genuinely like you. Haven’t stopped thinking about you since our last night together.”

You nodded with a faint smile, “That’s nice to hear. I know you’re a super nice guy, Harry. And I hope this doesn’t sound rude or anything… but it’s just hard for me to really believe you were thinking much of me afterward. I imagine you stay booked and busy.”

Harry’s brows stitched together, “Booked and busy? I don’t just have lots of girls over all the time, Y/n. I am a busy man though. I’m in my coursework program and working on my thesis. I’m not just fucking around all the time. Haven’t had anyone over since you, actually.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “No? What about a pretty blond who stayed the night with you? I’m guessing it was last week?”

He shook his head, “Had no one over last week.”

“Really?” You looked down at the concrete sidewalk and wondered if you’d gotten it wrong. You swore it sounded like she had just seen him the way she was talking.

Harry pulled your hand into his, “You’re the last girl I had over. Was supposed to see someone the other day but I canceled. Wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

You sighed, “I mean… obviously you can do what you want and see who you please. I’m just… my point is that I’m worried about getting attached. You’re good at casual and I’m not. So… seeing you again might be fine for you but for me, it holds so much more meaning. It’s just how I’m programmed. I can’t help it.”

He nodded and bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t know why that little confession had his heart twisting, “I see. So you wouldn’t want to see me again then?”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t want to. I think you’re fun and we had a really good time but I don’t know if I can handle being one of the many. When I overheard someone talking about sleeping with you…” you shook your head, “I was sick to my stomach even though I have no right to feel that way. Does that make sense? And I’m not like saying,” you gestured your arms about, “… that I’m already attached or anything. It’s just I am not cut out for being with someone who’s also sleeping with others. So it’s better to cut our losses. My losses… before I actually get hurt.”

Harry could understand that. He’d dealt with this before. Girls getting jealous of other girls. And so then at that point, it was time to part ways as amicably as possible. Because Harry was a single man and not ready for commitments like that. His only commitments were finishing his thesis, getting his doctorate, and working toward opening his own practice one day. That was where his heart was. Not with any one girl who might come along. Perhaps one day he’d settle down. After he met all his life’s goals first.

But looking at you and your pretty eyes, the ones that had him in a trance, the ones he couldn’t stop thinking about that had him canceling on another girl… well he was quite torn. He didn’t know what he was feeling exactly. All he knew was that he had a plan, a path he’d forged and would continue on until he got what he wanted. And never in that plan did he imagine meeting someone along the way who could disrupt any part of that.

“I wish you’d reconsider.”

You shook your head as you looked at his soft green irises, wondering if that would be the last time you’d get to see them up close. You wanted to repeat his words to him. I wish you’d reconsider. Because that’s what it would take. You couldn’t do casual and you’d drive yourself mad knowing he was sleeping with others. There was nothing wrong with Harry. In fact he was quite astonishing and impressive. But that would only make the eventual parting even worse for you and so you figured it was better this way. It would be nice to have him again but you’d just be falling deeper into that hole. You knew yourself all too well.

Your Uber had arrived and you smiled up at Harry, “I can’t. I found myself thinking about you too much and just imagining how it’d be if we did more… I’d really be a mess. But truly, you’ve been so great, Harry. I wish you all the best.”

You climbed into the back of the black Toyota and Harry thought he should stop you. He thought he should climb in after you and tell you that you were making a mistake. That he really didn’t know what he was doing but he couldn’t just let you leave like that. He could figure it out if he did it with you.

But God, what was he thinking? Why would he do that? He didn’t know you well enough to be making such big decisions that could derail the very rigid plans he’d already made for himself. So he let you go. He watched as the car took you down the street until you were out of sight completely and he felt like something was missing. For the first time ever there was a pit in his gut, an obstruction that had him faltering. Had he just fucked up? Or had he done something that was for the better?

He honestly didn’t know.

. . .

The university you attended was like a small town. Thousands of people attended classes and milled about the campus every day. And despite how many people there were gossip was quickly and easily spread. It shouldn’t have surprised you because if there was one thing a college girly was good at, it was gossiping and learning more details about gossip they heard. And who happened to be one of the most talked about grad students on campus? To your utter dismay, the name of one of the most popular and attractive guys at university was Harry Styles. You’d never paid much attention to it before you met him. But now every time his name came up you were all ears.

Now you didn’t go believing all the things you heard in general. Most gossip was easy enough to ignore or brush off as inconsequential or probably a downright lie. But your ears did perk up when you were at a frat party and you heard Harry’s name mentioned. And the only reason you even heard it was because your roommate was chatting with a girl who was talking about him.

“Yeah, I guess Harry’s been seeing people but not doing anything with them. Like he brings them to his place or whatever and then he just freezes and apologizes but Lora said, and I’m just saying what I heard from her, that he really liked some chick and she didn’t want to see him again and he can’t get over her or something?”

“That’s interesting. I heard he canceled on someone a month ago- Amy’s friend who hung out with him once. So maybe this has been going on since then?”

Your roommate turned to look at you, narrowing her eyes and you knew what she was thinking. But even if the part about him being upset over some “chick” was true, certainly that had nothing to do with you.

“I heard the same thing,” another girl chimed in, “My brother is in a class with him and he said Harry’s been kind of down I guess.”

“Your brother takes note of his mood?” One of the girls laughed.

“Oh yeah. Only because I ask about him. When I found out he had a class with Harry I was like tell me everything!” She laughed.

You had a feeling that most of what you were hearing was false. Harry was so confident and just having a good time you couldn’t imagine he’d freeze up around anyone like that.

As the night went on, the frat house became packed with people. Dancing bodies, music, drugs, alcohol, hookups… You were there for the dancing and alcohol part. Your roommate had her eye on the debate team champ, Alex, and was hoping to get lucky finally (they’d been kind of playing a cat-and-mouse game that she was ready to finish once and for all).

You kept your drink in hand the whole time. Only refilling when necessary and trying not to get too wasted. That was never cute and it was also dangerous. But you loved dancing and letting loose with others who were just as bad at dancing as you were. It was fun to not worry about what you looked like because no one really cared.

Except that when you heard Gunther’s voice from behind you and felt his sticky hand on your arm you wanted to vomit, “Look so good, Y/n…”

He was drunk. His voice was slurred and you were annoyed at his presence. You pulled away from him but being the nice girl you were you smiled and made small talk for a bit as you kept moving your hips to the music.

“Come back to my room again tonight. Miss this mouth,” he plucked at your lip and you swatted his hand away, the smile on your face dropping instantly. No more nice girl.

“No thanks.” You turned to leave the area where everyone was dancing to get away but he followed behind.

“Oh, come on. You love sucking me off. You’re so good at it too.”

Finally. A compliment. But of course, it was too little too late and certainly not the time nor the place for such words. Besides, you were no longer attracted to him, and no matter what angle he tried it wasn’t going to work.

“Go away, Gunther!” You suddenly snapped at him and he stopped mid-stride and looked at you like you had two heads with horns.

He lifted his hands in surrender, “Okay. Fine. Jesus.”

You turned to make your way to the kitchen for a refill when you saw something that made your heart drop and your stomach bubble in gross shock. It was Harry Styles dancing slowly behind some cute girl, his arms wrapped around her front, leaning down to her shorter height and he was kissing the side of her neck.

Your Harry. The one who had you all gooey and giddy after that “session”. The one who kissed your neck not that long ago. You wished he was dancing behind you like that. You wished you hadn’t been so sensitive and that you could throw caution to the wind and not care that he was sleeping with others. You wished you could have just given in that night at the bar and gone back to his… But you said no to him. And now here he was with someone else.

You gulped and turned to go to the bathroom instead, Gunther still eyeing you up from the spot where you’d left him.

You stayed in the bathroom for a bit. Not wanting to go out and see Harry and the cute brunette dancing. You knew she was in for a treat later on. But that should have been you. Pouting at yourself in the mirror you felt ridiculous. You knew what it was with Harry. That he was a free and single man and could do as he pleased. You really had no right to feel upset over what you’d seen. He’d done nothing wrong.

Dumping out the last bit of your drink in the sink you figured maybe it was just time to leave. You didn’t want to have to deal with Gunther nor did you feel like seeing Harry all over someone else. Perhaps tonight was just not going to be your night.

As you opened the bathroom door a figure stood in the way and your immediate thought was that Gunther had followed you but as you trailed your eyes upward it was clear the man was taller and you didn’t miss the nail polish on his fingers when he gripped the door. Everything stopped. The music, the air around your body, your heart…

“Y/n…” That deep voice spoke your name like it belonged on his tongue.

You looked up at him, removing your hand from the doorknob, and gave him a confused smile, “Hi Harry. What are you doing?”

He seemed off. Not drunk but maybe not quite sober either? You weren’t sure what to make of his behavior as he pulled the door open and stepped into the bathroom, closing it behind himself.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he stepped in toward you, your bottom hitting the edge of the porcelain sink, “Nothing makes sense lately. Just want to go back to how things were but I can’t. S’like I’ve got some kind of block. Something’s missing…”

You shook your head, not really understanding what he was talking about as he continued.

“I don’t know what’s going on in my head. Are you really still with Gunther?” He looked hurt. Wounded almost.

“No. After that night at the bar, I haven’t talked to him. He just happened to be here.” “You were dancing with him.”

“Well, not really. I was dancing and then he came up behind me. I was just being nice talking to him but then he said something and…” you scoffed, “Why does it matter? You were dancing with someone else. And you were all over her. You should be out there with her enjoying yourself, Harry.”

“Can’t. Haven’t been able to enjoy anyone. Don’t want to anymore. Every time I do this now I just… can’t.”

“But you were. You were kissing her neck, having fun. Looked quite cozied up to her, Harry. I imagine she’s waiting for you to return right now.”

“I mean I can’t lie to myself anymore. I’ve been kidding myself. I can never go through with it. I don’t want her. That was just a show. When I saw you with him… it’s dumb. I don’t know what I’m doing, Y/n.”

You sighed and scanned his face. He did seem down, “So why are you here in the bathroom with me? Did you want to talk to me? Is there something I can do?”

Truly you were racking your brain trying to figure out why he was there and why he was telling you everything he was. Now you weren’t a dumb girl, but you would never have assumed what he was about to tell you in his next breath.

“Yes. There is something…” he swallowed, his soft green irises fixed on your mouth, “Can you kiss me? Just once more. I just need to see something with you. Is that okay?”

You felt dizzy. Felt confused. Felt your breaths shallow as he looked back into your eyes, “What? I don’t understand. Why?”

Harry softly brushed his knuckles against yours, “Because I can’t stop thinking about you and every time I try to see someone I just see you. And it’s driving me mad and I don’t understand it really but I just need to know something and I think if I could kiss you maybe it would help clear up the fog in my brain.”

“The fog…” you whispered the words back to him and felt his fingertips against yours. And it was suddenly clear to you what he was saying. You were the one who had him all messed up. The “chick” he couldn’t get over. You didn’t know how it was possible or why but it was and he was begging you with his eyes and his fingertips. The heat of him standing only inches away from you was beckoning you to give in.

When you wound your fingers through his and gently pulled him closer, your lashes fluttering up at him, you saw a light in his eyes, a sparkle of something like wonder and hope and relief. The strange nervous, tense energy you spotted when he first walked into the bathroom with you was suddenly gone.

He brought a hand up to your face, his long fingers curving around to the back of your neck, “It’s okay? I can kiss you, Y/n?”

“Yes. It’s okay, Harry.”

Closing his eyes, a shaky breath fell from his mouth as he relieved his lungs of the pressure in his chest and you braced yourself for his lips on yours but it wasn’t at all what you expected. It wasn’t rushed or filled with filth and lust. It wasn’t slobbery with an excited tongue finding its way into your mouth or teeth colliding in haste.

No. It was filled with warmth and it was soft, slow. He pressed his lips to yours and ran his thumb gently over your cheekbone, inhaling deeply. He squeezed your hand and lulled his lips up and down to the edge of your mouth and delicately swiped his tongue over your bottom lip. The warmth created embers as you parted your lips and ran your tongue against his and your heart lobbed in your chest at the emotion and the meaning you felt pouring from him.

He refused to rush the kiss, slowly opening and closing his lips against and around yours, softly licking and breathing and touching your face and your hand. And when you let out a small whimper the embers caught on fire and his hips were against yours and the fingers at the back of your neck held your face against his as he worshipped your mouth and you felt his nose nudge into yours before he gasped and spoke, keeping his eyes closed, “It’s you. It’s what I want. All I want. I knew it.”

You blinked your eyes open and cupped his jaw, “Harry… what do you mean?”

With his eyes still shut he sighed, “I just mean it’s you that I can’t move on from. I can’t describe it right now but you’ve done something to me and I need more of it.”

In most circumstances, those words would be music to your ears. But you were terrified of getting hurt. Terrified that he was just confused and if you entertained whatever this was he’d realize it wasn’t all that deep and he’d go back to his “tutoring”. Because he had said that when he first got into the bathroom with you. That he just wanted things to go back to how they were. And if you were just a means to an end, well, you didn’t want to be part of that, for your own sake.

“So you’re hoping that now things can go back to how they were before me? Yeah?”

Harry’s eyes opened and he looked down at you, shaking his head, “No. They can’t. I can’t. That kiss, Y/n… Was exactly what I thought. Can we get out of here? Go somewhere and talk?”

He was convincing. How could he not be? His irises were brighter and greener than they were before you kissed him and the thumb he smoothed over your jaw and to your earlobe had you melting, relenting. So you nodded to him and said your goodbyes to the two friends you arrived at the party with, following him outside, keeping your hand in his the whole time.

Your dorm room was closer so you decided to go there and it was like you were walking through a scene in some surreal movie that you couldn’t wait to find out what the ending was going to be. But before you could even get to your dorm, Harry had you against the wall at the art building, and the rush and the lust that you hadn’t quite gotten earlier in the bathroom was suddenly burning all around you.

Wet lips and hasty, shaky hands, hips pasted together away from the streetlamp that illuminated the sidewalk only feet from you… A heart-racing blur. Nipped lips and stifled moans, heaving chests…

And then a hurry to get to your building and find your way up to your room before the dizzy haze of Harry enveloped you again and it was all-consuming. You couldn’t peel yourself away from him and his lips found your neck and your skin and you pushed your hand under his shirt to touch his warm chest.

But he parted from you with a gasp, his chest rising and falling so rapidly his lungs were likely struggling to keep up.

“I’m sorry. That… Y/n I just really really like you.”

Pulling your hand from his chest you nodded at him and shifted on your bed so you could sit to your bottom next to him, “I like you too, Harry.” Obviously.

He ran a hand through his hair and nodded as he looked down at his lap and then dragged your hand over his thigh, sliding his fingers between yours, “I mean I want to be with you. I can’t even think about anyone else. I don’t want anyone else.”

You watched as Harry drew his fingers over your knuckles and between your digits then pressed his palm against yours.

“But… so you don’t want to like have what you had before? Like all the girls and the… you know,” you breathed out a laugh that was full of nerves, “The sessions? Weren’t you just having fun?”

He shook his head and turned to look at you, “It was fun. But it wound up just being kind of empty after a bit. Didn’t really get what I was looking for. I mean at first, I didn’t even know what I was looking for. But you know how you said you gave Gunther one last shot because you were hoping for some kind of connection?”

You nodded as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, wondering where he was going with all of it. Was he really about to say what you thought he was?

“I realized that’s what I was looking for. And you… Y/n there’s just this thing with you. I never connected with someone like that before. I never felt so… I can’t like describe…” he paused as he collected his thoughts, “Breathless? Or like… achy here,” he lifted a hand to his chest over his heart, “It’s this stinging dread, just a hopeless feeling. I never cared if someone didn’t want to see me again. But I cared a lot when you didn’t want to. It hurt.”

Those were the kinds of feelings you felt when you liked someone who didn’t like you back. It was that exact description that you were worried about with Harry. You were worried you’d feel all that and then he’d be with someone else the next week. It was for fear of that very thing. But he was feeling it. That devastation.

“I understand exactly. That’s why I didn’t want to see you again. Because I was worried I’d start to feel that too. And it hurts so much that it was easier to part ways before it got to that point. So I get it.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore. With anyone else. I’m done. And I’m so close to what I want… my degree. So I thought it was too much to focus on just one person but I think I was wrong. It’s a lot of work having people come and go. Maybe it’s better to just have someone I can trust and someone who’s there for me. Just one person who I feel a real connection with.”

You swallowed the lump down your throat and your tummy was in knots. It truly did feel like you were in a surreal movie scene all dreamy and untidy with bursts of vivid colors and soft stringed music slowly intensifying as the minutes drew on.

“Would you want that with me? To see what happens? I’m not saying it would be like a fairytale or anything but like… just a normal relationship. Get to figure out what this is between us and learn about each other. Just the two of us.”

“So, me and you?”

“Yeah. Me and you. Not something casual. I’d only want to see you.”

You hadn’t imagined your night going in this direction and it still felt like you were about to have a director enter your room and yell cut! It didn’t quite feel real but it was. Harry was sitting next to you on your bed with his hypnotizing bright green eyes on you, caressing your fingers and your palm with his.

“Okay. Yeah,” you breathed out your words and Harry’s pink lips turned upward in a boyish smile complete with adorable dimples and you couldn’t help but return the expression but it only lasted for a second or two before his lips were pressed against yours again.

Everything about him was intoxicating. His body against yours, his hands on your face and squeezing your hip as he laid you both down in your small bed. You wrapped your arms around him as he ran his tongue over the seam of your lips and it turned into something dirty and desperate, your hands grabbing at him and his fingers trailing under your shirt.

He squeezed at your bum, your jeans blocking him from feeling you unencumbered and then he parted from the kiss, his hair all wild and strewn about from your fingers, “Can we do this here? Is your roommate coming back?”

You looked at the clock on the table at the side of the room and it was well past 2 in the morning. You honestly weren’t sure if she was coming back but you knew she had hopes of going back to Alex’s place. But you also didn’t care. At least not in that moment with Harry right there with you, his scent all over your body, his jeans unzipped, and his shoes somewhere in your room.

“I don’t know. She might be out all night. Just… If she comes back we’ll cover up,” you laughed. You had once again lost your mind. Harry seemed to have you in some lusty trance you couldn’t break. Didn’t want to break.

Harry ducked down to kiss your neck as he fit himself between your legs, the bed squeaking under the sudden shift of weight. You could feel his open pants against your hip. You’d gotten a bit carried away when you were making out and undid them for him, to which he laughed but didn’t stop you. And now, that convenient thing was seductively calling to you as you reached your hand down to push at his pants.

“In a hurry are we?” He looked down at your hand and then at your face.

“Not really. I don’t know. I just want… you.”

Harry’s lids were heavy as he blinked his eyes, “Well you can have me. Whatever you want.”

He pressed the tip of his nose to yours before smearing his mouth against your lips and your fingers were back in his hair once again. Slow and luxurious. Hasty and filthy… Harry kissed you like he didn’t know which way was best. But you were getting fired up from the way he was doing it. You didn’t care, you just wanted it. Wanted his mouth and his tongue, his hands and his body, his moans and his hair between your fingers.

You were hot. Molten underneath him. Your panties were ruined and you were sure he knew what he was doing. Your mind wandered to where you’d put your condoms and then you felt his hands on your hip as he slowly began to slide your shirt upward.

He sat back, plucking at the front of his pants, and then put his hands back on your waist, “Can I get this off? All of it?”

You nodded and grinned with your lip bitten into your mouth as Harry got rid of your t-shirt and then unbuttoned your pants, “You too. Can we get your clothes off too?” You spoke as you lifted your hips and let him peel your jeans down your legs.

Harry grinned at you, “Absolutely. You already did part of the work here anyway,” he laughed as he gestured toward his unzipped pants.

Harry was left in his boxer briefs when the last thing you had to get rid of was your light blue panties. But Harry seemed quite transfixed by the wet spot on the fabric over your pussy. You were so wet the whole of the crotch was clinging to you, outlining what was underneath and Harry slid his thumb over the top of the material and parted his lip before looking up your face, “Fuck.”

You panted softly when he bumped into your clit and pressed over the slick spot, “Does that feel good, Y/n?”

You nodded, “Yeah. That feels good…”

“So warm and wet for me,” he drew his hand up to the elastic waistband and pulled it downward, “Gonna take a closer look. S’that alright?”

You were full of nothing but yes as you knocked your head up and down affirmatively and bounced your gaze from his eyes to where he was disrobing the last bit of material covering you.

He pushed out a quick succession of what sounded like a breathy whistle as he took you in with his eyes, his fingertips holding the soft, mushy part of your inner thighs so you stayed spread, “Fuck. Fuck, honey…” he licked his lips and looked up at you as he ran his thumb through your folds, “Can I have some of this again? Taste…”

He sounded almost as delirious as you felt. Taste… eat… suck… fuck… whatever he wanted. You nodded, “Yes, Harry.”

He leaned over your body, pressing his chest against yours, and kissed your mouth before dragging his lips down your neck and to your tits, stopping to suck and lick each one before he drew his hot mouth downward, sponging kisses over your tummy and to your hips.

Your legs were brought up to drape over his shoulders as he held onto your thighs and then watched you as he licked up from your gushy hole to your clit.

The sounds that fell from your mouth were pitiful. You had an ache that needed to be relieved and it seemed only Harry could do it. Every swipe of his tongue through your crease had you slipping toward the edge of the earth, “Harry…”

You did your best to keep your eyes on his, knowing that’s what he liked but you couldn’t help throwing your head back every time he sucked your clit and rolled it under his tongue. He was better than your clit sucker. He was better than anything or anyone else.

“Mmmm…” your attempt at stifling your moans only goaded Harry even more. He drew his lips over your clit and slid them side to side and the pressure that was building in your tummy had you shaking.

“Will you…” you gasped and pulled at his hair, “Can we have sex?”

You had an immediate urge. A need to feel him closer. Wanted him inside of you right then.

Harry lifted his face from your pussy and licked his lips, “You sure? You’ve had sex before, yeah?”

You laughed and let go of his curls with a nod, “Just with one person. I’m not very good.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing, Y/n,” he sat back, gently placing your legs down and you pushed yourself to sit up.

“I don’t know,” you grinned at him and ran your foot over his thigh, “Maybe you could give me a proper lesson. Think I need tutoring.”

Harry wrapped his palm around your ankle and shot a cheeky eyebrow up, “Oh you need tutoring, do you? Well, you didn’t sign up for a lesson with me. Think you’re just gonna get a freebie?” He laughed.

You shrugged as he lifted himself and began to pull his boxer briefs down his hips. Your eyes focused on his big cock. You couldn’t wait to see what’d feel like inside of you. You were positive he’d be gentle and give it to you good.

“So what are you saying? You charge for your services now?”

Harry pursed his lips to the side and smoothed his hands up your calves, “Teaching is hard work, Y/n.”

“I bet. How about just one last lesson? For me?” You bit your lip, rounding your eyes at him.

“Fine. Just for you.”

“Condoms are in the top drawer,” you pointed to your dresser, “Never been opened.”

He began to move off your bed but then paused, “Never opened?”

“Well, the guy I slept with had his own and we only did it twice so I’ve never used the ones I bought.”

You watched him walk to your dresser to find the unopened box of Trojans. Harry was so fit and masculine and his ass was gorgeous. He was a work of art from behind but when he turned and walked toward you he was angelic. His toned abs and strong thighs, skin littered with tattoos and bits of hair on his pecs, his handsome face, and of course, the heavy, thick organ between his legs, swollen and hard. Just for you.

He kneed up to you on the bed and handed you the wrapper with the condom, “Ever put a condom on a penis before?” He asked as he stroked himself

You shook your head and tore the wrapper open. When you had the rubber in your palm Harry flipped it over, “This side goes on my tip.”

You brought the condom to his tip and looked up at him as you began to roll the rubber downward but he stopped you, “That’s good. But first, pinch the top here, like this,” he brought your fingers to the top of the rubber and pulled at it away from his crown, “Just gives a little space for movement and for my come.”

You gulped at the image in your brain of the condom being filled with his come after orgasm. His shaft was wide and long as the rubber was rolled down as far as it could reach.

You looked up at his face and he was watching you closely with a soft smile, “Very good.”

Harry scooted himself between your legs, his knees butting against the back of your thighs as he smeared his fingers through your folds, “We’ll go slow. I want to make sure everything feels good. When you had sex before, did you come?

You shook your head no.

“And how did you do it? Was he on top?”

You nodded, “Yeah, he was on top of me. It was kind of quick. Both times. I lied and told him I came.”

“Okay. Did he keep your clit stimulated?” He asked as he thumbed at your clit, mushing into it to drive the point home.

You gasped softly, “No. Never touched it.”

“Not even once? What about foreplay?” He circled your bud and the slickness from your pussy began to coat his fingers.

“We just made out and he fingered me and I did get wet. But he never touched… ohhh….” Harry slid two long fingers into your entrance and you looked down to view the spectacle.

His hand was wet with your arousal as he pumped his fingers in and out slowly, “So you’ve just had a string of bad lovers. I’m gonna do my best to make up for it.”

You sighed as he dragged the pads of his fingers along your front wall before pushing them back into his knuckles, “You’re so wet and ready. You deserve to feel good, Y/n. Deserve to have someone care for you.”

You ticked your hips upward slightly and Harry pumped into you a bit harder, the gushy noises of your pussy getting fingered sounded dirty but so good.

When he pulled his fingers from you he held the base of his shaft in his palm and smoothed his free hand up your tummy, “We’ll start off with you on your back. I’m going to go in gently. Okay?”

You nodded and shot your eyes down to his cock and then back up to his face.

“There you go, just keep your eyes on me. Tell me if anything is uncomfortable.”

Harry pulled at your hand and brought your fingertips over your mound, “Rub your clit the way that feels best for you. Okay?”

“Mmhmm…” you nodded and slid your fingers over your nub as you kept your eyes on his.

The initial stretch of your slick muscle around his thick head had you gasping. He inhaled through his teeth and pressed in slowly, “Your body is so turned on. That feels all right, yeah?”

“Yes… feels good.”

“Yeah? Feels good for me too.” He was breathy as he sunk into you and then pulled back a few inches, looking down at where your bodies were connected, half his cock buried inside of you.

And it surprised you how thick he was and how much of him you felt. You’d always heard you don’t feel much when there’s a penis inside of you but Harry’s penis was definitely working into you and spreading your insides apart.

With your fingers delicately running over your bud you moaned, “Oh god… Harry…”

He gripped your thighs and pulled you closer before shifting himself over you, “We’re gonna make sure it feels so good okay? You’re kind of shallow and I can feel the resistance at this spot here,” he rutted in and you gasped, “Like that… depends on where you are in your cycle could be shallower or more space, but I’m only gonna push in as far as is comfortable for you.”

He had his hand on your cheek as he spoke, “Still feels okay right now?”

You nodded, “Yes. You can go deeper. Wanna feel it.”

Harry groaned softly and pressed his lips to yours. You had to pull your hand away from your clit because his pelvis was taking the place of where your fingers were. When he plunged himself in further you felt a delicious pinch and you panted into his mouth.

“Don’t want to hit your cervix. Usually, it’s not comfortable. I’m getting in there pretty deep, though. You okay?”

“Please… it’s okay.” You did want to feel it. Wanted to have him stuff you full and make you ache and burn and wince in pain. The dildo you used always hit your cervix and you didn’t mind the way it felt. Some days you liked it more than others, depending on how horny you were. And in that moment, you’d never been hornier. You wanted to feel him ruin you.

Harry let out a breathy laugh and pushed himself up so he could look into your eyes, “You want to feel it, honey?”

Nodding your head you felt him spread you apart and fuck into you with one deep rut. Your body bounced upward and you gasped.

He stilled his hips and stayed buried inside of you, his hand on your cheek, “That’s it right there, Y/n. Can’t get it in any further. You like that?”

It was obvious you did. The look on your face told him as much. Your eyes were fluttering and your mouth dropped open as you lifted into him, mushing your clit against his solid pelvis, “Mmm yeah…”

Harry swallowed as he watched your features soften then and scrunch with every thrust. He smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip and you licked at the pad of his digit before you wrapped your lips around it and he was in awe of how filthy you really were when he felt your nails dig into his back.

“S’hurt, honey? At all?”

You moaned around his thumb, your eyes blinking up at him, and nodded before hitching your leg up over his hip to indicate you still wanted more, pushing him in closer with the heel of your foot.

So you wanted it to hurt. At least a little anyway. Harry wasn’t going in hard and he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not until he learned exactly what you liked and what your body needed first. But every time he bottomed out you grunted and sucked on his thumb harder and he was losing it.

“Fuck… you’re so hot, Y/n. Look at you with your lips wrapped around my thumb. You just needed something to suck on, didn’t you? And you feel so good around me. So wet and warm, honey…”

You’d never had a man’s fingers in your mouth. You had no idea what you were doing but when Harry slid his thumb over your bottom lip it just came naturally to you. To pull it into your mouth and it was… god it was taking you over the edge. And he seemed to like it as you swiped your tongue around his skin.

But better yet? His cock. You were so full and it was so incredible to have him like that. The other guy you slept with was fine. But now you’d never want “fine” again. Not after this. Not with the way Harry was pulling himself back and then rocking into you, every plunge better than the last. He didn’t pound into you or try to race to the end. He wanted to make it good for you.

He began to pant deeply, his gasps lined with moans as his thrusts became clumsy and he stilled his hips before pulling his thumb from your mouth, “Let’s get you on top. Okay? Wanna watch you ride me and let you take control. Bet you’re gonna be good at it, aren’t you?” His irises scanned your face as he spoke, his thumb at your cheekbone dragging upward.

“I don’t know? I hope so…” you breathed as he nudged himself upward, deeper, “I do wanna be good for you.”

Harry moaned, “Yeah? You are good for me, honey. My favorite. You don’t even realize how good you are but I’m gonna keep telling you til you believe it. Okay?”

Your eyes were heavy and your body was hot. You nodded and let out a breathy, “Okay…”

“That’s right. Now we’ll have you get on top. Wanna watch my pretty girl get herself off on my cock.”

You felt him slide out of you and you looked down at his long condom-covered dick, coated in your juice. Everything smelled of sex as he dipped down and kissed your mouth before climbing next to you and lying down. He pulled at your hips, bringing you over his lap as you placed your palms on his chest and settled your pussy down at the base of his shaft. You wrapped your palm around him and slid it up and down to feel the rigidness of him. He was so hard and thick it made your mouth water.

With his fingers still at your hips he squeezed gently, “Depending on your angle it’s gonna feel very deep. Sometimes it can ache a little bit because I’ll be tucked up into your cervix,” he moved one hand toward the front of your low tummy, “But you can control how deep I get. Can even tilt your pelvis downward which will give your clit more stimulation. Might make it easier for you to come.”

You looked between your legs as you lifted your hips and rocked forward so you could press your entrance over his cock but then you felt his hand on your chin, directing your sight back to him, “Keep your eyes on me. Want to see your face while you’re pushing me inside of your pretty cunt, okay?”

You nodded and began to push yourself down. He fit inside of you so nicely. All snug and warm, packed inside of your guts. Every inch you took you could feel stretching your wall apart.

Keeping your eyes on his you raised your hips upward and then sunk down further to adjust, letting out a puff of breath as your lips parted until your bum was seated on his lap, his cock stuffing you to the brim.

Harry moaned, “Yes. Good fucking girl,” he made sure to praise you as much as he could because he noted how your eyes lit up every time he did it. Pulling at your hips, he brought your pelvis downward, “This is kind of like the starting position. You only need to grind and rub upward, don’t even have to lift off of me. Just slide in toward my belly button,” he pulled at you, causing you to drag upward on his cock but keeping your clit down against his pelvis, “See? Feels good cause you can keep your clit stimulated this way too. Let’s do this for a bit. Just get used to the motion here and do what feels good.”

It was easier than you thought. Your knees and shins were pressed into the mattress along the sides of Harry’s hips as you slid yourself upward. You’d always imagined it being some crazy acrobatic feat where you sat like a frog and bounced up and down like a pornstar. But this? This you could do. And it felt so intimate. Your palms were pressed into his chest, his hands moved down to your ass as he assisted you along his shaft and then back along to his base.

“Tell me how it feels, honey. The look on your face says you like it but want to make sure…”

You rocked your hips, gripping around him and pulling upward with your eyes on his, “It’s… god… it feels so good, Harry…”

“Feels good for me too. Love this angle,” he moved a hand up to your breasts and palmed at your nipples as you continued fucking yourself on him.

When you’d gotten into the movements and found a rhythm you could hear the wetness coming from your pussy every time you slid up and down his cock.

Harry continued smoothing his hand over your tits, “If you really want to feel me deep, lean back a bit.”

Pushing yourself to sit upright you adjusted your hips and the new angle had him deeper than he was before. You hissed as you swiveled your hips and Harry grunted, running his hand back down to your low tummy, “How’s that feel?”

“It’s kind of achy, but feels really good,” you spoke softly, looking into his eyes as you shifted your pelvis.

“God you’re taking me so well, honey… Look so gorgeous on top of me, pretty tits in my face, fucking yourself on my cock... making yourself feel good.”

Everything felt good. You were sure it was because of Harry. All the nice things he was saying had your head spinning and your heart thrashing.

He knew of course that you didn’t need instructions. You might not have had as much experience as he did but sex was something that came naturally for most. And you were so into it and your innate eroticism was shining through your more reserved demeanor.

Harry began to thrust upward, rocking into you, sticking himself in deep. He had one hand caressing your tits and the other pressed into your tummy. You weren’t sure why he was touching your tummy but when he thrust upward into you sharply you cried out and he pressed harder, “Fuck! You’ve got me so deep inside of you, honey. You wanna feel this?”

You reached your hand down to where his was, your hips writhing over him as he punched himself upward and you gasped when you felt the bulge in your tummy under your palm. He did it again and moaned with you, “Oh my god!”

You could feel his cock pressing through you when you put enough pressure on your tummy with your hand.

“Come here,” Harry wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck and pulled you down, making you tilt toward him and smeared his lips against yours. The angle where you could rub your clit on his pelvis was the best. It felt so good and you began to rock yourself over him with whimpers into his mouth.

Harry smiled into the kiss, “Bet you’ve humped your pillow before. So you know how to do this. Sliding over my cock so perfectly, Y/n.”

You pushed your palms into his chest and rolled down over him, hips pasted to his. Your orgasm was already beginning to build and singe in your body as you nodded.

His hands were on your hips as he let you take control and ride him how you wanted, “I knew it. Already have experience with this position, yeah? You wanna come, honey? You gonna fuck yourself on my cock til you’re seeing stars?”

You moaned and nodded with your lips parted.

“That’s right. You already know what to do. Now hump it like a good girl. Show me how you do it, honey…”

Harry’s words were so sweet and yet filled with filth. You loved the way he spoke to you with such care but he could turn it so dirty in a heartbeat. Likening you riding his cock to humping your pillow somehow just pushed you over the edge. And you definitely saw stars as your face twisted up and you choked out his name, “Haaarrry! Harry! Yes!! Ohhhh…”

Your pulsing insides encased Harry’s cock and he let you take what you needed as he moaned and watched your tits bounce and sway with every rock of your hips until his balls were squeezing tight and his throbbing cock couldn’t resist the way you gripped around him.

You didn’t hear Harry’s grunts or his breathy moans as he pumped into you. You didn’t see his face contort in pleasure as he kept his eyes focused on you, the pretty girl coming on his cock. You didn’t take note of how when he’d fully emptied himself into his condom he was still watching you in awe as you were breathlessly panting over him, still coming around him, milking every last bit of him out into the rubber that separated your wet cunt from his thick shaft.

You didn’t notice any of that until you finally caught your breath and felt your body tremble as you looked down at him and felt his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips and saw his heavy eyes watching you. You were going to apologize about how you forgot to look at him when you were coming but he pulled you down over his chest and held you against himself. You could feel his heart beating in his chest and his lungs filling with air on every inhale.

He smoothed his hand down your back and to your bottom, “You okay?”

You puffed out a laugh against his chest. It was funny because obviously you were more than okay. You’d just come so hard your ears were ringing and your vision had nearly gone black just before. Your entire body was limp and wobbly over him as he caressed your bottom and your back.

“Fuck, honey. You came so hard. Did so good.”

You sighed and smiled to yourself as you pushed your hands into his hair, “I did?”

“Mmm… so good, Y/n. Deserve an award for that one.” He chuckled and you could feel the vibrations in his chest against yours.

Smoothing a hand down to his pec you lifted your head to look at him and laughed, “What kind of an award?”

Harry slid his hand up to your face, “One of those gold star stickers teachers use. I think I’ve got a pack of them actually. Could put it on your t-shirt so everyone knows how good you are.”

The filthy grin on his face had you giggling, “You do not have a pack of gold stars. Do you?”

His smirk widened, “I do actually. And I know a girl who loves being praised who I can use them all on. Maybe we’ll even get you an ice cream.”

You shook your head with a smile on your face, “What if I want kitten stickers instead?” You teased.

Harry inhaled and turned his gaze to look at the ceiling before looking back at you, “Actually… I think I have kitten stickers.”

You laughed, making Harry laugh with you.

“Okay then. Tomorrow you owe me some kitten stickers and ice cream.” You would be asking him later why he had stickers in the first place.

Harry softly pinched at your bum, a lazy grin on his face, “Your roommate’s not gonna freak out if she comes back and I’m here?”

“Nah. I don’t see why she would. Long as you’re not naked.”

Harry chuckled, “And you don’t mind if I stay here either?”

“I’d like it if you stayed.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

“Good,” you bit your lip and trailed your fingers over the sparrow tattoos at his clavicle as you gazed into his eyes full of affection.

“Then tomorrow you get kitten stickers and ice cream for being such a good girl.”

“And maybe a little bit more of you too? Since I was so good?”

“Just a little bit more is all you want?”

You laughed through your nose, “Okay a lot more of you then.”

“Okay, it’s settled. Kitten stickers, ice cream, and a whole lot of me.”

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forlix · 6 months

Text

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you.

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere.

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «[email protected]» To: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?”

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation.

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath.

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you.

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle.

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly.

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.”

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade.

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment.

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting.

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything your schedule allows.

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything.

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation.

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights.

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead.

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?”

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass.

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know?

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago.

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes.

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration.

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off.

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?”

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will.

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back.

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

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suguann · 2 months

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an. another ex-husband gojo fic because i'll die with this trope. this ends exactly how you'd expect (if you know me)

Satoru doesn’t take it well when you tell him you have a boyfriend after bumping into him in the grocery store parking lot. At least, you don’t think he does. It’s hard to tell, his expression inscrutable as ever behind his dark sunglasses—the sharp arch of his brow the only indication he’s heard you at all.

“Is that so?” he finally says, and for some reason, it makes you nervous. Has you grasping at straws to make something right that isn’t even wrong yet. Has any thought of this being an easy conversation shattered at your feet.

You clear your throat. “Yeah…he’s nice. You might even like him.”

No, he wouldn’t—a little voice in the back of your head tells you. Knowing it's because all of the unreadable parts of you are no longer connected to him, but instead to a man you've barely spent two months dating, and that must infuriate him.

He doesn’t ask (not that you expect him to) when you find yourself prattling on about how you met Rin through a friend, how he’s an investment banker and takes you out to his cabin on the weekends, that he’s predictable—stable is what you really mean, but don't say—with an ordinary life who wants kids—

Satoru seems to chew on that last bit of information like he’s suddenly tasted something unpleasant, the line of his brow flat and unimpressed, the slant in his mouth mutinous. He’s uttered all but three words, and so far, this entire conversation leaves you with nothing short of a stomach ache.

“He really is a good person,” you add, just because you have nothing else to say and your penchant for filling awkward, empty spaces.

Then he smiles, and you relax a little. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

You smile, too, a soft, sure thing this time that makes his widen.

But if you'd been more level-headed and less flustered about bumping into your ex-husband after several months of silence—since he signed his name beside yours in front of your lawyer—you’d realize how dangerous that smile is.

You’re unsure if it’s too contingent to be considered a coincidence, but he starts showing up in odd places after that all-too-uncomfortable one-sided conversation in the parking lot.

First, it’s at your favorite coffee shop you usually stop at on your way to work. It’s strange because you remember him hating coffee, how he'd always preferred to load it with creamer and sweetener just to get rid of the bitter taste. But you don’t mention it when he offers—no, insists on paying for your coffee and blueberry streusel muffin.

When the total pops up on the register, he doesn’t even blink when he opens his wallet.

Of course, you can't let him pay. There must be something in writing somewhere that says ex-husbands shouldn't pay for their recently divorced ex-wife's coffee.

He shrugs, smiling, after you tell him it’s expensive—has that ever bothered me?—and slides a shiny black card across the counter to the barista.

“You can't show up out of nowhere and start buying me things,” you hiss afterward, slightly flustered by the whole ordeal. The city’s big, but you still worry about one of your friends or colleagues seeing you with Satoru—they may get the wrong idea. “We’re not together anymore.”

"Do I have to message you the next time I want to get you coffee?" he tucks his hands into his coat.

"No, we shouldn't even be getting coffee together."

“Am I not allowed to be nice now that you have a boyfriend?”

“That’s not what I said,” you huff. “And you didn’t even buy yourself anything. How am I supposed to look at it?”

He shrugs, “I decided I didn’t want anything,” and you don't even think he notices that he holds your hand when you go to cross the street.

Habit. You'll write that one off as a habit, but he doesn't let go until you're in front of the tall, shiny doors of your office building.

The second time he shows up unannounced is while you're walking through the quaint park near your apartment, which you know is far from his sleek penthouse on 5th Avenue, the one with a perfect view of the city and the bay—a thirty-minute drive, at least.

“I bought a house out here,” he tells you when you ask. “It’s up on the hill.”

You know which one he’s talking about. You’ve driven past it a few times. It's a cozy brick stone with lots of windows, a white picket fence, and a large backyard, something you’ve always wanted since before you were married. According to a real estate website, his house is a little over a million.

Interest must be written all over your face because he asks: “You want to see it?”

There are a number of reasons why you shouldn’t say yes, why you should politely decline and finish your last lap along the trail and run to the grocery store afterward to pick up something for dinner and call Rin to let him hear about your day—

“Okay,” you say, hands on your hips. “But make it quick.”

He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners with something akin to affection. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to remind him, again, that you’re not together, so he’s not allowed to use pet names, but a large hand on the small of your back to usher you towards the shiny, sleek SUV across the street leaves you with a mouth full of cotton.

He watches you take in the hardwood floors and tall ceilings trimmed with crown molding. When you stop in the massive kitchen to run your fingers over the granite countertops, it almost feels bittersweet walking through the house of your dreams while your ex-husband eyes you questioningly as if he's looking for your approval.

“So? What do you think?”

The smile you give him is genuine. “It’s beautiful.”

Satoru matches your smile with a bigger one, almost blinding. “That’s good, that’s really good.”

You feel like you should ask why he bought a house this big in the first place, but there’s a pebble in your stomach if you think about family photos on the walls with him happy and smiling, his arm around a pretty wife who wears frilly aprons and kisses him on the cheek when he comes home. A future where you don’t exist, yet he’s letting you take a peak into it, anyway.

So you don’t say anything.

You meant to leave an hour ago, but he plied you with dinner— friends can have dinner together, can’t they? —which leads to two glasses of wine and then watching movies together on his very soft couch. If everything didn't feel so fuzzy around the edges, you probably would have noticed the signs sooner, that he’s trying to—

(He presses you into the couch cushions, biting marks into your neck and chest until your breaths come out fast and high-pitched.

“We shouldn’t,” you manage to say, still tipsy and tongue heavy in your mouth from the wine you had. "Toru, I should really go."

He huffs a laugh against your cheek—you note how he still wears the same cologne you bought him all those years ago when everything was so new, and there wasn't a ring on your finger yet—pressing a messy kiss there that makes you squirm. “Doesn’t this remind you of old times, though?”

“B-but I have a boyfriend.”

In retaliation, he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh around the fluttering pulse in your neck, just shy of too rough, though your fingers in his hair pull him into you like you can’t get enough.)

That maybe this means he—

(Satoru bunches the lace of your panties in his fist, shoving them up around your knees, trapping your legs together against your chest. A long, drawn-out groan rumbles in his chest at discovering the creamy mess between your thighs. “Always had such a pretty wet pussy, fuck. Do you get this wet for him, too?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs because he hears what you don’t say: No, you’ve never been this turned on when it’s with Rin. Satoru’s the only one to ever leave you wet and shaky just from a few words.)

It’s an insane thought, but it’s almost like Satoru—

(He holds his hand up to your mouth, telling you to lick before he wraps it around his cock, pressing the tip into the slick seam of your cunt. And you forgot how big he is, just on the side of too much, the bit of effort it takes for him to sink in a little, and then all at once, rending you right down the middle.

You whimper, fingers scrabbling clumsily for one of the throw pillows near your head, needing something to hold on to.

“There you go, pretty girl,” Gojo breathes, hips tight and close, grinding into you so that you can feel how deep he is. “I see she can still take it.”)

No, he wouldn’t—

(He fucks you hard enough to send you skittering up the couch, only to pull you back down again, grinding you on his cock to touch places inside you that he’s only ever managed to reach. You whine into where your face is pressed against the back cushions, biting down to muffle how loud you’re being.

He makes a displeased sound and forces you to look at him again with his fingers digging into your cheeks.

"What if I give you a little baby, huh? We'll be a family together. You, me, and our baby in this big house. Doesn't that sound nice? We'll fill the house with babies," he mutters, bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth, forcing your legs further against your chest.

The angle rubs just right inside you. You make an unintelligible noise at the back of your throat, unable to move or get better friction in this position.

“We did it your way last time, didn’t we, baby?” his little laugh is breathless, kind of mean. “I let you leave with all those silly thoughts in your head; thought you knew what you wanted, but now we’re going to do it my way from now on.”

His words should strike alarm bells, but when he fits his hand between your bodies to strum his thumb against your clit, your mind empties.

"You've always been mine." Words barely audible, he still sounds breathless; wrecked. "It's about time you get that through your head.")

Except you know he would.

A month later, you’re packing away the fine china in your apartment, wondering how the few things you own will fill a house so large.

#.things i write #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo imagine #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk drabbles #fem!reader #gojo satoru

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phant0mth1ef · 3 months

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bakugou x support course reader hcs / final part of bakugou x support course reader #notclickbait #real

- before you started dating, he’d definitely just sit there until you were done working because “the other extras are more annoying than you are.”

- he’d actively try to avoid you during school hours because his friends were always around him and he didn’t want to embarass himself.

- to try and see you during the day, he’d tell aizawa that a piece of his gear broke and then proceed to break it himself on the way to the lab so that he could have an excuse.

- has showed up to mirko’s agency countless times because “he needed his gear fixed by the next morning.”

- mirko definitely knows him by name now and her secretary instantly pages you the minute he walks in because he refuses to talk to any other support person there.

- on your first date, he had called best jeanist and asked him to do his hair which just ended up poofing back up halfway through, making you laugh while you were eating.

- would call things that you liked stupid and dumb but would proceed to get you it.

“look at that teddy bear!”

“looks fuckin’ stupid.”

then he’d proceed to spend $35 just trying to win you it.

- mainly tried to get with you because his mom said nobody else would want to put up with his shitty personality the way you do.

- the moment you met his mom, she fell in love with you. you bonded so well, mainly over the fact that you both called out her son the moment he stepped out of line.

- after he opened his own agency, you were the first person he wanted to have working with him, although he claimed you were his worker, you had scolded him and told him you were basically equals.

- kirishima helped him realize that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, being supportive throughout every aspect of his best friend’s relationship.

- he knew you hated things like public proposals because it made the person being proposed to feel like they had to say yes in that moment due to the pressure.

- because of that, he proposed to you in the most public setting while in his hero costume, a cheeky grin on his face as you glared down at him, instantly deciding on your next course of action.

“no.” and you walked away quickly, making him wallow in embarassment as you made your way to your shared apartment and waited for him to get home, laughing the moment he met your eyes when the door opened.

“why would you do that for?! hah?!” he was angry, but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before.

“i told you to stop trying to piss me off ages ago, katsuki! you had to have known i was gonna do that.” your laugh was uncontrollable at this point as he pulled the velvet box out of his pocket once again and got down onto one knee.

he didn’t say the words again.

“well?! answer me!”

“i guess i can get down with marrying great explosion murder god dynamight. i heard the money’s super good. helps that he’s hot too.” you snickered.

- you had two children, both girls and you swore he was the biggest girl dad ever, always making sure his “gals” were taken care of.

#mha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #mha #my hero academia #myheroacademia #boku no hero academia #bnha #bakugou fluff

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illyrianbitch · 7 months

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Worth It

Pairing: Reader x Bat Boys

Summary: It can be hard to remember why you’ve put up with your best friends for centuries-- until they remind you why they're worth it.

Warnings: irritation cause of males? perhaps? friendship fluff. boys being boys aka bat boys are immature male dummies and reader is fed up.

Word Count: 3.4k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“Are you guys idiots?”

Your voice was a loud bellow as you made your way into Rhysand’s office. From the look on your face, the three males quickly realized that their dirty little secret had been exposed– something that they were all expecting, Azriel being the first to mention that they hadn’t done a great job at hiding it.

Sure, it was a silly idea for them to keep an ancient cursed object. Rhysand didn’t think it was real, when Cassian came running home and claiming he won it in a bet. The person seemed awfully enthusiastic to get rid of it, Cass had said, told me that it would change my life forever. Weird guy. It only took one interaction for Azriel’s shadows to instantly skitter from the small gold thing, whispering into Azriel’s ears like scared children. Cursed, old, evil, run.

Rhysand was going to tell you that they kept it, to get a better idea of it, that's all, and that it just so happened to be sitting on the table near your room. He was. At least, he planned on it.

It was Cassian who made the first move, leaning to the side and lowering his head slightly to Rhysand. “This feels like a trick question,” he attempted to whisper, but the sound was loud enough to carry through the room.

You ignored him, instead glaring at the violet eyes that held your gaze.

“You didn’t think to tell me about something this dangerous?”

“I just thought-”

“Thought what?” You asked him, mouth agape, “That you’d just lie to me about living with a deadly object?”

“We didn’t lie, we just didn’t tell you,” Cassian clarified innocently. He regretted his input once your stare met his and he quickly muttered out a small apology, looking to become as small as he could make his large form to be.

“And thats better?”

Rhysand let out a deep breath.

“Y/n, just calm down.”

Your head snapped to face him at a force that made him question how you hadn’t broken it. Rhysand’s eyes widened as they met yours, a sense of rage now flickering in your gaze. Azriel instantly grimaced at the words of his brother, his gaze meeting Cassian’s, whose eyes were wide as his mouth formed a small “oh.” Both males took a cautionary step backwards.

“Calm down?” you repeated, slowly stalking towards Rhysand with an icy calmness that made him instantly shrink.

“Well,” he started putting one palm out towards you, “I just mean that we should sit down and think rationally about this.”

“Think rationally?”

Rhysand looked over his shoulders in an attempt to seek some backup, but Cassian averted his gaze and Azriel simply shook his head. You’ve done it now, was what Azriel’s gaze seemed to say. His shadows curled around him, slithering up his body until they were peeking over his shoulders, alert and ready to watch— in amusement, it would seem.

Rhys nervously laughed.

“Can we start over?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Compared to the others, your bedroom was extremely large, adorned with its own fireplace and seating area. But with the three Illyrian males standing around you, it felt quite cramped. You watched as they wandered around your room, picking up your stuff and throwing it to each other. This was your fault, of course, since you’d specifically asked for them to come.

“Guys,” you said, “can we focus, please.”

The three males turned around to face you, all looking at you with wide stares and raised brows, as if they had been caught doing something they weren't supposed to be doing.

“Right,” Rhysand said as he balanced a small porcelain heart in his hand, a Solstice gift from Mor. He quickly glanced down at the object, eyes widening slightly before he turned his head and threw it in the air, effectively tossing it off to Cassian, who caught it with parted lips.

“Dude.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you walked forward.“Give me that,” you said as you ripped the item out of the males large, calloused hands.

“I need one of you to help me make Landon jealous.”

“Not it,” Rhys said, the words quickly tumbling out of his mouth as his hands flew up in surrender.

You stared at him blankly, your lips forming into a tight line.

“What?”

The line quickly turned into a scowl as you held his stare, a look of innocence on his beautiful features.

“Am I truly that hideous you don’t want to help me out?”

“Oh, please,” Rhysand said with a dramatic scoff, “You know you’re hot. We know you’re hot. But It’s not my fault you can’t flirt normally. This is a perfect night for me to get some, so, I can’t.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms carefully, the porcelain heart safely in your grasp.

“Were the two guys from last night not enough?”

Instantly, a smug grin found its way onto Rhysand’s face.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, his voice low and sultry. A sense of pride clung to him. “I’m a growing male, I have a healthy appetite.”

From beside him, Cassian nodded with a grin, putting his knuckles out for Rhys to give him a fist bump. Azriel simply let out a small laugh and shook his head, eyes trained on you as you grimaced, your nose crinkled with a frown.

“You make it sound like you're eating them.”

Somehow, the grin grew, his pearly white teeth gleaming at you.

“Aren’t I?”

“You’re gross,” you responded, “I don’t want your help anyways.”

Rhysand let his mouth fall open in feign offense and you seized the moment to flip him off– a vulgar gesture that he instantly returned. Azriel and Cassian exchanged a glance.

“I got you, Y/n,” Cass finally said, walking up to you to wrap his arm around your shoulder. He pulled you into his embrace, looking down at you with a large, wolfish grin. You held his eyes for a moment, thinking about how well Cassian fit into your plans. A subtle sense of doubt crept into you, and once Cassian wiggled his eyebrows, you were done for. Your eyes instantly flickered to the last of your best friends.

“Az?” Your voice was a soft plea, accompanied by a small, unsure smile that had Azriel sigh in defeat.

Cassian scoffed, pulling apart from you in an effort to see your entire face. “What? Why him?”

You gave a sheepish smile, your gaze bouncing between the three males before settling on him once more. “I love you, Cassian, but you won’t make him jealous.”

“And why not?”

It was Azriel who responded with a small snicker, “Because you’re easy.”

Cassian’s mouth was open in shock as he registered the statement, his eyelids falling in soft blinks before he let out another scoff.

“Well now I’m offended.”

“Don’t be,” Rhys said from across the room as he fell down on your couch, propping up his legs on the arms of it. “It means you’ve got a good game. Think about how many people you’ve fucked thats gotten you such a title. I mean the amount of puss-”

You let out a loud groan, pushing Cassian off you with a soft shove.

“Oh my Gods, we get it. You guys are slutty. Can we get back to me now? Please?”

Your words were only met with a round of laughter.

“And get your dirty shoes off my couch, Rhys.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“What the fuck happened to my cake?” You seethed, the words coming out bitter and sharp. The door slammed behind you as it collided with the wall, the impact of your entrance causing a dent in the surface.

The boys visibly recoiled, Cassian flinching at the roughness of your voice, a voice that was usually comforting and soft. The three males exchanged wary glances, and then Rhysand was lifting his chin.

“I-” he started, only to be interrupted by a cough from Cassian, “We don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“My powdered sugar pound cake, Rhysand. I know you guys did something. Where is it? Did you eat it? Destroy it?”

Another beat of silence. You were sure your teeth were bound to break with the force of your clenched jaw, your teeth gritting harder with every minute spent looking at their avoiding eyes.

“We didn’t touch your cake, Y/n.”

You glared at Rhys, the apparent dedicated spokesmen of the three, and let out a harsh exhale.

“There is powdered sugar on your hands!” You said, shoving an accusatory finger at them. "Right now!”

The males all simultaneously looked down at their hands, Cassian gasping in feign surprise– a sound so exaggerated you resisted the urge to hit him on the side of the head for the act alone. Rhysand was a bit more subtle, bringing his hands up to his face, examining them, and then tossing a casual shrug your way.

“This is completely unrelated powdered sugar.”

With a flare of your nostrils, you turned your head to face Azriel, who met your gaze with a small smirk on his face, of all things.

“And what's your excuse, Az?”

He shook his head. “Don’t have one.”

“So you admit you guys ate it?”

“I didn’t admit anything.”

You clenched your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms.

“Yes you did.”

Azriel’s eyebrow quirked, and then he was narrowing his eyes at you.

“Did I?”

“Yeah, Y/n, did he?” Cassian echoed, putting his hands on his hips.

Your nostrils flared as your gaze bounced between the three males. You wanted to take all three of their heads and knock them together, hope that one of them would produce a module of maturity.

They braced themselves for an outburst, for you to run up to one of them and hit them in the face, if anything, but nothing came. Instead you looked away and shook your head.

“Fuck you, guys. You suck. Gods.”

And you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You came to a halt as you turned the corner, now staring into the living room where your best friends stood shirtless next to one another, a determined look on their faces.

"What the hell are you guys doing?"

Rhys looked up with a grin. "We're settling a debate," he said, gesturing to the tape measure in his grip. "Gonna find out who's got the biggest wingspan."

You raised an eyebrow, bringing your finger up to your lips as you laughed.

"Want to place a bet?" Azriel said as he rolled his back, a small smirk on his lips.

Cassian flexed his wings behind him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he shook loose pieces of hair out of his face. "I'm pretty sure it's me," he boasted.

Rhys shook his head, his wings unfolding slightly as he stood up taller. "Not a chance," he countered. "I think you'll find mine's larger."

"What does wingspan really determine?" You asked incredulously.

You watched as all three males blinked, staring at you as if you had spoken in a tongue different than your own.

"Uh," Cass said, lifting a finger, "Absolutely everything, my dear, Y/n."

You rolled your eyes at him, but began walking to them in spite of yourself. When you found yourself in front of Rhysand, you looked up and put your palm out.

Rhys frowned, eyebrows furrowing at the outstretched hand.

"Well?" You said, raising your eyebrows. "For a proper assessment, you need a fair judge."

He grinned, enthusiastically shoving the tape measure into your palm.

"Alright boys," Rhys said, turning around to face his brothers, stretching his hands out as his wings extended behind him-- almost hitting you in the face. "Let's settle this."

One by one, your friends approached you, Rhysand with a grin, Azriel with a smirk, shadows pointed at the edge of his wings, and Cassian with a cheeky wink.

After all three had been measured, you stepped back, trying to hide your grin. "Looks like we have a winner."

Cassian puffed out his chest triumphantly. "I knew it!"

You raised an eyebrow. "Actually, Azriel's wingspan is slightly larger."

Cassian's face fell as Az let out a loud laugh in victory, shadows surrounding Cass like a mocking audience. He swatted them away with his hands.

Rhys chuckled, clapping Cassian on the back. "Looks like you'll have to concede this one, Cass. Being last place isn't so bad."

Cassian frowned. "Azriel cheated! His shadows held his wings up, I swear."

A snicker in response.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a sore loser."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

"Why do you look like that?"

You gasped in surprise, your hand flying to your heart as you turned to the source of the voice. Cassian stood in your doorway, casually leaning against the doorframe as he bit into an apple.

"Cassian!" You scolded, pushing your hair off your shoulder as you walked towards him. "You can't just come into my room and scare me like that!"

"Why not?" He said, mouth filled to brim with chewed apple bits.

You stared at his mouth with a frown, lifting your hand so that your nail could slightly scrape off a piece stuck to the stubble on his chin. Cassian gave you a smile as he finished chewing, wiping off his mouth with his free hand.

"Gross," you muttered. You shook off your hand before looking at him again, "And you just can't."

"Well I'm here, so, seems like I can."

You rolled your eyes, but Cass only smiled at the reaction.

"So why are you dressed like that?"

You frowned. "Like what?"

"Good. Like, hot.”

"Gee, thanks," you deadpanned, your head tilting to the side as you gave him a blank stare "You sure know how to make me feel confident."

Cassian let out a laugh, placing a soft, large hand on your forearm. "No, no, you always look good. But where ya going?"

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, but before you could respond, Rhys appeared behind Cassian, curiosity written all over his face.

"What's happening?" He said as walked in, throwing himself onto your bed. He frowned as his eyes scanned you. "You look pretty. What's going on?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, realizing you were about to have an audience.

"Guys, get out," you said firmly. "I'm going on a date."

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a quick glance before both of the males broke out into large grins.

"Ooooh, a date?" Cassian teased, brushing past you to sit next to Rhysand on your bed.

"Yes, now get out."

You walked towards them, attempting to grab their hands and pull them up with the sheer force of will. Between your futile attempts, Azriel's voice sounded from the doorway. "What are we all doing in your room?"

You let out a loud groan. "Where do you guys keep coming from?"

You turned around to face him, hands on your hips and an annoyed frown on your lips. Just as his brothers did, Azriel's eyes scanned your appearance.

"You look good," he said. His shadows curled around his body, a few around his ear as the corners of his lips turned upwards. "You're going on a date?"

From behind you, Cassian and Rhysand broke out into a sound that you could only describe as a giggle, the grown males turning to one another to make theatrical kissing sounds.

"You guys are so annoying. Get out."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

There was a soft knock at your door.

You groaned, slipping yourself further into your covers.

The knock came once more and you closed your eyes, hitting the back of your head against your pillow. "Leave me alone!"

Much to your dismay, your protest was met with the sound of your door opening and a heavy set of footsteps approaching your bed. It only took a few seconds before your beige covers were being lifted off your face. You squinted at the light that met your eyes.

"Well, look who's alive."

You scowled as your eyes met Rhysand's violet ones, a large smile on his face as he hovered over you. There was a softness in his eyes that made you feel guilty for the expression, and the scowl quickly turned into a small frown.

As you pulled yourself upright, Rhysand made himself comfortable at the edge of your bed. "How you feeling?"

Your knew your eyes were puffy and sensitive from the crying you'd done all night. You were grateful it was Rhysand who sat in front of you, someone you weren't embarrassed to be seen in such a state with.

"I just got cheated on,” you murmured, rubbing your face with your hands. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

He sighed, a small frown on his lips as he urged you to scoot farther into the bed, making room for him to situate himself next to you. As he maneuvered, you caught sight of your bedside table, now decorated with a large bouquet of multicolored flowers, delicately wrapped in with a white bow. Next to it sat a small bear, its fur a white and blue pattern that perfectly matched that of the ceramic heart gifted to you from Mor.

"Are those for me?"

Rhysand quickly glanced over before giving you a nod.

"Yeah," he said, "The florist gave me a whole explanation for every flower. I told her that I wanted to g-"

Rhys stopped as he noticed your staring, eyes wide as you looked at him, lips curled down. "What?" he asked.

You felt your lip quiver, a small burn in your chest as you looked at him. Realization quickly flickered in his eyes--- realization that you were about to start sobbing.

"Don't make it a thing," Rhys said, staring at you blankly. But as your eyes began to well with tears, his facade quickly broke and he sighed, putting an arm around you and pulling you in. "I had to take care of my best girl, okay?"

Your nose tickled as the corners of your eyesight became blurry, a sudden pool of tears now at the corners of your eyes. "Thank you," you told him, as you burrowed yourself further into his embrace.

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to bathe in the comfortable silence. But a second quickly passed, and both you and Rhysand jerked at the sound of your door slamming into the wall.

"I'm here!" Cassian's voice boomed.

You blinked at the sight in front of you, Cassian's hair messily tied together atop of his head, his hands barely containing a pile of food assortments. His chin rested against 2 tubs of ice cream haphazardly stacked on top one another, his palms desperately grabbing onto a variety of chocolates, candies, bags of chips, and fruits.

His eyes met yours, instantly softening at your appearance. He gave you a smile. "Hey, beautiful. Nice to see ya."

"What you got there, Cass?" Rhys said, his head tilting as he closely scanned the pile his brother clutched to his chest.

"I got everything," he responded, eyes darting between you and Rhys. They settled on you as he continued, "I didn't know what you'd want."

You let out a laugh, your cheeks suddenly straining from the impact of your smile. Your face fell as you examined his haul, your brows furrowing as you pointed to a small plastic bag.

"Are those... pads?"

Cassian attempted to look down, but the ice cream containers beneath his chin constricted his movements. "I'm not sure, the lady at the store said you probably needed them with everything I was buying."

Rhysand let out a snort at this, his hand affectionately rubbing up and down your bicep. You smiled as Cassian shuffled to your couch, carefully dropping the ideas on your cushions, and then moving to place the rest on the table.

"Hey," you said with a frown, "Wheres Az?"

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a glance.

"What?" You asked, looking between the two males. "Where is he?"

Cassian gave you a sheepish smile and then Rhys was laughing, a deep sound that you felt as his chest moved beneath you.

"Where do you think? He's beating the shit out of Landon."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

oh how nice it would be to live with the batboys with the vibes of new girl 😌 (until they do something stupid)

a/n: i’m slowly getting all my drafts and requests out 🫶🏻

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jamesmcalover · 29 days

Text

Dreamwalking

First Class!Charles Xavier x Mutant!Reader

Warnings: a bit spicy i guess? but no actual smut. idk what happened here... not proof read

Summary: the reader has the ability to enter people's dreams and stumbles across the one of Charles Xavier

Until finding out that mutants existed, you've never thought of your ability as a mutation, it was more of a spiritual skill to you, maybe even a blessing.

"Dreamwalking" is it what you called it. The ability to visit someone's dream, appear in their unconscious mind, manipulate it, or your favourite activity – fuck with them. Since dreaming is such a mystery to the world, you can easily go unnoticed when entering someone's dream and creating loops, for example. One time, you trapped a person in a recurring loop, where they experienced the same scenario over and over again, believing they've woken up only to find themselves still in the dream. Of course you have never done this with cruel intentions, it was purely for your personal entertainment.

It was almost like a routine for you, that's what you had always done. Until the night you stumbled into Charles Xavier's dream by accident.

You weren’t looking for anyone in particular – just wandering through the usual sea of minds as you often did, seeking out a little mischief to keep yourself entertained. But then, out of nowhere, you found yourself in a dream unlike any you’d ever encountered. You were expecting to find the usual chaos of unconscious thoughts and memories. But what you encountered was something entirely different. A fortress of mental defenses, meticulously constructed, each layer more intricate than the last. It was structured, orderly, almost as if someone had consciously crafted it. Curiosity got the better of you, and you pushed further, expecting to uncover the secrets of some overly disciplined mind. Instead, you walked right into the mental landscape of Charles Xavier. The moment you realized whose dream you were in, a chill ran down your spine.

The infamous Professor X was no stranger to you. A man who could read minds and bend the will of others with a mere thought. You had encountered him a few times before in a bar that you regularly visited, spoke a few times with him, but nothing ever really happened between the two of you. Even if there was no doubt of attraction from both sides. The Professor had a certain charm to him, that was definitely no secret, you've watched him flirt many times.

You figured that toying with his mind would be your greatest challenge yet, the ultimate test of your abilities.

But it almost seemed as if Charles had been expecting you, waiting for you to make your move. You had no idea how you’d ended up there, but one thing was clear – this was no ordinary dream, and you were no longer the one in control.

His mind didn’t seem very unconscious; it was as if he were awake, fully aware of your presence. That shouldn't have been possible – you weren’t supposed to be able to enter the mind of someone who was awake. Yet here you were, standing in the middle of his dreamscape, feeling an eerie sensation creeping through your body. The dream was too lucid, too controlled, as if he were orchestrating every detail with precision. The air felt thick with anticipation, and the familiar sense of power you usually had in others’ dreams was absent, replaced by a gnawing unease.

You were the intruder, but it felt like he was the one who had allowed you in, as if he had opened the door to his mind on purpose. That realization made you shiver, because if he was aware of you, it meant he could see you, could sense you. And if he could sense you, he could stop you. For the first time, you wondered if maybe you’d wandered too far, if perhaps you’d finally met someone who could turn your favorite game against you.

As the unsettling realization dawned on you, the dreamscape around you shifted subtly, the edges sharpening as if the world itself was honing in on your presence. Then, out of the silence, a calm yet commanding voice resonated through the space, wrapping around you like a vise.

"I’ve been expecting you."

The voice was unmistakable – Charles Xavier’s, clear and deliberate, with a weight that made your heart skip a beat. His words weren’t a question but a statement, as though he had known you would find your way into his mind eventually.

"You’re talented, I’ll give you that," he continued, his tone measured and controlled, "but did you really think you could wander through my thoughts unnoticed? This isn’t a playground, and you’ve ventured into dangerous territory."

The dreamscape solidified further, and you felt the weight of his gaze even before you saw him. When he finally appeared before you, his expression was serene, but his eyes held a depth of understanding that made it clear – you have lost every last ounce of control you might still have had left in that moment.

As Charles appeared before you, his presence dominating the dreamscape, the environment around you began to shift, reacting to his will rather than yours. The walls of the dream narrowed, the colors dimming until everything seemed to fade into a muted gray. The ground beneath you felt unstable, like it could collapse at any moment, but Charles remained steady, his gaze unwavering.

"You're not here by accident," he said, stepping closer, his voice resonating with a calm authority. "Something drew you to me, whether you intended it or not."

You tried to push back, to exert some control over the dream, but it was like pressing against a brick wall. Your powers, usually so reliable, felt sluggish, ineffective under the weight of his mind. For the first time, you felt truly vulnerable, as if you were the one being manipulated.

Charles tilted his head slightly, as if considering his next words carefully. "You have potential, but your actions show a lack of direction, a misunderstanding of the responsibility that comes with your power."

Before you could respond, the dreamscape shifted again, this time to a familiar place—a room from your past, one you hadn’t thought of in years. The memories attached to it were private, intimate, yet here they were, laid bare before him.

Charles's gaze lingered on you as the dreamscape transformed into that intimate room from your past. The walls seemed to pulse with the echoes of your old memories, shadows flickering like half-remembered dreams. He stepped closer, the air charged with a tension that seemed to crackle with each movement.

"You're not just a curiosity to me," he said, his voice now soft, almost seductive. "There's something intriguing about you. Something that's far more than just your powers."

You felt a mix of frustration and an unexpected flutter of excitement.

This wasn't how you'd expected the encounter to go. The dream, once a playground for your mischief, now felt like a stage set for something far more intense. Charles's eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you in this charged space.

"Do you really think you can understand me, just by manipulating me?" you challenged, your voice carrying a note of defiance. But even as you spoke, you could feel the heat between you growing, his presence so overwhelming it was almost tangible.

Charles's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to understand what drives you. And I think," he said, his tone dropping to a whisper, "that you might be more complicated than you let on."

He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against your arm. The touch was electric, sending a shiver up your spine.

The warmth of his skin against yours was almost too real, and you could feel the pull of attraction despite the situation's inherent strangeness.

"Maybe we should explore this connection further," he suggested, his voice low and enticing. "There's a lot more to discover about your power."

Before you could respond, Charles closed the distance between you. His lips found yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected. The kiss was both a challenge and an invitation, a way to bridge the gap between the fierce intellect and raw attraction that had been building between you.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment. But then, giving in to the magnetic pull between you, you deepened the kiss, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. The dreamscape around you seemed to blur as the kiss consumed you both, transforming the scene into a private cocoon of desire and exploration.

Charles's hands roamed over your back, drawing you into his embrace, the kiss growing more fervent, more urgent.

You responded in kind, matching his passion with your own, every touch and caress revealing a layer of the complex emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface.

"Tell me," Charles said softly, his voice almost gentle now, "what is it you truly seek? Power? Control? Or is there something else you’re running from?"

"I'm not running", you said confidently as you leaned back a little to look at him properly. His fingers were still dancing over your back and your body responded with goosebumps.

"Are you not?", he asked, his accent almost thicker as it usually was, "why are you doing this then? Manipulating so many dreams?"

You weren't sure what the answer to his question was. Why did you do it? Maybe you did seek a little power from time to time...

You shrugged your shoulders, tired of talking about your powers when there was a handsome man right in front of you to kiss. Your fingers toyed with the hair in his neck as he mustered you intensely. Then he kissed you again, this time, more forcefully. He grabbed your hips pulling you forward to meet his own hips. A moan escaped your mouth and Charles grunted. If it hadn't already been a dream, you would have thought it was one.

In this shared dream, the boundaries between control and surrender, power and vulnerability dissolved into a shared, heated connection. What began as a struggle for dominance had become a dance of passion and desire, where every touch, every whisper, spoke of a deeper, unspoken bond between you

#charles xavier #x men #charles xavier fanfic #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier fanfiction #james mcavoy x reader #james mcavoy #x men fanfiction #deadpool

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sunnyskiesscareme · 9 months

Text

My Heart’s Racing, and it isn’t the Exercise

Luke Hughes x reader

Summary: Luke Hughes has a gym crush, and his brother wants a sister in law

Warnings: there’s a reference to like… dropping a weight on his head to induce memory loss, you’ll understand if you read it 😭 other than that, nothing!! (Unless u include Luke embarrassing himself but that’s just cuz he’s a cutie patootie)

Notes: I’m so sorry I’ve barely posted!! Uni is kicking my ass. Still, I appreciate all the support on my previous fics!! Y’all are so kind!! Also, a lil reference to the readers job as a hairdresser

Luke was sure that if y/n wasn’t here, he’d cry.

He had explicitly told his brother that he needed to be at the gym within 10am-11:30am, and no later. He hadn’t told him why, exactly, but he thought he made himself pretty clear anyhow. It wasn’t like Jack to be late to anything, but Jack had expressed that he believed you couldn’t be late to the gym in the first place. To him, it was a personal pleasure. Luke would have agreed if it weren’t for the girl with the strict schedule, who went everyday, at the same time, with no exceptions.

He couldn’t explain that to Jack without the certainty of him telling the whole Devil’s team about his little crush, and suddenly the chirping would go beyond anything he’d ever live down. So instead, when Jack would roll his eyes at his brother with a comment about being uptight, Luke would bite back with a reminder that Jack had assigned certain coats to certain hooks in the entrance way. Surely, Luke was not the uptight one in that apartment.

Jack had only hurried things up when his brother threatened to leave without him, jingling his keys and walking to the door with exaggerated stomps. Still, they had only left the house at 10:41, and for reasons unbeknownst to Jack, Luke had refused to switch to the gym nearest their building. It was 10:53 when they got there, and Luke ignored his brothers scolds for his crooked parking job, rushing to check who was at the girl’s favourite machine. It was then that Luke realized he had never learned her name. Had she ever even had a full conversation with him?

She was there, in all of her beauty, but Luke didn’t crack a smile. Instead, he walked over to the chest press for his warmup as if he had never seen her. His sudden stop-and-stare session did not go unnoticed by his brother, who not so subtly squinted his eyes in her direction, trying to find what had his little brother so dazed. His eyes flickered to the dejected look on his face, back to the girl, and then to the foot that Luke was subconsciously tapping. A knowing grin grew on Jack's face before he wiped it off with the back of his hand, wringing his wrist out in an act of preparation for his dead-lift warmup. He halted when he began to pass by Luke, stomping his foot on the ground exaggeratingly as he turned to his brother.

"Luke, Luke," Jack said, bending down to reach ear level with him. "You see that girl over there? The one on the, uh, the walking thingy?"

"The elliptical." Luke corrected, a little bit too fast. He’d learned the name of the machine a while ago, just in case he needed it one day.

"Yeah, whatever. She's real pretty, huh?"

Luke's eyes met Jack's so fast it hurt, and he blinked a couple of times to make the room stop spinning. His knuckles turned white at the grip he had on the bars of the machine, despite having paused the lifting to speak to his brother. "What- why?"

"I think I’m gonna ask her out."

"No!" Luke yelped, and those in the gym who weren't wearing headphones or struggling to breathe with the intensity of their workout glanced over at him curiously. His cheeks burned bright red, and Jack had to repress a smirk. "She’s," he shook his head, "She's not even your type."

“What? Of course she is. You don’t think she’s pretty?”

“She’s-!” Luke started, chest puffed up and eyes wide as he went to defend the girl. That was, until the smile on his brothers face looked a little bit too evil to be classified as adoring, and Luke squinted his eyes at him. “What are you trying to do here?”

Jack let out a girlish giggle and gave him a smack to his knee. “I think you think she’s pretty!”

“Shut up!” He wacked his brother right back.

“I think you’ve beaten me to her!”

“Jack, stop.” Luke begged, gripping his brothers wrist strongly enough for Jack to wince, his eyes wide as saucers.

Jack snickered, wringing out his wrist. He glanced back at the girl, whose machine beeped as she finished her cool down. “C’mon! She’s done. Go talk to her!”

“What? No!” Luke refused, his voice much quieter and harsher than his brothers. “No, she’s leaving anyway.”

Jack glanced at the girl again, who had finally stepped off of the machine and stood in front of a window. Her silhouette was black as she tipped her head towards the ceiling to chug down some water. He looked back at Luke. “I don’t think so… looks like she’s just having a drink before her next workout.”

“No.” Luke shook his head, certainty in his movements. “It’s 11:30. This is when she leaves.”

Luke seemed to have not realized the weight his words held before he said them, and quickly made himself busy with his machine before Jack’s head jerked foreword, his jaw dropped far enough that if he had dared to look, Luke would be able to count all of his teeth.

“Woah, woah, wait a minute!” He said, stepping in front of his little brother so that he had no casual excuse for avoiding his gaze. “Is this why you’ve been whining every day about when we get here?”

Luke cringed, ending his first rep early to stick an earbud in his ear. “I’m working out. Can’t hear ya.”

“Oh my god!” Jack gaped, yanking the earbud back out. “This is why I have to go to a gym 15 minutes away from my apartment- that has a gym in the building?”

“It’s only 10, don’t be such a baby.” Luke groaned, seeing no point in trying to hide his little secret any longer.

“Oh my god. Luke, I’m being serious right now, if you don’t go talk to her- I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

Luke’s eyes worriedly flicked back to where she stood before, but let out a breath when she wasn’t there anymore. He didn’t know wether it was of relief or disappointment, but he forced himself not to dwell on the weird feeling in his chest. “She’s… She’s gone anyways.”

Jacks head whipped to the window and then back to his brother so fast that Luke was surprised he wasn’t in pain. He quickly promised himself he’d give him pain if he looked at him like that any longer- his brows slightly furrowed, eyes more pitiful than annoyed. Jack let out a soft huff. “Next time then.”

---

Jack was ready before Luke was the next morning, bouncing on the balls of his feet on the mat in front of the door. Luke walked sluggishly, something he hadn’t done since he had first seen her. He was sure this would be the last day at her gym- certain he’d be too humiliated to return.

“Could you wipe that look off your face, please?” Luke asked, annoyed.

His grin only grew, flashing his recently fixed straight white teeth. “Why would I? Todays the day- Lukey Boy is getting a girlfriend!”

Luke rolled his eyes.

The 10 minute car ride was mostly silent. To Jack, it had felt like the longest ride he’d ever taken, even with all of the complaints he’d given about the length of the drive in the past. This was most certainly the worst of them all. To Luke, it had been the shortest. He’d listed multiple plans for certain scenarios in his head, noting that if he really needed to, there were weights near the elliptical she used that he could drop on his head if he needed to forget he’d ever seen her. Maybe his brother would feel bad enough to never bring it up again. He planned to run a few fast miles on a treadmill beforehand, so that he could build up some adrenaline, and blame his red face on the exercise.

Jack walked in with a pep in his step, only stopping when his brother suddenly grabbed his wrist. His face was white and his eyes wide, and Jack had never seen him so scared to talk to a girl before. “She’s gonna think I’m a creep.”

“No she won’t! Just… don’t be a creep, and you’ll be fine.”

Luke releases his brothers wrist to run a stressed hand down his face. “I hate you.”

“Luke, it’s gonna be fine, I’m telling you.” Jack tried to reason. He sent him a funny smile, “Plus, you’re in the NHL. what girl would say no to that?”

Luke didn’t laugh, and Jack licked his lip awkwardly. “Buddy, just do it. There’s no use comforting you now- she hasn’t even rejected you yet!”

“Yet!”

“No!” Jack gripped Luke’s shoulders tightly. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Now go. Now. It’s time.”

Luke almost tripped, his feet too nervous to react to the push his brother gave him. He prayed that it was too bright outside to see the reflection in the window her machine overlooked, and that she didn’t see any of that. He stood awkwardly a safe distance away from her, looking back at his brother who gave him a not-so-subtle thumbs up.

She was changing the song coming through her headphones when she felt the presence of someone next to her. She turned, startled when someone was actually there. He was tall, but had a young, sweet face. His hair was long enough for him to have to push behind his ear and she could imagine him hating it. Most people with curly or wavy hair did, she had learned from work, but his was her favourite texture to cut and work with. She’d recognized him well. He seemed to have a similar schedule to her, and she had used him as proof to her friends that she wasn’t uptight. He was too handsome to look at, she had decided one day. She couldn’t afford a gym crush, not when she was doing so well with her gym streak. It would complicate things. She flicked an earbud out, giving him a friendly, but curious smile.

“Hi.” He said, the word breathy.

“Hi.” She said back with a slight chuckle. “Did you need something?”

“Oh! Sorry, uh,” she didn’t notice Jack watching them, cringing at the way his brother stuttered. “I was wondering… if I could use that machine.”

She blinked at him, eyes flickering to the 3 other ellipticals lining the large window, still and unused. She nodded anyway. “Uh, yeah! Sure!” She said, stepping off and beside the guy, who looked much taller from the new angle. “Are, are the other ones not working?”

“Uh-“

“Nope!” She jumped at the loud voice behind her, looking right in time for her to miss how Jack stepped on the machines cord, unplugging it. He smacked his hand on the buttons exaggeratedly, proving to her that it wouldn’t turn on.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’ve been hogging the only working one, haven’t I?”

“No, no! You’re okay. Uh, I just, um-“

“My brother thinks you’re pretty!” Jack blurted out, cutting off his stuttering.

Luke looked mortified, shoulders curling in on himself. Y/n reddened, her lips unintentionally curling up into a giddy smile. “Oh! Thank you!” She let out a nervous chuckle. “Um, you’re his brother?”

“I’m so sorry.” He said instead of answering, and she hoped he didn’t look so sick because his brother lied.

“Don’t be! I’m,” she let out another nervous chuckle, “I’m very flattered.”

“You should let him buy you a smoothie from the drink bar.” Jack suggested, grinning wildly. Y/n felt brave under his enthusiasm.

“Jack!” Luke pleaded, fists balled up.

“He doesn’t have to pay.” She said, and she smiled awkwardly at their intense gazes. “Uh, I mean… are you thirsty?”

“You want to get a smoothie with me?”

“Well, sure! Only if you tell me your name though.” She giggled

He looked at her, his gaping lips turning up into a smile. “Luke.”

Luke had never loved his brother more. He hadn’t listened as he came up with some excuse for leaving the two of them alone. Something about already having water or having to get his workout in while he could, Luke assumed. He didn’t really care. He had imagined a million ways his day could go, and he had somehow lived the one he didn’t think would ever happen. He smiled at her, panicking when she began to reach for the pack she had around her waist. “I’ll pay!”

She looked back up at him. “Wow! A cute boy calls me pretty and buys me a smoothie in one day? This isn’t what I imagined would happen when I walked into the gym today.” She giggled, walking with him.

“Yeah… neither did I.”

#sunnyspouts #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke Hughes x fem!reader #nhl x reader #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl players

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storiesofsvu · 2 months

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Bump in the Night

Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: language, some anxiety/fear, aaron to the rescue type vibes, nothing serious, just a creeper. This was supposed to be a drabble... I do not know what happened...

While you weren’t actually part of the BAU, you were best friends with Penelope which meant that any girls night’s, baking tutorials, birthday, Christmas or Halloween celebrations, you were invited. Over all of those events you’d become a friend of everyone on the team, a happy face for them to see after a long week or more away. You regularly helped Penelope get things set up for them or were the one out running errands or picking up treats while she was finishing work. It was as if the two of you were their own personal slice of sunshine, which was exactly why Hotch always felt a blooming of warmth in his chest whenever Garcia mentioned you’d be in attendance or he’d round the corner and lay eyes on you.

The two of you clicked, he surprised himself, already coming out of his shell on the first night you’d met, something he usually reserved until he’d had time to fully profile someone and make sure their intentions were good. Instead you had him laughing by the end of the night, a sight that you definitely wanted to see again. There was a mild flirtation, but nothing that anyone else ever picked up on, and not one that ever moved past a little tease here or there, an offhand comment about how you were prettier than the girl eyeing Aaron up, or that the muscley firefighter really wasn’t your type. You were friends, which was all you really needed.

Friends morphed into good friends over the course of the year that you knew each other. First it was a run in at a coffee shop, Aaron halfway out the door in a rush to work, just enough time to flash you a warm smile and say hello before parting ways.

The second time he was pulling into a gas station, spotting you hanging up the nozzle a few pumps down before you got back into your car to peel away down the street.

The third was the produce section of the grocery store, you spotted him first, eyes darting through the items in his basket, nearly making him jump when you suddenly spoke from behind him once you’d figured out what he was making for dinner.

Number four was a bright sunny Saturday afternoon, Jack had insisted on going to the park with a few friends and Aaron ended up chaperoning. One of the kids spotted a friendly dog and when they raced of to pet it, he realized you were on the other end of the leash and made a comment that he didn’t know you had a dog. With a glittering laugh you explained you were dog sitting and the moment Jack realized you were a friend of his dad’s; Aaron was the one stuck dog sitting while you were being dragged around the playground.

The fifth was a late Friday evening, Jack was away for the weekend and Aaron had stopped to pick up a bottle of wine to have with his take out. While he stood staring at the bottles he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye but didn’t look up until he heard the familiar laugh as you snuck in front of him to grab your favourite. He asked if you had a hot date and you practically snorted, saying the only company you had that night was a pair of sweats and your couch. You then raised a playful eyebrow and teasingly asked if he’d been stalking you and his cheeks instantly tinged pink, nearly fumbling his words as he tried to explain he lived around the corner. Your hand on his elbow suddenly brought him back down to his senses and he was able to laugh it off when he clued in that you were completely joking, explaining you’d been wondering the same thing.

Upon the discovery that you were in adjacent neighbourhoods and that you worked from home, you exchanged phone numbers. On the off chance the jet was delayed, you could pick up Jack from school, stopping at the park for an hour until Aaron was home, maybe even get started on dinner and homework. If there was a last minute case and Jessica was still at work, you’d head over to be the in between buffer so Hotch could leave right away. He was insistent on you calling whenever you needed anything, he picked up your mail when you went on vacation, helped out with the leaky pipe in your laundry room and came in very handy when it came to changing the light bulbs you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

Currently, Jack was away at summer camp and Aaron was swindled into finally using up some of his vacation time. The first few days he’d deep cleaned the house from top to bottom, next it was a similar treatment for the yard. By the time he’d reached the second Tuesday he’d ran out of things to do until he ran into you at the corner store and you suggested seeing a movie considering neither of you had anything to do and the movie theatre air conditioning couldn’t be beat. With the heat on the rise, and a plethora of summer blockbusters you continued the new tradition each night that week. Most days you drove together, Aaron either picking you up or walking you home from his place depending on the weather.

Friday you’d been out with friends for a late lunch, had a handful of errands to run and were closer to the theatre than home, meeting him there. When he asked if you needed a ride you let out a small laugh, explaining that you’d driven, but thanked him anyway, the smile evident on your cheeks as he wordlessly insisted on walking you to your car at the very least.

Car windows down you had music going on the drive home, pulling into the driveway and enjoying the song for one more chorus before finally turning off the ignition and collecting your things. You made your way through the front door, relocking it behind you and tossing your keys down onto the small table in the entry way as you toed off your shoes.

You were making a beeline through the house to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water when a couple of thumps from the other side of the wall caused you to jump, your heart leaping in your chest. You left the kitchen light off, tip toeing through the room and you realized you’d left the kitchen window ajar earlier to get some fresh air in. Letting out sigh of relief you pushed it down so it was only open an inch or two, though your eyes caught movement across the yard, a clattering that sounded like your garbage bins and your brow furrowed, wondering why the automatic security light hadn’t caught what you figured was a raccoon.

Padding across to the doorway you flicked the light switch a couple of times, normally if the light was activated already that did the trick, but this time the yard remained pitch black.

“For fuck’s sake.” You muttered, digging around in a cupboard until you found a spare bulb before unlocking the back door and stepping onto the porch. Reaching up you went to unscrew the bulb and let out another annoyed sigh that it was actually just loose, so you screwed it back in, shielding your eyes as it burst to life.

The screen door swung shut behind you as you stepped back inside and you noticed a small duffle bag on the edge of the porch that at first glance didn’t look that familiar, but you didn’t really think much of it. A few people on your street often leant things to one another and you had been waiting on a couple of gardening tools, but you weren’t about to look into it now. The hairs on the back of your neck were still standing up and you were ready to be back inside behind locked doors, especially as your motion stilled and the light flicked off once again.

As you crossed through the kitchen to finally pull open the fridge you heard yet another clatter from outside and your stomach dropped when the security light flicked back on. Fridge quickly shut you backed into it, up on your toes in an attempt to peer out the window, praying it was just an animal. There was a light scuffling right at the back porch and you were so thankful for having immediately locked the door.

You were even more thankful for the lock when your eyes finally caught the movement, a hand creeping up through the railing near the duffle bag and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips. At the sound, the hand froze and you immediately leapt forward, slamming the kitchen window all the way shut and you saw a shadowy figure dart through the outskirts of the yard, just out of reach of the light. Your heart thundering in your chest you were honestly surprised you were able to dig your phone out of your pocket and find Aaron’s contact.

“Hotchner.”

You felt a brief wave of relief wash over you at how quickly he answered, “I’m really wishing I’d taken you up on that ride now…”

“Why?” His voice immediately tensed, “what’s wrong?”

“There’s someone in my yard…” you let out a breath you’d been holding when the light outside flicked off, your shoulders starting to relax, “pretty sure he was there before I got home.” A crash echoed through the air and you jumped, your voice wavering when you spoke again “fuck he’s still here.”

“I’m already on my way, keep the doors locked, the lights off and stay away from the windows.”

“Yeah.” You muttered, heart racing as you heard his car start through the phone and he assured you he’d be right over before the phone line clicked.

Trying to keep your breath calm you kept your eyes trained on the window, backing into the pantry door so you were concealed by the fridge but could still see if the light went off again. It was only a matter of moments later you heard a car squealing to a halt out front, the door slamming shut followed by Aaron’s voice. You caught his shadow moving around the side of the house and the light in the backyard flicked back on when he announced himself, the gate booted open and you were just able to see someone launching themselves over the back fence into the alley before running off. All they needed was the threat of a federal agent and the assumption of a gun to peel off into the night.

You felt your breathing calming down as the sound of running got further and further away, finally dropping down into a chair at the kitchen table. Aaron, being Aaron, wasn’t satisfied with just running the perp off, doing a full sweep of both your front and back yards, checking the alleyway, under the porch and any nooks and crannies anything or person could possibly have been stashed. You heard him on the back step and glanced up to see him sifting though the duffle bag, a frown on his face, his lips pressed into a firm line. With a huff he scooped up the bag and sauntered across the yard, dropping it on the other side of the fence with the garbage before making his way back to the door. A brisk knock echoed through the kitchen followed by his voice,

“He’s gone, it’s just me, Aaron.”

You couldn’t help but let out a breath of a laugh, as if you hadn’t had your eyes on him the entire time, making sure everything was okay. Crossing the room you finally turned the kitchen light on, unlocking the door and letting it swing open.

“Hey.” You smiled softly, “thanks.”

“Of course.” His lips formed a tight smile as he stepped into the house, locking the door behind himself, “just to be safe I want to do a sweep inside, stay put.” His hand squeezed at your elbow as he moved past you and you were left awkwardly standing in your own kitchen until he returned.

“No psycho killers?” You asked, a shaky laugh in your throat.

“All empty.” He nodded, his features softening as he noticed the rapid rising and falling of your chest, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” You tried to wave him off but he took a step closer to you.

“Come here.” He crooked his hand and you surprised yourself with how quickly you closed the gap between the two of you, enveloping yourself in his arms. Aaron squeezed at you tightly, tucking you under his chin and just letting you breathe until he felt the tension begin to melt away from your body. “It’s alright. He’s gone and I highly doubt he’s coming back.” His lips brushed against the top of your hair as he spoke and something about it calmed you even further, finally pulling out of the embrace.

“What was in the bag?”

“Trophies.” He replied with a sigh and he only caught himself when your eyes widened. “No, no, not those kind of trophies.” His hand squeezed at your shoulder, “sorry. Keepsakes, prizes, expensive things that can be pawned or sold to the highest bidder. My guess is he was only here to get your valuables, you spooked him coming home and he just wanted the bag back, he probably hit a few houses on the block before here.”

“God he was on the porch.” You shivered, “probably right as I walked in.”

“And your instinct was to grab a light bulb?” Aaron’s lips twitched up in a teasing grin and your brow furrowed until you followed his gaze and realized you hadn’t let go of the object yet.

“No.” You huffed, “the backyard light wasn’t working, I went to change it but it just needed to be tightened.”

“You were out there?”

“Yeah.” You shivered again, this time heavier, “he was probably less than a foot away. God, that was stupid.”

“Agreed.” He frowned in your direction, “that happens again you call me right away, alright?”

“You think he loosened it?”

“Most likely. Easier to stay in the darkness, not alert the neighbours of anything weird. You’ve always said Mrs. Ferguson was a bit too nosy.” His lips flicked up into a grin again and you let out a small laugh, “he probably cased the neighbourhood, have you been keeping the same daily routine recently?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “movies with you. But we almost always go at the same time and tonight’s movie wasn’t any shorter or anything, so why would I have been home before he expected it?”

It was Aaron’s turn to fumble over his words, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink while he quickly ducked his gaze, letting out an awkward laugh before he glanced back up at you. “I guess now would be the proper time to admit that when I drive, I tend to take the scenic route…”

Your head titled in a curious and adorable way that didn’t help the burning in Hotch’s cheeks, “what? What’d you mean?”

God you were absolutely going to be the death of him and he knew it. This summer had finally brought something to the edge for Aaron and he’d been holding back, happy with the time he got to spend with you. The evening hangouts had began to start to feel more and more like dates with each one that went passed and he’d been hoping that you would start to think the same and be the one to break the tension. Instead, he found himself feeling flustered, standing in your kitchen at nearly midnight having to explain it to you.

“Don’t get me wrong, the movies are great, but there’s something about the way you light up afterwards that just makes me smile.” He started and you felt a fluttering begin in your stomach, one that finally wasn’t due to fear, “hearing you gush about things, delve so deep into characterization or the cinematography of it all, seeing you so passionate about it.. it just makes me happy. Honestly, it’s my favourite part of the day.”

“Oh…” you replied, the realization washing over you and for a moment Aaron was afraid you were about to step back, ask him to leave, but then you giggled and the smile broke out on your lips, “so you’re just a big ole’ softie?”

He shook his head, the smile bright on his cheeks, “I’ve grown to adore the time we spend together. I was planning on taking a detour tonight too, Pintango just launched a lavender honey flavour this week—”

“And you remembered that I couldn’t shut up about wanting to try it after the movie last week…” you felt your cheeks heat, “embarrassing on my part yet endearing on yours.”

“And lucky on life’s behalf that it didn’t happen, you’d be down a few heirlooms and pieces of technology.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You wrapped you arms around yourself, “my adrenaline’s high enough lord knows I’m not gonna be able to sleep anytime soon.” With a sigh you glanced across at him, “don’t suppose you feel like sticking around for a bit? Keeping me company while I ramble on and on about useless facts?”

The sly smile on your cheeks nearly melted Aaron and he laughed softly, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

He followed you out to the couch, letting you get comfortable while you voted on a number of different movies before finally settling on one. A movie and a half later and you were relaxed into the crook of his arm, his hand just daring to softly play with your hair. You let out a long yawn, sinking even further into his side and he chuckled softly.

“You should get to bed, get some actual rest.”

“I’m still on edge. I don’t want to have to call you to come running for every bump in the night.”

This time Aaron did squeeze at your shoulder, shifting on the couch so you were forced to sit up straight and he could catch your gaze.

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t going anywhere, at least not until sunrise. That creep’s likely going to come back for his bag, that’s why I dumped it in the alley rather than bringing it inside. I don’t want you to be alone for that.”

“Mmm…” you hummed, a sleepy smile on your cheeks, “you’re sweet. Thank you.” Leaning in, your lips brushed against his cheek and Aaron felt his stomach do a flip flop. He squeezed at your hand, giving you a soft smile as you finally stood up off the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

“Sweet dreams.” He replied and you weren’t sure whether it was his words or the sleepiness that was making everything feel warm and fuzzy as you made your way to the bedroom.

It was a few hours later when you rolled over, only awake enough to shift your body into a more comfortable position until a thump outside had your eyes shooting open. It was very quickly followed up by the hissing of two cats and you let out a huff, rolling back onto your side.

Your bedroom door was left cracked open and there was a sliver of light and the tiniest hint of noise coming from the living room meaning Hotch was likely still awake. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for a hoodie to tug over your head before you padded out to the living room, finding your overnight company peering out the window blinds. At the sound of your footsteps he glanced back over to you, his body relaxing.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” you waved him off with a small yawn, “couple a cats outside my window.” You covered a second yawn with your hand and Aaron barely moved from his spot, curious as to why you were up already. You glanced from him to the couch, a mug of coffee on the coffee table, and finally to the television. “Hey…” you started, picking at the sleeves of your hoodie, “I get you’re doing the whole protective thing—and I appreciate it! I really do…but uh.. there’s no reason for you to stay awake all night.” You took a breath, the butterflies in your stomach fully awake and doing laps, “might as well come to bed.”

“Oh, well I was just going to wait until morning, head home to nap…” He started, unsure of what he even wanted to say. He was pretty sure you’d just woken up, and there was a pretty high change that your choice of words weren’t exactly what you intended, “but if you’re feeling okay, I could make up the couch?”

“Aaron.” You laughed, “the sun’ll be up in a couple of hours anyways, you need to sleep too.”

“I still want to make sure you’re safe, I’ll be alert out here.” He offered and you chuckled once again.

“And if he comes in through the bedroom window? No better place to protect me than right beside me.” You extended out your hand, “c’mon, humour me? Maybe I talk in my sleep and you’ll get to listen to more of those ramblings you seem to adore so much.”

It appeared the lack of adrenaline coursing through your veins and a couple hours of sleep made you not only fully comprehend what Aaron had admitted to earlier, but much more ballsy about acting on it. He laughed softly, feeling the heat creeping up the back of his neck and after glancing between you and the couch he knew that the latter was going to do a number on his back if he actually slept on it. So he flicked off the television, scooped up his phone and your hand slid into his like a glove so you could lead him to the bedroom.

You wordlessly climbed back into your bed, curling up on your side, letting out a soft sigh as you nuzzled into the pillows. Aaron watched you for a moment in the low light, a warmth blooming through his chest at just how at peace and comfortable you were with him around and he realized maybe there was something he liked even better than your ramblings.

“If you’re just gonna stand there and stare at me all night maybe I should kick you back to the couch.” You teased, your eyes cracking open and he let out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he snuck under the blankets.

“This okay?” He asked, trying not to take up too much of your space.

“Yes.” You replied, a smile on your lips as your eyes fell shut again, “but I can’t be held responsible if we wake up cuddling.”

Aaron chuckled, relaxing into the pillow as his breathing finally began to slow, chest rising and falling at the same time yours did, lulling him into sleep quicker than he could have imagined.

The stream of light coming through the blinds and the chirping of a bird outside your window was what woke him up first, his eyes scrunching slightly before they finally opened. His lips curved up into a grin, as it certainly did seem like you wouldn’t be the one responsible for any cuddling. You’d barely moved from where you’d curled up the night before, just rolled over to face the window, yet Aaron found himself wrapped around your back, arm circled around your waist, his head barely on his own pillow.

He shifted slightly, attempting to stretch out the stiff parts of his body without moving entirely and waking you up. However his attempts proved futile as you let out a soft groan, eyes scrunching at the brightness of the room before you stretched out your legs and rolled over to face him, a sparkle already in your eyes.

“Morning.” You murmured.

“Morning.” He replied, smiling softly.

“So not only are you a softie, you’re a sleep cuddler… what other secrets are you hiding?” You asked with a tease and he laughed.

“Would you believe me if I said I crocheted in my downtime?”

“Not in a million years. You don’t have any downtime.” Laughing, you swatted at his chest before sitting up, fully stretching your body out with a soft groan.

“Guess that one was a little too obvious.” He replied with a chuckle, sitting up at the sound of his phone pinging. He swiped open the notification as you swung your legs out of bed, scrolling through a couple of things on your own phone as you padded toward the hallway.

“Work?” You asked, his footsteps following you down the hallway toward the kitchen, “or do you have time for coffee?”

“No.” He pocketed his phone, “but unfortunately, also no. I promised Garcia I’d help her install one of those cat wall climbing, enrichment, obstacle courses.”

“Cute.” You shot him a smile before scooping out the appropriate amount of coffee for yourself.

“But if you’re free tonight…” he stepped toward you as you turned back to face him, “maybe I could pick you up, we could go get some ice cream?” Somehow Aaron’s heart wasn’t thundering in his ears this time and the smile you looked up at him with really was about to make him melt.

“I’d like that.” You replied, the butterflies in your stomach calmed, spreading warmth through your entire body.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s a date.” Smiling, his hand reached out, smoothing back a piece of your hair before trailing down your cheek, “I’ll see you at seven.” His hand on your chin he tilted your head to the side, lips brushing against your cheek, lingering for just a moment before he stepped back. You couldn’t help but smile at the slight blush on his cheeks as he gathered his things and headed toward the front door.

“I’ll see you at seven.” You repeated his words, “and Aaron?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t ever be afraid to call.”

“Oh believe me, I won’t.”

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