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forlix · 11 months ago

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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 suppose 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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hischokehold · 5 months ago

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Pretty Please?

older!könig with a pretty girl who won't leave him alone.

"Hello, mister officer." Pretty doe eyes nearly melt in his, tilted up so sweetly just so you could meet his gaze. Arms locked around his, clinging so gently to his biceps like you have been for the past two weeks.

König grumbled, barely taking a glance at you and your provocative outfit, teasing him. "Back for more, little girl? What did I tell you?" He tsks, baby blues barely evading your exposed cleavage pressed up against him.

"To focus on my studies. I am. Swear I am. Aced my exams, don't I deserve a reward?" You hummed, though he found your words rather hard to believe when you were so obviously checking him out.

You've been getting bold recently, haven't you, liebling?

It all started with a simple encounter, really; with König saving your drunken state from a group of men in his local bar. The perfect damsel in distress. He had pulled you by his hip, dragging you to the nearest bench to slip your glittery high heels right back into your feet. It was one of the rare moments where the colonel wasn't in the front lines. Still, he found himself a little pastime, using his influence to do some shady deals in the city's biggest club.

He didn't exactly expect to have such a cute thing clinging to him.

After a few minutes of listening to your rambling, cooing at you, König finally called you a cab and sent you off. A nice encounter, that's all it was.

Until he found you and your little self began throwing yourself at him almost every night, practically begging for his attention. "Just wanted to thank you for last time," You pout, batting your lashes at him. "Can't I do that?"

You could still see the remnants of blues in his knuckles from beating those bastards to a pulp. His big hands pat the small of your back in a reprimanding manner, shamefully reminding you that you were smitten by a man who you met barely a week ago.

"A thank you would suffice, darling."

König stood his ground. He had morals— what little he has left anyways. You're pretty, no doubt about that. He knew he shouldn't be taking advantage of such a fragile girl. But at the end of the day, he's just a man. Surely, you knew what would happen if you provoked him too much with your womanly charms?

"Y'shouldn't be playing around with men like me, little girl." He drawls, accent thick as he lightly taps your soft cheeks. Something clicked in you at the mention of the rather degrading pet name, pupils fully blown as you nodded at his every word, unable to register anything anymore.

An "I like you." comes from your plump, glossed up lips before you could even control it. Your 100th confession this week alone. Many would call you shameless and maybe you'd feel an ounce of it if you weren't so busy eyeing up his bulging biceps through his tight-fitted polo shirt.

He's intense, you think. And he makes you painfully shy.

"Hm?" He tilts his head, and he's so handsome, and gruff, and big that he has your mind spinning around in circles and doing backflips. Soft brows furrow as brutish hands cup your cheeks, lips puckering up into a small 'o'.

The tip of his tongue swipes down his lips while he indulges in the sight. A pretty girl, a young thing looking up at him all stupid and dazed out. Begging for an older man's attention. "How naughty." He tugs you closer, puffing cigarette smoke all over your pretty face, leaving coughing from the sudden intrusion in your nostrils.

He chuckles darkly, lightly patting the small of your back. "Be a good girl and run along, ja?" He flicks his cig to the side, putting its flame out with a stomp.

"N-No! please," you breathe, manicured fingertips finding your way to his belt, slithering along the lines. His eyes never leave yours, darkening as you inch closer to his manhood, leaving you dizzied.

There's hurried chattering in the background, a scantily clad group of three wore worried expressions on their faces, calling out your name.

"Ah, your friends are here, darling." You don't even have time to respond before he's nudging you out the dark alley, sending you off your merry wya but not before giving your rear a little slap.

"And keep that backside lookin' pretty for me."

#konig #cod #konig x reader #konig smut #cod mw2 #cod mwii #konig mw2 #konig cod #smut #konig fluff

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reiderwriter · 2 years ago

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Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (GN + AFAB)

Summary: The AC at the BAU decides to take a holiday during a summer heatwave, and when you decide the FBI’s dress code is merely a suggestion, you unwittingly catch Spencer’s eye.

Genre: smut (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, semi-public sex, fingering, car sex, degradation, name-calling, edging, praise-kink, dumbification, basically Spencer is a tease and the reader really gets off on using his official title.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: Hello! This is my first posted fic, so any feedback is welcome and absolutely appreciated (I tried to keep it GN!AFAB but if you notice any gendered pronouns pls lmk immediately!) I finally decided to start writing again after a few years, so I might be a bit rusty but I recently started rewatching Criminal Minds and I am so in love with Spencer! This little fic was inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge, so big thank you to them for the inspiration! This could also develop into a multi part fic in the future, so if that’s something you’d be interested in, please let me know in the tags and comments! XOXO K

Part two!

After three years in the BAU, you should know that summers in Quantico, Virginia are nothing to play about. Sure, it could be cloudy sometimes, and summer rain did allow for some relief, but with a heatwave on the way and a week of office work ahead of you, it seemed every member of your team was excited for the office AC.

That was, of course, until the maintenance department sent out an office-wide email telling you it was “undergoing work” for the foreseeable future.

You received the email during your commute, and immediately turned around to change. There was no way you were surviving in your slacks and long-sleeve shirt, and, truth be told, you knew that your bosses wouldn’t mind if you were a little more relaxed in your workplace attire if you weren’t going to be spending time in the field.

It took all of thirty seconds to shoot a message to Garcia, telling her that you’d be a few minutes late for your daily carpool, letting her know the situation so she didn’t hack into your car GPS (which she still claims she absolutely did not do the last time you accidentally slept in, but would in an emergency just to know you were safe).

She quickly sent you a reply: “put on that floral number we picked up last week! Between you and Morgan, I'm hoping my eyes will be feasting today 😉.”

You let out a little chuckle as you read the message, and quickly complied. A sundress didn’t sound too bad right now at all.

The dress in question was perhaps pushing it slightly for office work. It was short, and you knew immediately when putting it on that you would spend the day pulling it down to a more appropriate length. But the shade of blue fit your skintone perfectly, and the floaty material was exactly what you needed to beat the heat.

Grabbing your keys again before you could second guess yourself, you didn’t let your mind linger quickly on the thought that perhaps the dress was a little attention grabbing. And perhaps there was someone in the office whose attention you wanted to grab.

-X-

The commute into the office wasn’t bad, but stepping out of your nicely temperature regulated car into a wall of heat made you thank yourself for your foresight. And it seemed that the rest of your team was dealing similarly. Walking into the office, you noticed that Prentiss had divested herself of her shirt, sitting comfortably with an iced coffee and red tank top, an electric fan inches from her face. Morgan was similarly outfitted in lighter clothes than usual, and you could audibly hear Penelope’s brain working to come up with the best heat related compliment for her work husband. You couldn’t see Hotch or Rossi, but you knew they kept their own back-up units in their offices, so they wouldn’t be struggling at all today. You assumed JJ, too, was in her office.

“Well, look at you Cutie. You’re gonna break some hearts today, I know.” You roll your eyes as you throw your bag down. You were used to Morgan’s playful teasing by now, but compliments and affirmations were always welcome. You grimaced looking down at your desk chair and realised you had another problem. Your very recent purchase of a black leather office chair was going to absolutely make your day a living hell. Before you resigned yourself to a day of sitting in the orthopedic seventh layer of hell, your heard the angelic call of your office BFF.

“It feels like the devil’s armpit in here, god, do not expect an miracles from me today, I’m collecting my laptop and immediately moving away from all the heavy heat-producing machinery in my cave. Anyone got any space at their desk for me to work at?”

“Yes!” You replied a little too quickly.

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Pen, I have to look over some files with Reid later anyways so I’ll just pull up a spare chair to his desk, it’s all yours.” You thanked your lucky stars that everyone was too hot to tease you about your imminent proximity to the office’s Boy Wonder.

It turns out hiding a small, tiny, stupid crush from a team of FBI profilers wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but you were confident in thinking the only one who had clocked on so far was Penelope. And that was only because of your weekly girls nights and an unfortunate habit of spilling secrets while intoxicated. Sure, the others still teased sometimes, but that was only because the two of you were the easiest targets. And they just didn’t know how on the nose they were sometimes.

She gave you a quick look, of the ‘we will be discussing this later’ variety but didn’t say anything else and quickly excused herself to collect her things.

You quickly pulled up a (non-leather) chair next to Reid’s and straightened out your dress as you started searching for the file you were looking for. Although you absolutely had an ulterior motive to intruding on his space, you actually did have work to do. But the heat, and the knowledge that you’d be working closely with Reid again any minute now did nothing to help you stay focused.

Of course, having worked on the same team now for three years meant that you’d been alone together before. In all honestly, he was your partner of choice for any field task and you complimented each other well. The two of you worked together on Geographical Profiles for the majority of your cases, using your people skills, and his practical knowledge to gain insight into the locations unsubs lived, worked, murdered and hid their victims. And of course, you were friends outside the office, too. But you felt there was a distance between the two of you that made itself known the minute you stepped off the Jet or out of the bullpen.

As you searched the desk, you let your mind wander to what he would look like in this heat. You knew he didn’t deal with the heat well, and could often be found with his shirt sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone on the cases in the warmer climates. You thought about him panting in the heat, pushing his hair out of his face, glistening with sweat and grumbling quietly about the heat. You specifically thought back to a case from a few weeks back, where the two of you had an awkward run-in with an automatic sprinkler when you made your way to interview a witness. His purple shirt had ended up soaked, and on day six of the investigation, his go bag was thankfully short of replacement clothing. So he’d sat in the precinct, shirt semi-transluscent, completely oblivious to your brazen oggling and sudden lack of anything intellectual to say. Or anything to say in general.

It was only as you felt yourself getting warmer (a particularly impressive feat on today of all day’s) that you had to pull yourself out of the fantasy. But of course, as you stood up to get yourself a cool drink, you realised you were face to face with the man of your fantasies.

“Y/N? Did you need something?” He looked down at you, with a soft smile on his face.

“Oh! No, it was Garcia, she, um, she needed somewhere to work because her office is practically a sauna with all those computers. And I was thinking, we still need to work on that report on the geographical profile from the last case, so I offered her…my…” You trailed off, noticing you were rambling and allowed yourself a second to look at the man in front of you properly for the first time that day.

It was going to be a miracle if you got any work done ever again.

Like you, he’d opted for a change in uniform. He’d rid himself of his usual waistcoat-cardigan combo and was left in a button down shirt. It was, as you’d hoped and prayed, open slightly more than usual at the top. You frowned unconsciously as you realised he had also pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, unhappy that you wouldn’t get to watch him do it in-person, his veins popping out as he exerted himself in the smallest way.

A few seconds of silence passed, and you had to make yourself tear your eyes away from a droplet of sweat that was neatly making its way down his throat, tracing a line that you could only hope to one day follow with your lips. When you snapped your eyes up to his, he nervously did the same, gripping his bag a little tighter to him.

“Oh, yeah that sounds good, um, let me just put my bag down and we can, uh, get started I guess.”

“Yeah of course. I was just gonna grab a drink first, do you want one?”

“Sure, yeah, a coffee would be good.”

“Okay, I’m no expert but that cannot be healthy in this heat. I know you’re practically a caffeine addict at this point, but I’m getting you a glass of water and you’re going to thank me, okay Doctor?”

He rolled his eyes and settled comfortably into his seat, but made no complaints as you walked away.

-X-

“This is ridiculous, how can they expect us to work like this?” Agent Prentiss grumbled from her desk.

“Oh, come on now, Prentiss, you can’t be complaining about a little heat, now.”

You rolled your eyes at your coworkers playful back-and-forth, doing your best to not melt into your borrowed seat. You’d been working side-by-side with Reid for the last three hours and the heat was now unbearable. You were stuck to the seat in an uncomfortable way, especially with the extra exposed skin from your dress. It had ridden up your legs more than you expected it would, so you were constantly shifting in your seat attempting to keep yourself decent.

The heat rolling off your teammate didn’t help. You had assumed that his love of cardigans, scarves and layers in general meant that he usually ran on the cooler side, but he was practically burning up next to you, making any and all accidental touch near intolerable.

Each accidental brush of his fingers as you passed files between the two of you, each knock of your knees together under the desk as you moved to read over one-anothers shoulders, and every time you got up for another drink, it’s like he’s read your mind because he stood up at the same time and you had to awkwardly untangle yourself from the mess of desk chairs and office furniture. With every touch, you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, the heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly.

It’s only when, later in the day, he brushes the seam of your skirt with his fingers when reaching over you with his other hand for a file you know for a fact he does not need, you realise that all of those accidental touches may have been absolutely intentional.

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you bring your lips closer to his ears.”Spence, what was that?” You try to keep your voice steady, but his fingers are stil lingering closer to your sensitive areas than you found comfortable.

He drops his eyes to yours, looking you in the eye for the first time since you started working together in a comfortable silence.

“What was what?” He asks innocently, his cheeks flushes as he starts drawing small circles on your thigh.

“You’re touching me. You’ve been touching me a lot today, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m Doctor now, am I?” He smiles at you before quickly moving his attention back to the file he was reading.

“Don’t change the subject.” You feel your whole body flush, as he ignores you and continues his reading, not removing his hand from your leg the entire time.

“S-Spencer, I’m serious.” He looks at you again then, and your heart jumps into your throat as you realise he’s removed his hand from the hem of your skirt, only to have it return under the material, moving closer and closer to where you really wanted him.

“You know,” he whispers under his breath, so quiet you’re sure that no one could overhear, “you look really pretty in this dress.”

Your brain is short circuiting as you feel his hand on your inner thigh, failing to register the implication of his words as you do your best to stammer out a reply.

“A-actually, Garcia chose it out for me. She said that you would-” you cut yourself off before you can say anymore. You’re surrounded by a room of your close friends and teammates and you’re doing your best not to beg your incredibly attractive coworker to push his fingers into you right then and there. Biting your lip so you don’t say anything else, you try to stand and shift away.

But Reid is there, and with his other hand he maneouvers you even closer to him somehow.

“She said I would what, beautiful?”

He’s so close now and you find yourself again staring at his exposed neck, wanting nothing more than to bury your head in him and kiss and lick and bite until he gives you what you want. The little circles he’s drawing on your legs are removing your inhibitions quicker than any alcohol could.

But then he grips you a little tighter, and forces you to look up into his eyes again and respond.

“She said that you would, uh, she said that you would’nt be able to take your eyes off of me. We were shopping together and she was just teasing and, well, yeah.”

“All dressed up for me, then? You thought you’d test the theory and see if she was right?”

And suddenly he’s ghosting his fingers across your panties and you’re doing your best to not make any other noises as he looks you deep in your eyes.

“Do you think she was right, Y/N?” He asks. But before your brain can catch up and choose whether or not to answert, he’s pulling away. He’s standing up and he’s walking over to Morgan, file in hand, asking questions about another previous case file, and you’re left sitting at his desk questioning if any of that actually just happened.

-X-

You spent the rest of the day in a daze. Luckily, your team was so busy complaining about the heat that you were sure none of them noticed the tension you carried through the rest of your day. With the AC still not working, Garcia had gained permission from Hotch to head back to her own apartment to finish up the day with more appropriate equipment, and had quickly evacuated your desk, allowing you to retreat back to your own space.

Emily had finished her own paperwork early due to a well-timed bet with Morgan, and had taken herself off to JJ’s office, and Morgan was meeting with Hotch in his office to discuss a potential death row intervew. So with the end of the workday in sight, only you and Reid remained in the bullpen.

After your little run in, you knew that you weren’t going to get any effective work done. Emily had once joked that Reid’s high IQ gets slashed to 60 every time he comes in contact with an attractive woman. At the time, you’d laughed, joked along. Nowthat it was your reality, it wasn’t as funny to you.

He’d played with you, called you beautiful, had his hands on you in the most frustratingly dizzying way- and then just as soon walked away from you. It wasn’t as if you wanted him to take you right then and there, in front of the entire office.

In fact, you’re quite sure that no matter how horny you were, you’d have stopped him before he went any further that publically. But you weren’t as sure you wouldn’t have dragged him off to a supply closet and forced him down on his knees and under your skirt.

To be short, you were pissed. He had left you, hot and bothered, on a day where you literally could get no relief from the heat.

You watched him work for a while after that. His desk faced away from yours, which meant you could covertly watch him whilst he worked and he would be none the wiser. After catching yourself staring a hole into the back of his head for the fifth time in an hour, you grunted out a curse and started packing your things up for the day. Unfortunately, you were just loud enough to catch the man’s attention.

“Leaving so soon, princess?”

“Yes. It’s hot and I’m tired and I just want to go home and take a cold shower and get into bed.” You started packing your things up again, but you quickly noticed that Spencer was doing the same.

“Are you leaving as well?” You asked, your stomach doing a small flip in apprehension of his answer.

“Yeah. I’m also hot, and tired and a cold shower sounds amazing right about now.”

You flushed at even the slightest change of a double meaning. Did he want to shower with you? Was he really going to step over that line?

He continued to pack up his things calmly, and you did the same. You walked towards the elevator, and it wasnt until he reached from behind you to press the call button that you realised he was so closely following you.

“And besides, your bed sounds amazing right about now.” The hairs on your neck stood up as he whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck as you felt heat pool between your legs for the second time that day. You froze up like a deer in headlights, and as the elevator dinged open, you felt Spencer walk you in, press the button, and close the door before making his next move.

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you know? When I asked about the dress? Do you think Garcia was right?” He had crowded you into one corner of the elevator, and your brain was still short-circuiting. Shit, maybe you were the one whose IQ was cut in half, because the man in front of you seemed more confident than you had ever seen him before.

His placed his hands on the guard rail either side of you, as one of his legs found its way between yours and you let out a small whimper, then cursed yourself when you saw the smirk growing on his face.

“Come on, Princess, use your words.” He teased again.

“She wasn’t right.” You breathed out. “You looked at me a few times, but nothing too long and nothing…inappropriate, but-”

“But what?” He pushed his leg further into you, moving his hands to grip the fabric at our waist, and suddenly you were counting your blessings that no other agent in the building had decided to use the elevator right now.

“But you can’t keep your hands off of me.” His lips crashed into yours the second you finished your sentence, as you desperately grabbed at his hair, desperate to feel more and more of him against you despite the sticky heat.

He pulled away reluctantly as the elevator came to a stop in the basement carpark, but you still desperately clung to him, pressing kisses into his jaw and down his neck as you breathed in the scent of his sweat on his skin. Your words had failed you, but your body was desperate to communicate exactly what you needed.

He chuckled as he pulled you off of him, stroking your hair as he pulled you to your car. Opening the passenger side door for you and taking the keys from your bag, he placed a kiss to your temple, pulling away only enough to whisper into your ear. ”Which one of us can’t keep their hands off the other now?”

You were hot and delirious and you were not going to interrupt him now. He climbed into the driver’s seat, something you knew he didn’t do often, and placed his hand on your leg again as he drove.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered as soon as you were far enough away from the building. You complied immediately, not wanting to interrupt anything the man might do to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled as he immediately picked up where he left off earlier, rubbing your sensitive nub through your underwear. Your dress was pushed up now

“You know, Garcia was right” he spoke again, his fingers snaking their way under the elastic of your underwear. You could only moan in surprise, desperately close to getting exactly what you wanted.

“I have been staring at you this whole day. You came in this short dress, practically on display for anyone to see.” His fingers were now slowly circling your clit, going torturously slowly as you bucked up your hips for some much needed friction.

“When you got me that glass of water, I followed you, you know. Watched you reach for the glass on the top shelf, saw your skirt riding up. We’re you so desperate for me to notice you that you put yourself on display for the entire office like a little whore?” You moaned in surprise as his words registered in your mind.

You tried to reply, to deny and protest your innocence, but he chose that minute to thrust a finger into you, the awkward angle forced by your position in the car creating a beautiful friction. You started rocking your hips quicker against his hand, opening yourself up to him fully, and grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t pull away for a third time that day.

“You can’t even deny it, Look at you using my hand to get yourself off. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna do it right here in your car?” You moan out a yes as he adds another finger, stretching you out further as you whimper around him.

“Fuck, yes Spence, I’m a whore, your little whore.” You feel that familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach tighten and soon your releasing yourself all over his hands. Gasping for air, your head falls back on the passenger seat, and you release your grip on Spencer’s hands.

“Good job, princess, you did so well for me. We’re almost home now, let’s get you in that shower.” You whimper a little, nodding as you allow your brain to settle once again, completely comfortable with letting Spencer take control and do whatever he needs to do with you for the rest of the night.

-X-

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briefinquiries · 5 months ago

Text

Tyler Owens x Reader: Read Between the Lines

Request: anonymous said: "I was wondering maybeeee if you could write some protective bf Tyler ( because i would be swooning ) maybe either someone keeps hitting on her so he steps in or someone maybe in another storm chasing crew is being mean so he steps in and defends her <3 idk"

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: language, mild fighting i guess?? slight angst

A/N: sorry I haven't been posting as frequently! I started work up again and ya girl has been BUSY. Anyyywayyy, thank you for reading! please keep the comments coming! I love to see all your requests and I promise i'm getting to them as quickly as i can :)

“Need anything?” Tyler asked, leaning against the hood of the truck in a way that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.

“I’m good,” you said, offering him a gentle smile before brushing a few loose strands of hair from your sticky forehead.

“You wanna come in with me then?”

You shook your head– the idea of sitting in a stale diner with no AC was just about as unbearable as the thought of driving another second. “No, I think I’ll stretch my legs out here.”

“Okay,” he said in a tone that indicated you’d be missing out. He gave the truck a pat before adding, “We won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” you assured him.

He offered one final nod before turning and following Dani, Boone, and Lily across the parking lot. Dexter also stayed behind. Instead of shitty diner food, he’s opted to take a nap inside the RV accompanied by his noise canceling headphones and a fan blasting right at his face.

You were exhausted, down to your bones. You and the rest of the team had driven nearly six hours that day tracking a cell that hadn’t ended up amounting to anything. You were stiff and tired and irritable– just like everyone else. But you hoped that some time alone outside might help at least level out your mood.

You extended your arms over your head, groaning when you felt something lightly pop in your back, before craning your neck from side to side. The air was stifling– thick and humid with little to no breeze for any sort of relief. The heat hadn’t broken in nearly a week, and unfortunately for just about everyone, the truck’s AC didn’t work as well as it used to.

The parking lot to the diner was relatively empty. Aside from the crew’s RV and truck, there was an SUV parked in one of the front spots and a small sports car with a steady cloud of smoke pouring out the cracked window.

You let your eyes wander past the diner parking lot at the sprawling field across the road. The windmills were agonizingly still in the stale air– like even they were desperate for some reprieve.

Your eyes fell shut as you took a few deep breaths, trying to get your bearings.

Your peace lasted for about thirty seconds. And then the sound of blaring music and screeching tires had you turning your pulsing head. Instantly, you rolled your eyes at the sight of the familiar vans pulling into the lot beside you.

Merrill Anderson and his crew started chasing in the area almost thirteen months ago. You knew because each and every moment that you’d known about their existence had been more painful than the last.

Anderson was a meteorologist out of Texas that wore a cowboy hat almost as big as his mouth and an inflated ego to match it. He made sure you and everyone else around him knew that he had a PhD, and therefore, in his opinion, was automatically more entitled to chase. Him and Tyler had hated each other from the moment they met while chasing an EF2 in Arkansas– their feud only grew each time their paths crossed.

Anderson was grinning at you through the window as soon as his van rolled by. You did your best to avert your gaze– hoping that lack of eye contact would avoid any sort of conversation.

Unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky.

“There she is,” he announced, boots scuffing against the dirt parking lot as he hopped out from the driver’s seat.

“Now what're you doin’ out here all by yourself? Your team finally leave you behind? Realized they didn’t need two uni drop outs on their team?” he asked, tone already dripping in sarcasm.

He was an antagonizer who got off on provoking others. And although you and Anderson had your fair share of unpleasant exchanges, you knew he only ever bothered you to get under Tyler’s skin.

Tyler’s biggest weakness was that he was endlessly protective of the people he loved. You saw this particular trait as a strength– but you knew that Anderson fed off Tyler's anger, which you could only imagine was his intention now. Thankfully Tyler was in the diner– hopefully gorging on raspberry pancakes as you spoke. Because if he were to see Anderson talking to you– you knew this whole interaction would escalate quickly.

“Anderson,” you sighed, leaning casually against the hood of Tyler’s truck. The smile you forced on your face was almost painful. “So lovely to see you, as always.”

You hoped if you withheld from his taunting, he might move on quicker.

Instead, to your despair, he backtracked from his van to stand across from you. “You guys go ahead,” he instructed his crew. “I’m gonna spend some time with my friend here.”

They nodded before heading towards the diner, leaving the two of you alone.

“You should teach that hillbilly- boyfriend of yours some manners. If I remember correctly, last time I saw him, he drove through a puddle to splash me.”

You bit back a grin as you recalled the moment he was referring to. “I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose,” you lied (it was absolutely on purpose).

Anderson chuckled. “You know– I don’t know if we’ve ever had a conversation just us, without him lingering around. You’re much more pleasant. Both in conversation and in looks.”

You felt a chill run down the length of your spine at his words– but the way he was looking at you was infinitely worse. You watched as his eyes flickered from your face to your chest– currently more exposed than you would like in the tanktop you wore in the stifling Oklahoma heat. You wished you had grabbed a shirt to cover up in– but they were all either dirty and packed away somewhere in your duffel.

Clearing your throat, you stood up straight and crossed your arms, attempting to shield yourself from his lingering gaze.

“Oh, hey now darlin’, don’t cover up. I’ve been stuck in the van all day with these jokers, this is the most action I’ve gotten all summer.”

You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks as you tried desperately to remain level headed. Anderson was a jerk– and he’d definitely make you uncomfortable… but you couldn’t imagine that he’d ever actually do anything to harm you.

Then again, you’d never interacted with him for longer than a minute or two with Tyler and the rest of the crew at your side. This was uncharted territory that you didn’t care to explore. You felt your earlier determination to handle him on your own fade away with uneasiness.

You turned your head towards the diner, hoping you might catch Tyler’s gaze through the window or something. Of course you were too far away for that– all you caught was the glare from the sun.

“You know I’m not used to seeing you in clothes like this, usually you’re all covered up,” Anderson whistled.

As soon as he took a step closer, you instinctively moved too. Except your legs collided with Tyler’s truck– preventing you from actually going anywhere. For some dumb reason, you felt obligated to hold your ground– to not let him see how uncomfortable he was really making you. But with each passing comment, you grew more and more fearful.

Anderson now had his body angled towards you with a look that could only be described as predatorial. “God, it’s true you don’t know what you’re missin’ til you see it. We should have these heat waves more often if it means I get to take a look at this every day.”

You tried and failed to remain stoic. You wanted to yell– to tell him to shut the fuck up. But for some reason, your body and brain weren’t connecting.

“C’mon, where is she?” he taunted. “You know, your sweet side has its perks. But I much prefer ‘em a little spicy.”

He took another few steps closer to you. It was subtle, but you noticed. Anderson was so obviously getting a kick out of whatever the hell he was doing here, and you were doing a piss-poor job at withholding from it, like you’d originally planned.

“Why don’t you come on back in my van with me,” he winked. “I’m not sure how your hillbilly does it, but I can show ya a real good time.”

Get away from me, you wanted to scream. But your mouth wouldn’t move– your voice was lost somewhere inside of you. And all you could get your body to do was lean away from him slightly.

“Don’t be like that, darlin’,” he cooed. He was so close that you could almost smell his breath. Your brain told you to fight– to shove or kick or do something to get him away from you. But all those previous instincts you had to fight back faded into paralyzing fear.

Anderson reached across the space between you to move a loose strand of hair from your face as you began to tremble. “And don’t be afraid, baby doll. I don’t bite… too hard. Owens ain’t gotta know–”

“Anderson!”

Your head snapped at the sound of a familiar voice… Not just any familiar voice– Tyler’s voice. He was currently storming across the parking lot with a look of pure hatred across his face. The second his eyes landed on you– undoubtedly and obviously terrified, that anger only intensified.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he demanded. His eyes were narrowed and shockingly darker than their normal shade of sage.

“Here he is!” Anderson taunted. “Her douche bag in shining armor.”

You couldn’t help but notice Anderson didn’t step away. In fact, if anything, he looked like he was about to step closer, just to really test his limits. But then, to your relief, you saw Boone, Dani, and Lily storming out of the diner in Tyler’s wake– all coming to your rescue.

In an instant, Tyler was there, stepping between you and Anderson– forming the protective barrier you needed to finally feel safe again. Without thinking, you fisted the back of Tyler’s T-shirt for good measure.

“Easy, Rambo,” Anderson sneered. “I was just tellin’ your sweetheart here how much I enjoy her new look. Who knew she had all this hidin’ under those baggy shirts? That the reason you keep her hangin’ around, Owens? I knew she had to be good for something–”

But Anderson didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Because before you knew what was happening, Tyler was lunging forward and connecting his fist with Anderson’s nose.

The crack as it broke was deafening, you released Tyler’s shirt to cover your mouth in shock. Tyler hit him with enough force that he went staggering back a few steps, his hands instantly moving to cup his face.

Tyler was still shaking off his hand when Anderson stood up straight, blood pouring out of both nostrils.

“Damn, that bitch must be as good as she looks if she’s worth all this,” Anderson continued to taunt. Even with a broken nose, he didn’t back down.

Without even hesitating, Tyler moved to strike again. But as soon as he did, Boone and Dani were both stepping in front of him to break things up.

“Easy, T–” Boone said.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tyler snarled in warning, pointing his finger over Boone’s shoulder. You’d never quite heard his voice so malicious or threatening before, and even though it was in your defense, it sent shivers down your spine.

Suddenly, Lily grabbed your hand from the side, causing you to flinch. “It’s okay,” she said, tugging you a few steps away from the chaos– like she knew how badly you needed space from everything. “You alright?”

You nodded, flustered.

“Next time you want to settle this without your little army of strays, you let me know, Owens. And next time you want a good time, Y/N, you know where to find me,” Anderson said, offering you a wink that churned your stomach. With that, he wiped some blood from his nose and began sauntering back towards his van.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Tyler snarled, still being physically held back by Dani and Boone.

“Yeah, and he’d deserve it. But he’s not worth catchin’ a charge,” Boone said. “It’s been a slow season and we don’t got the kind of money to bail you out of jail.”

“Take a breath, T,” Dani said. “He’s walkin’ away. Take a breath.”

You watched Tyler slowly come back to his body. He listened to Dani and took a deep breath– his shoulders visibly relaxing when he exhaled. It seemed to be enough for his friends to finally release him.

As soon as he was free from their grasp, Tyler turned around– his attention landing on you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his previously menacing voice now laced with so much care and concern. He stood in front of you– his body blocking all views of Anderson and their vans. His hands moved to cup your cheeks gently.

“I’m fine,” you said, attempting to convince yourself more than anyone else. But even you knew it didn’t sound convincing. Your voice subtly cracked on the final word.

Tyler stroked his thumb along your skin. The look on his face told you he didn’t quite believe you as his eyes flickered down to your trembling hands. Thankfully he didn’t ask more.

“I gotta say that was a nasty right hook, T,” Boone said, clapping Tyler on the back as he approached. “I didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“What’d that asshat say to you?” Lily asked. “You looked really shaken up when we saw you out the diner window.”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, too embarrassed to repeat his taunts. You were shocked by how self-conscious you suddenly felt with everyone’s eyes on you. Anderson’s previous words had made you incredibly aware of every inch of yourself– like there was an electrical current humming underneath the surface of your skin.

“Just the usual shit,” you tried to brush it off.

You felt grateful when they didn’t push.

Eventually, the crew disassembled– everyone focused on getting their stuff together to hit the road again. Anderson didn’t reemerge from his van, but as you sat idly in the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, you didn’t take your eyes off from where it was parked– like you were anticipating some sort of retaliation.

You remained hidden from the team– feeling so awkward and uncomfortable– like you didn’t want to be perceived or noticed by anyone. And you hated that Anderson’s words were the ones to make you feel that way. You couldn’t find any shirts in your duffel bag that weren’t disgusting. And currently you didn’t have the time or patience to dig through your second bag in the RV. So instead, you wrapped your arms awkwardly over your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible just as Tyler climbed into the front seat.

“Everyone else is riding in the RV, it’s just us,” he said, eyes lingering on you.

“Okay,” you said, trying your best to sound casual. You wondered if he ordered everyone in the RV so that you’d feel more comfortable. You made a mental note to thank him for that later, he was always so good at reading between the lines.

Tyler instantly noticed your uneasiness. “Baby, what’d he say to you?”

You shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze out of sheer embarrassment. “I mean, I think you caught the gist of it at the end there… Just a lot of that.”

You heard his loud exhale. “Just say the word and I’ll barge into that stupid van and kill him right now.”

The corner of your lip tugged into a small smile. “I just want you to stay here,” you admitted.

He nodded solemnly. Without another word, Tyler passed you something he had scrunched up in his fist. It was one of his T-shirts– like he knew you wanted to cover up without even having to say it. You took the shirt– the thanks you wanted to offer him remained stuck in your throat, but Tyler didn’t seem to mind.

Instead, he pretended to fiddle with the radio while you silently slipped the shirt on. Almost instantly, you felt like you could relax underneath the fabric of his clothes.

You curled your arms around yourself and tucked your knees to your chest. When Tyler asked if you were ready to head out, you nodded without another word.

…

It was only seven when you arrived at the motel. Tyler went into the lobby to book the rooms while everyone else hung back. Boone and Lily were going on and on about using the pool later that night, but once you’d grabbed your bags from the truck, you sort of tuned it all out.

Tyler found you sitting on the curb once he’d passed out everyone else’s room keys. He picked up your duffel from the ground before speaking for the first time in almost an hour.

“You ready for bed?”

You nodded, offering him your best attempt at a convincing smile.

“C’mon,” he motioned his head to the left. “We’re upstairs.”

Tyler led the way to your room– and even though this was a dingy motel, you’d never seen anything more perfect. The shades were dark, the AC worked, and there was a single, plush-looking queen bed in the middle of the room just screaming your name.

Tyler let you shower first. And when you emerged from the bathroom, all the sweat and grime finally washed from your skin, he was gone. But in his place, he’d laid out one of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxers on the bed for you to use. You almost teared up at the sight of just how thoughtful he was… Still reading between the lines.

You’d spent the entire duration of your shower trying to convince yourself that what had happened earlier wasn’t that big of a deal. Anderson was a jerk– of course he was going to say some jerk-ish things. It shouldn’t have been a surprise– and yet, you couldn’t shake the discomfort you felt. It was like all the words he’d said to you had nestled underneath your skin and made a home for themselves.

In an attempt to shake the thoughts away, you quickly shrugged on Tyler’s clothes before sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping your arms around yourself.

Almost as soon as you sat down, you heard the front door to the motel open up. Tyler stepped into the room carrying his own bag and a couple of water bottles he must’ve grabbed for the two of you.

“Better?” he asked, handing you one.

You nodded and cracked it open. “Much.”

Tyler sighed before joining you on the edge of the bed. “Baby, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I-” you started and then stopped. Your hands were shaking, but you jumped when you felt Tyler’s hand close around yours, steadying them. His touch gave you just an ounce of courage to speak.

“It wasn’t even anything that bad–” you admitted. “I meant it earlier, you heard the worst of it… I just, I don't know, I can't explain it. But everything he said made me feel so gross… and dirty, and…” And, well, you didn’t quite know what else. Words were hard to come by tonight.

“Oh, baby,” Tyler exhaled. He released your hand to wind his arm around your shoulders, tugging you to his chest instead.

It wasn’t until he shushed you that you even realized you were crying, but it came out in a rush. You clung to him, instantly impressed by his ability to just make you feel so much safer.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he assured you, only squeezing tighter.

“I don’t know why this bothered me so much–”

“Because Anderson is an asshole and he intentionally said some gross shit to shake you up,” he answered for you. “You’re allowed to be upset by that.”

You exhaled against his shirt, and when you licked your lips, you tasted salt.

“I’m the sorry one,” he said.

“What?” you shook your head. “You don’t have to be sorry–”

“I should have been there.”

“You were there,” you reminded him. “Unless I blacked out or something and I was really the one who punched him in the nose…”

Tyler chuckled softly, you felt the vibration against your chest– instantly soothing you.

You sighed after a moment, trying to decide if you wanted to share what was really bothering you. You bit the inside of your cheek. It was so tempting to keep it to yourself, but more tempting than that was the idea of finally feeling a little more at ease again after just telling Tyler the truth.

“I just–” you paused again. “I–”

“Hey,” he said. You looked up at him briefly. “It’s just me.”

That was the problem– it was Tyler. And you didn’t want Tyler thinking less of you because of what had happened.

“I didn’t fight back,” you said quietly. “I just froze up– it was like I couldn’t even think straight. And he kept going and going, and I just stood there– taking it.”

Tyler ran his hand up and down your arm reassuringly. “What are you talking about?”

“It just felt like…” your voice tapered off.

Tyler waited a moment before asking gently, “Like what?”

“It just felt like I didn’t do anything to stop it,” you whispered so quietly you weren’t even sure he’d heard you. “Like I let it happen.”

“Baby,” Tyler sighed. “Baby, no. Anderson is such a jackass, it wouldn’t have mattered what you said–”

“But I could have told him to get the fuck away from me–”

“You were just trying to keep yourself safe. Baby, we can’t control how we react when we’re scared. It’s fight or flight–”

“Or freeze,” you mumbled, embarrassed.

“Or freeze. I’m pretty sure fawning is one too, now,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter– what matters is you can’t control that you froze. Just like–”

“Just like you couldn’t control punching him in the face?” you asked.

You glanced up just in time to see Tyler’s lips tug into a smile. “Exactly,” he said.

“I just wish my fear reaction was a little more effective,” you pouted. “Freezing didn’t do much.”

You let your eyes fall shut when Tyler tugged you closed to his chest. “I guess it’s a good thing you have a douchebag in shining armor to come help whenever you need it,” he smirked.

“Thanks for protecting me,” you said quietly.

“I’ll always protect you, you know that,” he said, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You smiled against his chest. You really did know that. “And thanks for punching him in the nose.”

Tyler snorted. “Anderson’s had that coming for a long time.”

#twisters #twisters imagine #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fic #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x reader imagine #tyler owens x reader fic #twisters x reader fic #twisters fic

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wafflefries13 · 2 months ago

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Asking Out the Twisted Wonderland Cast (Multi TWST cast X Reader)

Summary: Sometimes, you can't just wait for good things to happen to you. Time to screw your courage to the sticking place and finally ask out that boy you like!

AN: I meant for these each to be like 200 word drabbles. Some of them kind of got away from me, lol.

Cross-posted on my AO3 TheGhostInTheKitchen

Warnings: Fluff, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

Part 2: First Dates

The sounds of the NRC cafeteria clattered around the group of first years. Utensils scraping on plates, sizzling from the open window to the kitchen, a hundred different conversations from all sides. Their small group sat clustered around their table, nestled close together to be heard over the general din.

“I’m just saying,” Ace said, mouth half full.

“You’re always ‘just saying’,” Deuce said.

Ace shoved him. “I’m just saying, if you want to try out for the anchor position on the track team you have to actually ask for it. Get Coach Vargas and don’t stop bugging him until he sees what you can do! No one’s going to just wait for it to happen.”

“And I’m saying it doesn't do any good to be a nuisance when I don’t even know if I’m good enough yet. I might as well wait till tryouts next semester.”

“No, no, he’s right,” (Y/N) said, distantly.

“Yeah!” Ace said. “Wait, right about what?”

“You can’t just wait for stuff to happen to you. If you really want something you have to go and take it for yourself.” She stood abruptly, face determined. “I need to ask something.”

Ace:

“Ace!”

Ace jumped, brushing off crumbs from his jacket. “What? What did I do now?”

“Do you want to go out with me?”

Epel choked, Jack thumping him on the back. Deuce looked like she had just insulted his mother. Sebek rolled his eyes as he took another bite. Ortho gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide and excited.

“I-What?” Ace stuttered, his face rapidly turning red. “Where the heck did that come from?”

“You were just saying you shouldn’t wait for something you want. I like you, I have for a while now. So, do you want to go out?”

Ace stuttered out a reply, slapping on his normal cocky smile but decidedly not meeting (Y/N)’s eyes. “I mean, yeah, of course you fell for me! It’s about time you said something. But, um, yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”

“Well,” Deuce said, rolling his eyes. “It’s about time one of you said something.”

“Hey!” Ace shouted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

(Y/N) playfully shoved him. “Oh, please, don’t act like I haven’t noticed that you like me too. You’re not subtle about it.”

“What made you think that?”

“Ace, within the first week of me being here you asked to sleep in the same bed as me twice.”

From another table, definitely not eavesdropping, Riddle fainted.

Deuce:

“Deuce!” Deuce jumped at (Y/N) suddenly shouting his name. “I need your help with something. Can you come with me for a second?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, of course.” Deuce ignored Ace’s pointed look. Deuce followed (Y/N) out of the cafeteria down the halls. “Where are we going?”

(Y/N) suddenly turned around, Deuce almost colliding with her. Before he could apologize, she took his hands, looking up into his eyes as he felt blood rush to his cheeks.

“I just wanted somewhere more private,” She said. “Deuce, I really like you. Will you go out with me?”

“I-huh?! I mean, yeah, yes! I like you, too!” He rubbed the back of his head and looked away shyly. “Man, I wanted to ask you out first.”

(Y/N) grinned. “Really? How were you going to do it?”

“Well, my mom said that when my dad first asked her out he got her this big bouquet of flowers. But he ended up being allergic to them so he kept sneezing the whole time. She took him to the infirmary at their school and he had to write it down since his face was too swollen to talk.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to flowers. Maybe we can skip the rest of that, though.”

Deuce marched over to the cut out window of the hallway, opening out onto the quad. Reaching over, he plucked a fluffy pink peony from one of the bushes. He came back to (Y/N), suddenly very flustered, and held it out to her.

“(Y/N),” He began.

She clasped her hands together. “Yes?”

“Would you do me the honor of - Ah!” Deuce yelped as a bee flew out of the peony blossom, shooting for Deuce’s face to sting him.

Turns out, they did spend time in the infirmary. But, after (Y/N) kissed his cheek and gently held the flower, Deuce didn’t seem to mind too much.

Trey:

“Ow!”

Trey paused outside the Heartslabyul kitchen as he heard the exclamation from inside. He was planning on testing out a new bread recipe his parents had sent him and wasn’t expecting anyone else to be using the kitchen that day. He peaked in, seeing (Y/N), Grim, Ace, and Deuce crowded around the island in the middle. (Y/N) was blowing on a burn on her hand, Grim rifling through the pantry for various sweets, and Ace and Deuce waving away smoke from a burnt pastry freshly pulled from the oven.

“I told you!” (Y/N) said. “You can’t just raise the temperature for it to cook faster, it’ll just burn!”

“Well, sorry for trying to make your confession go faster before you chicken out,” Ace said.

“I’m not going to chicken out! Probably. Maybe. What if the pie burning is an omen?”

“I wouldn’t read too deeply into it,” Trey said, entering the kitchen. The first years jumped, (Y/N)’s eyes going wide and she stared at the floor.

“Well!” Deuce said, grabbing Ace and Grim and hurrying them out the door. “Omen or not, that’s our cue to leave. Good luck, (Y/N)!”

Silence echoed around the two of them as the door of the kitchen thunked closed. (Y/N) fiddled with her fingers, still not looking up. Trey walked around the island, looking at the smoldering pie. There was a mostly neat lattice across the bubbling fruit, with extra crust cut into letters around the rim.

“‘Trey,’” He read. “‘Will you-’”

“Ah! No, wait!” (Y/N) jumped forward, covering it with her hands. She jumped back as her palm accidentally hit the hot pie tin, giving her another burn.

“Oh, wait, hang on.” Trey quickly went over to the sink, grabbing a clean towel and soaking it in cold water. He gently took her hand, pressing it to the burn. (Y/N) chewed her lip. “You know, I’d be happy to help if you want to try again. I’ve been wanting to try this new butter pie crust that’s good with custards and-”

“I really like you!” (Y/N) blurted out, face going as hot as the burn on her hand. “Would you want to go out with me? Please?”

Trey tightened his grip on her hand, careful to avoid the injury. He smiled, laughing. “I was wondering if I should say it first. I guess you beat me to it. Yes, (Y/N), I’d love to go out with you.”

Cater:

Cater was relaxing in the Heartslabyul gardens, a can of red paint discarded beside him. He hummed something the pop music club had been working on as he scrolled through Magicam. He took a quick selfie, winking, tongue out with a peace sign, before refreshing his feed.

He paused when he saw (Y/N) come across his dash. She was smiling brightly, one arm arched above her head and the other held down at an angle to create half a heart. The word ‘Will’ was written in bubbly cartoon letters in the middle. A few posts later, there was a second photo, an almost perfect mirror of the first to complete the heart. The word ‘You’ was written in the middle of this one.

Cater almost felt like he was solving a puzzle as he searched the rest of his feed for more posts. Each had (Y/N) in a dramatic pose, adding another word to complete the sentence, ‘Go,’ ‘Out,’ ‘With’, ‘Me.’ When he realized it was a request to ask someone out, he couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. He shook his head. Of course (Y/N) would be crushing on someone. With all the adventures she had gone on during their time at NRC, it would make sense to develop strong feelings. He tried to quiet the voice in his head that hoped those strong feelings would go his way. Well, whatever, that just meant he had to keep a close eye on whoever had earned her affections, maybe give them a good threatening to treat her right while he was at it.

Cater tapped on her name, taking him to her Magicam profile. It felt like just the other day when he was helping her set it up. He sighed at the happy memory. For a second, it occurred to him that the message (Y/N) had been spelling out in pictures didn’t end with a question mark. He thought it was weird. Was it a mistake? Then his eye caught on the latest picture, posted just a second before.

It was a selfie of (Y/N) holding a large bouquet of yellow and orange flowers, marigolds, daisies, and buttercups. The majority of the frame was over her shoulder, showing Cater himself sitting against the hedges. His name was drawn in the same cartoon font with a question mark, surrounded by a heart.

Cater snapped up, whirling around. He quickly whipped away the happy tears budding at the corner of his eyes as he saw (Y/N) waiting for him. The flowers were crushed between them as he scooped her up in a tight hug, both of them laughing.

(They both carefully rearranged the flowers after to be presentable for the mandatory #TogetherForever couple photoshoot after.)

Riddle:

Riddle frowned at the commotion building from the Heartslabyul common room. He could make out the familiar rising sounds of Ace and Deuce’s voices. He began marching to the source of the racket, faltering a little when he heard (Y/N)’s voice joining in. Mentally scolding himself from eavesdropping (it wasn’t eavesdropping, he was keeping tabs on his dorm mates, that’s it) he hovered near the cracked open door.

“No, wait!” (Y/N) said. “We can’t use coral roses! I said pink!”

Ace huffed. “What’s the difference?”

(Y/N) tapped a small dark red book she was holding. “Coral roses symbolize desire, pink roses mean admiration and happiness. I’m not trying to scare him off before I can even ask him out!”

Before he could even think about it, Riddle threw open the door, shouting, “Just what is going on here?”

Everyone inside jumped. Riddle swept his eyes across the room, taking in the bundles and bundles of roses in multiple colors carefully poised on every surface. Ace and Deuce were meticulously balancing a bouquet in the chandelier, plucking out the offending coral colored roses. Cater was smirking in the corner, phone poised to capture everything. Trey chuckled behind his own large bouquet of yellow roses..

“Um,” She said, startled by his interruption. Taking a deep breath, she set the book down and picked up a bouquet of lavender roses, shoving them in Riddle’s direction.

‘Lavender,’ He thought. ‘Love at first sight.’

“Riddle!” She said, probably a little too loudly. “I really like you! Would you go out with me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Cater tried to break the tension with a laugh. “Aww, (Y/N),” He said. “What happened to that whole speech you had?”

“He surprised me!” She said. “Oh, wait, hang on, I still have it.” Without thinking, she shoved the bouquet in Riddle’s arms, searching her pockets to pull out a neatly folded piece of notebook paper. “Ahem. Riddle, I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few months have been a torment. I came to Heartslabuyl with the single objective to see you. I-”

“Everyone out!” Riddle shouted. As the group scuttled to the door, he pointed at (Y/N). “Not you.”

The door thudded behind them, Ace and Deuce giving a quick thumbs up and what was supposed to be a confident smile as they left. (Y/N) crinkled the paper in her hands.

“It gets better,” She said meekly. “The speech. Although I guess in the movie it ends with a rejection too. I should have used the one from the end, or Shakespeare maybe. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more - well, I guess you're not very temperate. Wait, let me try again.”

“(Y/N),” He said. He held the lavender flowers tightly. “You know what this means?”

“Oh, the flowers? Yeah, I, um, I’ve been studying.” She picked the book back up, shyly holding it up. Riddle could read the title now: The Queen of Hearts Guide to Courtship and Love.

“You,” Riddle said, feeling his face heat up. He held up the flowers. “You mean it? Really?”

(Y/N) took a step towards him, understanding softening the worry on her face. “Of course. I wanted to ask you out and I thought, well,” She waved at the multicolored roses, laughing. “Go big or go home, right?”

“It certainly is a statement.” Riddle picked up a yellow rose with red tipping the petals and handed it to her. (Y/N) recognized the colors immediately as meaning ‘Falling in love.’ She gasped in happiness, jumping forward to wrap Riddle in a tight hug.

Leona:

“Ruggie!” Ruggie paused as he heard (Y/N) call his name. She jogged over to him where he held Leona’s typical boxed lunch order. “Hey, that’s for Leona, right? Do you mind if I bring it to him? There’s something important I have to talk to him about.” Ruggie considered it for a moment before shrugging and handing it over, but not before stealing a couple of chips to pop into his mouth as he strolled away.

(Y/N) found Leona in his normal spot, a hidden alcove in the gardens in the biodome. He was laying on his back, arms crossed behind his head, and eyes closed as he dozed. He cracked his eye open as (Y/N) approached.

“Hi,” She said, kneeling down beside him.

“Hmm,” He replied.

“I have something important to ask you.”

“Are you going to try and make me get up?” “No.”

“Alright, ask away.”

“Will you go out with me?”

Leona’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up on his elbows to stare at (Y/N), smiling sincerely at him, and maybe holding his lunch hostage until she got an answer.

“I really like you,” She continued. “You’re brave and confident and know exactly who you are. Sure, you can be stubborn as hell, but you also really care about people close to you. Don’t make that face, you can’t fool me. You could have easily thrown me out when Grim and I needed someplace to stay when Azul took over Ramshackle, but you didn’t. You didn’t even kick us out when we were making so much noise and annoying you, you helped us break Azul’s contracts instead. You joined the Culinary Crucible because Epel did and you wanted to keep an eye on your team mate. Please, as if you ever need to learn how to cook, I know you can’t even use a microwave. And you pretend not to notice when Ruggie steals your credit card. And there was that time you followed all of us to Playful Land because you were worried we were going to get scammed. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. You’ve got a big heart of gold under that spiky exterior. And I really admire you for that. I… I really love you, Leona.”

“Well,” Leona said, laying back down, tail flicking. “I suppose going on a date wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” (Y/N) decided not to point out the content smile stretching across his face. She made a move to stand up, but Leona shot an arm out to hook around her waist, pulling her down next to him with an “Oof.” “Now don’t tell anyone else about all that,” Leona grumbled without any real heat.

Ruggie:

Ruggie was in Leona’s room, folding laundry while the house warden took a nap behind him. Ruggie stretched his arms above his head, sighing when there was a satisfying pop in his back. Suddenly, the door to the room slammed open. Ruggie yelped and Leona woke with an undignified snort.

“Gah, what now?” Leona mumbled.

“Ruggie!” (Y/N) said, standing in the doorway. She was panting as if she had just run across campus (she had).

“Uh, what? Yeah? Whatever it was, I didn’t take it!”

Unperturbed, (Y/N) marched over to him, taking both his hands in hers. “You did take something.” Ruggie frantically tried to remember if he had stolen anything from Ramshackle recently. He tried not to, knowing (Y/N) was pretty much as broke as he was. It didn’t seem fair. And maybe he liked her a little too much to swipe something. “You stole my heart!” (Y/N) continued dramatically. “Will you go out with me?”

Behind them, Leona coughed to unconvincingly cover up a laugh.

Ruggie’s ears flattened to his head in shock. He reached back and batted at his tail as if that would get it to stop wagging. “I - what? Are you sure? Me? What?”

“Of course! You’re resourceful, you work hard, you’re clever, and you care a lot about your family back home. I really admire all that about you and more! Not to mention you’re super cute. So, will you go out with me?”

“Oh, just say yes already, Ruggie,” Leona said, settling down to continue his nap. “At least then I won’t have to hear you being such a sap all the time.”

Ruggie let out his signature laugh. He tightened his grip on (Y/N)’s hands. “Well, sure then, why not? As long as you’re paying, right?”

Jack:

Jack and Vil were out on their daily morning run. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting the Night Raven College campus in a warm golden light. At their halfway point, they took a break, Vil stretching in his cooldown.

“You sure you don’t want to keep going with me?” Jack asked.

“No,” Vil said. “I’d rather stay slim than bulk up like you. I have my status to maintain. And besides, it looks like I would be interrupting something rather important.” He smiled knowingly and pointed with his chin a little ways down the sidewalk.

Jack turned. He felt his tail start to wag on its own when he saw (Y/N) standing by one of the Great Seven statues, drawing circles in the ground with her foot. She looked up, breaking out in a warm smile when she saw him. Vil chuckled under his breath and waved as he headed back to Pomfiore.

Jack clenched his jaw, willing his tail to stay still as he approached her. “Good morning. You’re not usually up this early, right? Is everything okay?”

(Y/N) jutted her arms out completely straight, offering up the flowering Chin cactus in her hands. “Jack!” She said. “I really like you. I love how brave you are. I love how you’re dedicated to the people you care about. I love how you can be sweet and kind even when you try to act tough all the time. Would you go out with me?”

“Yes!” Jack replied, almost before the words had even left (Y/N)’s mouth. He put his hands over hers, cradling the cactus. “I mean, yes, I would like to go out with you. Very much.”

Azul:

Azul jumped as (Y/N) slammed her hands on his desk in the VIP room of the Monstro Lounge. He quickly gathered his composer, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Well, Prefect, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have a deal for you,” She said confidently.

“Oh? I’d love to hear it.”

Smiling, she whipped out a sheet of paper and slapped it on top of the other documents Azul had spread over his desk. On the top of the page in an elegant script were the words ‘Contract of First Date.’ Azul felt a lump form in his throat as his heart sped up. He quickly scanned over the rest of the ‘contract,’ outlining the proposed date.

“Terms of the deal,” (Y/N) continued. “You, me, romantic night out. I know a guy in Craneport who said we could use one of their rowboats and I found this really cool pond with all these willow trees and fireflies. Plus I have this cute picnic basket all set up. Jamil has been teaching me how to cook, you know? Can’t say it’ll be as good as his, if we’re being honest about the terms of agreement. And the contract leaves an opening for future dates depending on the success of this one! Of course, success is not really a super definable term but you get what I mean. So, do we have a deal?”

Azul covered his face with one hand, trying desperately to ignore how red his face must be at this point. He couldn’t seem to meet her enthusiastic and twinkling eyes.

“I, uh,” (Y/N) continued, shyer this time as Azul scanned over the contract. “I really like you, Azul. A lot. So, will you go out with me?”

He looked back down at the contract where her name was written in elegant script at the bottom with space for his next to it. He cleared his throat, bringing back his practiced (definitely not shady) businessman smile. With a sweep of his pen, he said, “It’s a deal.”

Jade:

(Y/N) marched across the cafeteria, determination in her eyes. She stopped in front of a table with Jade, Floyd, and Azul. “Hi!” She said, maybe a little too loudly with nerves. Jade and Azul looked up from their conversation, Floyd pausing his efforts in making a castle out of mashed potatoes. “Jade, I really like you. Do you want to go out with me?”

“Oh?” Jade said, a brief moment of genuine surprise crossing his face before he schooled his features back into pleasant neutrality. “Well, what a pleasant surprise.”

Floyd snorted and elbowed his brother. “Shrimpy’s got a crush,” He said in a sing-song voice.

“I must admit,” Jade said, pouting with one hand on his cheek. “I always did imagine a more theatrical confession. Nonetheless, I happily acc-”

“I can do that!” (Y/N) interrupted. Holding on to Floyd’s shoulder for balance, she climbed on top of the table. She clapped her hands loudly, shouting, “Attention! Attention, please, everyone! I have an announcement!” She cleared her throat as the room fell silent. “I would like to declare my unequivocal, utter devotion and love for Jade Leech.” She heard a choking sound below her but continued on. “I am hopelessly in love, helplessly enraptured, and absolutely head over heels. And it is my deepest hope that he could return my affections. Thank you.” With that, she hopped down, beaming. There was a smattering of applause and laughter from around the room. Epel whooped from back at the first year table.

Jade’s hands covered his blushing face, fierce sharp eyes peeking out between his fingers. His mouth was split in a wide smile, sharp teeth glinting in a mixture of bashfulness, excitement, and desire.

“Congratulations, (Y/N),” Azul said. “I can barely remember that last time Jade was actually flustered.”

“Aww, look at him, he’s speechless!” Floyd teased.

(Y/N) winced. “Sorry, was that too far?”

Jade shot out with lightning speed, crushing her in his tight eel grip. “I should let you know,” He whispered to her. “I expect this level of dedication for the entirety of our relationship.”

Floyd:

Floyd darted through the stacks of the library. He could have sworn he saw Goldfish in here earlier, and he was in the mood to mess with the easily angered boy. And, while he didn’t find Riddle, he did pause as he saw (Y/N) between the books. He paused, pushing a few books aside to rest his chin on the shelf, an easy smile crossing his face as he spied on her.

She was hunched over one of the study tables, a large book propped up and open in front of her. She was diligently working on something in her hands, tongue poking out between her lips (lips that Floyd found himself thinking about more often than he would admit), looking back up at the book in front of her every so often.

Dropping down low, Floyd carefully made his way behind her, silent on his feet. Rising up to his full height behind her, unsuspecting, he jolted forward, wrapping her in a backward hug and pulling her back so the chair careened back on two legs.

“Shrimpy!” He said, taking delight in her startled squeal. “Whatcha doin’?”

“God, Floyd,” (Y/N) said, putting a hand to her chest to calm her raging heart. Her eyes suddenly went wide and she lunged forward to cover what she was working on with her arms. “Ah! Don’t look, don’t look! It’s not done!”

Floyd grinned again. “Aww, it’s not nice to keep secrets.” His hands shot out, pulling out the thing she was hiding. (Y/N) covered her face as Floyd inspected the object. It was a thick piece of twine, various polished shells, sea glass, and dried shiny scales strung throughout. Although it wasn’t exactly neat, the way it caught the sunlight cast tiny rainbows and simmers around the library. Floyd peered at the open book. It was a cultural history of merpeople in the Coral Sea. The opened chapter described mer courting rituals and marriage traditions. Floyd started cackling as (Y/N) buried her face further in her hands.

“How old is this thing?” Floyd asked, poking at the book. “I don’t even think my grandparents made courting charms.”

“Shut up,” (Y/N) mumbled. “I was trying to… Forget it.”

Floyd slipped the haphazard necklace over his neck, prying her hands away to hold them tightly in his. “I accept!” He said brightly. “This was for me, right? It better be, Shrimpy.”

She smiled and flicked his forehead. “Possibly against my better judgment, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, Floyd.”

Kalim:

Kalim knew he should probably be studying, but every time he opened a text book or looked at the notes Jamil had oh-so-carefully marked and tabbed for him, he felt his eyes start to droop and mind get fuzzy. A good after lunch walk was just what he needed, and he definitely wasn’t just saying that to put off work.

He stopped when he realized he had wandered outside Ramshackle dorm. Was that on purpose? Did he subconsciously come here, with the hope he might see (Y/N)? Kalim walked up to the front door, knocking before opening the door and calling inside.

“Hello! It’s Kalim! Can I come in?”

There was a squawk of surprise from the front sitting room. (Y/N) poked her head around the corner, flustered.

“Hi. Sure, come on in. Uh, sorry, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“Can I help?” Kalim asked, walking over to her. Peering into the sitting room, Kalim’s face lit up. Every available surface, and a few unavailable surfaces, were covered in colored and patterned paper. There were stacks and crowds of tiny paper birds littered between everything.

“I don’t know if it counts if more people make them.”

Kalim sat on one of the plush chairs, picking up a flowery piece of paper. “If what will count?”

“It’s an old superstition from my world. If you can fold 1000 paper cranes, your wish will come true. Or something like that.”

“Ooh, origami! I’ve made decorations using that before! I’m not super good at it, but I’ll help if you want.”

(Y/N) smiled and sat next to him and Kalim felt his heart flip. “Yeah, I’d like the company.”

They lost track of time folding cranes, the sun beginning to set high above the dilapidated house. They talked the whole time, jumping from topic to topic, joke to joke, without any real sense of flow. It was warm, there in the small room, not only due to the crackling fireplace.

“So,” Kalim asked eventually. “What wish were you wanting to make? If this dosen’t work out, I can help you with it!”

(Y/N) suddenly went bashful, turning away to pay extra attention to the folds of her bird. “I…” She muttered. She took a deep breath, turning to fully face Kalim. “I was going to ask you out. You have all these elaborate decorations and parties all the time. I was going to string all of these together and hang them in your room then ask you out. But, now that you’re here… Kalim, would you go out with me?”

Kalim dropped the paper crane, flinging himself across the couch to wrap her in a tight hug. “Yes! Yes, yes yes! Oh, I would love to! Huh, I guess that means I need to cancel that order of doves now. That’s how I was going to ask you out next week. Hey, we both thought of birds! That must mean we definitely belong together, right?”

Jamil:

“Be right back,” (Y/N) said, standing from the first year cafeteria table. She walked across the cafeteria until she stopped in front of Kalim and Jamil.

Jamil was shoving a napkin at Kalim. “Careful, you’re going to get sauce all over your shirt.”

“It’s fine, I’ll be careful! And besides, it’s a pretty color, right? Oh, hey, (Y/N)!”

“Hi,” She said, looking solely at Jamil. “Jamil, I really like you. Would you want to go out with me?”

Kalim gasped, hands to his cheeks as he looked excitedly from Jamil to (Y/N). Jamil sucked in a sharp breath, clenching his hands. “I…” He started. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I can’t.”

“Oh.” Jamil looked down, but not before he caught the hurt confusion on (Y/N) face. “That’s okay. Thanks for hearing me out. Bye, guys.” She walked back to her table.

Jamil only looked up again when Kalim slapped his arm. “Jamil! That was your chance!”

Jamil scowled. “There is no chance. I said no, she accepted it. Drop it.”

“But you told me you liked her!”

“I said no such thing.”

Kalim waved his hand dismissively. “I read between the lines.”

“There were no lines!”

“Jamil.” He looked up at Kalim. It wasn’t often the other boy used such a serious voice, or had such a set expression on his face. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep yourself from being happy because you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

Jamil flinched back, standing suddenly. A million retorts zipped through this mind at once, all of them falling flat and dying on his tongue. Before he could say something he would regret, heart thundering in his ears, he fled the cafeteria, ignoring the stabbing looks from the first year table as (Y/N)’s friends gave her sympathetic pats on the back.

Jamil couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, listening to the soft, even breathing of his roommate. Huffing in annoyance, he threw off the covers and left his room. He thought he would just take a walk, just get some fresh air. Without paying attention, Jamil’s feet took him out of Scarabia, across campus, and, before he knew it, in front of Ramshackle dorm. His fist hovered in front of the door, internally debating whether or not he should knock. He startled when he heard talking behind him, spotting (Y/N) and Malleus making their way up the pathway.

(Y/N) stopped when she saw him. “Oh. Hi, Jamil.”

“Hi,” Jamil said, limply lifting a hand in greeting.

Malleus looked down at Jamil, glaring. “Viper.” It sounded more like an insult than his name.

“Did you need something?” (Y/N) asked. “It’s kind of late. Is everything okay?”

“I-” Jamil started. “I need to talk to you.”

Malleus stepped in front of (Y/N), but stopped when (Y/N) put a hand on his arm. They had a quick and quiet conversation, Malleus nodded and walked away. (Y/N) came up to the front door, opening it for him.

“I’ll make some tea,” She said as they stepped into the entryway.

“Wait-” Jamil said, catching her hand. Everything tumbled out of him all at once. “I wanted to go out with you. I like you, so much so that it scares me sometimes. That’s why I said no earlier. I just think - I thought you would - should - do better than me, after everything that’s happened. But I -” He paused, only realizing now how out of breath he was. (Y/N) looked up at him and he felt breathless all over again. “I want to do better. I want to be better, for you if not for anything else. I know I probably don’t deserve it but, (Y/N), will you go out with me?”

(Y/N) laughed, wiping away tears at the corners of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

Vil:

Something was wrong, Vil could feel it. After all the chaos of his time at Night Raven College, he had almost developed a sixth sense for this type of thing.

Vil narrowed his eyes, sweeping them over the Pomfiore sitting room. A group of students were sitting around one of the tables, studying. A few others were in front of the fireplace. A couple others were performing some viral dance for a Magicam reel. Nothing seemed amiss here.

Vil walked down the hall of the dorm, heels clicking against the marble floor. With a missed step, Vil realized he hadn’t seen Epel or Rook in quite some time. That was… concerning. He quickened his walk.

Vil almost gave himself whiplash as he passed by the ballroom. The door was cracked open ever so slightly so he could peer through. He felt slightly ridiculous, eavesdropping as if he wasn’t the caretaker for the dorm and all those in it. But his thoughts faltered as he observed the scene inside. He found Epel and Rook, as well as several other Pomfiore students, constructing elaborate sets out of painted cardboard and repurposed decorations from the dorm. Was that…? Something about this all seemed eerily familiar.

“Wait, wait! You’re early!” (Y/N) said. She appeared in front of him, waving her hands to try and block his view. She grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the room. “Don’t look!” She pushed him back into the hall, disappearing back into the ballroom. A second later, she emerged with a chair, setting it down and waving to it. “Just another few minutes.” The door clicked closed behind her before Vil could say anything. He thought about barging in, demanding an explanation. But his curiosity got the better of him. And besides, he always loved to see what (Y/N) got up to. Huffing in amusement, he sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles.

A while later, Epel, Rook, and the other students fled the ballroom, giving Vil knowing looks as they passed. With skepticism, Vil stood up and made his way inside. Standing in the doorway, he was suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. Taking a better look, he recognized the replica set. It was from one of his first ever movies, a children’s adventure called The Heist of the Everlasting Rose. This particular scene was set in a museum where the Everlasting Rose was kept. It had been a supporting role, where, ironically, he had played a child actor in part of a crew to steal the titular Rose to pay for the main character’s sister’s surgery, or some other such justifiable nonsense like that. It was his first big screen production, although it was a relatively low-budget and minor movie. He remembered after the film had come out he and his father would pour over reviews praising his performance. At that moment, he felt like he was on top of the world.

Vil was brought out of his reminiscing by (Y/N)’s voice. “Hello, sir!” She said. She had put on a tour guide’s jacket, once again modeled after the one in the film. “Welcome to the museum! We have our prized exhibit right this way.” Vil smirked, humoring her, if nothing else than to see where this was all going. Linking their arms, (Y/N) brought him through the makeshift museum. “Legend has it that this rose was given by a cursed prince to his beloved, who saved him from the brink of death with its magical powers. Since then, it has been a symbol of pure and everlasting love.” She carefully lifted the cloche from the silk flower, tiny fairy lights arranged around the base. She held it out to him, one hand dramatically pressed to her chest. “And now, I’d like to give it to you, Vil, to profess my everlasting love. Would you go out with me?”

Vil couldn’t help it, it was all too much. The extravagant set, (Y/N) memorizing specific passages from such an old and now obscure film, the entire production. He burst out laughing, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, eyes closed. “Well,” He said, catching his breath. “After such a wonderful effort, how could I possibly say no? Yes, my dearest (Y/N), I would love nothing more than to be with you.”

Rook:

“(Y/N), you’re gonna shoot your eye out.”

“No, it’ll be fine. You have to take risks for the sake of love.”

“Oh, Seven, we don’t need two of you.”

Rook’s ears picked up, hearing Epel and (Y/N) talking in the back gardens of the Pomefiore dorm. Smiling, he crept around to (definitely not) spy on them. (Y/N) was struggling with a large bow, an arrow flopping around as she tried to aim it. Pomfiore had a small target practice area set up in the back of the dorm. (Y/N) was trying, emphasis on trying, to shoot arrows at one of the red and white round targets. After her latest arrow struck the ground in front of the target, Epel sighed and walked to the target, collecting other fallen arrows. He stabbed them into the target in the shape of a heart, a letter with Rook’s name pinned to the bullseye.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Epel said.

“Oh? And what favor are you performing, Monsieur Pommette?” Both of them jumped, Rook smiling wider at the surprised squeak (Y/N) made.

“You’re on your own, (Y/N)!” Epel said before rushing off.

(Y/N) huffed. “Traitor,” She said under her breath. She turned to Rook. “Hi.”

“Bonjour, Trickster.”

“You’re, uh, early. I thought you were going to be at your club for a while longer.”

Rook waved a hand. “There was an unexpected explosion and we had to evacuate. But I am much more interested in what you’re up to here.”

“Ah, well…” She trailed off, limply pointing to the letter stabbed in the target. She covered her face with her hands, heat rushing to her cheeks as Rook elegantly plucked the letter up and began reading.

(Y/N) could basically see the hearts forming in his eyes as he finished reading her confession. He dramatically clutched the love letter to his chest, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “Oh, mon amour le plus cher! Comme c’est merveilleux de lire vos sentiments les plus caret! Je n’ai jamais vu quelque chose d’aussi beau!”

“So,” (Y/N) asked nervously. “Is that a yes?”

“Oui, oui! One thousand times oui!” He cheered as he gathered her in a swinging hug.

Epel:

Epel found the first note the day after (Y/N)’s announcement in the cafeteria. Whatever she had wanted to do was apparently pretty important, as she had grabbed Grim and they left immediately. Epel hadn’t seen her the rest of the day, but he would recognize that handwriting on the paper wrapped around his dorm room handle anywhere.

He looked around to make sure no one was watching before unfolding the paper and reading. ‘Epel, I have something important I need to ask, but before that I have a simple task. Take this first note of the set and go to the place we first met. Love, (Y/N).’ Epel tried not to think too much about that ‘Love’ part. Where did he and (Y/N) first meet? At this point it almost felt like they had known eachother forever.

Would that be, maybe, the well in the quad? Epel remembered meeting her, Ace, Deuce, and Grim there when he was rehearsing singing, using the well’s acoustics. But, no, they had seen each other somewhere else first. Epel blushed in embarrassment at the memory. He had been crying, frustrated to hell and back with Vil’s lectures right after coming back from winter break. He’d run into them at the Great Seven statues.

Epel went to the statues, deciding if he didn’t find anything there he would try the well. But, lo and behold, another note was waiting at the base of the Fairest Queen’s statue. He read, ‘Epel, Congrats on finding your second clue! By now you have an idea of what to do. For the next place I want you to go, think of the place we lived side by side before the show. Love, (Y/N).’

That one was easy, Ramshackle dorm. As Epel sprinted across campus, both notes held tightly in his fist, he reminisced about spending his days training for the VDC in Ramshackle. Most of the time there seemed like torture, running endless dancing drills, feeling constricted by Vil’s lessons whose purpose he still didn’t fully understand at the time, worrying about the whole dorm falling down around his ears at any moment. But there were plenty of good moments too. (Y/N) making them - Vil approved - breakfast in the morning, her encouragement at each of their rehearsals, how she would slip them treats when Vil and Rook’s backs were turned to help boost their mood.

Sure enough, Epel found his next note on the Ramshackle front gate. There was another rhyme instructing him to go to another location, also connected to his and (Y/N)’s relationship and past. That lead to another and to another and another, each unlocking a precious memory between the two. Eventually, he unfolded the final note, the sun just starting to set, casting NRC in beautiful golden light. ‘Epel, I hope by now you get to see exactly how much you mean to me. We’ve been through a lot and I’ve enjoyed every and I’ve enjoyed every second, and… Okay, I can’t come up with any more rhymes. Just turn around!’

Lowering the paper, Epel turned, opening his arms just in time to catch (Y/N) in a big hug. They spun around each other for a second with the momentum, finally coming to a stop and looking to each other's eyes.

“Hi,” (Y/N) said. “Did you like my scavenger hunt?”

“You’re bad at rhyming,” Epel said with a crooked smile.

She wacked his shoulder. “Hey, I meant what I wrote, though. I really like you, Epel. Would you go out with me?”

Epel squeaked her tight. “Only if you promise not to write any more poetry.”

Idia:

Idia was holding out in his room, huddled under a blanket, his phone clutched tight in his hand. He was watching a live stream from his favorite idol group, Premo. He smiled as the group answered fan questions, talked about their upcoming tour, and demonstrated how to perform some of their most famous dance moves.

The viewer chat scrolled across the side of the screen. Donations and chat reactions popped up in various animations across the screen. Idia hit the donate button, sending a flurry of roses blooming along the edges of the screen. He smiled as the idols thanked Gloomurai for his support.

One of the idols leaned over, checking the chat feed. She gasped, flapping a hand at the others and enthusiastically pointing at what she was reading. They all started smiling and giggling, whispering to each other. Idia shuffled closer, as if that would let him read whatever message they had gotten.

“Hey, everyone!” One of them said. “We’ve got a super special shout-out! This is from (Username) to… Gloomurai!”

Idia’s heart raced as he sat up in bed, blanket draped over him. (Username), (Username)... Wait, he recognized that. That was your username! He had helped you set up your account to the MMO he played a while ago. He remembered helping you through the intro stages, stumbling over the tutorials. He had laughed at your frustrated frown as you died on the same boss for the third time.

“Aww,” The second idol said. “This is sweet. It says, ‘Gloomurai, I thought about telling you this in person, but I wasn’t sure when that would actually be. And sometimes big feelings require big gestures. I like you, I really, really like you. I think I have for a long time. I love your smile, I love your hair, I love your brain, I love that you’re such an amazing big brother. Will you go out with me?’ Well, Gloomurai? Tell us your answer! We’re waiting on pins and needles here!”

“Oh, wait,” The third idol said. “There’s more. It says, ‘PS, check your door.’”

Idia yelped as he shot up, the blanket falling to a heap on the floor. Heart thundering in his chest and head starting to go fuzzy. He almost felt like he was in a daze as he walked with trepidation to his door. Slowly opening it, Idia saw a basket placed just in front. It was filled with his favorite snacks, small acrylic standees of characters from his favorite games and anime, and studded with bluebells, irises, and blue asters. A large paper heart was pinned to the front with her and his initials drawn in the middle. Hair flaring pink, he quickly brought the basket back into his room before any of his dorm mates would notice.

He heard commotion from his phone, Premo and the chat all eagerly awaiting his response. He sent in another donation with a simple, “Yes.” The idols cheered and squealed.

He swiped out of the livestream, opening his messaging app. (Y/N)’s name popped up with a new message, a cheering emoticon with three blue hearts.

He subconsciously covered his face as he smiled wide, typing back, “You’re so cringe. Can’t wait for the date.”

Silver:

(Y/N) sprinted across campus, heading whipping around to try and catch a familiar shimmer of silver white hair. She skidded to a stop when she saw a black Diasamonia coat draped over a low tree branch, a pair of shined boots sticking out behind the trunk.

(Y/N) rounded the old oak tree. “Silv-! Oh, sorry.”

Silver was reclining against the tree, hands folded across his stomach, chest rising and falling with deep even breaths, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he slept. A few songbirds and a pair of squirrels congregated around him, looking up with big eyes at the newcomer.

(Y/N) shifted her weight from foot to foot before screwing up her courage and sitting down next to Silver. She shuffled down so she laid next to him, still leaving enough room to not cause too much of a scandal if anyone walked by. She settled down, closing her eyes and relaxing, taking in the sounds of the woodland animals around them, the talking of other students in the distance, the wind whispering through the trees.

A short while later, she heard stirring next to her. (Y/N) blinked awake quickly, propping herself up and leaning back on her hands as Silver woke up beside her.

“Hi,” She said. “Would you want to go out with me?”

Silver blinked the sleep out of his eyes, looking up at her. “I must still be dreaming,” He muttered. “If I am, then…” He reached forward, cupping the back of her head and pulling her down. She gasped as their lips brushed. Silver’s eyes suddenly shot open and he jerked back from her as if burned. “I- uh-” He studded, pale skin turning a ruby red.

(Y/N) giggled at his embarrassment. “Well, I guess that’s a yes, right?”

Sebek:

“Be right back!” (Y/N) said as she suddenly stood from the first year cafeteria table. Before anyone had a chance to say anything, she was off like a shot.

“Any idea what that was about?” Epel asked. The others shrugged.

Grim reached over to snag half (Y/N)’s sandwich from her discarded tray. “Probably going to go ask out that boy she keeps talking about,” He said nonchalantly, mouth full.

Sebek choked, standing fast and slamming his hands on the table so all their plates and cutlery clattered. “What!”

“Chill, man,” Ace said, waving him down as people across the cafeteria turned to stare. Ace smirked. “Unless you’re particularly invested in (Y/N)’s love life?”

Sebek blushed and slammed back into his seat. He picked his knife and fork back up and started sawing at his Salisbury steak. “No,” He snapped. “(Y/N) can do whatever she wants. What do I care?”

“Sure,” Epel said.

(Y/N) reappeared in the cafeteria a short while later, Malleus in tow. She was talking with him, gesturing with her hands. Malleus had a wide, amused smile, nodding along.

Sebek stood again, at attention for his prince. “Good afternoon, Lord Malleus!” He said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” He scowled at the other first years rolling their eyes at his formality.

“Hello, Sebek. I’ve come to give my blessing.”

“Blessing?”

“Sebek!” (Y/N) said brightly. She took both his hands in hers as he sputtered and blushed. “I really like you. Would you go out with me?”

For once, Sebek was speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. (Y/N) squeezed his hands tighter as Malleus chuckled next to them. “Well, Sebek? It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting.”

Life seized back into the knight. He tightened his grasp on (Y/N), pulling her closer. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean, ahem, I accept your offer of courting, since you went so far to get my lord’s blessing, after all.”

Lilia:

Lilia wouldn’t call what he was doing skulking, exactly. More like surprise chaperoning, keeping an eye on the youngsters of Night Raven College like a good upperclassman should. And, if he just so happened to pop out and scare the living daylights out of whatever unfortunate student happened to be nearby, well, more fun for him.

So it wasn’t especially surprising when he heard Silver and (Y/N) talking to each other in the courtyard. As a sly smile stretched across his face, he floated to a hiding place in the shadows of the flying buttresses, resting on his stomach to kick his feet, chin resting in his hands, as he observed the two.

“You want my permission?” Silver asked, an amused smile on his face.

“Of course!” (Y/N) replied. “I wouldn’t want to make it weird by dating him while we’re all still students together.”

Lilia faltered. That was the problem with spying, sometimes you heard things you didn’t want to. So the Prefect was romantically interested in someone, eh? And if they were asking Silver for permission, it must be someone close to him. Sebek, maybe? Or, oh dear, Malleus? Lilia knew for a fact that both of the boys thought of (Y/N) as a close and dear friend and nothing more. His heart panged in sympathy at the idea of rejection. And, if he was being honest with himself, it panged with something else as well.

“You don’t think he’s a little old for you?” Silver asked teasingly.

“Maybe I like a silver fox,” (Y/N) teased right back.

Silver laughed. “I don’t think I ever want to hear my father described as a silver fox ever again.”

Lilia lost his concentration, falling with a yelp against one of the chandeliers hanging in the hallway.

“Lilia?” (Y/N) asked with a gasp.

Lilia smiled, trying to regain poise as he floated down to them. “Looks like I’m not as slick as I used to be. Now, what were you two discussing just now?”

(Y/N) look startled. Silver gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and left with a wave. Just the two of them now, (Y/N) took a deep breath, building up her courage.

“Lilia!” She said, probably a little too loudly with nerves. “I really like you! Would you go out with me?”

Lilia chuckled, leaning close to enjoy the shy and flustered look on her face. “Well, if you have my son’s blessing, how am I to refuse? Besides, I think I rather like being called a, what was it you said? A silver fox?”

Malleus:

Malleus looked up from his book, looking around his room for the source of the noise that disturbed his studying. There, another sharp ‘ping’ from across the room. He looked to the window, noticing a small pebble hitting the glass. He walked over and opened the window, dodging just in time to miss another pebble.

“Oops! Sorry, Horton!” He looked down, a smile automatically crossing his face at (Y/N)’s voice. But his expression quickly changed to puzzlement as he looked down at her. (Y/N) was standing in the courtyard of the Diasomonia dorm, inside a giant heart made of dozens of tiny tea candles.

In a swirl of green light, Malleus appeared next to her on the ground floor. She jumped a little bit at his sudden appearance, but quickly recovered herself and beamed up at him. He felt his heart flip in that pleasant way it always did when he was near her.

“What’s all this?”

She cleared her throat dramatically, dropping to one knee. “Dearest Horton, you have bewitched me body and soul. I would like to officially court you. Would you do me the absolute pleasure of accompanying me on a date this weekend?”

Malleus blinked down at her for a moment, basking in the admiration and adoration filling her eyes. He laughed, reaching down to take her hand and pull her to standing. “My, how formal,” He said.

She smiled, shrugging. “I wanted it to be memorable. Couldn’t manage the fireworks, though. Sorry.”

“I can rectify that.” With an elegant sweep of his hand, sparks erupted from Malleus’s fingertips, shooting into the dark sky around the dorm to explode in fantastic colors. Students from in the dorm leaned out windows to admire the impromptu show.

Malleus drew (Y/N) closer to him, admiring the multicolor flashes playing across her face. “I would adore being anywhere with you.”

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solxamber · 3 months ago

Text

Possessed || Ace Trappola

Something’s going on with Ace. He's being nice which either means he's possessed or has done something extremely illegal. (Spoiler alert: It's neither)

“You’ve been weird,” you say, squinting at Ace from across the cafeteria table. “New levels of weird. Scary kinds of weird. Are you possessed or something?”

Ace just leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs with that infuriatingly carefree grin plastered across his face. He tosses a piece of bread into his mouth before raising an eyebrow at you, clearly not fazed by your accusation.

“I wish,” he responds with a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Then I could blame all this weirdness on a curse or something and not just... you know, life.”

You cross your arms, not letting him brush it off so easily. “No, seriously. You’re being freaky. You helped me carry books to class the other day. Without asking for a favor in return.”

“Yeah, so?” Ace shrugs, but the slight twitch in his grin gives him away. “Maybe I was feeling generous.”

“Maybe you’re losing it,” you counter, leaning forward. “Since when do you do anything without an ulterior motive? I’m starting to think you’re planning something.”

“Me? Plan?” Ace feigns innocence, one hand over his heart. “You wound me, Prefect. You’re thinking of Azul, not me.”

“Nice deflection,” you deadpan. “But it’s not just that. You haven’t pranked Deuce all week.”

Ace’s smirk falters. “Okay, first of all, Deuce is too easy to prank. It’s like dunking a biscuit into water and calling it an achievement. Second—”

“I heard that!” Deuce calls out from the next table over, turning around to glare at Ace.

“You were supposed to hear that,” Ace shoots back without missing a beat, tossing a crumpled napkin at his friend.

You wave your hand in the air, trying to reel the conversation back in. “See, this is what I mean! You’re off your game! The Ace Trappola I know would be messing with Deuce every chance he got. Not sitting here, being... helpful and nice. You even opened the door for me yesterday.”

Ace looks horrified. “Wait, I did?”

“Yes! And you said something ridiculous like, ‘You can go first.’ It was spooky.”

He seems to visibly recoil, his face scrunching up as if he’s genuinely disturbed by the thought. “Wow. That is scary. Who am I turning into?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air. “You’re possessed!”

He leans in toward you, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Okay, real talk? Maybe I’m evolving.”

“Into what, a decent human being?” you ask, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Ace rolls his eyes again but leans closer, his expression strangely serious now. “Look, I’m just trying to... I dunno, be more... considerate.”

You squint at him, not buying it for a second. “Why? Who put you up to this?”

Ace huffs, running a hand through his hair, his face growing a little red. “No one put me up to anything, alright? I just thought... maybe you’d like it.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts. You’re not sure what to make of that.

“What?” Ace asks, noticing your bewildered expression. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, I’m just... processing. You’re being nice because you think I’d like it?”

He shrugs, averting his gaze now. “Yeah, well... you’ve been giving me a hard time lately, so I figured, why not? You know, mix things up. Be nice for a change.”

“Uh-huh.” You narrow your eyes, suspicion creeping back in. “But... why me?”

Ace avoids eye contact, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his collar. “Does it matter? Just... shut up and let me be nice, okay?”

You stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what’s going on in that mischievous head of his. Finally, you let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Fine. But I’m still convinced you’re up to something.”

Ace smirks, the cheeky glint returning to his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Over the next few days, Ace continues acting suspiciously... well, nice. He doesn’t trip you in the hallway or throw random jabs at your study habits like usual. He even brings you snacks during lunch—without eating half of them first.

It’s weird. Unsettling, even.

And every time you ask him about it, he brushes it off with a nonchalant “just felt like it” or “don’t read too much into it, Prefect.” But his little quirks keep poking through. Like when he sneaks up behind you, pretending he’s going to scare you, only to offer a helping hand with your bag. Or when he gives Deuce a hard time, only to turn around and cover for him when he forgets his homework.

Deuce, for his part, seems equally as confused. “Is he dying or something?” Deuce whispers to you one afternoon. “He’s not usually this nice unless he’s pulling something.”

“I know, right?” you whisper back, eyeing Ace from across the courtyard where he’s currently chatting with a group of students. “It’s unnatural.”

“He even let me borrow his notes last night,” Deuce continues, shaking his head. “His good notes, too. Not the ones he scribbled in crayon to mess with me.”

“Okay, now I’m seriously concerned,” you mutter. “He’s definitely plotting something.”

But the more time passes, the less it feels like a trick. There’s no punchline, no grand reveal. Ace is just... being Ace, albeit in a more considerate, slightly awkward way.

One evening, you’re leaving the library when you spot Ace waiting for you outside, leaning against a wall with his usual lazy posture. He looks up as you approach, flashing you a casual grin.

“Yo, Prefect,” he calls out. “Need help with your stuff?”

You raise an eyebrow, adjusting the books in your arms. “Are you really offering, or are you about to ‘accidentally’ trip me again?”

Ace chuckles, pushing off the wall and walking over to take some of the books from you. “What, you don’t trust me by now? I’ve been an absolute angel lately.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem,” you retort, but you let him take the books anyway. “You’ve been too nice. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Ace smirks, walking beside you as you head toward Ramshackle. “Maybe I’m just growing up. Becoming a responsible, dependable guy.”

You snort. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“Hey!” Ace protests, nudging you with his elbow. “I’m serious. I can be responsible when I want to.”

You side-eye him. “Sure. And pigs can fly.”

Ace rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft smile on his lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one.”

The two of you walk in comfortable silence for a while, the moonlight casting long shadows on the cobblestone path. It’s peaceful, almost... nice.

Then, out of nowhere, Ace speaks again, his tone quieter this time. “So... you really think I’ve been weird lately?”

You glance at him, surprised by the question. “Yeah, kinda. Why?”

He shrugs, looking up at the sky. “I dunno. Just curious.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you seriously still playing this ‘nice guy’ act? What’s your angle, Ace?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stops walking, turning to face you with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“There’s no angle,” he says softly. “I just... wanted to see if it’d make a difference.”

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden sincerity. “What do you mean?”

Ace rubs the back of his neck, looking unusually nervous. “I mean... I’ve been trying to... y’know, be a better person. For you.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you’re not sure if it’s because of his words or the fact that he’s actually being vulnerable for once. “For me?”

Ace avoids your gaze, his cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah. I figured... maybe if I stopped being such a jerk all the time, you’d... I dunno... like me more.”

You stare at him, your mind racing to process what he’s saying. “Wait. Are you... confessing to me?”

Ace scowls, clearly embarrassed now. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. You’re making it weird.”

“You’re the one making it weird!” you shoot back, feeling your face heat up. “I didn’t ask you to go all soft on me!”

Ace glares at you, but there’s no real malice behind it. “Well, excuse me for trying to be nice for once.”

There’s a beat of silence as the two of you stand there, staring at each other, before you both start laughing.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, shaking your head.

"Yeah, but you hang out with me anyway," Ace finishes with that signature smirk of his.

You roll your eyes, but there's no denying the truth in his words. There's something about his brash honesty, his ability to keep things light even when they're serious, that you can't help but be drawn to. His quick wit, the way he keeps you on your toes—it's always been part of his charm.

"Maybe I do," you admit, crossing your arms and giving him a playful look. "But you're still a jerk sometimes."

Ace grins wider, stepping a little closer. "Oh, I'm totally a jerk. But I think that's why we work so well. You need someone to challenge you, and I need someone to keep me in check."

You snort. "So that's why you've been weird? Trying to impress me?"

Ace shrugs, his gaze softening just a bit. "Something like that. I just... didn't want you to think I'm always messing around. Sometimes, I actually want to be serious."

It's strange hearing him say that, but in a way, it makes sense. You've always known there was more to Ace than the mischievous, carefree front he puts up. He's clever and observant, and maybe—just maybe—he's been paying attention to you in ways you hadn't realized.

"So, what now?" you ask, feeling the tension between you shift from playful to something a little more... real.

Ace takes a breath, glancing up at the stars for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I dunno. Guess I was hoping you'd say something like... 'I like you too, Ace.'"

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "And what if I do?"

His eyes widen, just for a second, before his cocky grin returns in full force. "Well, then that'd be great. 'Cause I'd say I like you too, Prefect"

You both stand there for a moment, the air between you charged with something new and exciting. It’s not the usual back-and-forth banter, not the endless teasing. This is real, and Ace’s normally confident posture seems just a little unsure, like he’s still figuring out how to navigate this new territory.

"Alright, fine," you say, your voice softer now. "I like you, Ace."

He blinks, clearly taken aback that you actually said it. For once, he's the one who seems at a loss for words.

"...You serious?" he asks, sounding almost vulnerable. It's a rare thing to hear from him, and it tugs at your heart just a little.

You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "Yeah. I mean, you've been acting all weird and nice, and it kind of freaked me out, but... I get it now. And I like you too."

Ace lets out a relieved breath, his grin softening into something more genuine. "Well, that's good. 'Cause I was starting to run out of ways to be nice. It’s exhausting."

You laugh, the tension finally breaking as the two of you slip back into the ease that’s always existed between you. But now, there's something more. Something deeper.

"So," you start, tilting your head at him, "does this mean you're going to stop being a jerk to me?"

Ace snorts. "Nah, that’s part of my charm. Besides, you’d get bored if I went all soft."

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. "Fair enough."

Without warning, Ace reaches out and ruffles your hair, grinning like a kid who’s just won a prize. "You know, you're not too bad. Maybe we can make this thing work."

You swat his hand away, laughing. "Maybe. If you stop being so weird."

"Deal," Ace says, though you can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s already planning his next prank.

Deuce, who’s been watching the whole thing from a distance, finally decides to pipe up, calling out to the two of you from the other side of the courtyard. “Hey! Did you guys seriously just confess? In front of me?”

Ace turns around and shouts back, “Yeah, what of it?”

Deuce groans, looking exasperated. “Couldn’t you have waited until I wasn’t around to witness that?”

“You’re just jealous!” Ace calls, slinging an arm around your shoulders with a triumphant grin.

Deuce rolls his eyes but grins anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go getting all mushy on me.”

Ace laughs, giving you a sidelong glance. “No promises.”

And as you walk back toward the dorms, Ace’s arm still around you, you can’t help but smile. It’s a weird, unexpected kind of happiness, but somehow, it fits. Just like Ace.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #ace trappola #ace trapolla x reader #ace

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slut4hee · 1 month ago

Text

5 Star Service

{Paring: Uber Driver Yeonjun x Fem! Reader

{Genre: smut, car sex, yeonjun drives a Tesla, 18+ so mdni).

{Synopsis: Tonight’s date was supposed to hit the spot. He was supposed to take you back to his place, pour you a glass of wine, and show you a good time. But unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, he turned out to be straight up asshole. But luckily your hot uber driver made up for it.

{Warnings: explicit themes, rough sex, unprotected sex (but they do attempt to use a condom), creampie fingering, oral (m receiving), squirting (they fuck up his seats), ass smacking, riding, public sex, panty sniffing, switch jun (he’s very whiny), switch reader, they’re both pervy asf, dirty talk, pet names, Yeonjun’s a college student, reader is well off (gives Yeonjun a 100 tip at the end of the ride), reader is slightly older than Yeonjun (Yeonjun 21, reader 24), lmk if I missed anything.

You rolled your eyes, as you traced the rim of the wine glass, listening to your date, boast about himself for the past 20 minutes. Honestly as soon as he opened his mouth to talk about his yearly earnings, you were already ready to make your exit out the door, but maybe his mouth worked good for other things so you gave him a chance.

You pretended to listen, nodding to everything he said, you were just hoping you would get a good fuck out of this, since you’re wasting so much time on this loser.

“Oh and my father, he graduated with two phds, and he’s one of the best plastic surgeons out there. I could give you his card if you ever, you know wanna get work done” He said sarcastically, you looked at him like he had two heads, did he just basically say you should consider getting plastic surgery?!

“I’m sorry but, why would I need any work done, isn’t it obvious that this body is perfect just the way it is” You said confidently, you were not going to let this bastard, disrespect you by any means.

“No that’s not what I meant, I’m just saying like, isn’t that something you women love doing nowadays. I mean you probably do have something you would want to change about yourself wouldn’t you” He said smugly, taking a sip out of his wine glass.

You were in rage, you stood up from your chair, pulling out a hundred dollar bill and slammed it onto the table. You didn’t even spare him another glance, as you stormed out of the restaurant.

“What a sexist prick” you said to yourself pulling out your phone, to dial your personal driver. You cursed under your breath, as you remembered you agreed to letting your personal chauffeur take this week for vacation.

“Well looks I gotta settle for an uber” You sighed, opening the app and requesting for a ride. The app connected you with a driver, by the name of Yeonjun, on the picture he looked kind of cute, his bright smile shining in the photo.

You were so annoyed, sex deprived, and stressed out from work. All you wanted was to have a good time, get dicked down, and have a nice meal, was that too much to ask for? Just as you were about to smoke a cigarette, your phone dinged with a p in notification, that Yeonjun was near by.

You quickly put the cigarette back into box, throwing it inside your purse, as you waved your hand to signal where you were. Finally a black Tesla pulled up in front of you, and Yeonjun hopped out the car, to open the door for you. You thanked him, and took a seat in the back.

You were right, he was handsome, and he was also very clean, car smelling of fresh linen but also a faint scent of his cologne could be smelled.

“Hello my name is Yeonjun, I’ll be your driver tonight, if you need me to adjust the ac, just let me know” His voice was soft and pillowy, making your stomach feel all funny. You hummed, staring at him through the rear view mirror.

He looked a little younger than you, he was dressed in a gray hoodie, his bangs peaking out slightly. You couldn’t help but stare at his fuller lips, pink and plump, and you bet they’re very kissable. Yeonjun must have sensed you staring at him, his eyes caught yours, and you quickly looked away clearing your throat.

“So, how’s your night going miss?” He inquired, adjusting the rear view mirror to get a better look at you. You smiled, and bit your lip slightly, before answering his question.

“Actually not so great, my date was an asshole” You replied, stretching out your arms, causing your too little of a skirt to ride up, you didn’t miss the way Yeonjun’s eyes trailed down your figure in the mirror, swallowing hard. You smirked to yourself, that’s right baby, look at my thighs.

“May I asked, what said asshole did, to be called an asshole” He asked, shifting a little bit in his seat, as he kept stealing glances at you in the mirror. You smirked, you were loving that just from a little skin showing, he was already so flustered.

“Well, he didn’t know how to speak to a lady, and insulted my dignity. Plus he seemed very boring, and a waste of my precious time” You said, taking off your black fur jacket, exposing your shoulders and chest. Yeonjun’s eyes widened before quickly looking away, gulping.

“Wow, he seemed like a total dick, I can’t stand guys like him, who don’t know how to treat women with respect and dignity” He said softly, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. You couldn’t help but giggle softly, he was so sweet, cute, and respectful and honestly, you liked where this was going.

“May I ask how old you are, Yeonjun?” You said, flirtatious and seductively”. He cleared his throat, before answering.

“I’m 21, and I’m a sophomore in college”. He said, awkwardly scratching the back of his nape, he could tell you were obviously older than him, and on top of that, you gave off very mature grown woman vibes, that turned him so bad.

“Hmm you’re pretty young, but it seems you know how to treat a lady, Yeonjun”. You said, twirling the ends of your hair. You could tell he was turned on, the constant shifting in his seat, and the tint of red on his ears.

“Uhh, I’m not trying to make any assumptions or toot my horn, but I feel like you’re coming onto me” He said nervously, eyes wide and awkward looking. You giggled softly again, he was just too adorable and gullible for his own good.

“I don’t know darling, am I?” You said teasingly, you wanted to make sure, you both were on the same page, before you went any further.

“Y-yes, he stuttered, opening and closing his legs, like he’s trying to gain some friction. You chuckled, feeling yourself getting wet in your thong, honest truth you loved pathetic man.

You loved when a man wasn’t afraid to show how needy he is for a woman, not some nonchalant wanna be loser, who thinks all women gets off by men being tough.

“I tell you what baby, how about you pull over somewhere private, promise I’ll make it worth your while” you smiled devilish, already starting to rub on your tits, you were so damn horny, so if it meant fucking an uber driver in the backseat of his car to satisfy your needs, then so be it.

Yeonjun damn near lost control of the wheel, he stared at you bewildered, he’s never had something happen to him like this since he started driving for Uber, shit, not ever in general.

“A-Are you l-like serious right now, you want to have sex with me in my car?” He stumbled over his words, he needed to make sure he wasn’t trapped away, in some erotic wet dream. But no, you were dead serious!

“Smart boy, that is exactly what I’m implying, unless you’re scared little boy, who’s afraid of some pussy” You giggled, reaching under your skirt, to slide your panties off, twirling them around your fingertips.

Yeonjun groaned at the sight, cock now very much hard, throbbing inside his sweats. You threw the panties at him, the red piece of fabric landing his lap. He grabbed the your thong, feeling how soaked the panty is, he brought it to his nose, groaning at the scent of your sweet aroma.

“F-fuck you smell so good, fuck I wanna fuck you so bad right now” he whined, hips unintentionally bucking up, he hasn’t been this hard in a long time, too busy with studying and exams, he forgot how good pussy is.

“Then do it baby, find a place, so you can fuck me as hard as you want darling” You said a little desperately, you honestly needed to jump his bones like right now, your pussy was screaming at you, for neglecting her for so long. Yeonjun quickly found an empty parking lot, of an abandoned building, he pulled into the parking lot, turning off his car.

Yeonjun quickly hopped into the back seat, glancing at you nervously, but his eyes were dark and full of lust. You smirked at him, before climbing onto his lap, he was so hard already, cock straining painfully through his sweats where a wet patch could be seen.

“Fuck I can’t believe this is happening right now, you’re so sexy on top of me like this” He whined, putting his hands on your waist, squeezing the fatty flesh. You moaned softly, starting to grind your bare wet pussy on his clothed hard on.

“Yeah baby? You like what I’m doing to you naughty boy” You cooed, dropping down to your knees, staring into his lustful eyes for permission, he nodded eagerly, before lifting his bottom from the seat, so you can pull his pants down.

His hard cock spring free, long and thick, with the tip red and leaking precum. Your mouth watered at the sight, it’s been so long since you seen a pretty and thick cock, you were definitely going to have some fun with him.

You stared deep into his eyes, as you start to leave little kitten licks on his leaking tip, grabbing the base of his dick, and pumping it up and down. Yeonjun pants heavily, watching intently, as your mouth swallows him whole.

“Ah fuck! O-oh god, that feels incredible, ugh please” He whimpered, when you started to full on suck his cock, bobbing your head and slurping. The sounds you were making were sinful, and if anyone were to walk by the car, they would be in for a surprise.

“Yes baby, suck that dick so good, wow you’re so fucking good at this ngh” Yeonjun was a moaning mess, babbling and slurring his words. You could tell it’s been a while for him as well, desperately holding your head in place, as you take his cock down your throat.

“Oh shit baby, I don’t think I’m going to last any longer, you gonna be a good little whore, and let me cum in your mouth” He whined, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and fucking your mouth. You looked up at him with your innocent but not so innocent doe eyes, letting him abuse your throat.

His pants and groans, turned into whiny moans and cries, as he feels his high approaching rapidly. You go to fondle his balls, squeezing them as you sucked him dry. His eyes rolled to back of his head, hips stuttering as he let out a loud cry, shooting thick white ropes of cum down your throat.

You swallowed his semen effortlessly, like you’ve done this plenty of times (which you have.), sticking out your tongue to show how good of a girl you are for him. He already looks so fucked out, eyes half lidded and hazy, and his chest heaves up and down as he tries to control his breathing.

You give his tip a kiss, before climbing back onto his lap, removing your top and bra. You yelped, when he suddenly started to play with your tits, squeezing and pulling on your nipples.

He slid his hand between your legs, swiping his fingers through your slick folds. Your body shuddered, the feeling of his touch sending shock waves of pleasure through your body.

“Fuck you’re so wet for me baby, you like getting your pretty little pussy played with, by random guys huh?” He teased, as he smirked at you mischievously, sliding one of his digits into your tight weeping hole.

“Oh fuck!, oh yes please more” You moaned, his fingers were so long and hitting places deep inside your mushy walls, that you didn’t know existed. You kinda felt so pathetic with yourself, getting off at his vulgar words, but you were too deep now, and it felt too good to stop.

“That’s right baby, cum on my fingers, and show me how desperate of a whore you are” He cooed, curling his fingers deep inside your pussy, as he slides in another finger. As much as you would have loved to cream on his fingers, you rather cream on his cock instead, so you pushed his fingers away panting in the process.

“I need you now, I need your cock inside me right now or I might die of starvation” You said, rubbing your acrylics down his chest. He shivered at your touch, leaning in to kiss your lips softly.

“So, are you implying that you are a cock hungry whore?” He said, smacking your ass harshly, you yelped at the sting, but you couldn’t lie and say it didn’t make your pussy leak more.

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, so are you going to feed my greedy pussy your cock or not Yeonjunie?” You said seductively, palming his hard leaking cock. He groaned out of desperation, reaching into the glove compartment, to pull out a condom.

He stared into your eyes deeply, panting heavily as he tore open the package of the condom with his teeth. You watched as he grabbed his throbbing cock, giving it a couple of pumps, before rolling on the condom. You giggled softly, as he lifted your body up, and aligned his mushroom tip up with your dripping hole.

“Before I put it in, are you sure about this” He asked, his eyes were sincere, but lust also clouded them. You answered him by grabbing his cock, slowing sinking down on it. The stretch was intense, you felt like you were being split open, as his long dick penetrated your fluttering walls.

“Oh fuckk, shit you’re s’big omg” You whined, legs trembling as you tried to let yourself adjust to his size. Yeonjun couldn’t wait though, you felt too good, too fucking tight for him to not fuck up into your heavenly hole.

“Ahh shit, your pussy is so tight fuck” He gripped your waist tightly, starting to rock your hips back and forth. You moaned out loud at the feeling, his cock was truly delightful, the snug fit and the drag of it was like no other.

“Goddam baby, so glad to have been your passenger tonigh- UGH FUCK!! Right there please don’t stop” Your words were interrupted, by Yeonjun suddenly slamming himself inside you, stroking deep inside your wet cunt.

“Look at you, such a desperate little slut, so fucking cock starved, you gotta seduce your uber driver” He spat, full on pounding into your pussy, as he watched your juicy tits bounce up and down in his face.

Your pussy clenched tighter around him, his degrading words turning you on, and making you leak like a faucet. It feel so good to be getting fucked deep and hard by a big cock, and that’s the thing, this cock is too fucking good to have any restrictions.

“Take the condom off” You suddenly said, making Yeonjun halt his movements. He stared at you wide eyed, but you could see the dark desire, behind his pupils.

“W-wait, you want me to fuck you raw?” He asked, shock written all over his face. You nodded your head yes, biting down on your lip as you lifted your body from his lap and pulled the condom off in one pull. Yeonjun watched as you aligned his tip back up with your pussy, before sinking back down.

“Holyy- oh my god that feels so much goddamn better, fuck this is the best cock I ever had junie” You blabbered desperately, starting to bounce on his cock. Yeonjun lets out a pathetic whimper, the feeling of your tight cock, squeezing his throbbing dick with no restrictions, was far too overwhelming.

“Hell yeah, that’s it darling, fuck that cock like it’s yours, you deserve it baby” Yeonjun was also blabbering, eyes rolling to the back of his head, as he feels his stomach tightening, he felt pathetic for how close he already was to cumming.

The windows of the car were foggy, and if anyone were to walk uo to the door, they will definitely hear the sounds of your skin meeting his. Your legs were starting to sting and feel numb, and Yeonjun caught that right away. He took over, fucking into you like it’s no tomorrow, and finding your g-spot in the process.

“FUCK YES PLEASE, please please right there, that’s my spot god!! Yes” You slurred your words and pleaded with him, he was so deep inside you, that you could feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. You couldn’t believe you were already about to cum, no one has ever made you cum this quick.

“Shit baby, fucking hell your pussy’s gonna make me cum so hard” He whined, reclining his seat back some more, as he fucked into you, like a rag dog. You could feel the knot in your stomach getting ready to unravel, as your legs started to tremble again, and you felt this intense tingling feeling in your stomach.

“Fuck stop squeezing me so tight baby, or I won’t have any other choice but to breed this slutty pussy” He said through gritted teeth, trying his absolute best, to not bust his nut inside you. You being the menace you are, you placed your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself, and started to bounce on his dick again.

“Wait, wait oh god I’m- I’m- c-um” He couldn’t even finish his sentence, before his hips stuttered, releasing thick white ropes of cum inside you, completing emptying out his balls. The feeling of his warm cum filling up your insides, triggered your orgasm, as you came and squirted all over him, fucking up his seats as well.

You both panted, chests heaving up and down, as you both came down from the intense highs. Your limp weak body, fell over on him, resting your head on his shoulder as you panted. He also laid his head on your shoulder, drawing little circles on your back.

“Wow did I really just fuck my Uber driver” You suddenly said, breaking the silence. He chuckled before giving your ass a squeeze, and pulling out a cloth from the glove compartment to clean you both up.

“Yup you sure did miss, but if it makes you feel better that was the best fucking pussy I’ve ever had” he smiled weakly at you, caressing your cheeks. You blushed at the romantic gesture, but not once stopping him, it honestly felt kinda nice.

Not long after, you guys got dressed and yeonjun brought you home, you made sure to give him a kiss goodbye, and you might have even gotten his number. You knew you would be contacting him again, not for that magic of a dick he has, but his car was really clean and he’s also really friendly.

*Uber Notification*: Y/n tipped you $100

Note: Thanks for the hookup baby, hmu anytime you feeling risky😏💋

Choi Yeonjun: Wow wtf, that’s a big tip😲 also uhhh could you please make sure to leave a 5 star review….

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖤𝗇𝖽．

A/n: Hola besties🫣 𝗂𝗄 𝗂𝗄 don’t scold me Ik I should have been published this, but I’m on vacation and I’m literally leaving nyc tomorrow sadly😓 It was so much fun!! But I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did, and feel free to leave any comments and reblogs ate greatly appreciated love uu🫶🏽🩷 not proofreading shii idgaf😚

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Taglist:

@i03jae @ataver @ancnymcnzjy @pagelets @jakeswifez @beomjunnchoii25 @michaeljacksonsson @tyunderella

#txt hard hours #txt scenarios #txt x reader #txt yeonjun #txt smut #txt imagines #smut #fanfic #choi yeonjun #yeonjun smut #yeonjun txt #slut4heemasterlist #slut4heeworks #slut4heeupdates #slut4hee #feeling slutty #i want him inside me #need that

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