#is telling me to ‘stop. observe. breathe’ when i get anxiety | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forlix · 6 months

Text

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

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

words・15.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

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

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

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

“What the hell did you do?”

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

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

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

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

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

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

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

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

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

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

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

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

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

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

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep.”

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

“That’s bullshit!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

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

Then comes the yelling.

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

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

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

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

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

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

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

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

Piazza replied within the week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

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

“Was it not?” You ask.

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

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

“What? Really?”

“No.”

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

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

“I do, but you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

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

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation.

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

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

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

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

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

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

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

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

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

“To dinner or to practice?”

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

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

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

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

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is this, mock trial?”

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

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

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

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

“I would never.”

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

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

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do kick him under the table, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

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

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

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

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

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

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

“I can’t promise anything.”

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

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

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

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

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

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

“Caring about me.”

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

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

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

“Motherfucker!”

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

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

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

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

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

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

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

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

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

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

With that, his attention span has run its course.

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

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

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

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

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

“Okay.”

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

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

“Why is that?”

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

“It really is.”

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

“I really would.”

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

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

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

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

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

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

“Really?”

“No.”

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

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

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

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

Then he opens his texts.

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

He picks you up at 7:53.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m okay, I think.”

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

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

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

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

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

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

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

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

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

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

“What was that?”

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

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

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

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to be alone?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the arcade.

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

In person, that is.

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

Then you listen to it again.

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

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

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

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you see under these things?”

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

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

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

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

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

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

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

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

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

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

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

You stop thinking after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Traitor.”

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

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

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

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

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

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

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

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

“Let’s get this over with.”

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin is already out the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She really is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeonwoo, right?”

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

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

“Also a singer?”

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

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

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

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

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

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

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

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

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

“Bet.”

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has always been him.

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

It’s not awkward this time.

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

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

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

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

He balls his fingers into fists.

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

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

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

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

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

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

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

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

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

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

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off.

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

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

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

Hyunjin thanks you.

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

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

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

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

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

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

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

He calls out to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

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

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

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

He finds you a sobbing mess.

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

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

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

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

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

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

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

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

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

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

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

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

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

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

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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bunnliix · 6 days

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When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Thirteen

Okie so I know I said this chapter was fluffy, I lied. It took a turn and I'm sorry but not sorry?

Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader Summary: Part one of Ateez taking y/n out for a fun day in Seoul! wc: 2.8k AU: a/b/o Genre: Fluff/Angst warnings: anxiety, fear of heights, panic attacks/almost panic attacks, sexist and misogynistic thoughts (Women/omegas belong in the kitchen, etc.), alphas being assholes, mentions of fighting, violence, insults masterlist

Wooyoung had decided the one place she had to visit was Lotte World Tower, because of course they have to start out at the tallest place imaginable. It didn’t take them long to arrive at the tower, and as y/n looked upwards, she felt herself get a little woozy. Yunho, who had been keeping an eye on her the entire ride, stepped up behind her, his hands coming to land on her shoulders as he leaned down close to her.

“Are you sure you’re okay to do this? You can back out and none of us will be mad. I think you know this, but Seonghwa is afraid of heights too, so he and Mingi will be going somewhere else in the area while we spend time up at the top of the tower.” Yunho informed her, keeping his voice at a whisper while the others were occupied talking to each other.

“I’m okay. But if it’s too much, can I leave and come back down to the ground floor?” She asked the alpha behind her.

“Of course. If it gets to be too much for you, come to me and tap me twice and I’ll take you down right away, no questions asked.” He told her, squeezing her shoulders before pulling back and letting go of the smaller omega.

This was when the others, minus the duo that Yunho had mentioned, came back over to the two, asking if they were ready to head in. After quickly nodding, Hongjoong guided the seven inside, bypassing the line and heading straight for the elevator to the observation deck. Wooyoung immediately took his place beside her once they were all situated in the elevator, reaching out to grab her hand as the ride up to the top quickly went by. She was dragged out of the elevator right to the windows to look over the city, holding her breath for a moment as she looked out at Seoul, amazed at how far the city sprawled outwards.

“Why are you gripping my hand so hard?” Wooyoung asked, whining towards the end.

“I’m sorry, just a bit uncomfortable with so many people here, it’s a lot for me.” She told the older man, not fully lying, but not telling him the actual reason.

“Oh, baby omega,” Wooyoung cooed, pulling her in for a hug, “It’s okay. We’re here, you’ll be okay.” He comforted her, which helped slightly, but until she was back on the ground, she wouldn’t be back to being fully okay.

San wandered over to the two, smiling at seeing the two omegas hugging. The beta wrapped his arms around them, rocking them back and forth, which made y/n’s nerves become even further on edge. She could see in the corner of her eye that Yeosang and Hongjoong were all milling around one of the windows, seeming to be discussing something with serious faces. Yunho and Jongho were nowhere to be seen, at least not within her eyesight. Before she realized it, Wooyoung and San were pulling her over to the part of the deck that had the glass flooring. She tried to calm her breathing, though it wasn’t working as well as she would have hoped. The beta/omega duo were insistent on taking her over to stand on it so they could take pictures of her, and so she could take the “cool looking down at the ground” photos, or at least that’s what her brain supplied to her as what they said. Her head was elsewhere, trying to figure out what to do, and what would cause the least amount of a scene.

They stopped pulling her, and she looked down to see that she was on top of the glass flooring, and her instinct was to jump away, but Wooyoung held onto her arm which stopped her.

“We’re gonna take photos, stop being so impatient to go and see the rest of the building!” He said to her, a smile on his face.

“I’m good, I don’t need photos, Wooyoung.” She told the other omega, trying to get her arm free from his grip.

“Of course you need photos! It’s your first time here!” He told her.

She saw Yunho pop up from the corner of her eye, and start heading towards the trio. She knew she had to stand up for herself, and make her fears known, but she hadn’t wanted to disappoint Wooyoung as he was so excited to take her here. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage to tell Wooyoung.

“Wooyoung, I’m afraid of heights and the longer you keep me here on the glass, the more likely I am to have a panic attack or get sick or pass out, or all three. Please let me go.” She told her fellow omega, closing her eyes to avoid looking down as she normally would in this type of situation.

The result was immediate, Wooyoung’s arm dropping away from her own, and a set of arms pulling her from where she stood. She opened her eyes to see Jongho was the one who had pulled her away, before Yunho could get close.

“Are you okay?” The alpha asked her.

“I’m doing better now. I won’t be okay until I’m down on the ground again. Heights are not my thing, and glass flooring is definitely not my thing.” She told the alpha, taking a deep breath before stepping away to have some space, the youngest alpha allowing her that space, and San stopping Wooyoung from crowding her once again. The looks on their faces displaying how bad they felt for forcing her into a situation that she clearly feared, and that they were so hell-bent on making sure she experienced it, that they didn’t think to stop and ask if she wanted to do it at all.

“Why didn't you say that you didn’t like heights? I wouldn’t have brought you here, I would have taken you somewhere else? Did you not trust us enough? I’m sorry, y/n.” Wooyoung asked, apologizing in the end.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice either, y/n. I never meant to cause you anxiety with my actions, and I’m sorry that I didn’t notice your anxiety and reluctance and instead was the cause of more anxiety for you.” San said, as he and Wooyoung bowed in apology to you.

“I didn’t want to ruin your good mood, Wooyoung. You looked so excited to take me here, and I figured I could deal with the anxiety until we were back down on ground level again. I’m not the biggest fan of heights, so these kinds of things are a bit scary to me, and glass floors cause me a lot of anxiety.” Y/n explained to the two.

Darling, you could have said something to us, we would have understood.” San said to her, his voice having just a hint of sadness in it at her words.

“Yeah! If you had said you couldn’t do this, I would have found somewhere else for us to visit, I would never want to force you to do something you’re not comfortable with just because it was somewhere I wanted to take you. So please, tell us no when we suggest things you don’t like?” Wooyoung followed up San’s words with a pleading look in his eyes that also spoke to the regret he felt for suggesting they come here.

“I promise I will speak up next time, okay? Today was just such a great day after all of the fighting earlier, I didn’t want to bring the mood down again by shooting your suggestion down.” Y/n said.

“I told her that if she needed to get out of here, all she had to do was come and tap me twice and I’d take her back down. She had an out, Wooyoung, if she felt this was all too much.” Yunho spoke up, reminding them all that he was here.

Wooyoung nodded at Yunho, seemingly feeling a little bit better knowing that one of the others knew about this and had a way to help y/n out of this situation should she have needed it. Jongho only pulled the smallest omega closer to him, feeling touchy and protective in a way that normally he wouldn’t, as the others usually were the ones to feel this way. She looked up at him and giggled, only adjusting herself so that she was a bit more comfortable, letting the youngest alpha hold onto her for as long as he felt he needed to.

A couple minutes later, the remaining two wandered over to the five, wondering what was going on. “What’s going on here?” Yeosang asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Wooyoung and San dragged y/n over to the flooring here only to almost make her have a panic attack. Because she’s afraid of heights, which the glass floor would only make worse.” Jongho said bluntly, knowing it would only result in consequences for the duo.

“Oh,” Hongjoong stayed quiet for a moment, “You two, in my room once we’re back home, yes?” The smile on his face sent chills down everyone’s spines, as they knew that smile on the pack alpha’s face meant nothing good.

This marked the end of their trip, as Hongjoong quickly ushered everyone back to the elevator to go back down to ground level, not wanting to cause anymore anxiety to his newest member. Seonghwa and Mingi met them outside of the tower, both carrying more than a few bags between the two of them. Both of them noticed Jongho’s closeness to the sole female member of the group and Seonghwa noted it to ask about later.

“Are we ready to go to the next place?” Mingi asked, looking at them.

“We’re ready to go. Yunho, it’s your place next, right?” Yeosang answered, looking at his fellow member.

The golden retriever of a man nodded, confirming that his chosen place was next. “I promise it’s not another tower, and technically this is Mingi’s favorite place too, but he picked another one so we had a bit of variety.” He told the youngest omega.

The journey seemed to speed by, even with the traffic on the way to wherever Yunho had decided on taking her. It very quickly came clear once the car came closer to Han River, dropping them off where directed to by the tallest member. Once all nine were out of the car, Yunho took the lead, directing them to an area set out for them, as the security members that had been guarding it for them left at the man’s command.

“You set this up? How did you get this done so quickly?” y/n asked Yunho, surprised at what he had arranged so quickly.

“I had some help from our security crew plus some other friends of mine, who were nice to set this all up for us,” Yunho explained, “You should dig in, before it gets cold.”

He directed everyone, but especially y/n, as the platter laid out was a lot of Korean fast food that he thought she might want to try. Some of it she had tried before, while some of it was completely new to her, but she didn’t hesitate to try at least a bite of everything. The most foreign thing for her might have been the corn on pizza, as it seems like such an odd thing to have on pizza, but after having a bite, she could see where it fit in with the other ingredients.

She enjoyed the time with the eight men outside of the company and the group’s own dorm, the atmosphere was much more relaxed and casual, and she let herself relax and enjoy this down time. Y/n knew she wouldn’t get much more of it from tomorrow onwards.

“Are you excited to get to do all of the ‘idol things’ we do?” San asked y/n, a smile on his face as he laid down on the grass next to her, having moved over from the main group.

“Yes, but also no,” she answered, “I’m excited, but I’ve seen how busy life can get as an idol, so I’m going to miss all of my freetime.”

San nodded, the beta knowing that she wasn’t wrong, Ateez never really stopped working, not for long anyways. They did take breaks when the members’ heats and ruts occurred, but other than that rest was almost nonexistent.

“You’re not wrong, but I think you’ll find the work to be enjoyable. Plus you still have to get introduced to Atiny, which will be fun. Oh, and they’ve been working on other things too!” The beta enthused, rambling on excitedly about the plans he knew were happening in the near future, as well as where she’d fit in with everything.

At the sound of footsteps behind them, San looked up as y/n turned around, finding that Yunho was the source.

“Yunho-yah, what’s up?” San asked the dancer.

“I’m here to steal y/nnie away from you for a bit.” Yunho replied, making the beta pout.

“But I was just getting some time with her,” San whined, making y/n giggle.

“I’m sure Yunho won’t keep me for long,” she told the man, before getting up to stand next to the tall grey-haired man.

“Fine,” San said, “but come back soon.”

Yunho led y/n away, towards a quieter part of the area that also happened to be more secluded as well. It was a bit of a walk, so they filled the time talking about funny stories from their childhood.

“-and then the gym teacher picked him up and dropped him in the trash can. All because he joked about it and then didn’t pay attention when Mr. Mercer was talking.” Y/n told Yunho, causing the older man to laugh.

“I don’t think I have any stories like that from my school days, but I have many stories about Mingi-yah.” He told y/n, chuckling to himself as he’s reminded of more than a few things Mingi would be embarrassed about if y/n was told about them.

They were engrossed in their own little world, chatting and giggling until y/n ran into a wall, knocking her backwards.

“Ah yes, a stupid omega who can’t watch where she’s going.” The wall, which was actually an alpha, sneered.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Y/n apologized to the rude alpha, disregarding the insult to not escalate the situation.

However, Yunho didn’t have the same thought. “You shouldn’t have been standing on the sidewalk, and she’s not stupid,” he said.

“I can stand wherever I want, and keep your fucking omega at home, where she belongs,” the alpha shot back at Yunho.

“Yunho, just let it go, it’s fine.” Y/n tried to convince the idol, not wanting to get him in trouble, or have the shithead alpha get any more violent.

“He’s insulting you, I won’t let that stand,” Yunho replied, before looking back up at the alpha in front of them.

A crowd had started to gather, making y/n feel unsettled, knowing that Yunho could get recognized soon if he hadn’t been already. And she didn’t yet have any of the other’s numbers, so she couldn’t reach out to them for help.

“...you really can’t control your omega well, huh? You really should just take her home and leave her in the kitchen. Or better yet, give her to me, and I can show you how a real alpha controls their omega. You obviously don’t like her that much, considering she has no mating bite on her neck.” The alpha continued, and the scent of burnt oranges coming from Yunho only grew stronger.

Y/n grabbed Yunho’s arm, trying to pull the alpha away from the confrontation. She didn’t want them to get into trouble, plus she wasn’t the person for confrontations with alphas like the one Yunho is about to fight. They never changed their minds, and fighting wouldn’t prove anything. She’s dealt with enough of them to know that they wanted to get a rise out of omegas and anyone they could, while truly believing that omegas were inferior to them.

Yunho tugged his arm out of her hold, moving in front of her and closer to the other alpha.

“Yu, please. It’s not worth it.” She pleaded with the man, who only shook his head.

“You should really listen to the dumb bunny, wouldn’t want to mess up your pretty face.”

That was the final straw for Yunho, and y/n could only watch in horror as the tall alpha practically launched himself at the other man, his arm pulled back ready to throw a punch.

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wroteclassicaly · 2 months

Text

A/N: Uh… I might do a part two to this? But it randomly came to me and I wanna try something different.

Warnings: Language, hurt, angst, unrequited/one sided feelings, sadness, anxiety, mentions panic, body issues, and mentions self-esteem problems.

You’re hunched over the counter, skin taunt over your knuckles, bones sharp enough to shred through. A hot, sticky wetness resides in your lungs, the pain of its steam burning in your throat, settling over your lungs. You cannot see through the haze of blurred vision, half-assed attempts to wipe copious amounts of moisture going nowhere. Only when a heavier set of footfalls fall outside of the door and it’s yanked open — you finally cease some panic. Your manager, in all his greasy glory, clings to the doorframe, looking into the storage closet to make sure that you’re alone.

Obviously, because who would go in here with me? Steve never fucking will. He’s probably had other girls in here…

Keith is speaking, sounding like his voice is somewhere above the surface of murky waters. But you make it out. “Hey, uh. I heard what happened with Harrington back there. Let me take you out, show you how a real man can treat a lady?”

If Keith wasn’t so disgusting towards the female population, you’d feel bad for him, but to sink yourself as low as to only get an offer from him? And right after HE saw you get rejected by your best-friend?

Nip it in the butt before it continues. You have to work here, after all…

“No, thanks, Keith. But I appreciate it.” You force a smile so fake that it burns the corners of your mouth.

He snorts, shaking his head. “Fine, but know that if Harrington side stepped you, you shouldn’t be so stingy with standards.” The comment stings, pricks your heart, tearing it apart to bleed out. “I’ll be in my office if you change your mind, sweets.”

One nasty wink later, and he’s back in his office and you’re out the door. This is all too much. You have to go. It’s break time, you thank fuck for, glancing at the clock, but you can barely think, your head pulsating with a pressing pound between your eyes. You punch out for lunch, gathering your purse, and you’re coming out as Robin is talking rapidly to Steve, seemingly scolding him at the front desk.

She’s come in for her shift. They stop immediately, features softening, too observant for your liking. You do what you do best — change the subject. Steve isn’t going to care anyways, so you might as well say it. It’ll help you get outside quicker.

“I have a fucking headache, I’m hungry, and Keith just hit on me, so I’m taking my break.” You blow out a wobbly breath.

It’s also Steve’s break, and he starts to remove his vest. Is he serious? You are so beyond outer limits right now… Granted, you take your breaks together every single day, but after everything that just happened in the past hour?

Steve’s jaw clenches and his body tenses at what you tell them, pausing his removal mid-way, inclining his head to look back in the manager’s office direction. Robin looks mad, tongue clicking as she looks over at Steve and shakes her head. You let them go, about halfway to the door before the bell rings and the beautiful girl that Steve’s been after forever to get a date with — approaches. She’s looking extra special, all dolled up. Sundress, heels, makeup, bracelets, a dainty necklace on her perfect shape.

It’s things you know Steve loves, because it’s also what you’re wearing. It made you feel good, but it was out of your element, yet you’d thought his hints, his behavior with you — Robin and Nancy had encouraged that those things were MAJOR signs. The girl goes straight for Steve, reaching for his massive hand. You’re frozen, having been waiting on him, despite all of your instincts telling you not to. Robin is looking at you with sympathy, something you’d rather never see directed your way again.

The girl, she’s acting as if it’s just her and Steve here. “I know you said this is your lunch hour. Looks I’m free if you still wanna hang out?” She swings her purse in her free hand. He’s been after her for a while — for sex or emotional connection, you aren’t sure. But what you do know, is that doesn’t want you at all.

And you can’t fault him, no one can. As his friends, you should worry about his happiness and dry yourself up, not making him feel guilty for not returning what you have felt for a while. That doesn’t mean that this isn’t pulverizing your heart, dusting your bones to ash, dashing all hopes and future fantasies, telling yourself he did like you, letting yourself believe — it does not hurt any less. It hurts more than you can bear. You feel his mossy eyes filter into your direction, meeting over her head, his nose wrinkling, that tick in his jaw that occurs when he wants so badly to speak, but can’t.

You’re caught in the moments that happened before any of this… Body on fire, doused in flames, tumbling down a cliff side of revelations. You weren’t even sure if reality existed, or if you were feeling too much of every emotion to comprehend anything.

“I really like you, Steve. And I think that, maybe, you like me too?”

“I do.”

“Yeah?”

“More than anyone, probably.”

“Me too.”

“But I don’t… We’re really close, honey.”

“That’s a good thing though, obviously. Right?”

“It’s always gonna be a good thing, trust me. I’ve never had someone in my life like you before.”

“Sooo. What about tonight?”

“I’m so sorry. Any guy would be lucky to have you. And I care about you, more than anyone, but I just… I don’t feel the same way.”

Drowning in an ocean of pity and panic. You’re back to present, watching him see those moments through your eyes, which have now glossed over with tears. He’s trying to be respectful, not accept her in front of you, keep things okay, show he won’t make it weird because of your confession. Normal. Keeping his lunch date with you.

You don’t fake your smile, hand on the door, nodding several times. He doesn’t have to feel guilty, he doesn’t have to sacrifice his happiness. You love him, even if he isn’t in love with you. And that’s all that matters. He deserves this.

When Steve glances down towards the door and back up, the bell is fading against the glass, but you’re gone...

Your sundress blows in the wind of a fresh summer storm as you leave the store behind to walk to the deli, your tears cresting, before rising in a tempo that you don’t control. Your chest feels as if there’s a thousand pounds crushing you, every negative self-image colliding, thoughts flowing free, self-loathing — it all lets loose. And before you know it, you’re sobbing in the middle of the street over Steve Harrington…

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scarletts-scribbles · 8 months

Note

Reader works for Lena that turns into working buddies with benefits, but reader starts catching feelings. Maybe angst but happy ending?

Highly Unprofessional

⁀➷ Pairing: Lena Luthor x Reader

⁀➷ Notes: Okay so I haven’t written smut properly before so hopefully this is a decent attempt :,) Let me know what you think! Sorry this took a while, its like 3k words long so editing was a bitch.

⁀➷ Summary: When a one-time hookup turns into a regular occurance, it sets off a chain of events which you're helpless to stop.

⁀➷ WARNINGS: 18+ Minors DNI, fingering, cunnilingus, semi-public (I mean its in her office but the door was open oopsie)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

In the bustling chaos of corporate life, where stress reigns supreme the last thing you want to do is mix business and your personal life. It only ever ended in disaster.

When you’d first moved to National City, you’d never imagined just a few short months later you’d be working directly under the city’s most prevenient businesswoman. Lena Luthor was a force to be reckoned with. It was a miracle you’d gotten the position of her assistant at all, your CV was sharp, but it wasn’t anything to be in awe of so when you’d got the call that you’d received the job it was safe to say she was over the moon.

It taken a little while to warm up to you. She’d been a rather cold at first. Not that you could blame her of course, given her family history. However slowly but surely you found her opening up more to you, building up her trust gradually. In the meantime, whilst she’d grown to depend on your assistance, you payed close attention and slowly learnt her tells. You knew when Lena was upset, she’d get that little crinkle in her brows or that when she was anxious, she’d gently bite the left corner of her lip. Infact you’d become so observant of her habits and body language that sometimes you knew how she was feeling before she’d register the emotions herself.

One particularly hectic day in the bustling office, the air thick with tension, you noticed Lena pacing nervously in her office. The telltale signs were there – the crinkle in her brows, the subtle lip-biting – Lena was clearly on edge about the upcoming meeting with a major client.

Truth to told, seeing her like this made you feel anxious as well. How could someone as powerful and accomplished as Lena get so nervous? You’dhad never seen her like this before, and it was almost like seeing a completely different person.

You had to help.

You knocked gentle on the door, clearing your throat quietly to announce your presence, “Miss Luthor?”

A wave of relief washed over Lena as she heard your voice calling through the door. This meeting had been weighing heavily on her mind, and she was desperate to find some way to relax before it started.

“You know you can call me Lena.” She smiled and nodded for you to enter.

You stepped into the room and approached Lena with the gentle warmth and confidence that always radiated from you. She found herself walking over to you, looking at you deeply before taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. You took her closeness as a chance to reach out to squeeze her shoulder and when she didn’t object, you softly applied pressure to her muscles.

“Fuck.” She let the curse split out involuntarily before trying to regain herself, “Do you need something from me?”

“You’re tense, let me help?” You mumbled softly to which she nodded. Your touch was like a balm for her. As you began subtly massaging Lena's shoulders, the tension began to subside, and her frown faded away, you let your hand slide down to her wrist, holding it gently as you pulled her over to the pristine sofa at the other side of her office, “Come, sit.”

"Thank you." Lena took a deep breath and sunk into the seat. She could feel the stress and anxiety that had been weighing heavily on her began to melt away. She turned her head toward you and smiled softly, letting out a sigh of relief. Lena gave in and allowed herself to sink deep into your warm embrace. With her worries temporarily relieved, she closed her eyes and began to enjoy the feeling of your hands working away at her tension.

Leaning in, you reached to place a comforting hand on her thigh, feeling the subtle tension in her muscles. You had no intention’s behind the action. Your touch was light, meant to reassure rather than intrude. But Lena’s eyes slowly opened and cast over to meet yours, her emerald green iris's seemingly sparkling with a new found feeling.

It was obvious she was a little surprised by the gesture, but there was a moment of pause. She tried to be professional, but her body was responding positively to the touch.

The feeling was both calming and exciting, sending a shiver of desire down her spine, the creeping onset on desire making her leg’s bounce nervously.

She looked into your eyes and saw the unmistakable spark of attraction between the pair of you. Of course she’d noticed your lokg glances before and she wasn’t ashamed to say she’d given you some the day you’d left her office when you’d interviewed for the position. Her previous tension was soon replaced with a subtle feeling of arousal, and she couldn't help but crave more.

"Could you...keep going?" she whispered, words shaking through her soft yet overwhelming sensual voice - filled with desire.

“You mean?” Your voice was quiet as you very slowly moved your hand up her thigh, waiting for to confirm her consent, “Is this okay? I need to hear you say it Lena.”

"Keep going," Lena whispered. Her voice was raspy from the tension, but there was no mistaking the excitement in her voice. She wanted you to keep touching her. She craved it. Soaked in the intimacy of your touch. "Please..."

The feeling of your hand gliding over her thighs was intoxicating, sending shivers of arousal through her body. You teased her lightly, fingers reaching her line of her panties. You could hardly fight back your own growing blush at the feeling of the wet fabric. Lena let out a soft moan as you softly ran your finger around her entrance – she was so sensitive. Her eyes closed once again as she leaned back into the couch, surrounding herself to your touch.

Your touch was intoxicating. You kept it light, but your slow strokes were sending her body into ecstasy. Lena's breaths grew shallow as she leaned toward you, her lips meeting yours in an intimate kiss.

"Don't stop," she whispered against your lips, her body urging you to keep going as you edged her sodden clit, rubbing circles as her back arched involuntarily.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” You whispered back with a husky tone as your fingers continued to work their magic on her. You could feel the heat radiating off her body, adding to the intoxicating atmosphere. Your touch became firmer, getting closer to her core, making sure every stroke and tease was intense. You were doing your job finely, the way she moaned into your mouth was driving you wild with validation, knowing you were making her feel good. Truely you were completely under her control, willing to do anything she desired - anything to please her.

With each passing moment, the lust between you both grew more intense, fuelling your passion. Both your excitement only grew with every teasing touch and feather-light kiss. You knew she enjoyed the buildup of anticipation just as much as you did. In the heat of the moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself to the moment.

Your hand never stopped tracing along her sensitive folds as Lena’s moans grew louder, encouraging you to continue. She kissed you again and the kiss deepened as she pushed against you, urging you to take control. Her body ached for you as you pressed your fingers against her entrance, playing with her and teasing her. You held her deep in your embrace, feeling her shudder helplessly, her body giving into yours as you continued to stroke her. Finally, you gave into the inevitable and pushed inside, finally giving her the release, she craved.

Lena writhed beneath you, gasping for breath as you drove her toward climax. She muscles were tight against your fingers and you couldnt feel your hand going a little numb from how hard her thighs were squeezed together. She kept her hands clenched in your hair as you felt her body convulsing beneath yours. She moaned, high desperate sounds before finally, with a shudder of ecstasy, she peaked. Her back arching helplessly as she reached her climaxed under your guide.

Once she’d caught her breath, you carefully pulled out of her, making sure to be gentle against her sensitivities. You stroked her hair tenderly, feeling her body begin to relax against you as she came down down from her high.

"Do you feel better now?" you asked her, as she leaned back against you, still breathing heavily from the experience.

Lena sighed softly, a satisfied smile on her face, “So much better," she replied, her voice still light and breathless from the rush "Thank you for helping me relax.”

You brushed your fingers across her cheek, lingering for a beat. The intimacy of the moment was intoxicating, the shared look of pleasure and satisfaction. You couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than just stress relief. As your head wandered the clouds, you didn’t notice Lena fixing her hair, tying it back in a tight ponytail.

She checked her watch, seemingly debating something for a moment before her voice pulled you back down to reality, “I think we’ve got just enough time.” She said, sitting back down against you, pulling on of your legs over hers, opening you up.

“Enough time for what?”

Lena smirked mischievously, tugging at the edge of your skirt. “For me to return the favour...”

･ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ﾟ･

That had been the first of many times you’d helped her relax. It had become a sort of ritual really. Whenever she’d have a big meeting or important event coming up, she’d come to you to help her unwind. Truthfully the first it’d happened; it had taken you a few days to really process it all. The experience had changed you. You couldn’t just see her as your boss anymore. She was more than that. Lena had always had a stunning body of course but now it was almost as if though you couldn’t keep her eyes off her.

The ways her hips curved had you weak in the knees, it wasn’t just her physical attributes though. It was everything, the weak she spoke, the way she held herself. It was intoxicating. Safe to say you were happy to lend a hand whenever needed. Maybe you could’ve kept this up forever, helping her out without a second thought – she was still your boss after all. But this latest time had changed something in you.

It had started off in its usual way, you’d seen the meeting scheduled on the calendar and let yourself into her office – the two of you were way past knocking now. Lena knew what was about to happen, she’d been waiting for it.

As you entered her office, Lena didn't waste any time before pulling you closer to her. You felt the heat and need radiating off of her as she kissed you passionately, her hands moving greedily over your body. You moaned as she pushed you up against the desk, her mouth hot against your neck.

Suddenly, she pulled back, looking at you with a predatory glint in her eyes. "Do you know what I want to do to you?" she whispered, her voice low with desire as her tender fingers danced down the front of your shirt - making a show out of unbuttoning them.

As she spoke, Lena left the kiss and moved down your body with purpose, her lips and tongue leaving a trail of heat and anticipation down your torso. Your hands found her hair, pulling it as if to guide her further where you wanted her. But the CEO had plans of her own. She knew what she wanted and she wanted it now, right this moment. So much so that she hadn’t even bothered closing her office door.

Without warning, she pushed your shoulders down, forcing you to sit on her desk. Lena smirked, moving in to kiss you deeply, so deep that it left you chasing her lips as she pulled away. Without a pause, she pushed your legs apart and planted herself between them, her eagerness so apparent it sent a shiver of desire right through you.

You could feel her looking up at you as she kissed through the fabric of your panties, her hands moving to stroke and soothe wherever they could reach.

You couldn't help but moan now, one hand coming to grip her hair and the other gripping the edge of the desk with such force that your knuckles turned white. You were helpless to resist as Lena worked her way deeper, your grip became more frenzied, less able to control yourself.

It hadn’t taken long before your panties had been pulled down and Lena was happily satisfying herself on your clit whilst you slowly grinded against her face, desire driving you wild.

Then something suddenly caught your attention. You heard someone in the hall…

You tried to voice this but through your whimpers, not much was articulated. Despite this, Lena didn't even flinch when she’d heard them, seemingly not bothered by the accompanying approaching footsteps.

Instead, she kept going, her tongue working magic on you as she held your hips steady with one hand. You could hear people talking just outside the open door, but Lena didn't seem to care. In fact, it seemed to turn her on even more - the thrill of getting caught.

You tried to stifle your moans, but it was impossible with Lena's skilled mouth on you. Your body was writhing on the edge of the desk, your toes curling as the pleasure built and built. And still, she didn't stop.

Lena never broke eye contact with you as she continued to work her tongue and lips over your pussy, sending you further and further into ecstasy. The sounds of voices in the hallway were drowned out by your moans, which the Luthor seemed to be enjoying immensely.

She added a couple of fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit your sweet spot, and you felt your body convulse in response. You couldn't hold back anymore, and you came hard, your body shaking with the force of it.

Lena didn't stop, though; she kept going, licking and sucking until you were overstimulated and sensitive. Finally, she stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she grinned down at you.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She laughed, the sound of her voice sending shivers down your spine again.

Your cheeks blushed crimson as you cleaned yourself up, “Do you want me-” You took a step forward but stopped when she held out her hand, shaking her head as she fixed her hair.

“I just wanted you darling, nothing more. Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a meeting to attend too.”

With that Lena smoothed out the crease in her skirt before heading out the door, leaving you to catch your breath, still perched upon her table.

Darling?

The pet name replayed over and over in your head as the day passed by. You couldn’t stop thinking about her, about these sessions.

It wasn’t just about favours anymore. It felt like she had wanted you. You’d wanted her. God you’d been trying so hard to ignore the fact you’d crave her touch when you were alone. It had gotten to the point where you’d started to miss simply being around her. In fact you’d started coming in earlier and leaving later just to be near her. But you had tried to ignore it. Dammit! Why couldn’t you stop thinking about it!

The rational part of your brain was telling you to pull back, to remind yourself that her actions were just physical and didn't mean anything more. But the other part of you, the part that craved the closeness and heat of your body wanted her for more. You wanted to feel more than just the pleasure of their bodies. You wanted to build a connection, a partnership. You wanted more.

Oh shit... You wanted love.

The realisation had made you sick. What you wanted could never happen. You knew Lena’s life; it was busy and packed. She didn’t have time for something solid. It was why your little favours had worked so well. You’d kept each other going. You could hardly tell her that you wanted more.

Goddamn it!

ﾟ: ･ﾟ: ﾟ･

The ringing it your ears hadn’t really faded since you’d realised. You’d called out of work the past 2 days; you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Her eyes were a tease, a reminder of what you couldn’t have. Instead, you’d stayed home, trying to wrap your head around all the feelings swirling round in your head, your rapid thoughts never seemed to slow down long enough for you to process them.

You were in love with Lena Luthor.

You were in love with your boss…

Casual sex! That was all it was meant to be, no, no, no! How could you let yourself fall like this?

In all honesty, it felt like you were grieving. Grieving something you could never have. Something forbidden. It was awful.

You felt like shit. It had taken most of your energy to make the treacherous journey from your bed to the sofa - there was no point getting dressed. It wasn’t like you were going to work today anyway. You couldn’t bare the thought of facing her, the thought of it ate you up inside.

As you lay on your sofa, consumed by the weight of your emotions, a knock on the door suddenly startled you. You contemplated just ignoring it, hoping whoever it is will just get the hint, go away and leave you alone. However, the knocking persists, growing louder and more insistent with each rap.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself off the sofa and reluctantly opened the door. To your surprise, it was Lena standing there. A concerned expression etched across her face. Her usual confident demeanor seemed softened by genuine worry.

"Lena?" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, scanning the disarrayed room. "I've been trying to reach you for days. What's going on? Why haven't you been at work?”

Lena's concerned gaze met yours, and you could sense the weight of unspoken questions in her eyes. Your throat tightened, grappling with the words you hadn't dared to say.

"I... I just needed some time to think," you admitted, avoiding direct eye contact with her, staring hard at the floor, "Things have... changed.”

Her brow furrowed as she took in the gravity of your words. "Changed how?"

You hesitated, then let out a defeated sigh, "I can't keep doing this, Lena. Us. Secretly fucking each other at work just because we can. I don’t want to just be someone of the side anymore, I want to be more than that."

There was a moment of silence as Lena processed your words. Tension hung heavy over the room, a silence so thick you could’ve slice it with a knife, and you wondered if you had just ruined whatever fragile arrangement existed between you.

Finally, Lena spoke up, her soft voice wavering as she spoke, "More? What do you mean?"

"I mean..." You paused, gathering your courage. "I want a real relationship, Lena. Not just these secret little rendezvous we keep having. Lena, I want something genuine."

Her eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability. "I didn't think... I didn't know you wanted that," she admitted, her usual confidence waning.

"I do," You nodded slowly, affirming your words, "I can't keep pretending that this is enough for me. I want more than just physical connection; I want an emotional one too."

Lena took a hesitant step closer, the distance between you diminishing. "I thought we were both on the same page, I thought-.”

"No, Lena, I can't do this anymore," you repeated, the weight of your unspoken desires finally finding a voice, “I can’t keep pretending I’m fine with this anymore. I’m sorry but I just can’t.”

Lena's expression shifted, torn between conflicting emotions. The room hung in suspended silence, waiting for her response.

Lena’s eyes softened, and a vulnerable smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I never realised how much you wanted this," she admitted, a hint of regret in her voice. "Maybe I've been too guarded, too afraid to admit it to myself…”

You felt a mix of relief and hope as Lena continued, “I'd think I’d like to try a real relationship too…”

There it was. The sentence that changed your life. You had a chance with Lena and you weren’t going to let it pass you by. Maybe this time, mixing your business and personal life wouldn’t end in disaster after all… even if it was horribly unprofessional.

✧･ﾟ: *

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#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor x you #lena luthor smut #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor #one shot #request #lena luthor imagine #lena x reader #fem reader #female reader #fem!reader #smut #supergirl #cw supergirl #lesbian #lena luthor x fem!reader

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 2 months

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The Coconut (The Surprise, Part 21)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: mentions of sex (but no smut), general pregnancy anxiety, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Your nesting instinct is kicking in hard and causing you some anxiety. But Emily is here to help make it better.

Week 31: The Coconut

You froze on your laddered perch in the nursery, dripping handled squeegee pressed against the chalkboard wall that the BAU had painted a few weeks ago, as you heard Emily knock on the open door.

“Uh… what’s going on in here?” she said, looking at you with equal parts concern and amusement.

You’d noticed today that it was dusty. And every time you passed the room, you could see more chalk dust, as if it was taunting you. Accumulating on the surfaces, making sandy little dust clouds on the hardwoods, sifting its way into the baby’s lungs, causing something horrendous and scary and life-altering, like polio or meningitis.

“The chalk wall was a bad idea, Em,” you said, huffing as you lowered the squeegee into the mop bucket. Emily surged forward to hold your forearms as you stepped down from the ladder.

“Don’t love the idea of you on this thing…” she muttered, more to herself than to you, then shook her head and looked at you, planting a quick hello kiss on your cheek. “What’s wrong with the chalk wall? I thought you liked it?”

You crossed your arms and bit at your lip, worried. You were so worried these days.

“What if it gets in her lungs or something, and she gets sick? I just…” You started to tear up despite yourself, sniffling and wiping at your eyes. “I want her to be safe. I have to keep her safe.”

“Oh, honey,” Emily said, placing her hands on either side of your face. “He will be safe. He’ll be so safe. We baby-proofed the hell out of this place, you know that. Come here, sit down. You’re okay.”

You lowered yourself gently onto the top step of the ladder, placing your hands over your baby bump, and feeling scared. So scared. You felt scared all the time right now, couldn’t seem to ward it off, no matter how you tried to distract yourself. You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself down as Emily crouched next to you, rubbing your hand with her thumb, then kissing it.

“What’s going on, huh? Can you tell me?” she prompted.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, shuddering. “I’m scared something will happen to her before she’s born. I’m scared something will happen after. I’m really fucking scared of labor. I’m scared I’ll get hurt, so she’ll get hurt, and it’ll be my fault.”

“Okay, well, for starters, let’s not get on the ladder. That should help,” Emily observed, then quickly backtracked when you started crying harder.

“Honey, you’re not gonna hurt him,” she insisted, taking both your hands in hers and resting her chin on your baby bump as she knelt in front of you. “You are so good at taking care of people. You take care of me. He should be a piece of cake in comparison!”

You laughed, wiping snot from under your nose.

“And, baby, a little chalk isn’t going to hurt him. We want him to have fun, too, remember?”

“I know…” you choked out.

Emily watched you sniffle, your eyes puffy, looking terrified and bedraggled, and she wished she could take it from you. She wanted you to see yourself the way she saw you: strong and kind and caring and protective. She wanted you to know that it was not just your responsibility to keep the baby safe. It was hers, too, and it was a job she took very seriously–for both you and him.

“What if something terrible happens, Em?” you whispered. “During labor?”

She sighed and looked at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Be honest. Did you watch more 16 & Pregnant?”

You looked down. “...No.”

“Y/N…” she chastised.

You sighed. “Yes.”

Emily kissed your forehead, then grabbed a piece of chalk and started doodling on the wall.

“Babe, you’ve got to stop watching that. It just makes you nervous. Also, you’re not sixteen.”

You watched as Emily drew on the wall–a lumpy oval with a few lines and a smiling face. Above it, she wrote Don’t worry, be happy!

“See?” she said, showing off her work. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s all gonna be okay.”

You squinted your eyes at the smiling lump. “What am I looking at?”

Emily’s face fell a bit. “It’s a fish! You know, like one of those that hangs on the wall and sings the song.”

You raised your eyebrows and smirked. “You sure? It looks like a puddle with eyes.”

She surged forward to tickle the spot just under your arms that always made you giggle, and you fought her half-heartedly as she planted fluttery kisses across your face.

“Alright, Picasso, let’s see you do any better,” she argued.

Over the course of the evening, you and Emily decorated the whole wall. You drew all the things you hoped the baby would love. Storybooks and lines of music, a little black cat and a very wobbly Eiffel tower. After a while, the pizza Emily ordered arrived, and you felt weepy all over again that she knew that a greasy slice of pepperoni goodness was just what you needed this evening. Emily always knew what you needed, sometimes even before you did. You didn’t even mind the chalk all over your clothes, all over the walls and the floor, in your hair. You wiped your hands off on paper towels, then sat cross-legged on the floor of the nursery, eating slices of pizza right out of the box.

You finished filling in all the blank spaces on the chalkboard wall, around a big, stick-figure drawing of you and Emily and a little ambiguous human. You’d bubble-lettered the words Welcome home, little love! above it, and Emily had colored it in, all rainbows and bright colors and polka dots. And when you stood back to admire your work–it really did look like a toddler had drawn it–you took Emily’s hand in yours and leaned against her shoulder. Yes, there was a lot to worry about bringing a new human into the world. Yes, you were, by nature, an anxious person. But Emily was your port in the storm. She was strong where you were weak and weak where you were strong. You fit together perfectly. And as the little one kicked against your stomach, you knew that there was a space, where you and Emily came together, that was just the right fit for this tiny human. There was no sense in worrying where she would fit in your life, in the world. She already had a space. In your heart, in your world, in your very bodies.

You and Emily sat under the window in the Bunting glider you’d repurposed from your grandma’s house. You’d opted for a glider instead of a rocker because you knew when Emily was here, she’d want to be with you and the baby always, especially when rocking or feeding, and on the glider, there was room for all of you. You cracked the window a bit, just enough to hear the birdsong but not enough to let in the heat. Your feet dangled over the armrest of the glider, the back of your head in Emily’s lap as she ran her fingers haphazardly through your hair, to the same rhythm that she pushed the glider back and forth, back and forth, with her feet.

“Do you remember the night we moved in together?” you asked her quietly, not wanting to disrupt the soft beauty of the moment.

She looked down at you and smiled, her eyes bright with memory. “I do.”

The fading evening sun shone perfectly through the nursery window, the little crystal Penelope had bought you refracting tiny rainbows all throughout the room. You laughed and talked about nothing and everything, and it really did remind you of when you and Emily moved in together–all hope and possibilities and excitement for what was to come. You’d sat on a floor, not so dissimilar to this one, and eaten pizza just like you had tonight, and she’d laid you down gently, so gently, on the newly-unfurled rug. She’d kissed you again and again and told you that she wanted to be near you always, forever. And your heart had surged because no one had ever wanted you like that before. No one had wanted you always. No one had wanted you near. But Emily did. And when she made love to you that same night on that same unfurled rug, you’d cried. Not because she hurt you, not because you were sad or forlorn or mourning the end of your single era, but because you were not used to being so fully, wholly wanted. Wanted not in part, not just sometimes, but for all of you.

“Are you sure about all this, Em?” you asked, gesturing to yourself, the baby, the room.

She chuckled. “Well, it’s a little late if I’m not, isn’t it?”

You smacked her lightly on the arm. “I’m serious.”

She bent over you, her hair falling in your face so that you wrinkled your nose. She placed a hand on either side of your head, just watching you for a moment, smoothing her thumbs over your eyebrows. “I’m sure, honey. I’ve never been so sure about anything.”

Maybe it was your face that gave you away, your face that revealed your inability to believe fully, even all these years later, even after all the daily reminders, big and small, of just how much Emily loved you, that she didn’t want out. Whatever it was, she could see it, and, like she always did, she put it to rest.

She squeezed your head lightly, as if to knock her love through your thick skull.

“I’ve been sure about you since the night we met. Get it through your head, dork. I’m not going anywhere. If I was, I’d certainly have left before now.”

You scoffed. “Ouch.”

She shrugged, grinning a little. “I’m just saying! I had plenty of outs. I didn’t take them. I didn’t want to.”

“You promise?” you asked, but at this point you were just fishing for affirmation. You knew Emily. You knew she meant what she said.

“Y/N,” she said, staring down at you so forcefully you couldn’t help but laugh. “I married you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you said, grasping her hand and kissing the inside of her wrist.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss fluff

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poisonlove · 10 months

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It's a Date? | w.a

Y/n invites Wednesday Addams to an unusual forest outing, pretending there's a mystery. In the cemetery, amid gravestones and shadows, they share a special moment, discovering an unexpected connection.

I find myself in front of Enid and Wednesday's room. My throat is tight, and my heart beats so loudly it echoes in my ears. Inviting Wednesday on a date makes me strangely nervous, a whirlwind of emotions translating into an exhilarating anxiety, a feeling of fear and anticipation blending together.

The plan was simple... invent an excuse to capture Wednesday's attention and venture into the woods, where the date would take place.

I take a deep breath and open the door, immediately seeing my best friend in bed, while Things does her nails. I slowly move my eyes to the other side of the room, where Wednesday Addams is immersed in writing her novel with the typewriter.

Wednesday Addams, sitting in front of the typewriter, exudes an air of cold calmness. Her long black hair is neatly tied into two braids, falling gracefully over her shoulders. Her facial profile is regular, with a fine nose that rises with grace. Thin lips are closed in a determined expression as her fingers move precisely on the keyboard. The atmosphere is charged with creativity and mystery, with Wednesday seemingly completely absorbed in her narrative world.

Enid genuinely smiles when I enter. "Hey, Y/N, how are you?" she asks with her warm smile.

"Fine, Enid," I reply, trying to hide my nervousness. "Um, how's your boyfriend doing?"

Enid laughs slightly. "Well, you can imagine, always busy with work. But let's say everything is fine. But now, tell me, what brings you here?"

I shift my attention to Wednesday, trying to keep a seemingly casual tone. Enid smiles mischievously, aware of the reason for my visit.

Enid glances out of the corner of her eye at Wednesday and smiles broadly.

The blonde clears her throat. "You know, the other day something strange happened in the woods..." Enid exclaims casually.

Wednesday straightens up and stops typing on the typewriter. "What happened?" I ask with genuine confusion.

"Don't you remember? You told me the other day! Someone died, but the body disappeared into thin air. The only thing they found was a shoe. Now it's in the sheriff's hands in case there are any developments," Enid says, tilting her head to the side and looking at me with confusion.

I open my mouth and understand her look. "Oh yes, yes... I needed someone to come with me to see," I mutter distractedly.

In the most subtle way possible, Wednesday puts the papers aside on the desk and stands up from the chair. After the solved mystery of the Nevermore monster, Wednesday had no more stimuli to satisfy her investigative side. This mystery seemed perfect.

Wednesday's movement catches the attention of the two girls. "I'm coming with you," Wednesday mutters softly.

I widen my eyes, and Enid immediately corrects Wednesday, "No, no, I can't come," the blonde murmurs quickly.

Wednesday thinks Enid is scared and observes her friend.

With determined steps, Wednesday approaches me, and at that moment, the considerable height difference between us becomes evident. Her intense eyes scrutinize me with curiosity, and as the distance between us shortens, we both sense the peculiar dynamic developing between us. Her presence, albeit cold and distant, conveys a subtle tension that cannot escape careful observation.

"Shall we?" I murmur with a thread of voice.

Without saying a word, Wednesday turns quickly, grabbing her bag from the chair. She tightens her lips and tries to slow down her heartbeat by breathing slowly.

"Get ready for an... interesting experience," Wednesday murmurs, adding a touch of mystery to her monotone voice.

The strange combination of enthusiasm and detachment in her words is fascinating as we head towards the exit of the room.

(...)

I walk nervously through the woods, the sound of my steps blending with the rustle of twigs and leaves crushed under my feet. I'm lost in my thoughts, focused on the daunting task of keeping the conversation with Wednesday. I feel her behind me, silently observing me with curiosity as we venture deeper into the forest. Her presence, almost ethereal among the trees, adds a mysterious dimension to the surrounding atmosphere. The forest seems to respond to our passage, a succession of sounds and shadows fueling nervousness and anticipation.

We walk through the woods, "How much longer, Y/N?" Wednesday breaks the silence. Knowing the forest quite well, Wednesday seems intrigued by the fact that we've taken an unfamiliar path. I move a branch obstructing our way and stop, looking at her with curiosity.

"Here we are," I whisper softly, diverting my gaze to the ground beneath my feet.

Wednesday Addams gives me a quick glance before discovering a cemetery around us. "Interesting," she comments with her monotone voice, but her eyes reveal a hint of happiness.

Wednesday notices a blanket near a tombstone and raises an eyebrow, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and indifference. "What's interesting here?" she asks, her voice as sharp as a knife. As I approach, I notice the blanket, and my gaze meets Wednesday's. "It seemed like a good place to stop," I reply, trying to maintain composure that seems to elude me when her eyes scrutinize the cemetery carefully.

Wednesday nods slightly, perhaps approving the choice. "So, what have we planned?" she asks, her interest hiding behind the veil of her tranquility.

I feel warmth rising to my cheeks as I respond, trying to maintain composure. "I thought it might be an opportunity to... spend time together." My voice betrays a slight insecurity, but Wednesday seems to show no emotion.

After the question, Wednesday realizes the basket of food on the blanket, understanding that everything was planned. There was no mystery in the woods, at least not one related to a dead person.

"Is it a date?" she asks with curiosity, looking at me seriously. I nod, feeling my cheeks blush as I sit on the blanket. "I thought it might be a good way to get your attention," I confess, smiling with embarrassment.

Wednesday tilts her head to the side and approaches me more closely. The little Addams kneels, reaching my eye level. With an embarrassed smile, I take a black rose and a Dahlia from the basket. Wednesday watches with curiosity as I do so, and later, she gives me a small smile, seeing the flowers in my hands. Her smile widens, and I unconsciously smile, realizing it's the first time Wednesday has smiled in that way.

In an unexpected move, Wednesday leans in and delicately places her lips on mine. I'm surprised by the speed of the gesture and, above all, by the sensation of her lips, which are lethally cold. A shiver runs down my spine, while the woods around us seem to whisper secrets. It's a moment of quiet mystery among the graves, where the world seems to stop as Wednesday and I share that delicate kiss in the silent cemetery.

Timidly, I melt during the kiss, placing a hand on Addams' side. Her lips are surprisingly cold, but in that moment, the cold seems only to intensify the aura of mystery surrounding us. When we finally break the kiss, I notice Wednesday's lips pulling into a small smile. "There was no need to do all this to get my attention... my eyes are always fixed on you, Y/N/N," she says with a seriousness that makes me blush.

I look around uncomfortably, even though I know we're alone. "I don't like cemeteries," I mutter weakly, reading the name engraved on the tombstone. Two fingers gently touch under my chin, forcing me to meet Wednesday's black eyes. "I know... you mentioned it some time ago," she says with a cold voice.

I raise an eyebrow, and Wednesday fiddles with the flower between her fingers. "Not answering you doesn't mean I don't pay attention when you speak," Wednesday murmurs softly, and I can't help but smile at her unexpected sincerity.

It wasn't an official date, but as Wednesday walked away, her heart was racing. A strange sensation, like spiders weaving a web, made its way into Wednesday's stomach, creating a pleasant restlessness.

I look at Wednesday with surprised eyes. "Was all this not necessary?" I ask incredulously.

Wednesday, with her intense gaze on me, responds calmly: "Maybe not, but it was a welcome surprise."

We sit on the blanket in the silent cemetery, the twilight light dancing among the tombstones. It's a timeless moment, where the mystery of the dark woods merges with the mystery of our connection. Her eyes gaze into mine, and I can feel her heart beating fast. A slight smile appears on her lips, almost like a shared secret.

"It's not official," I whisper, trying to understand the meaning of that moment.

Wednesday nods slightly, her hand getting closer to mine. "It doesn't need to be official to be real," she says timidly while looking at the sky slowly tinting orange.

#jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #miércoles addams #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x you #cemetery

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bonniepop · 6 months

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title: of rumors & wrong assumptions parts: 1 / 2 / 3 character: iwaizumi hajime words: 1,200+ warnings: violence towards oikawa's person. experiments in chem lab. notes: i think this is one of my funnier fics so of course i had to bring this back! (also i am not compensating for forgetting about this website at all!)

—

life would’ve been so much easier if you’d ended up having a crush on literally anyone else instead, but noooo. you had to go and have a crush on oikawa's best friend.

oikawa's probably gay best friend.

“i’m telling you—iwa-chan is not gay,” oikawa insists with a hushed voice, leaning over the beaker he poured water into earlier, his face so near the bunsen burner it was giving you anxiety.

“what the fuck, oikawa,” you nearly cry, shoving his face away from the open flame. “get your face out of there!”

your palm presses over the goggles on his face and he yelps. “ow!” he pouts and pulls away his standard chem lab goggles, running his hand through the red marks pressed against his skin. “that hurt!”

“would you rather i let your face burn off in case it exploded?” you shoot back, grabbing a pen and writing down your observations. “also can you get back to work? this is a partner lab report.”

“that’s just water,” he snaps.

"there's an open flame!" you practically shriek, but he ignores you.

"—and i’ll read your notes later.” he says the last part dismissively, and you had to stop yourself from launching your pen at his face—like a gladiator spear through one of his eyeballs.

life would've been so much easier if you'd fallen for literally anyone else, because their best friend probably wouldn't be an insufferably annoying volleyball captain that you'd ended up being partnered with.

at first, it made you giddy. this was your chance—be friend the volleyball captain, make friends with iwaizumi, flirt, fall in love, and live happily ever after.

okay, you're thinking too far ahead. but it was a great setup. until oikawa'd said, "i need to talk to you about something," with that something being... righting... his best friend's reputation.

is there any possible way to get run over by a truck? while inside a laboratory on the third floor of a building?

“anyway, he’s not gay,” oikawa brings up again, louder than the last time, and you sink down against the table and groan.

you can feel your table mates look back at you suspiciously, and you pray to every deity out there. someone, anyone. just open up the earth and swallow me whole.

“oikawa,” you bark, peering over your shared equipment with sharp eyes. “can we not talk about this here?”

he shakes his head quite vigorously. “no! we need to discuss this. because you are wrong, and i am here to tell you that you are wrong.”

your face wrinkles into a scowl. “i really don’t wanna talk about this,” you grumble, looking away.

you don’t even know how he knows. as far as you remember, it was a speculation you’d mentioned to your group of friends in jest, and two days later, oikawa—who had sweet talked your previous lab partner into switching out, apparently; if you think about it, this was all her fault for agreeing—started pestering you about it.

“add the iodine and stir,” your teacher says, and dutifully, you grab the smaller beaker and add the brown liquid, noting the color change when you stir.

“seriously!” oikawa insists, “he’s not. believe me.”

“wh—” you point your pen at him and glare. “you know what, i will remove your name from this lab report if you don’t work on anything in the next—”

you watch him grab his pen and, without looking, scribble quickly on his notebook. “there, done.”

your jaw unhinges, unreasonable, murderous irritation flooding your entire body. “you didn’t even—”

“now get your second beaker,” your teacher instructs, and you use it as a distraction to stop yourself from lunging at your lab partner. “add the remaining water, hydrogen peroxide and fabric starch.”

you take a deep breath and reach for the materials—which were near oikawa’s elbow. when your reach comes up short, you glare at him. “maybe you’d like to help me?”

“oh, sure,” oikawa goes, plucking the materials and placing them on the center of the table. “there you go.”

you count to ten in an attempt to prevent yourself from hurling the second beaker at his head, opting to focus on the experiment instead.

“anyway, i—”

you nearly slam your hands on the table. “look, oikawa,” you tell him, leaning closer. “i don’t know how you found out about that, but it was meant as a joke. i didn’t mean it, and whoever told you that? give me their name. give me their name, so i can find them, break their phone, and burn their house down. end of story.”

he blinks. “so you don’t think he’s gay?”

you lean back. “if he is, it’s none of my business.”

“but he’s not,” oikawa whines. “what made you think that in the first place?”

you give him a bewildered stare. “what? why wouldn’t i think it? he’s obviously in love with you.”

his face morphs into one of complete and utter shock, and then he booms into laughter, which makes the class turn towards your seat at the very back. he sheepishly quiets down at the call of his name, your teacher evidently not as amused as he is at his new discovery.

“he’s not in love with me,” oikawa denies at a much softer, but not any less irritating, volume.

you ignore him. “he’s so scary but he turns sweet around you—”

“sweet? sweet?” he’s wide-eyed and appalled. he aggressively points to the back of his head. “is throwing volleyballs at my head sweet?"

you defend, “i don’t know what you’re into—"

"do you know how many almost-concussions i've had because of him?! i'm basically a fall risk at this point!”

“now, transfer everything in beaker 1 to beaker 2,” your teacher calls, interrupting your argument. “note the time.”

he stares and shakes his head. “anyway. well, that’s not the case. at all,” he declares, leaning forward to continue the rest of the experiment. “we’re just friends. you note the time.”

“sure,” you say, signaling for him to go once you track the seconds on your watch. you scribble in your notes when the liquid changes color.

the bell rings, and students are shuffling to dump their liquids in the giant erlenmeyer flask at the back of the room.

your former lab partner smiles at you as you both dump your waste liquid. “seems like you and oikawa had a lot of fun,” she chirps.

not at all. “he’s okay,” you say before you part ways. when you get back to your desk, she notes that oikawa is waiting for you and that you walk out of lab together, bickering.

while the rest of the day went ahead as normal, for the next day at school, you were not granted that same luxury.

“hey,” one of your friends asks over lunch, “are you and oikawa dating?”

your fist clenches in surprise, and the juice sent ricocheting through the straw and into your throat makes you choke. “what?” you ask, coughing, and wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. “where'd you get that?”

the rest of your friends meet gazes. “we heard you were really close in lab yesterday,” one of the girls says.

“yeah, like an old married couple,” another says.

your brain is going into overdrive. what? said who? “we are absolutely n—”

someone calls from outside your classroom. someone with very familiar and annoying voice, someone who you've, quite frankly, had enough of.

you look up to see oikawa, waving merrily at you. behind him, iwaizumi’s stony face is dark and threatening.

the girls around you giggle, and you flush, hunching over at your desk in an attempt to hide.

this cannot be happening, you think despairingly. not only was your crush probably gay, he also thinks you’re dating his best friend.

the best friend he was probably in love with.

“fuck me,” you groan into the wood grain of your desk. "fuck me so very much."

#iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #x reader #x reader fluff #📝 — my writing #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader fluff

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the-witty-pen-name · 4 months

Text

Love is Blind Part 4

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI - kissing, smut, vaginal fingering, body worship, praise

Story Warnings: reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, cursing, substance use mention

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab.

A/N: If I forgot to tag something, please let me know! I'm so sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoy. Please consider reblogging if you like it! Thank you for reading!

Series Masterlist

Final Day

The moment Eddie can finally look at you will be less than ideal. Both of you, hooked up to whatever weird machine while technicians monitor your brain waves or whatever- Eddie really wasn’t paying attention at all to what they were telling him. He couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried as they were explaining the next segment. Once they recorded the initial reactions, you all were free to go. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to control himself.

He’s sitting in an exam room, with a window looking into another. It seems as though they’ll bring you into the opposite room and he’s feeling slightly deflated that he won’t be able to talk to you right away.

He’s sitting with his legs partially spread apart, resting back on his hands on the exam bed. He’s letting them attach some small patch to the side of his forehead. He's tapping his foot anxiously, and he’s trying his hardest to play it cool and he’s positive he’s failing miserably.

He overthought everything trying to make it back to the lab on time this morning. He couldn’t decide on clothes or his hair or literally anything, down to the way he was going to sit when you walked in. He settled on his usual, it’s not like he had dress clothes anyways. He’s staring intently at the empty exam room across from him, absolutely dying that you aren’t there. He watches as the door opens. Several lab assistants carry in equipment and one pulls the curtain shut. Eddie doesn’t realize he yelled until he sees the assistants in the room stare at him with wide eyes. He quickly apologizes and runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm his nerves.

You feel chills run down your body as they work on getting you set up to the machinery. You keep anxiously staring at the pulled curtain, and you can hardly think straight knowing Eddie is on the other side. It’s no different, you try to tell yourself to calm your nerves. It’s you in one room, Eddie in the other, just like it’s been all week. Except now, you can look, but can’t talk. You feel your palms sweat and you do your best to just take deep breaths to try to calm down how fast your heart is beating.

“So, when we’re ready for observation, we’ll pull the curtain. We’ll be monitoring your brain activity for a minute or so, then we’ll send you on your way,” a woman explains to you, and you nod, understandingly. You sit up straighter, and roll your shoulders back. You can’t let yourself allow any insecurity to seep in and ruin this moment. You try to focus your mind solely on how excited you are to see Eddie. And how in less than a few minutes, you’ll actually be standing in his proximity.

Eddie is practically jumping out of his skin in anticipation. His mouth feels dry and he feels like his entire body is overheating from the stark white lights of the exam room. He taps his fingers on his lap, focusing on a loose thread on the tear of his jeans, when they tell him they’re ready to begin. Nothing can truly put into words how he felt when they began to pull the curtain back.

His breath hitches when he finally is able to look at you. First, he finds your eyes and he can’t stop smiling. He winks at you playfully from the other room and you feel like your body is on fire. He greedily lets his eyes look you up and down, and you see him mouth “Ho-ly shit.” Emphasizing the syllables so you can understand.

He can’t stop staring, desperate to take in all of the details of you like he’s making up for lost time. He was feeling overwhelmed. He bites his lip, raking his eyes over every part of you. He looks completely pained, like he’s being restrained. You can’t help but notice he looks tortured, as his eyes look into yours with such extreme desperation. He feels like he might spontaneously combust if he needs to wait one more minute to touch you.

You’re beyond anything he could’ve imagined. He’s practically drooling, staring at you like a lovesick fool. Fuck anyone, he thinks, who made you think you were anything less the fucking sexiest woman alive.

You’re rendered speechless as you take him in. His hair, his tattoos, the rings… Fuck, he’s so gorgeous. He feels like he might spontaneously combust if he needs to wait one more minute to touch you. You eyes can’t focus, so motivated to just memorize every detail you can commit to memory- like somehow he’s going to be back behind the wall again.

Eddie couldn’t control himself. You saw the way his eyes raked over you and it made you feel warm from a giddy nervousness. He let himself admire every single inch of you that he could see. He felt like it was the shortest couple of minutes he’s ever been subject to, and as the techs finished up, he’s practically jumping out of his seat with the equipment partially detached.

You feel like your heart might beat out of your chest as you practically feel the pulse throughout your whole body. You’re so intensely staring, taking in the sight of him. He’s absolutely beautiful- and you're wondering to yourself how the hell a guy as good looking as him ended up here. You’re also fidgety as they work to take the equipment away, but are doing better composing yourself than Eddie. You can’t help but find it endearing as he tries to hurriedly untangle himself from the wires, frantically trying to get to you.

The technicians lead you out separately, both of you exiting from the separate doors you’ve left from during the whole experiment. The back door slams behind you as you make your final exit, and you begin to walk around the parking lot to see where he is. Eddie, leaving from the opposite side of the building, had the same idea to wander- meaning you both are aimlessly searching for one another not realizing you're both moving away from each other.

There’s this van you stumble across and it perfectly matches the way Eddie described it. The decorations you could see through the windshield solidified in your mind that it was Eddie’s. You feel a little stupid, smiling at the rundown van. It’s just such a surreal feeling being in the vicinity of it- seeing that it’s real. You don’t know how to describe it. You lean up against the side door, patiently waiting for him to return.

As Eddie turns the corner, he thinks he might pass out at the sight of you waiting for him against the van. His breath hitches at the sight of you, unfiltered, leaning up against his van because you already know him well enough to pick it out from the parking lot. It feels so surreal, and he feels like he’s in one of those cheesy rom coms but he finally gets it.

“Hey stranger,” he calls out, walking over to you with a big grin. You can’t help but match his big smile when you see him. You feel warmth and butterflies spread throughout your whole body and then hit you all at once as he strides over confidently.

You begin to open your mouth to reply with some witty response, but before you can register it, his hands are cupping both sides of your jaw and he kisses you. It’s tender and it’s the kind of kiss that you can feel yourself melting into. It felt like everything he’s told you this past week translated into action. It’s passionate, but he’s surprisingly gentle. He pulls away, still holding your face as his eyes observe your every feature.

“I’ve wanted to do that since Monday,” he sighs, and you nod in agreement.

“Me too.”

“God, look at you,” he observes, taking one step back and moving to hold your hands. “You’re fucking stunning,” he affirms, pulling you back towards him so he can wrap his arms around you for another kiss.

“Shit, I don’t even know what to do with myself,” he chuckles when you need to pull away for air. He rests his forehead to yours as you both take a breath. “Fuck me, how did I get this lucky?”

“You?” You exclaim with a giggle, “I mean, shit, Eddie, look at you.”

He blushes, and it’s probably the best thing you’ve seen. This metal head adorned with rings, chains, tattoos is red in the face because of you. You haven’t been just overwhelmed with affection like this, and it’s entirely intoxicating. Your head is spinning as you take in how he looks at you. You can’t help but shiver when you feel his hands rest on your sides and he rubs absentmindedly the skin just above the waist of your pants under the hem of your shirt.

He’s kissing you again and the sensation of it all is almost too much. He’s so giving. His body presses your back against the side of the van and his tall body slots against yours and for some reason you’ve never felt more safe. You don’t hear anything else but his soft breaths and moans, and you can’t smell more than his cologne and shampoo and all of your senses are working overtime to just take it all in. You’re filling in the missing pieces of him that have so far been kept away.

Neither one of you wanted to let the moment end, because you both understand how it might be strange navigating life, and what it means for the two of you, after the experiment. Is there a label for what this is? The intimacy you both feel has far surpassed the perimeters of normal dating and it feels like you're past that stage, but at the same time, you haven’t even shared physical space. You don’t know what his world looks like, and how you would fit into it. It was so easy when it was just the two of you, but what is this going to look like now?

You decide to let those thoughts subside, and focus instead on this absolutely gorgeous guy who’s obsessed with you and touching you. You let yourself focus on the feeling of the pads of his fingertips as they ignite your skin, not caring enough about the “problem areas” you usually fixate on. You allow yourself to completely surrender to his touches.

“Should we move this somewhere else maybe?” you ask, breathlessly- pulling away reluctantly. He kisses your shoulder, giving you goosebumps. You can feel his smile, warm against your skin. “You’re so soft,” he marvels, seemingly not hearing your suggestion.

“Should we go somewhere?” you giggle, and he kisses your cheek. He nods in agreement. He grabs your hand and walks you over to the passenger door. He opens it for you, and helps you as you step up into it. You don’t say anything, but you smile to yourself- it was the first time a guy held the door for you in a long time.

“Okay so I have no idea what the fuck to do,” he exclaims, cracking his knuckles as he sits in the driver’s seat. He laughs at the absurdness of the situation. He feels jumpy, overwhelmed in the best way possible. “I haven’t done this before,” he jokes and you roll your eyes.

“I mean, we can go to my apartment?” you offer as he starts the engine, and you’re both immediately met with blaring music as the van turns on. It makes you jump a little. His cheeks are flushed, turning down the volume, he apologizes. You wave your hand nonchalantly and tell him not to worry about it.

It takes a little strength to get the van moving, and you admire the way his arms flex. It’s the way he doesn’t even realize how attractive he is that astounds you the most. Once both of you are on the road and the windows are down, you’re just witnessing the beautiful sight of him- long hair getting tousled from the breeze, his profile as he nods along to the song playing, his long fingers tapping on the steering wheel- it’s enough to make you breathless.

The third floor apartment isn’t much, but Eddie is just basking in being in a space that just feels like he’s surrounded by you. It’s a little window into your mind, and he’s like a little kid as he moves around, touching everything. Your photographs, records, little trinkets, books… he zones out taking it all in and he can’t look through it all fast enough. You’re just so happy you decided to tidy up.

“If you think the stuff in here is cool, you should see in here,” you tease, leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom. Eddie thinks he might pass out when his eyes land on how your curve is accentuated by your stance. You don’t even realize it’s happening. He strides over to you and simultaneously hooks an arm around your waist and kisses you in a way that makes you dizzy. You're falling over each other, lips locked in a deep kiss as you both stumble to your bed.

Eddie pulls you into his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed. He’s trailing kisses down your jaw and down your neck, as his hands rest on your hips and he tugs you down fully when he feels you try to hover. Your skirt bunches up your thighs and when you’ve fully settled onto his lap, he can feel your warmth and he moans at the contact. The heat in your body rushes to your core at the roughness of his jeans through your panties.

“You’re so sexy,” he mumbles against your shoulder in between kisses. He’s savoring the feeling of your thighs pressed against his and the feeling of the wetness as you press against him. He presses his lips to yours again, running his hands under the back of your top to pull it off. As you untangle yourself from the shirt and toss it aside, he does the same with his. After he’s thrown his shirt with yours, his mouth falls open slightly at the sight of you. You observe as his pupils dilate and he takes in a deep breath to calm his heart.

You take in the sight of the tattoos his shirt covered and you bite your lip as you smile at the sight. He looks like a wreck in the best way. His chest rising and falling rapidly, the flex of his arms, the messy hair- everything about how he looks is just so undeniably attractive. You feel so vulnerable under his intense gaze but in a way that makes you feel desirable. You stand up to wiggle out of your skirt, and you swear his eyes were going to fall out of his pretty head. He’s immediately following your lead- frantically kicking off his jeans.

“Get back over here,” he groans, looking you up and down. He grabs your hands, pulling you back into him. He falls back on the bed, pulling you on top of him. You’re seated on his bulge that straining against his boxers, and you gasp as he rolls his hips up into yours. You lean down and kiss him, soft moans escaping your lips against his mouth. His hands find their way back to your waist and you gasp as he flips you over onto your back with ease.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says, “so fucking pretty.”

He ducks down and kisses you, and your hands tangle in his hair. You tug gently, and he moans at the sensation. His fingers tease the skin just above the waist of your panties before he pulls them to the side. His fingertips gently tease your clit and he bites his lip at your reaction. He can see himself easily becoming addicted to hearing the sweet little sounds you make for him, and just watching how beautiful you look like this.

“Oh, Eddie…” you moan softly at the sensation.

“I’ve hardly touched you pretty girl,” he says, pressing kisses down your chest and torso as he continues to tease you. You involuntarily move your hips, searching for more of the feeling. He smiles up at you in response before he slowly pulls your panties down.

Rubbing your leg affectionately, the coolness of his rings makes you shiver. He’s kissing and nipping at the skin of your inner thighs. His mess of curls is a little ticklish but nothing you don’t adore the feeling of.

He touches you like it’s second nature. It’s like he instinctively knew the perfect places to elicit the filthiest of moans from you. His fingers curl into you knowingly, and you swear no other man has been able to make you feel like this. Previous partners treated this like a chore to rush through, but Eddie’s so content taking his time and observing the way he can make you fall apart at his touch. He’s motivated to make you forget about every asshole who made you think for even a second you deserved less than this.

You begin to feel that familiar sensation building up inside of you. You chest rapidly rising and falling, looking down to see Eddie- this fucking beautiful man - between your legs, glistening with sweat as his hair sticks to his forehead, tongue poking out from his lips in concentration. He looks absolutely wrecked and it’s the sexiest thing you think you’ve ever seen.

“I’m- I’m c-close,” you manage to say between panting breaths. He smirks, and continues his pace of working his fingers in and out of you. He rests your thigh over his shoulder to press kisses of encouragement against your skin, as he mumbles just how badly he needs to see you cum. Every sense becomes too much all at once, and you can’t keep your eyes open as you feel your orgasm crash over you. Your head falls back against the pillows, and your body feels limp.

“Ready to go again, princess?”

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