Heartstopper

Nick's POV

The academy's staff room was packed that afternoon—teachers crammed around the long oak table, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee and marker pens from the whiteboard. Headmaster Ellis stood at the front, his usual blazer rumpled, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he shuffled through notes. The meeting was for the founding day anniversary— the biggest event of the year, a full weekend of alumni games, family barbecues, and fundraising auctions. It was meant to be a celebration of the school's history, but as I sat there in my track jacket, fidgeting with a pen, my stomach twisted into knots. I hadn't been sleeping well since the Cotswolds—since Charlie walked out of the bedroom and into the spare room, leaving me alone with my guilt. Every night in the guest room felt like punishment, but it was my choice. My way of giving him space without pushing. I texted him constantly—gentle check-ins, apologies wrapped in care—but his replies were short. Polite. Distant.

"Alright, everyone," Headmaster Ellis boomed, clapping his hands to quiet the chatter. "Let's get started. Founding day is three weeks away, and we've got a lot to cover. First off—the event planner. After the success of the gala last time, we've brought back Daniel Dela Vega. He's proven he can deliver big numbers, and he's already got ideas for making this anniversary unforgettable."

My pen snapped in my hand. Ink splattered across my fingers. Daniel. Of course it was Daniel. The room blurred for a second—my pulse thundering in my ears. I stared at the table, trying to keep my face neutral, but inside everything screamed. I'd cut him off completely—blocked on everything, deleted every trace. No more texts, no more pics, no more that dark thrill that had nearly cost me Charlie. And now this? Him back in my life, like a bad dream I couldn't wake from.

Ellis continued, oblivious. "Daniel's requested two faculty assistants to help with planning—someone from admin and someone from sports. Shelby, our head teacher, you'll handle the logistical side. And Nick Nelson—our star coach—you'll assist with the athletic events. Your demo at the gala was a hit; alumni are still talking about it."

The room murmured approval—claps, nods. Shelby, a no-nonsense woman in her 40s with sharp bobbed hair and a clipboard always in hand, smiled across the table at me. "Looking forward to it, Nick."

I forced a nod—throat dry. "Yeah. Sure." But my mind raced. No. Hell no. I couldn't work with him. Not after everything. Not with Charlie barely speaking to me, the flat feeling like a minefield of memories. Daniel would smirk, tease, push—just like before. And me? Weak. Selfish. I'd almost given in last time.

The meeting dragged—discussions on budgets, guest lists, food vendors. I barely heard it. When it wrapped, I hung back, waiting until the room cleared. Then I approached Ellis at the front.

"Headmaster—got a minute?"

He looked up from his notes—bushy eyebrows rising. "Nelson. What's on your mind?"

I shifted—hands in pockets. "About the assistants... I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I'm swamped with coaching. Drills, matches—maybe someone else could step in?"

Ellis chuckled—clapping my shoulder. "Nonsense, lad. The gala was a smash because of you and Daniel. Raised record funds. Alumni love seeing you out there—reminds them of their glory days. We need that energy again. Shelby handles the paper side; you do the fun stuff. It'll be fine. Trust me."

I swallowed—panic rising. "Sir, really—I—"

"Nelson." His voice firmed—kind but final. "It's decided. Daniel specifically asked for you—said you two worked well together. Don't let me down."

I nodded—defeated. "Yes, sir."

Out in the hall, I leaned against the wall—head back, eyes closed. \*Fuck.\* I couldn't tell Charlie. Not now. He was already barely holding on. If he knew Daniel was back in my orbit... it'd break us for good. I'd avoid him. Keep it professional. No alone time. Shelby as buffer. It had to work.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number but i know it's Daniel.

\*Daniel: Meeting at the cafe tomorrow? 2 PM. You, me, Shelby. Can't wait to catch up, Nelson. 😉\*

I deleted it. Blocked the number again. No reply. Complete cut-off.

But the nerves? They stayed.

\---

The cafe was the same one from weeks ago—exposed brick, fairy lights, the hum of afternoon chatter. I arrived early—heart pounding, palms sweaty. Shelby was already there, clipboard in hand, coffee steaming. "Nelson! Prompt as always."

I sat—forcing a smile. "Yeah. Let's get this done."

Daniel walked in five minutes late—looking like he'd stepped off a magazine cover. Black coat open over a fitted gray sweater that hugged his lean chest, jeans clinging to his thighs, curls artfully tousled, that silver chain glinting at his throat. His dark eyes locked on mine immediately—smile slow, predatory. "Shelby. Nick. Good to see you both."

He sat across from me—knee brushing mine under the table "accidentally." I pulled back—sharp. "Let's start."

The meeting began—professional at first. Daniel spread plans: themed booths, rugby demo (my part), alumni speakers. Shelby took notes—enthusiastic. "Love the interactive games, Daniel. Nick, you'll lead the mini-tournaments?"

"Yeah." Short. Eyes on the table.

Midway—Daniel leaned back, stretching. "Shelby—mind grabbing us refills? My treat." He handed her cash—charming smile. "Black for me, latte for Nick?"

Shelby nodded—standing. "Sure. Be right back."

She left.

Alone.

Daniel's foot nudged mine—deliberate. "Miss me, Nelson?"

\----

Earlier - Daniel's POV

I leaned back in my loft chair, the morning light filtering through the high windows, casting long shadows across the exposed brick walls. My coffee was black and bitter, just like my mood these days. The gala had been a triumph—funds raised, sponsors happy, my name buzzing in the right circles. But that wasn't what kept me up at night. No, it was Nick Nelson. That broad-chested rugby god with the easy smile and the guilty eyes. The one who'd fucked me senseless on his sofa, bred me deep while moaning my name like a prayer, then ghosted me like I was yesterday's trash.

I scrolled through my phone—IG stories from last night. Me in the club, arm around Cody Christensen, that tall drink of water with the same build as Nick: thick thighs, broad shoulders, hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Cody was fun—great in bed, knew how to pin me down and make me beg. But emotionally? Nothing. A stand-in. A prop to make Nick jealous. I'd posted the pic on purpose—no tag, no direct message. Just enough to sting. And it had. I knew he'd seen it—those little "viewed" ticks didn't lie.

Nick. God, what a mess he was. That emotional connection we'd had—the way he'd looked at me during the dares, the lap dances, the way he'd unblocked me in the cab just to let me suck him off. It was more than physical. He craved me. Needed me. But Charlie—skinny, anxious little Charlie—had him wrapped around his finger. I liked Charlie, really. He was sweet, sharp-witted, good company. But hate him? Yeah, a little. How did a twig like him land a guy like Nick? Big, strong, the kind who could lift you up and fuck you against a wall until you saw stars. It wasn't fair. Charlie didn't deserve him. I did.

Cody was asleep in my bed—sheets tangled around his waist, that rugby body on display. I glanced at him—appreciative but detached. He was good for a night, but Nick? Nick was the prize. The one who got away. But not for long. The academy had called—another event, founding day anniversary. Biggest one yet. And they'd hired me again. Perfect. I'd requested assistants: Shelby (head teacher, buffer) and Nick (the real target). He'd be there. Trapped. And I'd work my magic—slow, discreet, irresistible.

Plan: First meeting—professional, light teasing. Plant the seed. Second—engineer alone time. He'd resist—for Charlie—but he'd break. He always did. And Cody? Just a tool. I'd dump him after—back to pursuing the real thing.

I smiled into my coffee. Nick was affected. Still. I could feel it.

# At the Cafe

The cafe was bustling that afternoon—clink of cups, murmur of conversations, the rich scent of espresso hanging in the air. I arrived fashionably late, coat slung over my arm, sweater hugging my chest just right—tight enough to show the lines of my abs without trying too hard. Shelby was already there, clipboard in hand, coffee steaming. Nick sat beside her—broad shoulders hunched, jaw set, eyes on the table like he was studying the grain of the wood. He looked good—track jacket zipped halfway, hair tousled from the wind, that guilty flush creeping up his neck when he saw me.

*,,,,*,,

I turned to Nick—voice dropping low, intimate. "Miss me, Nelson?"

He tensed—jaw clenching. "This is work. Nothing else."

I laughed—soft, teasing. "Work? Sure. But you look tense. How've you been? And Charlie? He blocked me on everything. Guess he knows about us?"

Nick's eyes narrowed—voice a growl. "None of your business. Stay away from him. From me."

I leaned in—eyes locking on his. "Us? There is no us. But you can't forget that night. The sofa—your cock deep inside me, breeding me while you moaned my name. You blocked me, but you're hard right now, aren't you?"

He shifted—uncomfortable. "Shut up."

I reached for my coffee—dipping a finger in the foam, bringing it to my lips. Licked it slow—tongue curling around the digit, eyes never leaving his. "Remember my mouth? Swallowing you in the cab? Or the party—my tongue in your armpit, you shuddering?"

Nick's cheeks flushed—hands fisting on the table. "Stop."

My foot nudged his under the table—slow slide up his calf. "Or this? Remember my thighs around you? Tight, hot."

He didn't pull away—breath hitching. "Daniel—Shelby's coming back."

I smiled—dipping my finger in the foam again, offering it to him. "Taste. For old times."

He hesitated—eyes dark, aroused. His hand trembled—taking my wrist, bringing the finger to his lips. Sucked slow—tongue swirling. Groaned low. Heat in his eyes—almost giving in.

The door chimed. Shelby.

I pulled back—smooth. "Ah. Refills?"

Nick snapped back—face flushed, adjusting under the table.

# Charlie's Side – The Bar Reunion

The bar was cozy—dim lights, wooden booths, the hum of Friday night chatter. Charlie slid into the seat across from Tao and Isaac, heart lifting a little at the sight of his old friends. Tao—dark hair, sharp eyes—grinned wide, pulling him into a one-armed hug over the table. "Spring! You ghost. Finally show your face?"

Isaac—curly hair, book in hand—smiled softly. "Good to see you, Charlie."

Charlie laughed—genuine for the first time in days. "Missed you guys. Sorry—work's been insane."

Tao waved for drinks—beers all around. "Work? Or that boyfriend of yours keeping you locked up? How's Nick?"

Charlie's smile faltered—just a fraction. "Good. We're... good."

Isaac tilted his head—perceptive. "You sure? You look tired."

Charlie shrugged—changing subject. "Yeah, edits piling up. But tell me about you—film stuff? Books?"

They caught up—happy reunion vibes. Tao ranted about a bad script ("Clichés everywhere!"), Isaac shared a new queer lit rec. Laughter flowed—easy, familiar.

Tao leaned in—grinning. "So... has Nick popped the question yet? We all know he was planning before Valentine's."

Isaac's eyes widened— "Tao!"

Tao slapped his own neck—wincing. "Shit—sorry. Spoiler."

Charlie forced a laugh. "No... not yet. But he's coming soon. Meeting or something."

He glanced around the bar—distraction. Eyes landed on a familiar man at the counter: tall, broad, rugby-built, hazel eyes. \*Cody Christensen.\* From Imogen's pic. Daniel's boyfriend. Their eyes met—intense, locked. Cody smiled—curious? Flirty? Charlie looked away—heart racing.

What was he doing here?

----

HEARTSTOPPER (Bottom Cuckolding) Part 12.5

Introducing Cody Christensen

Cody Christensen leaned against the bar counter, nursing a whiskey on the rocks, the ice clinking softly as he swirled the glass. The club pulsed around him—bass thumping through the floor, bodies grinding on the dance floor under strobing lights, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and the sharp tang of spilled cocktails. It was a typical Friday night in London's queer scene, the kind of place where hookups were made in dark corners and forgotten by morning. But Cody wasn't here for that. Not tonight. He was here for Daniel Dela Vega—the man who'd become both his obsession and his frustration. And Daniel is late again, a meeting, which he likes about Daniel, he is dedicated to job.

Cody was 24, built like a statue carved from marble—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, thick thighs from years of rugby training, and arms corded with muscle that strained against his fitted black shirt. His hair was short and dark, styled in a casual spike that looked effortless but took time, and his hazel eyes—sharp, intense—could pin you in place with a single glance. A faint scar ran along his jaw from an accident, make him hotter. Cody had always carried himself with that cocky swagger—confident on the surface, but with a hidden vulnerability underneath. He'd grown up in Manchester, son of a single dad who worked construction, learning early that strength was survival. Rugby became his escape—full scholarship to uni, where he captained the team and came out as gay in his second year. No drama; his teammates had his back. But relationships? Messy. He'd dated a string of guys who wanted his body but not his heart—until Daniel.

Daniel. Pretty, manipulative Daniel with the dark curls and the smile that could disarm anyone. Cody liked him—really liked him. The sex was mind-blowing, sure, but it was more. Daniel had this way of making you feel seen, wanted, like you were the center of his universe for those stolen hours. But romantically? Daniel was a ghost. No dates, no "I love you's," no future talk. "I'm not built for that," he'd say with a wink, pulling Cody into bed instead. Cody knew it—felt it every time Daniel's eyes wandered in clubs like this. But he stayed. Because he felt something real. A spark. A hope that maybe, one day, Daniel would see him as more than a stand-in.

Tonight, Daniel was late. Again. Cody scanned the crowd—spotting a cute twink at a booth with two friends. Slim, dark curls, blue eyes that caught the light. Reading a book? In a bar? Cody chuckled to himself. Bold. Or oblivious. Either way, intriguing.

\-----

# Flashback – Meeting the Viper

It had been three months ago, at a different club—darker, more exclusive, the kind with velvet ropes and VIP lounges where deals were made and inhibitions shed like coats at the door. Cody had been there with rugby mates, celebrating a win—beers flowing, laughter loud. He'd spotted Daniel across the room: leaning against the bar, black shirt unbuttoned to show the smooth tan of his chest, silver chain glinting under the lights. Those dark eyes had locked on Cody's—slow once-over, lips curving in that predatory smile.

Cody felt the pull immediately. He excused himself from the group, weaving through the crowd. "Buy you a drink?" he'd asked, voice deep and confident.

Daniel's eyes sparkled—head tilting. "Only if it's strong."

Tequila shots followed—salt licked from wrists, limes bitten with lingering glances. Conversation flowed: Daniel's events world ("I make magic happen"), Cody's rugby life ("I tackle hard"). Flirting escalated—knees brushing, hands "accidentally" grazing thighs.

"Want to see the VIP room?" Daniel whispered, breath hot against Cody's ear.

Cody nodded—heart racing. They slipped behind a curtain—private booth, low lights, leather couches. Door locked. Daniel pushed him against the wall—mouth crashing down. Cody groaned—hands gripping Daniel's waist, pulling him flush. The kiss was hungry—tongues battling, teeth nipping. Daniel's fingers fumbled Cody's belt—dropping to his knees.

"Fuck," Cody breathed—head falling back as Daniel freed his cock—thick, veined, already hard. Daniel licked the tip—slow, teasing—tongue swirling the head, tasting pre-come. "Taste good," Daniel murmured—eyes up through lashes.

He took him deep—throat relaxing, nose burying in Cody's pubes. Cody's hands tangled in those curls—thrusting shallow. "Yes—fuck, your mouth—" Daniel hummed—vibration shooting through Cody's balls. He sucked harder—cheeks hollowing, hand stroking the base, other cupping balls, rolling them gently.

Cody's hips bucked—pace building. Daniel pulled off—lips shiny. "Come in my mouth." Dove back—faster, sloppier. Cody came—hard, roaring—spilling down Daniel's throat. Daniel swallowed—milking every drop.

They switched—Daniel standing, Cody on knees. Daniel's ass —slicky, bubbly— Cody's tongue slid into Daniel's mouthass. Cody licked—eager, deep—hands on ass, pulling him closer. Daniel moaned—fingers in Cody's hair. "Good boy—take it."

They fucked after—Cody bending Daniel over the couch, condom on, lube slicked. Thrust in slow—Daniel arching. "Yes—fill me." Pace built—hard snaps, skin slapping. Daniel came—clenching, crying out. Cody followed—breeding deep (condom-safe).

After—cuddling on the couch, Daniel whispered: "This was fun. But no strings, yeah?"

Cody nodded—hiding the pang. He liked Daniel. Felt something. But knew it wasn't mutual.

\----

# Current Time at the Bar – The Twink Encounter

Cody sipped his whiskey, eyes drifting back to the booth. The twink—cute, curls falling into blue eyes, slim frame in a soft jumper—was laughing with his friends. But then he pulled out a book—actual paperback—from his bag, flipping it open amid the chaos.

Cody laughed—loud enough to draw eyes. A book? In a bar? Ballsy. Or adorable. He grabbed his drink, weaving over.

"Mind if I join?" Cody asked—sliding into the booth beside the twink. "Name's Cody."

The twink looked up—startled, book closing. "Charlie. And... sure?"

Cody grinned—nodding at the book. "Reading in a bar? Bold move. What's the title?"

Charlie flushed—holding it up. \*Shadows of Eldoria\*. "Fantasy. Escaping the noise."

Cody laughed again—warm. "Escaping? In a place like this? Respect. Buy you a drink? Non-alcoholic if you're driving the plot train."

Charlie shook his head—polite smile. "No thanks. I'm good."

Cody leaned in—flirty but light. "Come on—one drink? For the guy who thinks reading in a bar is cooler than dancing."

Charlie chuckled—relaxing a bit. "Really, no. But... thanks."

Instead, Charlie reopened the book—diving back in. Cody stared—amused. "Seriously? A book over conversation? Ouch."

Charlie glanced up—eyes twinkling. "It's a good chapter. Dragon fight."

Cody propped his chin on his hand. "Tell me about it? I'm more rugby than dragons, but I can learn."

They talked—Charlie summarizing the plot, Cody asking questions ("So the rider's queer? Cool rep"). Friends (Tao, Isaac) chimed in—laughing.

Cody bribed Isaac: "Another round for the table? On me—if your friend gives me his number."

Isaac grinned— "Deal."

Charlie rolled his eyes—handing it over. "Fine. But no funny business."

Cody saved it—winking. "Scout's honor."

Charlie's phone buzzed—Nick. Cody glanced away—smiling to himself. Cute twink. Interesting night.